Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  It seemed possible that, if he could bring Maria Consuelo to see the matter as he saw it, she might at once throw aside her reticence and furnish him with the information he so greatly needed. But it would be a delicate matter to bring her to that point of view, unconscious as she must be of her equivocal position. He could not go to her and tell her that in order to announce their engagement he must be able to tell the world who and what she really was. The most he could do would be to tell her exactly what papers were necessary for her marriage and to prevail upon her to procure them as soon as possible, or to hand them to him at once if they were already in her possession. But in order to require even this much of her, it was necessary to push matters farther than they had yet gone. He had certainly pledged himself to her, and he firmly believed that she considered herself bound to him. But beyond that, nothing definite had passed.

  They had been interrupted by the entrance of workmen asking for orders, and he had thought that Maria Consuelo had seemed anxious to detain the men as long as possible. That such a scene could not be immediately renewed where it had been broken off was clear enough, but Orsino fancied that she had not wished even to attempt a renewal of it. He had taken her home in the dusk, and she had refused to let him enter the hotel with her. She said that she wished to be alone, and he had been fain to be satisfied with the pressure of her hand and the look in her eyes, which both said much while not saying half of what he longed to hear and know.

  He would see her, of course, at the usual hour on the following day, and he determined to speak plainly and strongly. She could not ask him to prolong such a state of uncertainty. Considering how gradual the steps had been which had led up to what had taken place on that rainy afternoon it was not conceivable, he thought, that she would still ask for time to make up her mind. She would at least consent to some preliminary agreement upon a line of conduct for both to follow.

  But impossible as the other case seemed, Orsino did not neglect it. His mind was developing with his character and was acquiring the habit of foreseeing difficulties in order to forestall them. If Maria Consuelo returned suddenly to her original point of view maintaining that the promise given to her dying husband was still binding, Orsino determined that he would go to Spicca in a last resort. Whatever the bond which united them, it was clear that Spicca possessed some kind of power over Maria Consuelo, and that he was so far acquainted with all the circumstances of her previous life as to be eminently capable of giving Orsino advice for the future.

  He went to his office on the following morning with little inclination for work. It would be more just, perhaps, to say that he felt the desire to pursue his usual occupation while conscious that his mind was too much disturbed by the events of the previous afternoon to concentrate itself upon the details of accounts and plans. He found himself committing all sorts of errors of oversight quite unusual with him. Figures seemed to have lost their value and plans their meaning. With the utmost determination he held himself to his task, not willing to believe that his judgment and nerve could be so disturbed as to render him unfit for any serious business. But the result was contemptible as compared with the effort.

  Andrea Contini, too, was inclined to take a gloomy view of things, contrary to his usual habit. A report was spreading to the effect that a certain big contractor was on the verge of bankruptcy, a man who had hitherto been considered beyond the danger of heavy loss. There had been more than one small failure of late, but no one had paid much attention to such accidents which were generally attributed to personal causes rather than to an approaching turn in the tide of speculation. But Contini chose to believe that a crisis was not far off. He possessed in a high degree that sort of caution which is valuable rather in an assistant than in a chief. Orsino was little inclined to share his architect’s despondency for the present.

  “You need a change of air,” he said, pushing a heap of papers away from him and lighting a cigarette. “You ought to go down to Porto d’Anzio for a few days. You have been too long in the heat.”

  “No longer than you, Don Orsino,” answered Contini, from his own table.

  “You are depressed and gloomy. You have worked harder than I. You should really go out of town for a day or two.”

  “I do not feel the need of it.”

  Contini bent over his table again and a short silence followed. Orsino’s mind instantly reverted to Maria Consuelo. He felt a violent desire to leave the office and go to her at once. There was no reason why he should not visit her in the morning if he pleased. At the worst, she might refuse to receive him. He was thinking how she would look, and wondering whether she would smile or meet him with earnest half regretful eyes, when Contini’s voice broke into his meditations again.

  “You think I am despondent because I have been working too long in the heat,” said the young man, rising and beginning to pace the floor before Orsino. “No. I am not that kind of man. I am never tired. I can go on for ever. But affairs in Rome will not go on for ever. I tell you that, Don Orsino. There is trouble in the air. I wish we had sold everything and could wait. It would be much better.”

  “All this is very vague, Contini.”

  “It is very clear to me. Matters are going from bad to worse. There is no doubt that Ronco has failed.”

  “Well, and if he has? We are not Ronco. He was involved in all sorts of other speculations. If he had stuck to land and building he would be as sound as ever.”

  “For another month, perhaps. Do you know why he is ruined?”

  “By his own fault, as people always are. He was rash.”

  “No rasher than we are. I believe that the game is played out. Ronco is bankrupt because the bank with which he deals cannot discount any more bills this week.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because the foreign banks will not take any more of all this paper that is flying about. Those small failures in the summer have produced their effect. Some of the paper was in Paris and some in Vienna. It turned out worthless, and the foreigners have taken fright. It is all a fraud, at best — or something very like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me the truth, Don Orsino — have you seen a centime of all these millions which every one is dealing with? Do you believe they really exist? No. It is all paper, paper, and more paper. There is no cash in the business.”

  “But there is land and there are houses, which represent the millions substantially.”

  “Substantially! Yes — as long as the inflation lasts. After that they will represent nothing.”

  “You are talking nonsense, Contini. Prices may fall, and some people will lose, but you cannot destroy real estate permanently.”

  “Its value may be destroyed for ten or twenty years, which is practically the same thing when people have no other property. Take this block we are building. It represents a large sum. Say that in the next six months there are half a dozen failures like Ronco’s and that a panic sets in. We could then neither sell the houses nor let them. What would they represent to us? Nothing. Failure — like the failure of everybody else. Do you know where the millions really are? You ought to know better than most people. They are in Casa Saracinesca and in a few other great houses which have not dabbled in all this business, and perhaps they are in the pockets of a few clever men who have got out of it all in time. They are certainly not in the firm of Andrea Contini and Company, which will assuredly be bankrupt before the winter is out.”

  Contini bit his cigar savagely, thrust his hands into his pockets and looked out of the window, turning his back on Orsino. The latter watched his companion in surprise, not understanding why his dismal forebodings should find such sudden and strong expression.

  “I think you exaggerate very much,” said Orsino. “There is always risk in such business as this. But it strikes me that the risk was greater when we had less capital.”

  “Capital!” exclaimed the architect contemptuously and without turning round. “Can we draw a cheque — a plain
unadorned cheque and not a draft — for a hundred thousand francs to-day? Or shall we be able to draw it to-morrow? Capital! We have a lot of brick and mortar in our possession, put together more or less symmetrically according to our taste, and practically unpaid for. If we manage to sell it in time we shall get the difference between what is paid and what we owe. That is our capital. It is problematical, to say the least of it. If we realise less than we owe we are bankrupt.”

  He came back suddenly to Orsino’s table as he ceased speaking and his face showed that he was really disturbed. Orsino looked at him steadily for a few seconds.

  “It is not only Ronco’s failure that frightens you, Contini. There must be something else.”

  “More of the same kind. There is enough to frighten any one.”

  “No, there is something else. You have been talking with somebody.”

  “With Del Ferice’s confidential clerk. Yes — it is quite true. I was with him last night.”

  “And what did he say? What you have been telling me, I suppose.”

  “Something much more disagreeable — something you would rather not hear.”

  “I wish to hear it.”

  “You should, as a matter of fact.”

  “Go on.”

  “We are completely in Del Ferice’s hands.”

  “We are in the hands of his bank.”

  “What is the difference? To all intents and purposes he is our bank. The proof is that but for him we should have failed already.”

  Orsino looked up sharply.

  “Be clear, Contini. Tell me what you mean.”

  “I mean this. For a month past the bank could not have discounted a hundred francs’ worth of our paper. Del Ferice has taken it all and advanced the money out of his private account.”

  “Are you sure of what you are telling me?” Orsino asked the question in a low voice, and his brow contracted.

  “One can hardly have better authority than the clerk’s own statement.”

  “And he distinctly told you this, did he?”

  “Most distinctly.”

  “He must have had an object in betraying such a confidence,” said Orsino. “It is not likely that such a man would carelessly tell you or me a secret which is evidently meant to be kept.”

  He spoke quietly enough, but the tone of his voice was changed and betrayed how greatly he was moved by the news. Contini began to walk up and down again, but did not make any answer to the remark.

  “How much do we owe the bank?” Orsino asked suddenly.

  “Roughly, about six hundred thousand.”

  “How much of that paper do you think Del Ferice has taken up himself?”

  “About a quarter, I fancy, from what the clerk told me.”

  A long silence followed, during which Orsino tried to review the situation in all its various aspects. It was clear that Del Ferice did not wish Andrea Contini and Company to fail and was putting himself to serious inconvenience in order to avert the catastrophe. Whether he wished, in so doing, to keep Orsino in his power, or whether he merely desired to escape the charge of having ruined his old enemy’s son out of spite, it was hard to decide. Orsino passed over that question quickly enough. So far as any sense of humiliation was concerned he knew very well that his mother would be ready and able to pay off all his liabilities at the shortest notice. What Orsino felt most deeply was profound disappointment and utter disgust at his own folly. It seemed to him that he had been played with and flattered into the belief that he was a serious man of business, while all along he had been pushed and helped by unseen hands. There was nothing to prove that Del Ferice had not thus deceived him from the first; and, indeed, when he thought of his small beginnings early in the year and realised the dimensions which the business had now assumed, he could not help believing that Del Ferice had been at the bottom of all his apparent success and that his own earnest and ceaseless efforts had really had but little to do with the development of his affairs. His vanity suffered terribly under the first shock.

  He was bitterly disappointed. During the preceding months he had begun to feel himself independent and able to stand alone, and he had looked forward in the near future to telling his father that he had made a fortune for himself without any man’s help. He had remembered every word of cold discouragement to which he had been forced to listen at the very beginning, and he had felt sure of having a success to set against each one of those words. He knew that he had not been idle and he had fancied that every hour of work had produced its permanent result, and left him with something more to show. He had seen his mother’s pride in him growing day by day in his apparent success, and he had been confident of proving to her that she was not half proud enough. All that was gone in a moment. He saw, or fancied that he saw, nothing but a series of failures which had been bolstered up and inflated into seeming triumphs by a man whom his father despised and hated and whom, as a man, he himself did not respect. The disillusionment was complete.

  At first it seemed to him that there was nothing to be done but to go directly to Saracinesca and tell the truth to his father and mother. Financially, when the wealth of the family was taken into consideration there was nothing very alarming in the situation. He would borrow of his father enough to clear him with Del Ferice and would sell the unfinished buildings for what they would bring. He might even induce his father to help him in finishing the work. There would be no trouble about the business question. As for Contini, he should not lose by the transaction and permanent occupation could doubtless be found for him on one of the estates if he chose to accept it.

  He thought of the interview and his vanity dreaded it. Another plan suggested itself to him. On the whole, it seemed easier to bear his dependence on Del Ferice than to confess himself beaten. There was nothing dishonourable, nothing which could be called so at least, in accepting financial accommodation from a man whose business it was to lend money on security. If Del Ferice chose to advance sums which his bank would not advance, he did it for good reasons of his own and certainly not in the intention of losing by it in the end. In case of failure Del Ferice would take the buildings for the debt and would certainly in that case get them for much less than they were worth. Orsino would be no worse off than when he had begun, he would frankly confess that though he had lost nothing he had not made a fortune, and the matter would be at an end. That would be very much easier to bear than the humiliation of confessing at the present moment that he was in Del Ferice’s power and would be bankrupt but for Del Ferice’s personal help. And again he repeated to himself that Del Ferice was not a man to throw money away without hope of recovery with interest. It was inconceivable, too, that Ugo should have pushed him so far merely to flatter a young man’s vanity. He meant to make use of him, or to make money out of his failure. In either case Orsino would be his dupe and would not be under any obligation to him. Compared with the necessity of acknowledging the present state of his affairs to his father, the prospect of being made a tool of by Del Ferice was bearable, not to say attractive.

  “What had we better do, Contini?” he asked at length.

  “There is nothing to be done but to go on, I suppose, until we are ruined,” replied the architect. “Even if we had the money, we should gain nothing by taking off all our bills as they fall due, instead of renewing them.”

  “But if the bank will not discount any more—”

  “Del Ferice will, in the bank’s name. When he is ready for the failure, we shall fail and he will profit by our loss.”

  “Do you think that is what he means to do?”

  Contini looked at Orsino in surprise.

  “Of course. What did you expect? You do not suppose that he means to make us a present of that paper, or to hold it indefinitely until we can make a good sale.”

  “And he will ultimately get possession of all the paper himself.”

  “Naturally. As the old bills fall due we shall renew them with him, practically, and not with the bank. He knows what he is ab
out. He probably has some scheme for selling the whole block to the government, or to some institution, and is sure of his profit beforehand. Our failure will give him a profit of twenty-five or thirty per cent.”

  Orsino was strangely reassured by his partner’s gloomy view. To him every word proved that he was free from any personal obligation to Del Ferice and might accept the latter’s assistance without the least compunction. He did not like to remember that a man of Ugo’s subtle intelligence might have something more important in view than a profit of a few hundred thousand francs, if indeed the sum should amount to that. Orsino’s brow cleared and his expression changed.

  “You seem to like the idea,” observed Contini rather irritably.

  “I would rather be ruined by Del Ferice than helped by him.”

  “Ruin means so little to you, Don Orsino. It means the inheritance of an enormous fortune, a princess for a wife and the choice of two or three palaces to live in.”

  “That is one way of putting it,” answered Orsino, almost laughing. “As for yourself, my friend, I do not see that your prospects are so very bad. Do you suppose that I shall abandon you after having led you into this scrape, and after having learned to like you and understand your talent? You are very much mistaken. We have tried this together and failed, but as you rightly say I shall not be in the least ruined by the failure. Do you know what will happen? My father will tell me that since I have gained some experience I should go and manage one of the estates and improve the buildings. Then you and I will go together.”