The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  "YES;--I'M A BARONET."

  How eager Lady Carbury was that her son should at once go in form toMarie's father and make his proposition may be easily understood."My dear Felix," she said, standing over his bedside a little beforenoon, "pray don't put it off; you don't know how many slips there maybe between the cup and the lip."

  "It's everything to get him in a good humour," pleaded Sir Felix.

  "But the young lady will feel that she is ill-used."

  "There's no fear of that; she's all right. What am I to say to himabout money? That's the question."

  "I shouldn't think of dictating anything, Felix."

  "Nidderdale, when he was on before, stipulated for a certain sumdown; or his father did for him. So much cash was to be paid overbefore the ceremony, and it only went off because Nidderdale wantedthe money to do what he liked with."

  "You wouldn't mind having it settled?"

  "No;--I'd consent to that on condition that the money was paiddown, and the income insured to me,--say L7,000 or L8,000 a year.I wouldn't do it for less, mother; it wouldn't be worth while."

  "But you have nothing left of your own."

  "I've got a throat that I can cut, and brains that I can blowout," said the son, using an argument which he conceived might beefficacious with his mother; though, had she known him, she mighthave been sure that no man lived less likely to cut his own throat orblow out his own brains.

  "Oh, Felix! how brutal it is to speak to me in that way."

  "It may be brutal; but you know, mother, business is business. Youwant me to marry this girl because of her money."

  "You want to marry her yourself."

  "I'm quite a philosopher about it. I want her money; and when onewants money, one should make up one's mind how much or how little onemeans to take,--and whether one is sure to get it."

  "I don't think there can be any doubt."

  "If I were to marry her, and if the money wasn't there, it would bevery like cutting my throat then, mother. If a man plays and loses,he can play again and perhaps win; but when a fellow goes in foran heiress, and gets the wife without the money, he feels a littlehampered you know."

  "Of course he'd pay the money first."

  "It's very well to say that. Of course he ought; but it would berather awkward to refuse to go into church after everything had beenarranged because the money hadn't been paid over. He's so clever,that he'd contrive that a man shouldn't know whether the money hadbeen paid or not. You can't carry L10,000 a year about in yourpocket, you know. If you'll go, mother, perhaps I might think ofgetting up."

  Lady Carbury saw the danger, and turned over the affair on every sidein her own mind. But she could also see the house in GrosvenorSquare, the expenditure without limit, the congregating duchesses,the general acceptation of the people, and the mercantile celebrityof the man. And she could weigh against that the absolutepennilessness of her baronet-son. As he was, his condition washopeless. Such a one must surely run some risk. The embarrassmentsof such a man as Lord Nidderdale were only temporary. There were thefamily estates, and the marquisate, and a golden future for him; butthere was nothing coming to Felix in the future. All the goods hewould ever have of his own, he had now;--position, a title, and ahandsome face. Surely he could afford to risk something! Even theruins and wreck of such wealth as that displayed in Grosvenor Squarewould be better than the baronet's present condition. And then,though it was possible that old Melmotte should be ruined some day,there could be no doubt as to his present means; and would it not beprobable that he would make hay while the sun shone by securing hisdaughter's position? She visited her son again on the next morning,which was Sunday, and again tried to persuade him to the marriage. "Ithink you should be content to run a little risk," she said.

  Sir Felix had been unlucky at cards on Saturday night, and had taken,perhaps, a little too much wine. He was at any rate sulky, and ina humour to resent interference. "I wish you'd leave me alone," hesaid, "to manage my own business."

  "Is it not my business too?"

  "No; you haven't got to marry her, and to put up with these people. Ishall make up my mind what to do myself, and I don't want anybody tomeddle with me."

  "You ungrateful boy!"

  "I understand all about that. Of course I'm ungrateful when I don'tdo everything just as you wish it. You don't do any good. You onlyset me against it all."

  "How do you expect to live, then? Are you always to be a burden onme and your sister? I wonder that you've no shame. Your cousin Rogeris right. I will quit London altogether, and leave you to your ownwretchedness."

  "That's what Roger says; is it? I always thought Roger was a fellowof that sort."

  "He is the best friend I have." What would Roger have thought had heheard this assertion from Lady Carbury?

  "He's an ill-tempered, close-fisted, interfering cad, and if hemeddles with my affairs again, I shall tell him what I think of him.Upon my word, mother, these little disputes up in my bedroom ain'tvery pleasant. Of course it's your house; but if you do allow me aroom, I think you might let me have it to myself." It was impossiblefor Lady Carbury, in her present mood, and in his present mood, toexplain to him that in no other way and at no other time could sheever find him. If she waited till he came down to breakfast, heescaped from her in five minutes, and then he returned no more tillsome unholy hour in the morning. She was as good a pelican as everallowed the blood to be torn from her own breast to satisfy the greedof her young, but she felt that she should have something back forher blood,--some return for her sacrifices. This chick would take allas long as there was a drop left, and then resent the fondling ofthe mother-bird as interference. Again and again there came upon hermoments in which she thought that Roger Carbury was right. And yetshe knew that when the time came she would not be able to be severe.She almost hated herself for the weakness of her own love,--butshe acknowledged it. If he should fall utterly, she must fall withhim. In spite of his cruelty, his callous hardness, his insolence toherself, his wickedness and ruinous indifference to the future, shemust cling to him to the last. All that she had done, and all thatshe had borne,--all that she was doing and bearing,--was it not forhis sake?

  Sir Felix had been in Grosvenor Square since his return from Carbury,and had seen Madame Melmotte and Marie; but he had seen themtogether, and not a word had been said about the engagement. He couldnot make much use of the elder woman. She was as gracious as wasusual with her; but then she was never very gracious. She had toldhim that Miss Longestaffe was coming to her, which was a great bore,as the young lady was "fatigante." Upon this Marie had declared thatshe intended to like the young lady very much. "Pooh!" said MadameMelmotte. "You never like no person at all." At this Marie had lookedover to her lover and smiled. "Ah, yes; that is all very well,--whileit lasts; but you care for no friend." From which Felix had judgedthat Madame Melmotte at any rate knew of his offer, and did notabsolutely disapprove of it. On the Saturday he had received a noteat his club from Marie. "Come on Sunday at half-past two. You willfind papa after lunch." This was in his possession when his mothervisited him in his bedroom, and he had determined to obey the behest.But he would not tell her of his intention, because he had drunk toomuch wine, and was sulky.

  At about three on Sunday he knocked at the door in Grosvenor Squareand asked for the ladies. Up to the moment of his knocking,--evenafter he had knocked, and when the big porter was opening thedoor,--he intended to ask for Mr. Melmotte; but at the last hiscourage failed him, and he was shown up into the drawing-room. Therehe found Madame Melmotte, Marie, Georgiana Longestaffe, and--LordNidderdale. Marie looked anxiously into his face, thinking that hehad already been with her father. He slid into a chair close toMadame Melmotte, and endeavoured to seem at his ease. Lord Nidderdalecontinued his flirtation with Miss Longestaffe,--a flirtation whichshe carried on in a half whisper, wholly indifferent to her hostessor the young lady of the house. "We know what brings you here," shesaid.

  "I came on p
urpose to see you."

  "I'm sure, Lord Nidderdale, you didn't expect to find me here."

  "Lord bless you, I knew all about it, and came on purpose. It's agreat institution; isn't it?"

  "It's an institution you mean to belong to,--permanently."

  "No, indeed. I did have thoughts about it as fellows do when theytalk of going into the army or to the bar; but I couldn't pass. Thatfellow there is the happy man. I shall go on coming here, becauseyou're here. I don't think you'll like it a bit, you know."

  "I don't suppose I shall, Lord Nidderdale."

  After a while Marie contrived to be alone with her lover near oneof the windows for a few seconds. "Papa is down-stairs in thebook-room," she said. "Lord Alfred was told when he came that he wasout." It was evident to Sir Felix that everything was prepared forhim. "You go down," she continued, "and ask the man to show you intothe book-room."

  "Shall I come up again?"

  "No; but leave a note for me here under cover to Madame Didon." NowSir Felix was sufficiently at home in the house to know that MadameDidon was Madame Melmotte's own woman, commonly called Didon by theladies of the family. "Or send it by post,--under cover to her. Thatwill be better. Go at once, now." It certainly did seem to Sir Felixthat the very nature of the girl was altered. But he went, justshaking hands with Madame Melmotte, and bowing to Miss Longestaffe.

  In a few moments he found himself with Mr. Melmotte in the chamberwhich had been dignified with the name of the book-room. The greatfinancier was accustomed to spend his Sunday afternoons here,generally with the company of Lord Alfred Grendall. It may besupposed that he was meditating on millions, and arranging the pricesof money and funds for the New York, Paris, and London Exchanges. Buton this occasion he was waked from slumber, which he seemed to havebeen enjoying with a cigar in his mouth. "How do you do, Sir Felix?"he said. "I suppose you want the ladies."

  "I've just been in the drawing-room, but I thought I'd look in on youas I came down." It immediately occurred to Melmotte that the baronethad come about his share of the plunder out of the railway, and he atonce resolved to be stern in his manner, and perhaps rude also. Hebelieved that he should thrive best by resenting any interferencewith him in his capacity as financier. He thought that he had risenhigh enough to venture on such conduct, and experience had told himthat men who were themselves only half-plucked, might easily be cowedby a savage assumption of superiority. And he, too, had generally theadvantage of understanding the game, while those with whom he wasconcerned did not, at any rate, more than half understand it. Hecould thus trade either on the timidity or on the ignorance of hiscolleagues. When neither of these sufficed to give him undisputedmastery, then he cultivated the cupidity of his friends. He likedyoung associates because they were more timid and less greedy thantheir elders. Lord Nidderdale's suggestions had soon been put atrest, and Mr. Melmotte anticipated no greater difficulty with SirFelix. Lord Alfred he had been obliged to buy.

  "I'm very glad to see you, and all that," said Melmotte, assuming acertain exaltation of the eyebrows, which they who had many dealingswith him often found to be very disagreeable; "but this is hardly aday for business, Sir Felix, nor,--yet a place for business."

  Sir Felix wished himself at the Beargarden. He certainly had comeabout business,--business of a particular sort; but Marie had toldhim that of all days Sunday would be the best, and had also told himthat her father was more likely to be in a good humour on Sunday thanon any other day. Sir Felix felt that he had not been received withgood humour. "I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Melmotte," he said.

  "I dare say not. I only thought I'd tell you. You might have beengoing to speak about that railway."

  "Oh dear no."

  "Your mother was saying to me down in the country that she hoped youattended to the business. I told her that there was nothing to attendto."

  "My mother doesn't understand anything at all about it," said SirFelix.

  "Women never do. Well;--what can I do for you, now that you arehere?"

  "Mr. Melmotte, I'm come,--I'm come to;--in short, Mr. Melmotte, Iwant to propose myself as a suitor for your daughter's hand."

  "The d---- you do!"

  "Well, yes; and we hope you'll give us your consent."

  "She knows you're coming then?"

  "Yes;--she knows."

  "And my wife;--does she know?"

  "I've never spoken to her about it. Perhaps Miss Melmotte has."

  "And how long have you and she understood each other?"

  "I've been attached to her ever since I saw her," said Sir Felix. "Ihave indeed. I've spoken to her sometimes. You know how that kind ofthing goes on."

  "I'm blessed if I do. I know how it ought to go on. I know that whenlarge sums of money are supposed to be concerned, the young manshould speak to the father before he speaks to the girl. He's a foolif he don't, if he wants to get the father's money. So she has givenyou a promise?"

  "I don't know about a promise."

  "Do you consider that she's engaged to you?"

  "Not if she's disposed to get out of it," said Sir Felix, hopingthat he might thus ingratiate himself with the father. "Of course, Ishould be awfully disappointed."

  "She has consented to your coming to me?"

  "Well, yes;--in a sort of a way. Of course she knows that it alldepends on you."

  "Not at all. She's of age. If she chooses to marry you, she can marryyou. If that's all you want, her consent is enough. You're a baronet,I believe?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm a baronet."

  "And therefore you've come to your own property. You haven't to waitfor your father to die, and I dare say you are indifferent aboutmoney."

  This was a view of things which Sir Felix felt that he was boundto dispel, even at the risk of offending the father. "Not exactlythat," he said. "I suppose you will give your daughter a fortune, ofcourse."

  "Then I wonder you didn't come to me before you went to her. If mydaughter marries to please me, I shall give her money, no doubt. Howmuch is neither here nor there. If she marries to please herself,without considering me, I shan't give her a farthing."

  "I had hoped that you might consent, Mr. Melmotte."

  "I've said nothing about that. It is possible. You're a man offashion and have a title of your own,--and no doubt a property. Ifyou'll show me that you've an income fit to maintain her, I'll thinkabout it at any rate. What is your property, Sir Felix?"

  What could three or four thousand a year, or even five or six, matterto a man like Melmotte? It was thus that Sir Felix looked at it. Whena man can hardly count his millions he ought not to ask questionsabout trifling sums of money. But the question had been asked, andthe asking of such a question was no doubt within the prerogative ofa proposed father-in-law. At any rate, it must be answered. For amoment it occurred to Sir Felix that he might conveniently tell thetruth. It would be nasty for the moment, but there would be nothingto come after. Were he to do so he could not be dragged down lowerand lower into the mire by cross-examinings. There might be an endof all his hopes, but there would at the same time be an end of allhis misery. But he lacked the necessary courage. "It isn't a largeproperty, you know," he said.

  "Not like the Marquis of Westminster's, I suppose," said the horrid,big, rich scoundrel.

  "No;--not quite like that," said Sir Felix, with a sickly laugh.

  "But you have got enough to support a baronet's title?"

  "That depends on how you want to support it," said Sir Felix, puttingoff the evil day.

  "Where's your family seat?"

  "Carbury Manor, down in Suffolk, near the Longestaffes, is the oldfamily place."

  "That doesn't belong to you," said Melmotte, very sharply.

  "No; not yet. But I'm the heir."

  Perhaps if there is one thing in England more difficult than anotherto be understood by men born and bred out of England, it is thesystem under which titles and property descend together, or invarious lines. The jurisdiction of our Courts of Law is complex, andso is the b
usiness of Parliament. But the rules regulating them,though anomalous, are easy to the memory compared with the mixedanomalies of the peerage and primogeniture. They who are brought upamong it, learn it as children do a language, but strangers who beginthe study in advanced life, seldom make themselves perfect in it. Itwas everything to Melmotte that he should understand the ways of thecountry which he had adopted; and when he did not understand, he wasclever at hiding his ignorance. Now he was puzzled. He knew that SirFelix was a baronet, and therefore presumed him to be the head of thefamily. He knew that Carbury Manor belonged to Roger Carbury, andhe judged by the name it must be an old family property. And nowthe baronet declared that he was heir to the man who was simply anEsquire. "Oh, the heir are you? But how did he get it before you?You're the head of the family?"

  "Yes, I am the head of the family, of course," said Sir Felix, lyingdirectly. "But the place won't be mine till he dies. It would take along time to explain it all."

  "He's a young man, isn't he?"

  "No,--not what you'd call a young man. He isn't very old."

  "If he were to marry and have children, how would it be then?"

  Sir Felix was beginning to think that he might have told the truthwith discretion. "I don't quite know how it would be. I have alwaysunderstood that I am the heir. It's not very likely that he willmarry."

  "And in the meantime what is your own property?"

  "In the meantime what is your own property?"]

  "My father left me money in the funds and in railway stock,--and thenI am my mother's heir."

  "You have done me the honour of telling me that you wish to marry mydaughter."

  "Certainly."

  "Would you then object to inform me the amount and nature of theincome on which you intend to support your establishment as a marriedman? I fancy that the position you assume justifies the question onmy part." The bloated swindler, the vile city ruffian, was certainlytaking a most ungenerous advantage of the young aspirant for wealth.It was then that Sir Felix felt his own position. Was he not abaronet, and a gentleman, and a very handsome fellow, and a man ofthe world who had been in a crack regiment? If this surfeited spongeof speculation, this crammed commercial cormorant, wanted morethan that for his daughter, why could he not say so without askingdisgusting questions such as these,--questions which it was quiteimpossible that a gentleman should answer? Was it not sufficientlyplain that any gentleman proposing to marry the daughter of sucha man as Melmotte, must do so under the stress of pecuniaryembarrassment? Would it not be an understood bargain that as heprovided the rank and position, she would provide the money? And yetthe vulgar wretch took advantage of his assumed authority to askthese dreadful questions! Sir Felix stood silent, trying to look theman in the face, but failing;--wishing that he was well out of thehouse, and at the Beargarden. "You don't seem to be very clear aboutyour own circumstances, Sir Felix. Perhaps you will get your lawyerto write to me."

  "Perhaps that will be best," said the lover.

  "Either that, or to give it up. My daughter, no doubt, will havemoney; but money expects money." At this moment Lord Alfred enteredthe room. "You're very late to-day, Alfred. Why didn't you come asyou said you would?"

  "I was here more than an hour ago, and they said you were out."

  "I haven't been out of this room all day,--except to lunch. Goodmorning, Sir Felix. Ring the bell, Alfred, and we'll have a littlesoda and brandy." Sir Felix had gone through some greeting withhis fellow Director, Lord Alfred, and at last succeeded in gettingMelmotte to shake hands with him before he went. "Do you knowanything about that young fellow?" Melmotte asked as soon as the doorwas closed.

  "He's a baronet without a shilling;--was in the army and had to leaveit," said Lord Alfred as he buried his face in a big tumbler.

  "Without a shilling! I supposed so. But he's heir to a place down inSuffolk;--eh?"

  "Not a bit of it. It's the same name, and that's about all. Mr.Carbury has a small property there, and he might give it to meto-morrow. I wish he would, though there isn't much of it. That youngfellow has nothing to do with it whatever."

  "Hasn't he now?" Mr. Melmotte as he speculated upon it, almostadmired the young man's impudence.