"Very well, I'll see what I can do."
The man wanted to continue talking, adding further entreaties. But the conversation had reached a conclusion, ending it for Morton. He detached himself and left for his lodgings.
He lived on a quiet street above Sydney Cove, in a house owned by a widow in her thirties, Clara Tavish. Her home comfortable and her children well-fed, well-clothed, and their school fees paid from the money that Morton gave her, he was the only lodger and Clara saw to all of his needs with dedicated skill and efficiency.
After she took his coat, hat, and cane, he entered the dining room. The Sydney newspaper that he had delivered to the house was on the table, along with a London Times that had arrived during the day. He pored over the newspapers and ate while Clara silently served the meal she had kept hot for him. When he finished the last course, she cleared the table and brought in a pipe, smoke wafting from the smoldering tobacco in it.
A few minutes later, Clara stood in the dining-room doorway. "Shall I come to your room tonight?" she asked.
Morton glanced at her absently, then shook his head as he puffed on the pipe and looked back at the newspaper. "No."
"Very well. Good night, Mr. Kerrick."
"Good night."
The house quiet around him, Morton analyzed the developments reported in the newspapers, speculating about their side effects. He had once read about a hurricane in the British West Indies, a center of sugar production, then had invested in sugar shipments out of Malaya and made a large profit. Since then, he had used newspaper reports similarly, but he was one of the few who examined news events for their indirect results. Most businessmen clung to time-worn practices, closely followed what their colleagues did, and reacted only to transparently obvious developments.
Even though he was weary from the long, busy day, he continued studying the newspapers until late, a restless, driving energy seething within him. Long before, its outlet had been anger, then it had been channeled into its present course. Begrudging the time that he spent sleeping, he knew it was essential for a clear, keen mind, and he finally blew out the lamp on the table and carried a candlestick upstairs to go to bed.
The next morning, when Morton reached his office building shortly before seven, Fitzroy was waiting. Ignoring him, Morton brushed past him to go inside. Fitzroy followed Morton, nervous and uncertain.
In his office, Morton sat down at his desk, opening his inkwell and dipping a pen into it. "I'm sure you know a number of clerks and officials at the attorney general's office," he said curtly.
"Well . . . yes," Fitzroy replied, perplexed.
Morton wrote Harold Mankin's name on a scrap of foolscap and pushed it across the desk. "There, in event your memory is as poor as your financial judgment. That man is a prisoner at Van Diemen's Land, and I want him to have a ticket-of-leave. I'll pay five guineas for it, no more."
"You intend for me to offer a bribe?" Fitzroy gasped in dismay. "I've never done anything like that in my life, Mr. Kerrick, and I can't"
"Then offer a bloody Christmas gift!" Morton snapped irately, unlocking his desk drawer and taking out the lists he had made the night before. "Or get on your knees and beg until someone does it for you. I could care bloody less how you do it. I simply want it done today."
His splotched face quivering, Fitzroy put the paper in his waistcoat pocket. "Ah . . . Mr. Kerrick, I was under the impression that we were going to discuss the mortgage on my house," he suggested meekly.
"We are," Morton replied brusquely. "You don't have any money, so we're discussing what you'll do to pay me." He pushed a list across the desk. "I'm sure you know those people. Go to each of them and tell them that you're my legal advisor, and let them know that I hold their mortgages."
Fitzroy's eyes opened wide as he looked at the paper, speechless for a moment. "But, Mr. Kerrick," he stammered, "these people are friends of mine, and they're very important"
"I know who they are. Just let them know that I'm crossed, I'm a remorseless swine who knows no ends in getting what's mine. By now, you should be able to explain that very convincingly."
"But to make myself a party to this and to approach my friends in such terms is disgraceful!" Fitzroy spluttered. "It's outrageous!"
"Perhaps," Morton replied, laughing dryly. "But you'll find that you're all in the same boat. They'll quickly realize that I'll want something of them sooner or later." He pushed the other paper across the desk. "I own the mortgages on those businesses, and I want court orders seizing the buildings and their contents. Word soon spreads on something like this, so I want the court orders today, before the contents can be removed."
"Today?" Fitzroy mused doubtfully. "But filing writs to obtain court orders can take anywhere from several days up to"
"You're very slow, aren't you?" Morton interrupted impatiently. "You have two judges on that other list. Give each of them half the names of those businesses after you've explained the situation, and you'll get the court orders immediately. Now how much do you owe green grocers, butchers, and so forth?"
Fitzroy blinked at the sudden change of subject, then pondered. "I believe my wife said it was nearly thirty guineas, Mr. Kerrick."
Morton took out his purse and opened it, counting out forty guineas on the desk. "There's extra for pocket money and household expenses. In due course, we'll determine a suitable wage. You have enough work to occupy you today, so get busy. Attend to the ticket-of-leave first."
Fitzroy looked at the money in his hand and hesitated as though he were going to protest again, then he turned and walked out with slow, heavy steps, his shoulders slumped. As soon as he left, the head clerk came in with two sheets of paper and placed them on Morton's desk. One was a list of arrivals and departures an apprentice had obtained at the port master's office that morning, the other a list of the morning postings at the admiralty office. Morton checked them, noting the arrival of vessels in which he or the firm owned shares of the cargo.
The vast majority of businessmen in the town spent most of their time in coffeehouses, swapping rumors, selling and buying shares in cargoes, and transacting other affairs. Typically, his uncle would have been there until at least noon, but Creighton came in suddenly during midmorning. ''The most terrible news has just arrived on a cutter from New Zealand," he announced as he walked into Morton's office. "The Maoris massacred a surveying party and several settlers at a place called Wairau, and the tribes are up in arms all across North Island. It's very bad, Morton, very bad indeed."
Knowing that his uncle was referring to more than the deaths, Morton put down the papers and sat back in his chair. When New Zealand had become a colony, there had been heavy speculation in land development bonds for the new settlement area. Morton had avoided them, anticipating events such as the one his uncle had just told him about. However, over his strong objections, Creighton had bought into the bonds for the firm.
Crossing the office, Creighton sat down on the chair beside the desk and sighed heavily as he continued. "You were quite right in your reservations about those New Zealand land development bonds, Morton. I made a very serious mistake when I invested so heavily in them for the firm."
"Yes, they'll fall sharply in price now," Morton mused.
"Sharply?" Creighton echoed bitterly. "Very sharply indeed, Morton. When I left the coffeehouses, they were being offered at a sixty percent discount from face value, but there were no buyers."
The discount was extremely deep, and Morton recalled what he had read about New Zealand. Many of the settlers had been transported there and sold land through a company organized by a man named Wakefield, whose shareholders were among some of the most wealthy, politically powerful families in England. They would demand and get action, and in addition, the government would not leave the hundreds of settlers in New Zealand undefended.
It was obvious to him that the businessmen were stampeding each other into a panic, either not knowing or not considering all aspects of the situation. The price of the
bonds now deflated far below their actual value provided an opportunity for a very large profit. "I'll buy the bonds held by the firm," he offered, "at a sixty percent discount from face value."
"Very well," Creighton replied somberly. "I'm responsible for buying them to begin with, but I'm unable to cover any of them. Financing that sheep station on the Murray River with my private funds has almost exhausted them." He sighed despondently, pushing himself up from the chair. "I'm going home, Morton. I don't feel very well."
After his uncle left, Morton thought rapidly for a few minutes. Deciding upon a course of action, he left the office and headed for the nearest coffeehouse. Usually teeming with activity, a funereal quiet gripped the place. Men in their coats and hats sat around tables in desultory conversation as waiters shuffled about with cups.
"Are you here to gloat, Mr. Kerrick?" a man joked wryly as Morton entered. "You didn't buy any of those bloody bonds, did you?"
"No, I didn't," Morton replied, taking a seat at the table. "I hear that they're not trading very well now."
"Indeed they're not," the man agreed sourly. He took several of the bonds from his coat pocket and slapped them down on the table. "Let's you and I start them moving. There's a face value of five hundred guineas, and I'll offer them at sixty-two percent discount."
"Done," Morton replied, putting out his hand.
Dead silence fell around the table and spread as those at other tables sat up and turned to look. The man gazed in surprise, his tone having been bitterly joking, then he seized Morton's hand and shook it vigorously. The quiet was shattered by an explosion of noise, others around the table taking out bonds and shouting offers, and chairs fell over as men all about the room leaped up and ran to the table with their bonds.
When he left, Morton sent a waiter to the office for an apprentice. The boy met Morton at the next coffeehouse and took the bonds to the office, with a list of bank drafts to issue. Then apprentices ran back and forth, following him from one place to the next. Taking the lists and the bonds to be locked in the office safe, they returned with notes from the head clerk on the amount remaining in his personal funds.
Finishing that afternoon, Morton returned to the office to sign the bank drafts and to review his bank account. In his last purchases, he had overextended himself, leaving insufficient funds for normal activities while he waited for the price of the bonds to rise. He sat at his desk and pored over the cargo summaries of vessels that had arrived during the past few weeks. Then, late in the day, he went to see the commodities wholesaler who supplied all the ships' chandlers and refitters in town.
Perplexed, the man had his head clerk bring in his warehouse inventory. He leafed through it, finding the product that Morton had asked about. "I have just over four hundred hogsheads of pine tar, Mr. Kerrick," he said. "The price is an even nine guineas each, but there's very little demand for it here. Why are you interested in pine tar?"
"I'll buy the lot at six if you'll store it and handle it for me while I resell it," Morton told the man, ignoring the question.
"Well, this strikes me as more than a bit odd, Mr. Kerrick. But I'll do that at seven a hogshead if you'll remove what's left over after three months. As I said, there's not much demand here for pine tar. You probably don't know it, but most of the ships' chandlers and refitters here use kauri gum from New Zealand, which is a little cheaper."
"Let me have a piece of foolscap, and I'll write a bank draft."
As he went back to his office, having done all that he could, Morton hoped it would be enough. On his desk, he found a note from Fitzroy informing him that Harold Mankin's ticket-of-leave would go in the next mail to Van Diemen's Land. On his way to his lodgings, he stopped in and gave Harvey Mankin the news, then quickly left, in no mood to listen to the man's effusive thanks.
Rarely sleeping well, Morton slept very poorly that night. The next day, in order to conceal his financial condition, he bought a share in a cargo, leaving only a few guineas in his bank account. He was unable to sleep at all that night, but he had passed the nadir. A measure of relief came the following day, then increased during the succeeding days.
With rapid court action through Fitzroy's efforts, Morton took legal possession of the properties on which he had foreclosed mortgages. They included retail businesses with stock on hand, which other dealers were eager to buy at reduced prices. When the shipments of kauri gum from New Zealand stopped arriving, ships' chandlers and refitters discovered that the amount of pine tar available was limited. They rushed to stock up, buying all that was in the wholesaler's warehouse at twelve guineas per hogshead.
The mortgages that Morton had kept brought a change in attitude toward him in the town, the warning that Fitzroy had circulated among the debtors proving highly effective. Carriages drew up at the offices, as well-dressed men made friendly calls on Morton with vague promises of payment and concrete offers to use their influence in any way that would benefit him. Many others who had never noticed him before began going out of their way to avoid offending him, greeting him cordially on the streets.
His sister, fourteen-year-old Dierdre, was a pupil at Sydenham Academy, an expensive, exclusive girls' boarding school. When the meticulously efficient head clerk reminded Morton of her birthday, he left work for an hour to take her a set of combs and brushes. During the visit, she remarked that he was becoming an important man in the town. Even though it was said with an affectionately amused attitude that annoyed Morton, it was evidence that his reputation had become very widespread.
When the governor dispatched part of the militia to Wellington, the New Zealand land development bonds that remained in circulation began selling at discounts that diminished from fifty to thirty percent. Upon arrival of the news that warships on station at Trincomalee were speeding toward the same destination, the discount edged down to twenty percent.
Some six weeks after Morton had bought the bonds, a ship arrived from India with word that a Colonel Oliver Bethune was embarking from Bombay to New Zealand with a regiment of Bengal lancers. That day, the bonds began trading at face value. During the following days, with the price increasing into the premium range, Morton began selling off his bonds.
When the last of the bonds were liquidated, Morton had passed an important milestone, becoming a wealthy man. Others would have found a way to mark the occasion, but his lifelong reserve governed him. After following his usual routine, he left his office at the same time as always, but inwardly he seethed with joy as he went through the dark, quiet streets.
When she took his coat, hat, and cane, Clara Tavish greeted him as she always did. "Was your day a pleasant one?"
"Yes, very pleasant indeed."
The reply was a contrast to his usual noncommittal grunt, and Clara looked at him again as she hung up his things. Gazing back at her in his tightly-contained happiness, it was almost as though he saw for the first time that she was slender and attractive, with pretty features and wide gray eyes. He also thought of a way to express his feelings.
Weeks had passed since she had been to his room, his every urge submerged into his concentration on his affairs when they were unsettled. He realized that she had become worried, wanting to hold the one who provided for her children. Studying his face, she moved closer to him and brushed her hand against his. He quickly grasped her hand, and she smiled in relief as they went up the stairs.
On her soft, yielding body, he celebrated his victory over the world at large, his achievements against those who had matched wits with him. It was a complete release for his seething exhilaration, as well as something more. His exultant joy touched her, making her respond. Only dutiful before in satisfying him, she suddenly joined him.
Sexual partners in the past, now they became lovers. Her supple body tensed as her smooth legs clenched his and her fingers dug into his back. Smothering her soft cries with her open lips against his, she met him with a fiercely demanding energy that awakened him to her, a formerly self-satisfying act becoming an entirel
y new world of experience for him.
Fulfilling their need had taken only minutes, but quenching their desire consumed hours as they joined again and then again. Then, late in the night, they went downstairs. She brought his belated dinner into the dining room. Her lips were bruised from their passionate kisses and they shared a new, secret knowledge of each other when their eyes met.
Thinking of his uncertain situation with her, he decided to make it more permanent. "My lodging here from month to month is unsatisfactory," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll establish a bank account for you."
"It's been satisfactory for me," she replied, smiling happily, "but I worry so much about my children and their future."
"You may put your worries to rest. Their future is secure, and I'll see to both their and your present comforts better."
Her silent, glowing gratitude, highly pleasing to him, also stirred his yearning again for that mysterious, blissful sharing he had found with her. When they went back upstairs, she started to turn toward her room. Then she smiled and went with him to his room as he took her hand.
The next day, after attending to the bank account for Clara, Morton went to his office, where the morning passed quickly as he planned strategies for the immediate future. During the afternoon, hearing his uncle talking with someone in the outer office, Morton walked to his office door. At the same time that his own financial situation had been improving by leaps and bounds, his uncle's had been declining, and the conversation indicated that Creighton was in danger of yet another financial reverse.
The visitor, wearing stockmen's clothes, was one of the men at the sheep station that Creighton had financed. The stockman was reciting a litany of woes, including illness among the families at the station and heavy losses of sheep to dingoes. Then he began talking about additional sources of revenue which Creighton had asked him to investigate.
Outback Station Page 33
