The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

more certain than that Mr. Alf was making a fool of himself in regard to the Westminster election and those attacks on Melmotte. “The world of London generally knows what it is about,” said Mr. Broune, “and the London world believes Mr. Melmotte to be sound. I don’t pretend to say that he has never done anything that he ought not to do. I am not going into his antecedents. But he is a man of wealth, power, and genius, and Alf will get the worst of it.” Under such teaching as this, Lady Carbury was almost obliged to give up Mr. Alf.

Sometimes they would sit in the front room with Hetta, to whom also Mr. Broune had become attached; but sometimes Lady Carbury would be in her own sanctum. On this evening she received him there, and at once poured forth all her troubles about Felix. On this occasion she told him everything, and almost told him everything truly. He had already heard the story. “The young lady went down to Liverpool, and Sir Felix was not there.”

“He could not have been there. He has been in bed in this house all day. Did she go?”

“So I am told;⁠—and was met at the station by the senior officer of the police at Liverpool, who brought her back to London without letting her go down to the ship at all. She must have thought that her lover was on board;⁠—probably thinks so now. I pity her.”

“How much worse it would have been, had she been allowed to start,” said Lady Carbury.

“Yes; that would have been bad. She would have had a sad journey to New York, and a sadder journey back. Has your son told you anything about money?”

“What money?”

“They say that the girl entrusted him with a large sum which she had taken from her father. If that be so he certainly ought to lose no time in restoring it. It might be done through some friend. I would do it for that matter. If it be so⁠—to avoid unpleasantness⁠—it should be sent back at once. It will be for his credit.” This Mr. Broune said with a clear intimation of the importance of his advice.

It was dreadful to Lady Carbury. She had no money to give back, nor, as she was well aware, had her son. She had heard nothing of any money. What did Mr. Broune mean by a large sum? “That would be dreadful,” she said.

“Had you not better ask him about it?”

Lady Carbury was again in tears. She knew that she could not hope to get a word of truth from her son. “What do you mean by a large sum?”

“Two or three hundred pounds, perhaps.”

“I have not a shilling in the world, Mr. Broune.” Then it all came out⁠—the whole story of her poverty, as it had been brought about by her son’s misconduct. She told him every detail of her money affairs from the death of her husband, and his will, up to the present moment.

“He is eating you up, Lady Carbury.” Lady Carbury thought that she was nearly eaten up already, but she said nothing. “You must put a stop to this.”

“But how?”

“You must rid yourself of him. It is dreadful to say so, but it must be done. You must not see your daughter ruined. Find out what money he got from Miss Melmotte and I will see that it is repaid. That must be done;⁠—and we will then try to get him to go abroad. No;⁠—do not contradict me. We can talk of the money another time. I must be off now, as I have stayed too long. Do as I bid you. Make him tell you, and send me word down to the office. If you could do it early tomorrow, that would be best. God bless you.” And so he hurried off.

Early on the following morning a letter from Lady Carbury was put into Mr. Broune’s hands, giving the story of the money as far as she had been able to extract it from Sir Felix. Sir Felix declared that Mr. Melmotte had owed him £600, and that he had received £250 out of this from Miss Melmotte⁠—so that there was still a large balance due to him. Lady Carbury went on to say that her son had at last confessed that he had lost this money at play. The story was fairly true; but Lady Carbury in her letter acknowledged that she was not justified in believing it because it was told to her by her son.

LIII A Day in the City

Melmotte had got back his daughter, and was half inclined to let the matter rest there. He would probably have done so had he not known that all his own household were aware that she had gone off to meet Sir Felix Carbury, and had he not also received the condolence of certain friends in the city. It seemed that about two o’clock in the day the matter was known to everybody. Of course Lord Nidderdale would hear of it, and if so all the trouble that he had taken in that direction would have been taken in vain. Stupid fool of a girl to throw away her chance⁠—nay, to throw away the certainty of a brilliant career, in that way! But his anger against Sir Felix was infinitely more bitter than his anger against his daughter. The man had pledged himself to abstain from any step of this kind⁠—had given a written pledge⁠—had renounced under his own signature his intention of marrying Marie! Melmotte had of course learned all the details of the cheque for £250⁠—how the money had been paid at the bank to Didon, and how Didon had given it to Sir Felix. Marie herself acknowledged that Sir Felix had received the money. If possible he would prosecute the baronet for stealing his money.

Had Melmotte been altogether a prudent man he would probably have been satisfied with getting back his daughter and would have allowed the money