CHAPTER LXXXIII.

MELMOTTE AGAIN AT THE HOUSE.

On that Thursday afternoon it was known everywhere that there was to

be a general ruin of all the Melmotte affairs. As soon as Cohenlupe

had gone, no man doubted. The City men who had not gone to the dinner

prided themselves on their foresight, as did also the politicians

who had declined to meet the Emperor of China at the table of the

suspected Financier. They who had got up the dinner and had been

instrumental in taking the Emperor to the house in Grosvenor Square,

and they also who had brought him forward at Westminster and had

fought his battle for him, were aware that they would have to defend

themselves against heavy attacks. No one now had a word to say in

his favour, or a doubt as to his guilt. The Grendalls had retired

altogether out of town, and were no longer even heard of. Lord Alfred

had not been seen since the day of the dinner. The Duchess of Albury,

too, went into the country some weeks earlier than usual, quelled, as

the world said, by the general Melmotte failure. But this departure

had not as yet taken place at the time at which we have now arrived.

When the Speaker took his seat in the House, soon after four o'clock,

there were a great many members present, and a general feeling

prevailed that the world was more than ordinarily alive because

of Melmotte and his failures. It had been confidently asserted

throughout the morning that he would be put upon his trial for

forgery in reference to the purchase of the Pickering property from

Mr. Longestaffe, and it was known that he had not as yet shown

himself anywhere on this day. People had gone to look at the house

in Grosvenor Square,--not knowing that he was still living in Mr.

Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, and had come away with the

impression that the desolation of ruin and crime was already plainly

to be seen upon it. "I wonder where he is," said Mr. Lupton to Mr.

Beauchamp Beauclerk in one of the lobbies of the House.

"They say he hasn't been in the City all day. I suppose he's in

Longestaffe's house. That poor fellow has got it heavy all round. The

man has got his place in the country and his house in town. There's

Nidderdale. I wonder what he thinks about it all."

"This is awful;--ain't it?" said Nidderdale.

"It might have been worse, I should say, as far as you are

concerned," replied Mr. Lupton.

"Well, yes. But I'll tell you what, Lupton. I don't quite understand

it all yet. Our lawyer said three days ago that the money was

certainly there."

"And Cohenlupe was certainly here three days ago," said Lupton;--"but

he isn't here now. It seems to me that it has just happened in time

for you." Lord Nidderdale shook his head and tried to look very

grave.

"There's Brown," said Sir Orlando Drought, hurrying up to the

commercial gentleman whose mistakes about finance Mr. Melmotte on a

previous occasion had been anxious to correct. "He'll be able to tell

us where he is. It was rumoured, you know, an hour ago, that he was

off to the continent after Cohenlupe." But Mr. Brown shook his head.

Mr. Brown didn't know anything. But Mr. Brown was very strongly of

opinion that the police would know all that there was to be known

about Mr. Melmotte before this time on the following day. Mr. Brown

had been very bitter against Melmotte since that memorable attack

made upon him in the House.

Even ministers as they sat to be badgered by the ordinary

question-mongers of the day were more intent upon Melmotte than

upon their own defence. "Do you know anything about it?" asked the

Chancellor of the Exchequer of the Secretary of State for the Home

Department.

"I understand that no order has been given for his arrest. There is

a general opinion that he has committed forgery; but I doubt whether

they've got their evidence together."

"He's a ruined man, I suppose," said the Chancellor.

"I doubt whether he ever was a rich man. But I'll tell you what;--he

has been about the grandest rogue we've seen yet. He must have spent

over a hundred thousand pounds during the last twelve months on his

personal expenses. I wonder how the Emperor will like it when he

learns the truth." Another minister sitting close to the Secretary of

State was of opinion that the Emperor of China would not care half so

much about it as our own First Lord of the Treasury.

At this moment there came a silence over the House which was almost

audible. They who know the sensation which arises from the continued

hum of many suppressed voices will know also how plain to the

ear is the feeling caused by the discontinuance of the sound.

Everybody looked up, but everybody looked up in perfect silence. An

Under-Secretary of State had just got upon his legs to answer a most

indignant question as to an alteration of the colour of the facings

of a certain regiment, his prepared answer to which, however, was so

happy as to allow him to anticipate quite a little triumph. It is not

often that such a Godsend comes in the way of an under-secretary; and

he was intent upon his performance. But even he was startled into

momentary oblivion of his well-arranged point. Augustus Melmotte, the

member for Westminster, was walking up the centre of the House.

He had succeeded by this time in learning so much of the forms of

the House as to know what to do with his hat,--when to wear it, and

when to take it off,--and how to sit down. As he entered by the door

facing the Speaker, he wore his hat on one side of his head, as was

his custom. Much of the arrogance of his appearance had come from

this habit, which had been adopted probably from a conviction that it

added something to his powers of self-assertion. At this moment he

was more determined than ever that no one should trace in his outer

gait or in any feature of his face any sign of that ruin which, as

he well knew, all men were anticipating. Therefore, perhaps, his hat

was a little more cocked than usual, and the lapels of his coat were

thrown back a little wider, displaying the large jewelled studs which

he wore in his shirt; and the arrogance conveyed by his mouth and

chin was specially conspicuous. He had come down in his brougham, and

as he had walked up Westminster Hall and entered the House by the

private door of the members, and then made his way in across the

great lobby and between the doorkeepers,--no one had spoken a word

to him. He had of course seen many whom he had known. He had indeed

known nearly all whom he had seen;--but he had been aware, from the

beginning of this enterprise of the day, that men would shun him, and

that he must bear their cold looks and colder silence without seeming

to notice them. He had schooled himself to the task, and he was now

performing it. It was not only that he would have to move among men

without being noticed, but that he must endure to pass the whole

evening in the same plight. But he was resolved, and he was now doing

it. He bowed to the Speaker with more than usual courtesy, raising

his hat with more than usual care, and seated himself, as usual,

on the third opposition-bench, but with more than his usual fling.

He was a big man, who always endeavoured to make an effect by

deportment, and was therefore customarily conspicuous in his

movements. He was desirous now of being as he was always, neither

more nor less demonstrative;--but, as a matter of course, he

exceeded; and it seemed to those who looked at him that there was a

special impudence in the manner in which he walked up the House and

took his seat. The Under-Secretary of State, who was on his legs, was

struck almost dumb, and his morsel of wit about the facings was lost

to Parliament for ever.

That unfortunate young man, Lord Nidderdale, occupied the seat next

to that on which Melmotte had placed himself. It had so happened

three or four times since Melmotte had been in the House, as the

young lord, fully intending to marry the Financier's daughter, had

resolved that he would not be ashamed of his father-in-law. He

had understood that countenance of the sort which he as a young

aristocrat could give to the man of millions who had risen no one

knew whence, was part of the bargain in reference to the marriage,

and he was gifted with a mingled honesty and courage which together

made him willing and able to carry out his idea. He had given

Melmotte little lessons as to ordinary forms of the House, and had

done what in him lay to earn the money which was to be forthcoming.

But it had become manifest both to him and to his father during the

last two days,--very painfully manifest to his father,--that the

thing must be abandoned. And if so,--then why should he be any longer

gracious to Melmotte? And, moreover, though he had been ready to be

courteous to a very vulgar and a very disagreeable man, he was not

anxious to extend his civilities to one who, as he was now assured,

had been certainly guilty of forgery. But to get up at once and leave

his seat because Melmotte had placed himself by his side, did not

suit the turn of his mind. He looked round to his neighbour on the

right, with a half-comic look of misery, and then prepared himself to

bear his punishment, whatever it might be.

"Have you been up with Marie to-day?" said Melmotte.

"No;--I've not," replied the lord.

"Why don't you go? She's always asking about you now. I hope we shall

be in our own house again next week, and then we shall be able to

make you comfortable."

Could it be possible that the man did not know that all the world

was united in accusing him of forgery? "I'll tell you what it is,"

said Nidderdale. "I think you had better see my governor again, Mr.

Melmotte."

"There's nothing wrong, I hope."

"Well;--I don't know. You'd better see him. I'm going now. I only

just came down to enter an appearance." He had to cross Melmotte on

his way out, and as he did so Melmotte grasped him by the hand. "Good

night, my boy," said Melmotte quite aloud,--in a voice much louder

than that which members generally allow themselves for conversation.

Nidderdale was confused and unhappy; but there was probably not a man

in the House who did not understand the whole thing. He rushed down

through the gangway and out through the doors with a hurried step,

and as he escaped into the lobby he met Lionel Lupton, who, since his

little conversation with Mr. Beauclerk, had heard further news.

"You know what has happened, Nidderdale?"

"About Melmotte, you mean?"

"Yes, about Melmotte," continued Lupton. "He has been arrested in his

own house within the last half-hour on a charge of forgery."

"I wish he had," said Nidderdale, "with all my heart. If you go in

you'll find him sitting there as large as life. He has been talking

to me as though everything were all right."

"Compton was here not a moment ago, and said that he had been taken

under a warrant from the Lord Mayor."

"The Lord Mayor is a member and had better come and fetch his

prisoner himself. At any rate he's there. I shouldn't wonder if he

wasn't on his legs before long."

Melmotte kept his seat steadily till seven, at which hour the House

adjourned till nine. He was one of the last to leave, and then with

a slow step,--with almost majestic steps,--he descended to the

dining-room and ordered his dinner. There were many men there, and

some little difficulty about a seat. No one was very willing to make

room for him. But at last he secured a place, almost jostling some

unfortunate who was there before him. It was impossible to expel

him,--almost as impossible to sit next him. Even the waiters were

unwilling to serve him;--but with patience and endurance he did at

last get his dinner. He was there in his right, as a member of the

House of Commons, and there was no ground on which such service as

he required could be refused to him. It was not long before he had

the table all to himself. But of this he took no apparent notice.

He spoke loudly to the waiters and drank his bottle of champagne

with much apparent enjoyment. Since his friendly intercourse with

Nidderdale no one had spoken to him, nor had he spoken to any man.

They who watched him declared among themselves that he was happy in

his own audacity;--but in truth he was probably at that moment the

most utterly wretched man in London. He would have better studied

his personal comfort had he gone to his bed, and spent his evening

in groans and wailings. But even he, with all the world now gone

from him, with nothing before him but the extremest misery which the

indignation of offended laws could inflict, was able to spend the

last moments of his freedom in making a reputation at any rate for

audacity. It was thus that Augustus Melmotte wrapped his toga around

him before his death!

He went from the dining-room to the smoking-room, and there, taking

from his pocket a huge case which he always carried, proceeded to

light a cigar about eight inches long. Mr. Brown, from the City, was

in the room, and Melmotte, with a smile and a bow, offered Mr. Brown

one of the same. Mr. Brown was a short, fat, round little man, over

sixty, who was always endeavouring to give to a somewhat commonplace

set of features an air of importance by the contraction of his lips

and the knitting of his brows. It was as good as a play to see Mr.

Brown jumping back from any contact with the wicked one, and putting

on a double frown as he looked at the impudent sinner. "You needn't

think so much, you know, of what I said the other night. I didn't

mean any offence." So spoke Melmotte, and then laughed with a loud,

hoarse laugh, looking round upon the assembled crowd as though he

were enjoying his triumph.

He sat after that and smoked in silence. Once again he burst out

into a laugh, as though peculiarly amused with his own thoughts;--as

though he were declaring to himself with much inward humour that all

these men around him were fools for believing the stories which they

had heard; but he made no further attempt to speak to any one. Soon

after nine he went back again into the House, and again took his old

place. At this time he had swallowed three glasses of brandy and

water, as well as the champagne, and was brave enough almost for

anything. There was some debate going on in reference to the game

laws,--a subject on which Melmotte was as ignorant as one of his own

housemaids,--but, as some speaker sat down, he jumped up to his legs.

Another gentleman had also risen, and when the House called to that

other gentleman Melmotte gave way. The other gentleman had not much

to say, and in a few minutes Melmotte was again on his legs. Who

shall dare to describe the thoughts which would cross the august mind

of a Speaker of the House of Commons at such a moment? Of Melmotte's

villainy he had no official knowledge. And even could he have had

such knowledge it was not for him to act upon it. The man was a

member of the House, and as much entitled to speak as another. But

it seemed on that occasion that the Speaker was anxious to save the

House from disgrace;--for twice and thrice he refused to have his

"eye caught" by the member for Westminster. As long as any other

member would rise he would not have his eye caught. But Melmotte was

persistent, and determined not to be put down. At last no one else

would speak, and the House was about to negative the motion without

a division,--when Melmotte was again on his legs, still persisting.

The Speaker scowled at him and leaned back in his chair. Melmotte

standing erect, turning his head round from one side of the House

to another, as though determined that all should see his audacity,

propping himself with his knees against the seat before him, remained

for half a minute perfectly silent. He was drunk,--but better able

than most drunken men to steady himself, and showing in his face

none of those outward signs of intoxication by which drunkenness is

generally made apparent. But he had forgotten in his audacity that

words are needed for the making of a speech, and now he had not a

word at his command. He stumbled forward, recovered himself, then

looked once more round the House with a glance of anger, and after

that toppled headlong forward over the shoulders of Mr. Beauchamp

Beauclerk, who was now sitting in front of him.

He might have wrapped his toga around him better perhaps had he

remained at home, but if to have himself talked about was his only

object, he could hardly have taken a surer course. The scene, as it

occurred, was one very likely to be remembered when the performer

should have been carried away into enforced obscurity. There was much

commotion in the House. Mr. Beauclerk, a man of natural good nature,

though at the moment put to considerable personal inconvenience,

hastened, when he recovered his own equilibrium, to assist the

drunken man. But Melmotte had by no means lost the power of helping

himself. He quickly recovered his legs, and then reseating himself,

put his hat on, and endeavoured to look as though nothing special had

occurred. The House resumed its business, taking no further notice of

Melmotte, and having no special rule of its own as to the treatment

to be adopted with drunken members. But the member for Westminster

caused no further inconvenience. He remained in his seat for perhaps

ten minutes, and then, not with a very steady step, but still with

capacity sufficient for his own guidance, he made his way down to the

doors. His exit was watched in silence, and the moment was an anxious

one for the Speaker, the clerks, and all who were near him. Had he

fallen some one,--or rather some two or three,--must have picked him

up and carried him out. But he did not fall either there or in the

lobbies, or on his way down to Palace Yard. Many were looking at him,

but none touched him. When he had got through the gates, leaning

against the wall he hallooed for his brougham, and the servant who

was waiting for him soon took him home to Bruton Street. That was

the last which the British Parliament saw of its new member for

Westminster.

Melmotte as soon as he reached home got into his own sitting-room

without difficulty, and called for more brandy and water. Between

eleven and twelve he was left there by his servant with a bottle

of brandy, three or four bottles of soda-water, and his cigar-case.

Neither of the ladies of the family came to him, nor did he speak of

them. Nor was he so drunk then as to give rise to any suspicion in

the mind of the servant. He was habitually left there at night, and

the servant as usual went to his bed. But at nine o'clock on the

following morning the maid-servant found him dead upon the floor.

Drunk as he had been,--more drunk as he probably became during the

night,--still he was able to deliver himself from the indignities

and penalties to which the law might have subjected him by a dose of

prussic acid.