CHAPTER XCII.

HAMILTON K. FISKER AGAIN.

Ten days had passed since the meeting narrated in the last

chapter,--ten days, during which Hetta's letter had been sent to her

lover, but in which she had received no reply,--when two gentlemen

met each other in a certain room in Liverpool, who were seen together

in the same room in the early part of this chronicle. These were our

young friend Paul Montague, and our not much older friend Hamilton

K. Fisker. Melmotte had died on the 18th of July, and tidings of the

event had been at once sent by telegraph to San Francisco. Some weeks

before this Montague had written to his partner, giving his account

of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway Company,--describing

its condition in England as he then believed it to be,--and urging

Fisker to come over to London. On receipt of a message from his

American correspondent he had gone down to Liverpool, and had

there awaited Fisker's arrival, taking counsel with his friend

Mr. Ramsbottom. In the mean time Hetta's letter was lying at the

Beargarden, Paul having written from his club and having omitted to

desire that the answer should be sent to his lodgings. Just at this

moment things at the Beargarden were not well managed. They were

indeed so ill managed that Paul never received that letter,--which

would have had for him charms greater than those of any letter ever

before written.

"This is a terrible business," said Fisker, immediately on entering

the room in which Montague was waiting him. "He was the last man I'd

have thought would be cut up in that way."

"He was utterly ruined."

"He wouldn't have been ruined,--and couldn't have thought so if he'd

known all he ought to have known. The South Central would have pulled

him through a'most anything if he'd have understood how to play it."

"We don't think much of the South Central here now," said Paul.

"Ah;--that's because you've never above half spirit enough for a big

thing. You nibble at it instead of swallowing it whole,--and then, of

course, folks see that you're only nibbling. I thought that Melmotte

would have had spirit."

"There is, I fear, no doubt that he had committed forgery. It was the

dread of detection as to that which drove him to destroy himself."

"I call it dam clumsy from beginning to end;--dam clumsy. I took him

to be a different man, and I feel more than half ashamed of myself

because I trusted such a fellow. That chap Cohenlupe has got off with

a lot of swag. Only think of Melmotte allowing Cohenlupe to get the

better of him!"

"I suppose the thing will be broken up now at San Francisco,"

suggested Paul.

"Bu'st up at Frisco! Not if I know it. Why should it be bu'st up?

D'you think we're all going to smash there because a fool like

Melmotte blows his brains out in London?"

"He took poison."

"Or p'ison either. That's not just our way. I'll tell you what I'm

going to do; and why I'm over here so uncommon sharp. These shares

are at a'most nothing now in London. I'll buy every share in the

market. I wired for as many as I dar'd, so as not to spoil our own

game, and I'll make a clean sweep of every one of them. Bu'st up! I'm

sorry for him because I thought him a biggish man;--but what he's

done 'll just be the making of us over there. Will you get out of it,

or will you come back to Frisco with me?"

In answer to this Paul asserted most strenuously that he would

not return to San Francisco, and, perhaps too ingenuously, gave

his partner to understand that he was altogether sick of the great

railway, and would under no circumstances have anything more to

do with it. Fisker shrugged his shoulders, and was not displeased

at the proposed rupture. He was prepared to deal fairly,--nay,

generously,--by his partner, having recognised the wisdom of that

great commercial rule which teaches us that honour should prevail

among associates of a certain class; but he had fully convinced

himself that Paul Montague was not a fit partner for Hamilton K.

Fisker. Fisker was not only unscrupulous himself, but he had a

thorough contempt for scruples in others. According to his theory of

life, nine hundred and ninety-nine men were obscure because of their

scruples, whilst the thousandth man predominated and cropped up into

the splendour of commercial wealth because he was free from such

bondage. He had his own theories, too, as to commercial honesty. That

which he had promised to do he would do, if it was within his power.

He was anxious that his bond should be good, and his word equally

so. But the work of robbing mankind in gross by magnificently false

representations, was not only the duty, but also the delight and the

ambition of his life. How could a man so great endure a partnership

with one so small as Paul Montague? "And now what about Winifrid

Hurtle?" asked Fisker.

"What makes you ask? She's in London."

"Oh yes, I know she's in London, and Hurtle's at Frisco, swearing

that he'll come after her. He would, only he hasn't got the dollars."

"He's not dead then?" muttered Paul.

"Dead!--no, nor likely to die. She'll have a bad time of it with him

yet."

"But she divorced him."

"She got a Kansas lawyer to say so, and he's got a Frisco lawyer to

say that there's nothing of the kind. She hasn't played her game

badly neither, for she's had the handling of her own money, and has

put it so that he can't get hold of a dollar. Even if it suited other

ways, you know, I wouldn't marry her myself till I saw my way clearer

out of the wood."

"I'm not thinking of marrying her,--if you mean that."

"There was a talk about it in Frisco;--that's all. And I have heard

Hurtle say when he was a little farther gone than usual that she was

here with you, and that he meant to drop in on you some of these

days." To this Paul made no answer, thinking that he had now both

heard enough and said enough about Mrs. Hurtle.

On the following day the two men, who were still partners, went

together to London, and Fisker immediately became immersed in the

arrangement of Melmotte's affairs. He put himself into communication

with Mr. Brehgert, went in and out of the offices in Abchurch

Lane and the rooms which had belonged to the Railway Company,

cross-examined Croll, mastered the books of the Company as far as

they were to be mastered, and actually summoned both the Grendalls,

father and son, up to London. Lord Alfred, and Miles with him, had

left London a day or two before Melmotte's death,--having probably

perceived that there was no further occasion for their services. To

Fisker's appeal Lord Alfred was proudly indifferent. Who was this

American that he should call upon a director of the London Company

to appear? Does not every one know that a director of a company need

not direct unless he pleases? Lord Alfred, therefore, did not even

condescend to answer Fisker's letter;--but he advised his son to run

up to town. "I should just go, because I'd taken a salary from the

d---- Company," said the careful father, "but when there I wouldn't

say a word." So Miles Grendall, obeying his parent, reappeared upon

the scene.

But Fisker's attention was perhaps most usefully and most sedulously

paid to Madame Melmotte and her daughter. Till Fisker arrived no one

had visited them in their solitude at Hampstead, except Croll, the

clerk. Mr. Brehgert had abstained, thinking that a widow, who had

become a widow under such terrible circumstances, would prefer to be

alone. Lord Nidderdale had made his adieux, and felt that he could do

no more. It need hardly be said that Lord Alfred had too much good

taste to interfere at such a time, although for some months he had

been domestically intimate with the poor woman, or that Sir Felix

would not be prompted by the father's death to renew his suit to

the daughter. But Fisker had not been two days in London before

he went out to Hampstead, and was admitted to Madame Melmotte's

presence;--and he had not been there four days before he was aware

that in spite of all misfortunes, Marie Melmotte was still the

undoubted possessor of a large fortune.

In regard to Melmotte's effects generally the Crown had been induced

to abstain from interfering,--giving up the right to all the man's

plate and chairs and tables which it had acquired by the finding of

the coroner's verdict,--not from tenderness to Madame Melmotte, for

whom no great commiseration was felt, but on behalf of such creditors

as poor Mr. Longestaffe and his son. But Marie's money was quite

distinct from this. She had been right in her own belief as to

this property, and had been right, too, in refusing to sign those

papers,--unless it may be that that refusal led to her father's act.

She herself was sure that it was not so, because she had withdrawn

her refusal, and had offered to sign the papers before her father's

death. What might have been the ultimate result had she done so when

he first made the request, no one could now say. That the money

would have gone there could be no doubt. The money was now hers,--a

fact which Fisker soon learned with that peculiar cleverness which

belonged to him.

Poor Madame Melmotte felt the visits of the American to be a relief

to her in her misery. The world makes great mistakes as to that

which is and is not beneficial to those whom Death has bereaved of

a companion. It may be, no doubt sometimes it is the case, that

grief shall be so heavy, so absolutely crushing, as to make any

interference with it an additional trouble, and this is felt also in

acute bodily pain, and in periods of terrible mental suffering. It

may also be, and, no doubt, often is the case, that the bereaved one

chooses to affect such overbearing sorrow, and that friends abstain,

because even such affectation has its own rights and privileges. But

Madame Melmotte was neither crushed by grief nor did she affect to

be so crushed. She had been numbed by the suddenness and by the awe

of the catastrophe. The man who had been her merciless tyrant for

years, who had seemed to her to be a very incarnation of cruel power,

had succumbed, and shown himself to be powerless against his own

misfortunes. She was a woman of very few words, and had spoken almost

none on this occasion even to her own daughter; but when Fisker came

to her, and told her more than she had ever known before of her

husband's affairs, and spoke to her of her future life, and mixed for

her a small glass of brandy-and-water warm, and told her that Frisco

would be the fittest place for her future residence, she certainly

did not find him to be intrusive.

And even Marie liked Fisker, though she had been wooed and almost

won both by a lord and a baronet, and had understood, if not much,

at least more than her mother, of the life to which she had been

introduced. There was something of real sorrow in her heart for her

father. She was prone to love,--though, perhaps, not prone to deep

affection. Melmotte had certainly been often cruel to her, but he

had also been very indulgent. And as she had never been specially

grateful for the one, so neither had she ever specially resented the

other. Tenderness, care, real solicitude for her well-being, she

had never known, and had come to regard the unevenness of her life,

vacillating between knocks and knick-knacks, with a blow one day and

a jewel the next, as the condition of things which was natural to

her. When her father was dead she remembered for a while the jewels

and the knick-knacks, and forgot the knocks and blows. But she

was not beyond consolation, and she also found consolation in Mr.

Fisker's visits.

"I used to sign a paper every quarter," she said to Fisker, as they

were walking together one evening in the lanes round Hampstead.

"You'll have to do the same now, only instead of giving the paper to

any one you'll have to leave it in a banker's hands to draw the money

for yourself."

"And can that be done over in California?"

"Just the same as here. Your bankers will manage it all for you

without the slightest trouble. For the matter of that I'll do it,

if you'll trust me. There's only one thing against it all, Miss

Melmotte."

"And what's that?"

"After the sort of society you've been used to here, I don't know how

you'll get on among us Americans. We're a pretty rough lot, I guess.

Though, perhaps, what you lose in the look of the fruit, you'll make

up in the flavour." This Fisker said in a somewhat plaintive tone,

as though fearing that the manifest substantial advantages of Frisco

would not suffice to atone for the loss of that fashion to which Miss

Melmotte had been used.

"I hate swells," said Marie, flashing round upon him.

"Do you now?"

"Like poison. What's the use of 'em? They never mean a word that they

say,--and they don't say so many words either. They're never more

than half awake, and don't care the least about anybody. I hate

London."

"Do you now?"

"Oh, don't I?"

"I wonder whether you'd hate Frisco?"

"I rather think it would be a jolly sort of place."

"Very jolly I find it. And I wonder whether you'd hate--me?"

"Mr. Fisker, that's nonsense. Why should I hate anybody?"

"But you do. I've found out one or two that you don't love. If you

do come to Frisco, I hope you won't just hate me, you know." Then he

took her gently by the arm;--but she, whisking herself away rapidly,

bade him behave himself. Then they returned to their lodgings, and

Mr. Fisker, before he went back to London, mixed a little warm

brandy-and-water for Madame Melmotte. I think that upon the whole

Madame Melmotte was more comfortable at Hampstead than she had

been either in Grosvenor Square or Bruton Street, although she was

certainly not a thing beautiful to look at in her widow's weeds.

"I don't think much of you as a book-keeper, you know," Fisker said

to Miles Grendall in the now almost deserted Board-room of the

South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway. Miles, remembering his

father's advice, answered not a word, but merely looked with assumed

amazement at the impertinent stranger who dared thus to censure his

performances. Fisker had made three or four remarks previous to

this, and had appealed both to Paul Montague and to Croll, who were

present. He had invited also the attendance of Sir Felix Carbury,

Lord Nidderdale, and Mr. Longestaffe, who were all Directors;--but

none of them had come. Sir Felix had paid no attention to Fisker's

letter. Lord Nidderdale had written a short but characteristic reply.

"Dear Mr. Fisker,--I really don't know anything about it. Yours,

Nidderdale." Mr. Longestaffe, with laborious zeal, had closely

covered four pages with his reasons for non-attendance, with which

the reader shall not be troubled, and which it may be doubted whether

even Fisker perused to the end. "Upon my word," continued Fisker,

"it's astonishing to me that Melmotte should have put up with this

kind of thing. I suppose you understand something of business, Mr.

Croll?"

"It vas not my department, Mr. Fisker," said the German.

"Nor anybody else's either," said the domineering American. "Of

course it's on the cards, Mr. Grendall, that we shall have to put you

into a witness-box, because there are certain things we must get at."

Miles was silent as the grave, but at once made up his mind that he

would pass his autumn at some pleasant but economical German retreat,

and that his autumnal retirement should be commenced within a very

few days;--or perhaps hours might suffice.

But Fisker was not in earnest in his threat. In truth the greater

the confusion in the London office, the better, he thought, were the

prospects of the Company at San Francisco. Miles underwent purgatory

on this occasion for three or four hours, and when dismissed had

certainly revealed none of Melmotte's secrets. He did, however, go

to Germany, finding that a temporary absence from England would be

comfortable to him in more respects than one,--and need not be heard

of again in these pages.

When Melmotte's affairs were ultimately wound up there was found to

be nearly enough of property to satisfy all his proved liabilities.

Very many men started up with huge claims, asserting that they had

been robbed, and in the confusion it was hard to ascertain who had

been robbed, or who had simply been unsuccessful in their attempts to

rob others. Some, no doubt, as was the case with poor Mr. Brehgert,

had speculated in dependence on Melmotte's sagacity, and had lost

heavily without dishonesty. But of those who, like the Longestaffes,

were able to prove direct debts, the condition at last was not very

sad. Our excellent friend Dolly got his money early in the day, and

was able, under Mr. Squercum's guidance, to start himself on a new

career. Having paid his debts, and with still a large balance at his

bankers', he assured his friend Nidderdale that he meant to turn over

an entirely new leaf. "I shall just make Squercum allow me so much a

month, and I shall have all the bills and that kind of thing sent to

him, and he will do everything, and pull me up if I'm getting wrong.

I like Squercum."

"Won't he rob you, old fellow?" suggested Nidderdale.

"Of course he will;--but he won't let any one else do it. One has

to be plucked, but it's everything to have it done on a system. If

he'll only let me have ten shillings out of every sovereign I think

I can get along." Let us hope that Mr. Squercum was merciful, and

that Dolly was enabled to live in accordance with his virtuous

resolutions.

But these things did not arrange themselves till late in the

winter,--long after Mr. Fisker's departure for California. That,

however, was protracted till a day much later than he had anticipated

before he had become intimate with Madame Melmotte and Marie. Madame

Melmotte's affairs occupied him for a while almost exclusively. The

furniture and plate were of course sold for the creditors, but Madame

Melmotte was allowed to take whatever she declared to be specially

her own property;--and, though much was said about the jewels, no

attempt was made to recover them. Marie advised Madame Melmotte to

give them up, assuring the old woman that she should have whatever

she wanted for her maintenance. But it was not likely that Melmotte's

widow would willingly abandon any property, and she did not abandon

her jewels. It was agreed between her and Fisker that they were to

be taken to New York. "You'll get as much there as in London, if you

like to part with them; and nobody 'll say anything about it there.

You couldn't sell a locket or a chain here without all the world

talking about it."

In all these things Madame Melmotte put herself into Fisker's hands

with the most absolute confidence,--and, indeed, with a confidence

that was justified by its results. It was not by robbing an old woman

that Fisker intended to make himself great. To Madame Melmotte's

thinking, Fisker was the finest gentleman she had ever met,--so

infinitely pleasanter in his manner than Lord Alfred even when Lord

Alfred had been most gracious, with so much more to say for himself

than Miles Grendall, understanding her so much better than any man

had ever done,--especially when he supplied her with those small warm

beakers of sweet brandy-and-water. "I shall do whatever he tells me,"

she said to Marie. "I'm sure I've nothing to keep me here in this

country."

"I'm willing to go," said Marie. "I don't want to stay in London."

"I suppose you'll take him if he asks you?"

"I don't know anything about that," said Marie. "A man may be very

well without one's wanting to marry him. I don't think I'll marry

anybody. What's the use? It's only money. Nobody cares for anything

else. Fisker's all very well; but he only wants the money. Do you

think Fisker'd ask me to marry him if I hadn't got anything? Not he!

He ain't slow enough for that."

"I think he's a very nice young man," said Madame Melmotte.