Charles Palliser (17 page)

Mr Sancious looks very knowing: “Well, ma’am, where for example the attorney becomes aware that there are remote possibilities of eventualities occurring to affect his client’s interests either for good or for ill, and does not wish either to alarm his client or to raise hopes that may be unfulfilled.”

“And of course you have Mrs Clothier’s interests at heart,” the widow remarks.

“Indeed I do, ma’am,” he answers earnestly.

“You promise me that absolutely?”

“I do unreservedly. I should be grossly betraying my honourable profession if I confessed to any other motive.”

Mrs Fortisquince appears to reflect for some moments before saying: “If I were to agree to help you, what would you like me to tell you?”

“I need to know her unmarried name and something of her family connexions.”

“Mr Sancious, I am again at a loss to understand you. You know the name of the family into which she married, and since it is one that is known — not to say, notorious

— in the commercial world, you should, with very little trouble, be able to learn what you wish by that means.”

“Mellamphy? Notorious?” he begins in surprise, then breaks off. “I beg your pardon.

Her real name. Of course. Clothier. I was becoming confused.”

“I was saying that I greatly regret that I am unable to tell you anything more. My late husband involved himself in Mrs Clothier’s affairs as an act of simple kindness, and I therefore feel that her interests are really no business of mine.”

“Thank you, Mrs Fortisquince,” the attorney says, accepting his dismissal and rising with a smile. “I am most grateful to you.”

As Mrs Fortisquince speaks she rises and pulls the bell-rope beside her: “But I have told you nothing that you did not already know.”

“And in doing so have been most helpful.”

As the door opens Mr Sancious bows and withdraws, while his hostess sits frowning slightly on the ottoman.

Let us imagine that it is near shutting-up time on a cold wet winter’s evening and that we are following Mr Sancious once again a day or two after we last encountered him. He descends Ludgate-hill, making for the river through a labyrinth of back ways until, a little to the west of Upper-Thames-street, he finds himself at the top of a dark narrow alley which declines by a cobbled lane towards one of the old Thameside stairs. He cautiously descends and, reaching

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the river’s edge, peers about him. The only light is coming from a window in the ground-floor of one of the tall houses whose backs line the alley. It appears that the premises are being employed as a counting-house, and when Mr Sancious peeps through the filthy window-panes he sees that the gas is burning low and that, although it is very cold, the coal-fire is banked up.

As Mr Sancious walks into the outer office a figure rises from a high desk and comes towards him. He is about fifty, of middling height but stoutly-built, with a balding head and a rather round puffy countenance that is very red about the eyes and nose. He is clad in a snuff-coloured coat with large brass buttons, a canary-yellow waistcoat, and velveteen breeches. “Good evening, sir. Have I the honour of addressing Mr Sancious?”

he asks, dabbing at his watering eyes with a large handkerchief.

“That is my name,” the attorney replies with a smile.

“Then my Guv’nor is expecting you, sir. Will you be so good as to come this way?”

The clerk is about to turn away when the lawyer arrests him with a movement of his hand: “One moment, if you please. It is now six o’clock. When my business here is finished I will be close upon my usual hour for dining. I have another engagement hereabouts and since I am unfamiliar with this neighbourhood, I wonder if you could be so good as to direct me to a nearby eating-house?”

“Nothing easier, sir. There’s Millichamp’s just at the corner of the alley. You may have remarked it as you came in.”

“And can you give it a personal recommendation?”

“Oh yes, sir. I usually take my dinner there. In fact, I’ll be going there very soon myself.”

“Then I may have the pleasure of seeing you there,” says Mr Sancious with a little bow.

“It would be an honour, sir,” replies the clerk with a corresponding bow.

“What the devil is keeping you, Vulliamy!” a voice suddenly shouts from the inner office. “I don’t pay you to gossip, you infernal rattle!”

“No indeed, sir, just coming,” says the clerk pushing open the door and showing Mr Sancious the way.

The private closet is small and pervaded by a bitter smell that puts Mr Sancious strangely in mind of dead flies. It is so dark that it is with difficulty that the lawyer makes out a figure lurking in a dusty corner at the opposite end. He hears a rustling of papers and then a high thin voice: “What do you want of me, Mr Sancious?”

Mr Vulliamy turns up the gas-jet projecting from the wall by the door and then withdraws. There is just enough light for Mr Sancious to make out that the old gentleman who is Mr Vulliamy’s Guv’nor — now blinking at the light and shielding his eyes — is small and thin with a pale face. His features are sharp, his pale grey eyes flickering restlessly and his thin mouth frequently opening slightly as he runs his tongue suspiciously along his upper lip. He is wearing a small wig that sits on his scull like a rotted cauliflower, a yellowed stock, a long green coat of old-fashioned style which is patched and dirty, a waistcoat whose faded stripes are still visible, and tight nankeen breeches.

“I have come to enquire about the placing of a sum of money on behalf of a client of mine,” the attorney answers.

At these words the old man’s face is lit up by an almost innocent expression of delight.

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“Have you indeed?” he exclaims and scuttles out of his corner towards his visiter, his skinny legs seeming to carry him along almost independently of his body and his will.

Now Mr Sancious sees that although he is so thin he has an incongruously bulging belly.

As the old gentleman reaches out one of his long arms the attorney takes his hand and flinches slightly at its clamminess. “Then I’m very pleased to see you, Mr Sancious. I thought you were here on quite another matter. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Mr Sancious does so as the old man smiles and rubs his hands together :

“Will you take something?”

“You’re very kind, sir.”

“Brandy and water?”

“Thank you.”

“Very good,” says the old gentleman as if his guest had said something very witty. But suddenly he screeches, “Brandy and water, Vulliamy, and double-quick.”

The door opens and Mr Vulliamy hurries in carrying a bottle, glasses, and a flask of water in a small tray. He bangs the tray down on a table and quickly retires.

“Now, sir,” says the old gentleman when he and his guest have each a glass in their hand. “Did you mention a figure? I believe not.”

“Shall we say, about one thousand pounds?”

“Why not? Why not?” says the elderly gentleman, his hands beginning to tremble.

“And perhaps a further sum later,” adds the attorney.

“A further sum,” the old man repeats. “Very good. Now, sir, I have a number of interests at the moment, but an excellent spec that I can particularly recommend is the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company. I will tell you frankly, sir, that I am a promoter of the company for I believe in being absolutely truthful.”

“I expected no less a declaration from your reputation,” the attorney replies.

The old gentleman stares at him for a moment before going on: “Quite, quite. Now your client is in luck for it happens that not all the share-issue has yet been subscribed.

Yes, I think I can find you a thousand pounds’ worth, though I might not be able to promise as much in a week or two.” He begins to rummage through the piles of papers on the desk and shelves, smiling at intervals at the lawyer. After a moment he glances towards the door and scowls: “Vulliamy!” he suddenly screams.

The door opens and the senior clerk shambles in, wiping his mouth on his handkerchief.

“The Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company,” the old gentleman snaps. “find me a prospectus.”

“The Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company,” Mr Vulliamy repeats, glancing at the attorney who sits with an appearance of utter calm watching the other two. “Are you sure, sir? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course I am sure, you fool! Get out of here and find them!”

Mr Vulliamy turns and shuffles out. The old man smiles at the lawyer: “A sad case, sir.” He glances meaningfully at the glass before him: “A lushington. I only retain him in my service from reasons of sentiment. He has an invalid wife and a crippled child.

Perhaps it’s reprehensible of me, but it is, I hope, pardonable. You see, he has been with me from a boy.”

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The old gentleman sighs heavily, while the attorney replies: “Your feelings do you credit, sir.”

“Oh do you say that, sir? Most reassuring. Of course, he is only entrusted with the most menial tasks. Nothing of a confidential nature, I do assure you. He knows very little of my business.”

At this moment the door opens and Mr Vulliamy returns with a printed document which he lays on the desk before his employer and then goes out.

The old gentleman seats himself behind the desk, dips a pen into the inkstand, and looks up: “Now, sir, I need some information, if you will be so good. The gentleman’s name is … ”

“It is a lady.”

“A lady?” he says in surprise.

Mr Sancious nods slowly, watching his interlocutor’s face very closely: “Living in the country.” Another pause. “With a small child.” Another pause, but the old gentleman’s face registers no change of expression. “A boy,” Mr Sancious concludes.

“Very good. And the name?”

The attorney hesitates for a moment before pronouncing “Mellamphy”.

The old gentleman’s face undergoes no change as he bends over his paper and begins to write.

“Mrs Mellamphy,” Mr Sancious says. And he spells it out.

“Yes, yes, so I assumed, Mr Sancious,” he says impatiently and then looks up and smiles. “And the direction?”

“To be reached under cover to myself.”

“Very well.” He puts the paper on one side and picks up the prospectus. “Now, my dear sir, as I say, I am one of the agents for the Company which is undertaking the speculation. It has been so fortunate as to acquire the head-lease of a plot of land extending to four and a quarter acres and sited in a most desirable part of the metropolis as yet unbuilt upon, between Pimlico and Westminster. May I refer you to the second page?” He opens out the document and points to a portion of a map which is engraved thereupon.

“Not perhaps the most fashionable part of the city?” suggests the attorney. “Or the most salubrious?”

“Not at present, sir, the most fashionable, perhaps, but a very salubrious district (once the Bason and the marshes are drained) and adjacent to the Grosvenor estate which is being built upon and which families of the highest respectability are increasingly favouring.” He clears his throat and continues: “The price the Company has agreed to pay is forty-five thousand pounds which is a remarkably advantageous one. And as is customary, it has mortgaged the lease, though, of course, this will be redeemed as soon as enough shares have been sold.”

“Of course.”

“The mortgagee is the highly respectable banking house of Quintard and Mimpriss.”

“I know the house,” Mr Sancious says, “and its unimpeachable reputation.”

“Excellent,” the old gentleman says with a little simper. “Plans have already been drawn up by the most distinguished architects and surveyors for the construction of one hundred and seventy-eight dwelling-houses.” He opens out the prospectus and lays it on his desk, inviting Mr Sancious to look. Both gentlemen study a plan on which the proposed lay-out of streets and squares is

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plotted. “You will see that the designs, for the most part, involve gentlemen’s — indeed, noblemen’s — houses of the most distinguished elevation and soundest construction.

The Company has so far raised about ten thousand pounds and under the terms of the mortgage, undertakes to pay the Bank three thousand five hundred pounds per annum for twelve years until the balance has been paid together with the interest. But this will only start in two years, as is usual. And so this makes the investment very safe.”

“So it would seem.”

“Now the Company intends, as is customary, not to undertake the work itself but to sell building-leases to a main contractor for six thousand pounds per annum, and it will be down to the contractor either to sub-contract or undertake the entire project. Once the dwellings are erected the main-contractor will be paying six thousand pounds per annum to the Company. So as you will see, the Company’s profit can hardly be less than two and a half thousand pounds a year and at virtually no risk.”

“I have just one question,” says Mr Sancious and leans back as he enunciates it: “Will there be a clause about time and completion in the terms offered to the main contractor?”

From his smile it appears that nothing could have given the old gentleman greater pleasure than to have the opportunity to answer such a question.

“Yes, Mr Sancious, and I perceive you are well up to the game. The contract will have a standard clause making no rent payable for the building-lease until half of the houses are completed.”

Mr Sancious merely raises one eyebrow and the old gentleman continues: “That is customary, as you doubtless know, in order to provide an inducement to commit the required amount of capital in the building-work.”

“And yet,” Mr Sancious suggests, “it means that so long as that condition is not fulfilled, the contractor may sell any houses that are finished and take the profit without the Company receiving a brass farthing!”

“In theory,” the old gentleman concedes, as if the thought has just struck him. “Yet since you are so knowledgeable, you will clearly perceive that such a clause is, despite appearances, greatly to the advantage of the Company.”

“Indeed?” says Mr Sancious.