Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (474 page)

Miss Dexter heard the conversation from the bedroom, and she came running in, to exclaim:

“Oh, Popper, and you promised to go with me to the New Philharmonic concert this evening!”

Mr. Dexter said that he was very sorry. It couldn’t be helped. He had a meeting of Mr. Mordaunt’s interest at eleven next morning, and he must speak to him that night. He suggested that his daughter should go to the concert alone.

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, Miss Dexter said: “Oh, Popper, I guess I’ll ask the Count to take me.” And before Mr. Dexter had put the telephone down, she had it in her hand and was giving Macdonald’s number to the hotel office. She knew the number by heart, and she knew that the telephone was set up just outside Macdonald’s bedroom. And Mr. Dexter heard her exclaim: “That Count Macdonald?” And then: “Say, Count, I want you to take me to the New Philharmonic!” and then: “Oh, that’s real mean! Who are you dressing for? Lady Aldington?”

The girl’s face, with the receiver of the instrument to her ear, became intensely dejected. Immediately afterwards she said:

“What? what?” and she became radiant little by little. “What? I can come too? Yes, I can rush into my glad rags like a hurricane. What’s the address? Leicester House? Yes, yes, yes!”

She hung up the telephone and regarded her father with triumph.

“Oh, Popper!” she exclaimed, “he’s going to let me go to Lady Aldington’s. She’s got a great party, and all the Liberal speakers. He says it’s going to be dull for me, but I guess it won’t. He’s going to meet me there.”

Mr. Dexter surveyed his daughter kindly for a minute. “I guess,” he said, “if you take my advice, you’d pull up your stakes in that direction.”

“Oh, you silly old Popper! Why?” she exclaimed.

“Oh, say the feller’s pretty penniless,” Mr. Dexter said. “That will do for a reason. And I’ll advise you to quit.” She moved towards the door. “I guess I won’t quit,” she said. “I guess you’re a real silly old Popper to go and get ratty over the first gentleman I ever really cared for. I guess you’re just ugly with jealousy.”

Mr. Dexter smiled. “Well, he is pretty penniless,” he said. “You told me so yourself.”

“You’re really a silly, mercenary old man,” she answered. “And if he is pretty penniless, what does it matter? He isn’t going to need to support me in luxury. I’m going to help win him back to the Countess and the Simple Life, when he won’t have to have any hired help. But he’ll have to wear a sack-cloth apron to keep his perfectly elegant trousers clean when he does the washing-up.”

“Well, you can do as you like,” Mr. Dexter said.

“I guess I’m going to,” she answered. And, having kissed him on the forehead, she ran out of the room.

She did not see much of Macdonald that evening and she heard hardly anything at all of the speeches. Instead, she sat on a great landing of the great house between two of the huge porphyry columns that supported the distant ceiling. She sat with the Duke of Kintyre beside her, on two hard mahogany hall seats facing a white marble Bacchus. The voice of Dr. Farquhar reverberated from the distance; the steps were all of white stone. Mamie had never imagined anything so gloomy until she had been to the British Museum. And this seemed to her to be gloomier than the British Museum, except that the footmen wore red velvet breeches. And Mamie had to listen to a really frightful scolding from the Duke. It wasn’t that he spoke angrily, but she hadn’t ever been spoken so seriously to in her life. He seemed to forget that she was a woman, and just talked on without raising or lowering his voice, as if she had tried to murder the Count. He seemed, she didn’t know how, to have wormed out of her that she had been telling her father things, and that, although she thought nothing at all of the Count’s being penniless, her silly old father had made a great deal of it. And the Duke had really been most rude to her. He had said that she had violated sacred confidences in repeating to anyone a word that she had heard at Count Macdonald’s house. And when she said that Countess Macdonald had told her to tell the whole world everything, the Duke answered that it was plain that the Countess was mad with wickedness, and that, for all he knew, she had ruined Macdonald for ever.

Miss Dexter burst into passionate tears. She told the Duke that he was a wicked man, that she adored the Count, and that sooner than do him an injury she would have thrown herself off the top of the Monument, where they had the rails round to stop people committing suicide. She said that to get a smile from the Count she would go on her knees on the stones and stop there for a week.

But this did not in the least move His Grace. He sat looking at her with serious eyes in the gloom, and he told her, with extraordinary solemnness, that if she ever breathed a single word to anyone outside Macdonald’s household of what she heard within it, or if she ever breathed a word to the Countess of what she heard about Macdonald’s interests outside, he, Kintyre, would forbid Macdonald ever to speak another word to her.

Shaken almost out of her soul, the girl really fainted. Kintyre had her carried downstairs into the library. But even when she came to he wouldn’t let her be seen home by Macdonald, and he didn’t even see her home himself. He said that he would have to talk seriously to Sergius Mihailovitch that night, in order to see if they could not repair some of the mischief she had done. And he had her sent home in Lady Aldington’s carriage under the guardianship of a disagreeable old lady called Mrs. Crewkerne, who was her ladyship’s aunt, and who was not in the least sympathetic.

She cried all night; she did not feel fit to see her father next morning. And as soon as she could move she had herself motored down to Putney to see if Sergius Mihailovitch were not there. And when she got there she wanted to be back at the hotel to see if Macdonald were not with her father, for she understood from the Duke that those two had business relations. In order to excuse her leaving Putney, she insisted on taking the Countess with her. She said she wanted the lady to make her father’s acquaintance, and, as the Countess wanted to go into town to see her solicitors, she made no objection to being motored as far as Claridge’s.

CHAPTER V
I

MR. DEXTER spent an exceedingly worried night, for it was not until nine o’clock in the morning that his ears were gladdened by the sound of the authoritative and drawling voice of the great Mr. Mordaunt on the telephone. Mr. Mordaunt having supped out, had not returned to his hotel in Paris until eight o’clock, and then he had taken a bath and had otherwise refreshed himself before attending to Mr. Dexter’s call.

In his sitting-room Mr. Dexter heard Mr. Mordaunt say: “Hello! That you, Dexter? What’s the racket?” Mr. Dexter replied: “It’s about this Galizian business. Their syndicate meets here at ten. I want to pull out of it.”

He heard the voice of the great man say:

“Golly, why somever? Lost your nerve?”

“I don’t believe they’ve got any money behind them,” Mr. Dexter replied.

Mr. Mordaunt’s voice came quick and decidedly: “We never thought they had, did we? But they’ve got the concession, haven’t they?”

“They’ve got that,” Mr. Dexter said; “but they’re a pretty shady crew. There is only this Macdonald and some sort of a journalist and a Galizian marquis of sorts.”

“Well, I know all about that,” Mr. Mordaunt said.

“Supposing they do cabbage a little of the dollars?

There’s plenty. We’ve got to allow for wastage. I want that concession.”

“But see here!” Mr. Dexter pleaded. “Why not drop these royalties altogether, and get the concession from the Republican Government?”

The voice of Mr. Mordaunt said reflectively:’ I’ve thought of that. On the face of it, it seems a pretty good scheme. But it isn’t. It’s too expensive. You take my advice, Dexter. Never you have to do with a republican ministry when you can have to do with a king. A king has got to be paid, but he’s an infant in the boodle line when it comes to a republican ministry, simply because he isn’t a professional politician. He hasn’t got the genius of extortion. And, mind you, there are thirty-two ministers in Galizia, and every one of them will have to have his whack. Besides, someone else will stick the King on his throne in six months’ time if we don’t, and then bang goes our concession. No, it’s not good enough. Have another try, Sammy Dexter.”

“But, Mr. Mordaunt,” Mr. Dexter pleaded, “I’ve got family reasons for wanting to clear out.”

“I guessed you had something of the sort, Sammy,” the great man’s voice said. “But this is business, not family talk. Supposing we give this particular lot the go-by? What then?”

“Why shouldn’t we,” Mr. Dexter said rather humbly, “just go to the King and get a new concession for ourselves?”

Mr. Mordaunt’s voice remained silent for so long that Mr. Dexter at the last said:

“Hallo!”

And Mr. Mordaunt answered: “Stand easy! I’m just thinking.”

Quite a few minutes afterwards he said: “Now, listen to me! I don’t want to lose this concession.
I don’t
want to!
Understand that! Now, you don’t know, but I do, that we aren’t the only pebbles on the beach. There’s been someone from a Russian direction, and there’s an English Duke — Kin — Ken — Kintyre, that’s the name; and there is that lady I was talking about — Lady Aldington. She’s already in possession of a part of the field. Now see here, Dexter! I don’t want to have to
fight
those interests. I want to stand in with them. Understand that! I don’t want to have a war on my hands at the very beginning.” Mr. Mordaunt’s voice was rather heavy and threatening, and Mr. Dexter had for Mr. Mordaunt all the respect that an ordinary courtier has for an extraordinary monarch. He considered that Mr. Mordaunt could ruin him at any moment as easily as he could eat a banana. Mr. Mordaunt had only got to say to any stock market in the world: “Mark that stock up, and that stock down,” and the bottom would fall out of Mr. Dexter. Besides, it wasn’t only fear. Mr. Dexter had for Mr. Mordaunt an extraordinary reverence; for him he was The Chief. He was more than a king; he was almost more than the Pope, though Mr. Dexter was a good Catholic, for Mr. Mordaunt was the richest man in the world. And he was an astonishing man. There was not a single thing he didn’t know and didn’t carry around in his head. How, for instance, had Mr. Mordaunt come to hear that the Duke of Kintyre had been buying ground in Galizia? Mr. Dexter had never heard it. With a great deal of humility he asked:

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

“See here!” he got a question back. “Do you gather that that man Kintyre and that woman are in with that little syndicate? What it amounts to is this: if they aren’t, you can give the syndicate the go-by this morning; but if they’re in it for just one single cent, and if the syndicate hasn’t got a trouser button for capital, you’ve just got to sign anything that syndicate wants. Understand that!

You find out if they’re in it, and then do as I’ve said. If they aren’t, we’ll buy up the old Queen-Mother for ourselves.”

And before Mr. Dexter could make any remark, Mr. Mordaunt said:

“You keep this line open here while the meeting is on, and if you want to ask me any questions, I’m at the end of it. But I guess I want to eat my breakfast now.”

And at the same moment there came a knock at the door. There entered, behind the hotel page, Mr. and Mrs. Pett. And before Mr. Dexter had done shaking hands, there were the Marquis da Pinta and the young King. Then there was Macdonald. Mr. Dexter was a little worried by their singular punctuality. The clock was just striking ten. Mr. Dexter’s sitting-room was a long, rather low room for London. It contained more saddle-bag chairs than is usual in an hotel. And with an eye to effect, Mr. Dexter had arranged a table in front of the fireplace. Behind the table there were two chairs. In one of those Mr. Dexter proposed to sit, with the King at his right hand. Above the mantelpiece hung a huge, shiny map of the republic of Galizia. This Mr. Dexter had purchased from an educational bookseller.... They were all talking about the weather, which was rather cold for September. Mr. Dexter, however, piloted the King to the armchair behind the table. He stood beside him, and then he remarked to Macdonald:

“I guess the whole syndicate is here, Count.”

Macdonald answered: “Oh, just wait a minute, Mr. Dexter.”

And just then there came into the room a tall, dark, rather melancholy-looking gentleman and a fair lady. Macdonald introduced them as Mrs. Fawkner and Mr. Archibald. Mr. Dexter seemed to know their faces, but he couldn’t remember where he had met them. He had to delay the opening of the meeting a few minutes whilst he had two more saddle-bag chairs brought in. When he turned his back from the door he discovered that Mr. Pett had sat himself down in the chair beside the King at the table. He had a great many papers before him. And he appeared arrogant and very cheerful.

“I think I’ll take the chairmanship of this meeting,” he said. “I know most about the details.”

And Mr. Dexter found himself forced to sit next to Mrs. Pett at the end of the room. He felt very unhappy. Mr. Pett, who really had taken the chair at many public meetings, whirled things along in an admirable manner.

“I take it,” he said, “that there is no need for me to read the constitution of the new kingdom. You’ve all read it. I’ll get on at once to the agreement between the syndicate and Mr. Dexter. What we have to consider is that this is not a commercial syndicate. None of us want to make any money out of it; what we want is to establish a kingdom on a satisfactory basis for the inhabitants. We have to consider that Mr. Dexter represents what in America is called a trust, and what in Europe is known as a monopoly. Trusts may be beneficent or they may be an affliction to a country, according to its laws. In the United States trusts are a curse. We have to consider how we may prevent the trust which Mr. Dexter represents from being a curse to Galizia. This is what I have endeavoured to do in the deed I have drawn up. It provides that the operations shall be strictly confined to the district of Gallegos; it provides that there shall be no inter-district trading; it provides that the offices of the company shall be in the city of Flores, and so on. If it’s your pleasure, I will read the document and we can discuss clause by clause.”

Mr. Dexter had really lost his temper; he had had a very bad night; he had had no breakfast, and Mr.

Mordaunt had thoroughly frightened him. He said in rather a harsh voice:

“Before we go into that I want to know what money you’ve got. I want to know whether you are substantial people. I don’t mind saying that I’ve heard you’re not.’’

Mr. Pett exclaimed:” Good God! I haven’t got any money. I’m not putting money into it. I’m putting brains. I’m a writer on economics.”

Mr. Dexter said: “Ah!”

And then he turned upon the Marquis da Pinta: “You haven’t got any money to put into it?”

Da Pinta looked blankly foreign.” Money?” he said. “No; no money, but estates — great estates.”

Again Mr. Dexter said: Ah!”

And he looked at Macdonald. “I understand,” he said,” that you don’t propose to put any money into it, either. I understand that you’re not what they call a substantial man. You also are going to put only brains into it.”

He looked also with a rapid negligence at the dark gentleman and the fair lady.

“I suppose with you too,” he said, “it’s only a case of brains?”

Mr. Dexter thought he was upon safe ground there, for he had never heard the names of either Fawkner or Archibald in connection with money.

“Well, then,” he continued, “it doesn’t seem to me that this meeting represents dollars enough to sit here and criticise either the laws of the United States or the syndicate that I represent.”

The tall dark man was lying rather lackadaisically sideways in his deep chair. He put his hand negligently into a side pocket of his blue pilot coat. He drew out a very white letter, which he held towards Mr. Dexter.

“If you read this,” he said rather insolently, “you will understand better what you’re talking about.”

And Mr. Dexter had to cross the floor in order to take the letter.

“What’s this? What’s this?” he muttered.

His eyes were met by the name of a great joint stock bank. And then he read below it the words:

“DEAR SIR,” With reference to your inquiry of this morning we have to inform you that His Excellency Count Macdonald has standing to his credit at this moment in our hands the sum of sixty thousand pounds, and that we consider that he is a gentleman with whom you can quite safely enter upon such a transaction as the one you mention.”

Mr. Dexter heaved a deep sigh and stood looking at the document.

The dark gentleman said to him: “You see, I was more cautious than you. Before undertaking business relations with Count Macdonald I took the precaution to inquire at his bank what his financial position might be.” And the dark gentleman looked at Mr. Dexter with rather an insolent expression. “I wouldn’t listen to gossip again if I were you,” he said, “wherever it comes from. You risk having us throw you out of this affair altogether. We can do perfectly well without you.”

For a moment or two Mr. Dexter was not conscious of anything. The matters were too much to take in all at once. He hardly knew what he was doing; he didn’t grasp what he heard. He heard behind him a metallic, buzzing sound, and his brain sent to him mechanically that some one was speaking from the other end of the telephone wire, whose receiver was off. Then he heard the voice of Mr. Pett saying:

“Yes, yes. That’s so.” And in the same subconscious way he recognised that Mr. Pett must be speaking into the telephone that was on the table behind his back, for Mr. Pett’s voice was hard, raised, and distinct. Then he heard Mr. Pett say:

“Yes, they are both here... in this room.” And then once more:

“Yes, they are both in it, heart and soul. You can bet they’re going to see it through.”

And then Mr. Dexter heard Mr. Pett’s voice speaking to him in the ordinary conversational tones. Mr. Pett said: