A Civil Contract (35 page)

‘Sell, of course!
Sell
, my lord, and at the best price you can get! If it can be done – if it ain’t too late already – you’ll suffer a loss, same as I have myself, but you’ll save yourself from ruin! It’ll be bad, and I don’t deny it, but see if I don’t put you in the way of making a recover presently! But there’s no time to be lost: once the news is made known there’ll be no selling the stock, not if you was to offer it at a grig! Forty-nine was all I got for mine, and they was standing at fifty-seven and a half when the jobbers closed their books! Eh, it don’t bear thinking of! A bubble-merchant, that’s what they’ll be calling me!’

He sounded so tragic that Adam might have supposed that he was facing ruin had he not had every reason to think that however large a part of his private fortune had been invested in the Funds it represented only a tithe of his enormous wealth. He said: ‘I’m afraid I don’t perfectly understand, sir. How am I to sell my shares if there’s no dealing being done?’

‘You leave that to Wimmering!’ said Mr Chawleigh. ‘He’ll know how to do the thing, never you fear! What’s more, he’s ready and anxious to do it, the moment you say the word. He’ll be here to wait on you first thing tomorrow morning, and you’ll find he’ll advise you the same as I have.’ He glanced shrewdly at Adam. ‘Well, he did so when that Bonaparte first broke out again, didn’t he?’

Adam nodded. Mr Wimmering had written to him in March, venturing to suggest that in view of the uncertain political situation it might be wise for his lordship to consider the advisability of realizing his holding in Government stock; but he had not considered it either advisable or proper to do so, and had replied quite unequivocally.

‘Eh, if you’d only listened to him!’ mourned Mr Chawleigh, shaking his head.

Adam looked at him thoughtfully. It was plainly a waste of time to attempt to persuade him that a strategic withdrawal was not a rout: civilians were always cast into panic by a retreat, just as they were wildly elated by quite minor victories. So he refrained from telling Mr Chawleigh that his own confidence was unshaken, and tried instead to discover the exact nature of the news which had been whispered in his ear. It was not easy to do this, but by the time the neat dinner had been disposed of, and Mr Chawleigh took his leave, Adam had formed his own conclusions. It was certain that hostilities had begun; it seemed fairly certain that Napoleon, so far from being a spent force, had moved with all his former, disconcerting rapidity. It was possible that Wellington had been taken by surprise, and had been obliged to oppose the enemy with only his advance troops: it sounded like that; and it sounded too as if the action had been fought on ground not of his choosing. In which case, he would certainly retreat; and no doubt the flocks of pleasure-seeking visitors to Brussels would take fright immediately, and make for the coast. It was more difficult to assess the probable extent of the Prussian reverse. Adam had never seen the Prussians in action, but he knew the Hanoverian troops well, and he thought that if the Prussians were at all like the men of the King’s German Legion there would be little fear that they would run away, even if they had suffered a repulse. Mr Chawleigh talked as though Napoleon had smashed that army; Adam thought this unlikely, because the Allied Army had also been engaged, which meant that Napoleon must have been fighting on two fronts.

He allowed Mr Chawleigh to leave him in the belief that he meant to follow his advice. It was useless to argue with him; that would only lead to a quarrel. Besides, the poor man was already in a stew of anxiety: probably some of his many trading ventures would be badly affected by a French victory.

Thinking about it, weighing it in his mind, Adam knew that he was not going to try to sell his stock. Mr Chawleigh had done so at a loss, and he seemed to think that the price was rapidly sinking. To sell would be wantonly to diminish his principal; and he would certainly do no such thing: running shy merely because the Allied Army had clashed disadvantageously with the enemy, and had fallen back, perhaps to better ground, almost certainly to maintain communications with the Prussians.

Sipping a last glass of brandy before going to bed, remembering the years of his military service, confidence grew in him. There had been plenty of retreats, but no lost battles under Douro’s command: not one!

He thought, regretfully, that it was a pity he hadn’t sold his stock at the beginning of March, when Wimmering had advised it. Had he done so, he would now have had a large sum at his disposal, and might have bought again, making a handsome profit.

He set his empty glass down suddenly. The idly reflective expression in his eyes altered; he sat staring intently straight before him, his eyes now bright and hard between slightly narrowed lids. A queer little smile began to play around his mouth; he drew a breath like a sigh, and got up, pouring more brandy into his glass. He stood for quite some time, swirling the brandy round, watching it but not thinking about it. The ghost of a laugh shook him; he tossed off the brandy, set the glass down again, and went off to bed.

He had just finished breakfast when Mr Wimmering was brought up to the parlour on the following morning. Wimmering was looking grave, but he said that he was very glad to see my lord.

‘I’m extremely glad to see you,’ replied Adam. ‘I need your advice and your services.’

‘Your lordship knows that both are at your disposal.’

‘I’m obliged to you. Sit down! Now, tell me, Wimmering, what, by your reckoning, am I worth? How much credit will Drummond allow me?’

Mr Wimmering’s jaw dropped; he gazed blankly at Adam, and said feebly: ‘Credit? Drummond?’

‘I don’t want to go to the Jews unless I must.’

‘Go to the – But, my lord – ! You cannot have run into debt? I beg your pardon! But I had not the smallest suspicion –’

‘No, no, I haven’t run into debt!’ Adam said. ‘But I’m in urgent need of ready money – as large a sum as I can contrive to raise! Immediately!’

Wimmering felt a little faint. At any other hour of the day he would have concluded that his client had been imbibing too freely, and was half-sprung. He wondered if Mr Chawleigh’s news had temporarily turned his brain. He bore no appearance of being either drunk or unhinged, but it had struck Wimmering as soon as he had entered the room that he was looking unlike himself. There was a tautness about him Wimmering had never before noticed; his eyes, usually so cool, were strangely bright; and the smile hovering at the corners of his mouth held a disquieting hint of recklessness. Wimmering was at a loss to interpret these signs, never having been privileged to see his noble client in command of a Forlorn Hope.

‘Well?’ Adam said impatiently.

Wimmering pulled himself together, saying firmly: ‘My lord, before I enter upon that question, may I respectfully remind you that there is a far more urgent matter awaiting your attention? If you have seen Mr Chawleigh it must be unnecessary for me to tell you that there is no time to be lost in empowering me to dispose of your stock.’

‘Oh, I’m not selling!’ Adam said cheerfully. ‘I beg pardon! Of course you supposed that that was why I needed you! No, I’m buying.’

‘
Buying?
’ gasped Wimmering, turning quite pale. ‘You’re not serious, my lord?’

‘I’m perfectly serious – and perfectly sane as well, I promise you. No, don’t repeat Mr Chawleigh’s Banbury story to me! I’ve heard it once, and I don’t wish to hear it again! My father-in-law is an excellent man, but he has not the smallest understanding of military matters. As far as I can discover, word of a retreat has reached the City, brought by some agent, who had heard that the Prussians had been cut up a trifle, that we had retired, and who no doubt saw the refugees pouring into Antwerp, or Ghent, or wherever he chanced to be, and out of this built up a lurid tale of disaster! My dear Wimmering, do you really imagine that if the Army was in headlong flight not one hint of it would appear in today’s journals?’

Mr Wimmering looked rather struck. He said: ‘I must own that one would have supposed –’ He stopped, as a thought occurred to him, and asked hopefully: ‘Have
you
, perhaps, received news from Belgium, my lord?’

‘I’ve received a good deal of news during the past weeks,’ Adam replied coolly. ‘I won’t deceive you, however: I haven’t any secret source of information, and I’ve heard nothing that confirms or refutes my father-in-law’s story.’ He paused; the disturbing smile grew more marked. ‘Have there been moments in your life, Wimmering, when you have felt,
within
yourself, a strong – oh, an overwhelming compulsion to do something that perhaps your reason tells you is imprudent – even dangerous? When you don’t hesitate to stake your last groat, because you
know
the dice are going to fall your way?’ He saw the look of horror in Wimmering’s face, and laughed. ‘No, you don’t understand, do you? Well, never mind!’

But Mr Wimmering was unable to follow this advice. In a flash of enlightenment he had recognized his late patron in the present Viscount, and his heart sank like a plummet. He shuddered to recall the number of times the Fifth Viscount had yielded to the compulsion of an inner and too often lying voice, how many times he had been confident that his luck had changed. He sank into despair, knowing from bitter experience how useless it would be to attempt to bring his lordship to reason. There was nothing he could do to restrain him, but he did utter an anguished protest when Adam, enumerating his tangible assets, said: ‘Then there’s Fontley. You know as well as I do how much land I have left unmortgaged – unsettled too! My father blamed himself for that, didn’t he? I wish he could know how thankful I am today that the estate never was resettled!’

Mr Wimmering was obliged to draw what comfort he could from the hope that my lord’s intangible asset would rescue him from penury. It would certainly weigh more heavily in his favour in the mind of Mr Drummond than any security he could offer – provided the banker did not discover that he was acting in defiance of Mr Chawleigh’s advice.

‘He won’t,’ said Adam. ‘My father-in-law banks with Hoare’s.’

‘My lord!’ said Wimmering desperately, ‘have you thought – have you considered – what would be your position if this – this
gamble
of yours should fail?’

‘It won’t fail,’ replied Adam, with so much calm confidence that Wimmering was impressed in spite of himself.

But he begged Adam not to command him to carry to Drummond’s proposals of which he wholly disapproved. A very faint hope that these words might give his lordship pause was of brief duration.

‘Not I!’ said Adam, impish laughter in his eyes. ‘If Drummond were to catch sight of that Friday-face you’re wearing, my tale would be told! He wouldn’t lend me as much as a coach-wheel!’ Laughter faded; he looked at Wimmering for a minute without speaking, and then said perfectly seriously: ‘I don’t think Providence holds out chance upon chance to one. I think – if I were to refuse this – I should never be offered another. It means a great deal to me. Can’t you understand?’

Mr Wimmering nodded, and answered mournfully: ‘Yes, my lord. I have for long been aware, alas –’ He left the sentence unfinished, only sighing heavily.

‘Don’t mistake me!’ Adam said quickly. ‘It’s some quirk in me – an odd kick in my gallop, my father would have said! – no fault of Mr Chawleigh’s! I’ve received nothing but kindness from him. Indeed, I hold him in considerable affection!’

Mr Wimmering knew that there was no more to be said. He was well enough acquainted with Mr Chawleigh to feel a profound sympathy for anyone who lay within his power; but he still could not repress a hope that Mr Drummond would prove less accommodating than my lord anticipated. But no sooner did he entertain this hope than it was shattered by a macabre vision of my lord caught in the toils of some blood-sucking moneylender, which so much appalled him that when he presently climbed into a hack the jarvey had to ask him twice where he wanted to go before he could collect himself sufficiently to utter the address of his office in the City.

He had offered to await the result of his client’s visit to the bank at Fenton’s, but Adam (looking alarmingly like a school-boy bent on mischief) said that he was not going to return to the hotel until late at night, because he meant to take good care to keep out of his father-in-law’s way, and it was well within the bounds of probability that Mr Chawleigh might call there to make certain that his advice was being followed. ‘I should be obliged to tell him the truth, and that wouldn’t do at all,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll come to your place of business, and very likely remain there. I shouldn’t think he would call there, would you? He will suppose you to be running all about the City, trying to dispose of my stock. In any event, we will warn your clerk! Is there a cupboard I can slip into, in case of need?’

Jolting over the cobbles in the aged and malodorous hack, Mr Wimmering reflected that with all his faults the Fifth Viscount had never demanded of his man of business a cupboard in which he could hide.

Arrived at his office, he had some time to wait before he heard Adam’s halting step on the dusty stairs. He got up from behind his desk, as Adam was ushered into his room, but he had no need to ask how my lord had fared: the answer was plain to see in his smile. Wimmering had had time to recover his usual composure, and he said, in a tone of mere respectful enquiry: ‘Your lordship has prospered in your errand?’

Adam nodded. ‘Yes, of course! Did you think I should not? Fifty thousand – can you buy up to that figure?’

‘
Fifty thousand?
’ echoed Wimmering. ‘Drummond will lend you fifty-thousand-pounds, my lord?’

‘But why not? Consider! I’ve something in the region of twenty thousand invested in the Funds already; I have Fontley, with the demesne lands; and besides that there are the three farms which –’

‘Did he
know
for what purpose you wanted such a sum, my lord?’

‘Certainly!
He
doesn’t think I’ve run mad! Nor is he shaking like a blancmanger because we may have suffered a reverse. We had a long talk together: he’s a sensible man – really a great gun!’ He regarded Wimmering with a decided twinkle, and said reproachfully: ‘No, no, you are
quite
mistaken!’

‘My lord?’ said Wimmering, startled.

‘I told him, at the outset, that I wished to impress upon him most particularly that what I had to propose to him had
nothing
whatsoever to do with my father-in-law.’

Wimmering opened his mouth, and shut it again. He could well imagine what the effect of this warning must have been. He began to suspect that he had underrated his lordship, but all he said was: ‘Just so, my lord. Very proper!’

Adam laughed. ‘Well, he can’t say I didn’t tell him the exact truth, at all events! Now, listen, Wimmering! Mr Chawleigh assured me that you would know how to sell my stock, so I trust you may know how to buy more for me.’

‘There will be no difficulty about that, my lord,’ replied Wimmering, at his dryest.

‘Good! I don’t know how low the price may sink, but I think I ought not to run any risks, so buy
now
, if you please!’

Mr Wimmering closed his eyes for an anguished moment. ‘Run any risks…!’ he repeated faintly.

‘If I delayed, in the hope of buying cheaper still, I might miss my tip. At any moment now we may expect to get news from Headquarters, which will put an end to the panic in the City. Drummond warns me not to look for any startling rise immediately. He considers that it’s unlikely that the price will go beyond what it was when the books were closed, so do the best you can for me, Wimmering! I know you will.’

‘I should prefer to say that I shall obey your orders, my lord,’ Wimmering replied.

Though he set about his task with extreme reluctance, he performed it to his patron’s entire satisfaction. ‘As low as that!’ Adam exclaimed, still in that mood of alarming elation. ‘You’re a wizard, Wimmering! how the devil did you contrive to do it? I wish you will try to look a little more cheerful!’

‘My lord,’ said Wimmering, ‘had I found it impossible to buy at so low a figure I should
feel
more cheerful!’

Adam went off to Brooks’s, where he dined, and spent the evening. There were a large number of members present, and for a time he was kept tolerably well-entertained, talking to friends, and listening with amusement to the ridiculous theories being put forward about the progress of the war; but as the evening wore on he ceased to be amused. He began to be irritated, and several times responded to remarks addressed to him with a shortness which bordered on incivility. He moved away presently, wondering why the pessimists should be so much more numerous and vociferous than the optimists. He was a little surprised to find that absurdities could make him angry; but he thought that those who spread ominous stories, which were invariably vouched for as having emanated from trustworthy sources, deserved to be given a sharp set-down. Only fools placed the slightest credence in reports repeated by prattleboxes who had heard them from a friend to whom they had been told by someone who had met a man just arrived from Belgium, but when everyone must be feeling a considerable degree of anxiety it was really criminal to disseminate rumours that could only serve to encourage despondency. He removed himself out of earshot of the war-group, and sat down to glance through the latest issue of the
Gentleman’s Magazine
. There was nothing in it of interest; he tried to read one article, but found his mind wandering, perhaps because two elderly gentlemen distracted him by arguing hotly on the respective merits of Turner and Claude. Fragments of other conversations reached his ears: the Panorama in Leicester Fields, somebody’s latest witticism, somebody’s run of luck at macao: it was incredible that people could be absorbed in such fripperies at such a moment!

His head had begun to ache; he felt depressed, and realized that he was very tired. That accounted for his inability to concentrate his mind on a dull article. It was time he went to bed. He left the club, and walked up the street to his hotel, telling himself that a good night’s sleep was all that was needed to restore him to that mood of supreme confidence which had possessed him all day.

He had expected to drop asleep immediately, but no sooner had he closed his eyes than his brain became active, thinking of the day’s transactions, speculating on what might have happened across the Channel. He tried to drag it away from the war, and to fix it instead on the schemes he had made for the improvement of his estate, but it was too strong for him. His body ached with fatigue, but whatever position he adopted was uncomfortable within a very few minutes, and the wearier he became the livelier grew his brain. He told himself that his diminishing confidence was a mere reaction from his previous elation, remembering how often, after a hard-won battle, a fit of dejection had succeeded the mood of triumph and rejoicing; but the endless argument in his head went on and on. Doubt shook him; defeat, which had seemed the remotest of possibilities, became probable; far larger in his brain than the memories of Talavera, Salamanca, Vittoria loomed the thought that Wellington had never before faced Napoleon himself. He had laughed at the people who had said that to him, but it was true: Masséna had been the best of the Marshals sent against Wellington: a good general, but not a Napoleon. It was also true, of course, that Wellington had never lost a battle, but that could be said of any general before his first defeat. Struggling against this creeping conviction of disaster, he thought of all the splendid fellows who had made up the Peninsular Army: drunken rascals, perhaps, but more than a match for three times their number of Frogs, as they had proved again and again. All very well in attack, Johnny Crapaud, but when it came to a dogged stand there were no soldiers in the world that bore comparison with the British.