Charles Palliser (18 page)

“Oh yes, for given his capital outlay, the contractor cannot possibly clear a profit until far more than half of the houses are finished and sold.”

Mr Sancious seems to reflect and then remarks off-handedly : “And then there is the freeholder, who retains the ground-rents.”

The old gentleman looks at him in surprise and the lawyer explains: “You see, a freeholder continues to hold the reversionary interest in the land and therefore the right to re-enter for breach of covenants or to distrain for debt.”

“You
are the lawyer,” the old gentleman graciously concedes, “and I am certain you are correct. But I assure you, there is no question of such an eventuality arising.”

“Can you be so sure? Who is the freeholder?”

In obedience to this question, the old gentleman looks through his papers, pursing his lips as if in deep perplexity. After a minute he looks up and says frankly: “I can’t tell you for the transaction was in the name of a nominee, the Pimlico and Westminster Land Company, behind which the real freeholder is concealing himself. But I assure you there is no question of the Company

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defaulting on what it owes the freeholder. Bear in mind, my dear sir, that Quintard and Mimpriss are behind us.”

“Indeed, Quintard and Mimpriss. A name to inspire confidence.”

The old gentleman smiles and Mr Sancious says: “Well, sir, the manner in which you have answered my questions has settled any doubts in my mind as to the soundness of this project.”

The old gentleman’s smile grows wider.

“I have no doubts at all,” the lawyer says, smiling back. “None.”

“YOU’TC very kind, sir,” the old gentleman says.

“It’s a bubble, ain’t it?” the lawyer says, still smiling.

The old gentleman’s expression of affability is transformed into a scowl: “What do you mean, sir?”

“It’s a flatt-trap.”

“Why, how dare you!” the old gentleman exclaims in outrage, rising from his chair.

Then he clutches his chest and falls back wheezing and coughing. “Mustn’t alarm myself. Very bad for me,” he gasps.

“You have misunderstood me, sir,” says Mr Sancious blandly as he remains comfortably seated in his chair, playing with his gloves. “I am very interested indeed in your project. I believe that you and I can do business together very profitably.”

The old gentleman stares at him: “Then you intend to advise your client to make the investment?”

“Assuredly. I shall urge her most forcefully to purchase a thousand pounds’ worth of stock.”

“In the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company?”

“Precisely. And moreover, I have a little capital of my own which I would like to place at a profitable rate of return.”

The old gentleman looks puzzled: “But surely …”

Mr Sancious laughs: “Oh, not with the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company. I would very much like to purchase a share in the freehold.”

He and the old gentleman stare at each other. Then the latter says: “I dare say it might be possible to establish the identity of the freeholder. And it’s not impossible that that party might be amenable to an offer.”

“I do hope so,” Mr Sancious comments.

“And if we were able to agree terms, Mr Sancious,” the old gentleman continues,

“would you be interested in acting as the main-contractor?”

“What would it involve?”

“Very little: the creation of a company which would exist only on paper as the chief-lessee. All the work would be sub-contracted to little masters. Even that would not fall to you if you know of a tradesman — a mason or a joiner or something like that — who is reliable?”

“Reliable?” Mr Sancious repeats. “You mean, my good sir, one who could be trusted to inspire confidence in others?” The old gentleman nods. “Why, I believe I might.” He leans back comfortably and raises his glass. “I like the suggestion. Then let this moment mark the birth of, shall we say, the West London Building Company.”

The two gentlemen toast each other.

“I see we have much to talk about,” the attorney says. “I hope we will both lay our cards frankly upon the table, Mr Clothier.”

Speculations

The eating-house called by the name of Millichamp’s still stands (at least, it did so a few months ago) at the corner of Upper-Thames-street and Addle-hill. Here a little later the same evening Mr Sancious might have been observed, having been directed by the potboy to the Snuggery where, in one of the little wooden boxes along the bar, he finds Mr Vulliamy comfortably discussing a mutton chop and caper sauce with a glass at his elbow.

“My dear sir, you look excessively comfortable,” he exclaims.

Mr Vulliamy raises his large, melancholy head and half-rises from his seat to bow a greeting. “I should be honoured if you would join me,” he mutters with a weak smile.

Mr Sancious seats himself opposite the head-clerk with a cheerful smile : “That is a remarkably fine-looking chop,” he remarks pleasantly. “I think I will order one for myself. And a glass of something to go with it. Mr Vulliamy, will you do me the honour of taking wine with me?”

Yes, Mr Vulliamy will, and so the orders are given to the boy.

“Upon my soul,” Mr Sancious muses, “it is a pleasure to do business with your governor. Such an affable gentleman of the old school.”

“Does he strike you that way, sir?”

“Indeed he does,” Mr Sancious says just as the boy brings the bottle. “I can easily picture him surrounded by laughing grandchildren, Mr Vulliamy. I imagine he enjoys the most cheerful domestic circumstances?”

“Wife dead,” Mr Vulliamy mutters. He brightens as Mr Sancious pours him a glass.

“Is that so? Ah well.” Mr Sancious shakes his head sadly and then takes a drink.

“Daughters?”

“None.”

“Indeed? Not even a daughter-in-law?” Mr Vulliamy makes no response, so Mr Sancious remarks idly: “I don’t seem to know of another Mr Clothier in the City.” When there is still no answer he asks: “I say, I don’t seem to have heard of another gentleman of that name.”

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At this Mr Vulliamy’s left hand seizes an invisible pump-handle and rises and falls energetically while he looks at Mr Sancious.

That gentleman laughs pleasantly at this implication that he is “pumping” his companion, and pours him a second glass.

Mr Vulliamy drinks from it and then says: “As you say, Mr Sancious, there is no young Mr Clothier engaged in any trade, commerce or profession in London.”

At this juncture Mr Sancious’s dinner is laid before him and he appears not to notice what has just been said. But a few moments later he asks: “A grandson, perhaps?”

Mr Vulliamy shrugs his shoulders.

Mr Sancious turns the conversation to other subjects, and while he eats, the clerk addresses himself to the remainder of the wine. When the bottle is empty the attorney orders another and some time later, when half of it has vanished down Mr Vulliamy’s throat, Mr Sancious remarks: “This is a fine scheme your employer is helping to promote, the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company.”

Mr Vulliamy nods and smiles.

“It was most injudicious of the freeholder — whoever he is hiding behind the Pimlico and Westminster Land Company — to have sold so valuable a lease for so little,” the attorney muses.

“Does it strike you like that?” Mr Vulliamy asks, meaningfully.

“You mean that the freeholder knew what he was doing?” Mr Sancious exclaims. Mr Vulliamy looks a little surprised at so perspicacious an inference, but the attorney goes on: “My dear sir, how can you say such a thing?”

Mr Vulliamy first lays a rather unsteady hand to the side of his nose and then points to himself.

“I understand! You are the nominee in whose name the Pimlico and Westminster Land Company is held! On behalf of whom, I wonder?”

At this Mr Vulliamy leans forward on one elbow and winks knowingly, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the elbow missing the edge of the table.

“Mr Clothier!” the lawyer cries, and his companion nods again looking rather taken aback at his interlocutor’s quick understanding. “Then I believe I understand it all! But how he must trust you!”

“Oh, he’s very sure of me,” Mr Vulliamy remarks, shaking his head.

“And likewise, you must trust him,” Mr Sancious remarks amiably. “For public knowledge of this could harm both of you.”

“How could I not trust him? I assure you, Mr Sancious, I am deeply indebted to him.

How could anyone fail to trust him when he talks so much about Justice? And has sacrificed so much to that accursed suit?”

“What suit?”

Perhaps Mr Vulliamy has had a particularly arduous day, for now his head begins to nod forward as he speaks: “Come, Mr Sancious, you must know of it. It’s common gossip in the City. He has been pursuing a suit in Chancery for many years.”

“Indeed? I seem not to have heard of it. Against whom?”

“Against a family called Mompesson.”

“Mompesson?” Mr Sancious echoes. “Mumpsey, by heavens!” he exclaims, then quaffs from his glass to hide his surprise. A moment later he says: “Are you certain there is no daughter-in-law? There is no young Mr Clothier, you say. But was there once one?”

SPECULATIONS

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But Mr Vulliamy leans forward and, as if his head has suddenly become very heavy, rests it on his arms which are laid on the table.

Mr Sancious stands, takes him by the shoulder and shakes him: “Was there a son who died?”

There is no response from the other gentleman. The attorney shakes him more and more roughly. At last, seeing that he is asleep, he pulls the bell-rope and when the potboy appears says to him: “find me a ticker-porter. I believe I saw one lounging at the next court-entrance as I came in.”

The boy hurries away and while he is gone Mr Sancious gazes with no friendly expression at his fellow-diner, now snoring loudly as he lies with his face on the table and his elbows brushing against the remnants of his dinner. After a moment the boy returns with an unkempt individual in a greasy great-coat. The attorney dismisses the boy and says to the porter: “Do you know the Swan-with-Two-Necks in Cheapside?”

The man smiles: “Aye, as the worst flash-house in Town.”

“Stow that and cock your lugs,” the attorney says and then lowers his voice so that the man has to bring his head forward to obey him.

One morning a few weeks after Mrs Belflower had gone, I went to the drawing-room after breakfast for my usual lesson and found that my mother had on her reading-glasses which she always wore for “business”. She looked up with a smile and said: “I’ve had such a kind letter from Mr Sancious. He must have thought a great deal about my affairs for he advises me very strongly not to grant Bissett’s request. For you see, she asked me for higher wages now that some of Mrs Belflower’s work falls to her as well.”

So that was what she wanted to say to my mother that time while Sukey was telling me of her father’s death!

“Mr Sancious says he is very concerned that our income is too low to meet our present expenses, and certainly no new ones. You see, the government has reduced the amount of interest it pays on the consolidated funds I have. In other words, we are really quite poor now, Johnnie.”

“Is there any way we can stop being poor?”

“Yes, Johnnie, for he advises me to change my present investments to a better one.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea!” I exclaimed. “I wonder Uncle Martin didn’t think of it.”

“Well, he was rather old-fashioned, my dear.”

“Then what does Mr Sancious say you should do?”

“It’s very complicated and I don’t understand it entirely, so I don’t think you will. But I’ll read it out and see if it makes it easier.” She adjusted her reading-glasses and began, stumbling over some of the hard words: “ ‘We consequently beg to suggest that the monies, to the value of one thousand pounds, at present with the Consolidated Funds be removed therefrom and laid out in the purchase of shares in the stock of the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company which we have referred to above. The Company’s purpose is to undertake the speculative improvement of a piece of land in the westernmost

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portion of the metropolis, the leasehold to which it has acquired on highly favourable terms. We would be failing in our duty if we omitted to warn you that there is always a risk attendant upon any such venture, but in this case we have every confidence in the Company, whose Directors are personally known to us. Moreover, title to land — even leasehold — is the surest form of security. By reasonable probabilities, we estimate that within two years the capital value of the lease — and therefore of equity shares in the Company — will have at least doubled.’ ” My mother looked up at me: “You see, Johnnie, Mr Sancious seems very sure that it is a good idea doesn’t he? And nothing can be safer than land and houses, can it?”

“No, nothing!” I cried, though I had made very little of this.

“If we invest a thousand pounds as Mr Sancious suggests, then for the next two years we will be very poor because we will have to live on the money that is left in the Funds.”