The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

gentlemen could do, and they soon departed from the house;⁠—not, however, till Mr. Bideawhile had given certain short injunctions to the butler concerning the property contained in Mr. Longestaffe’s town residence.

“They had come to see him,” said Lord Nidderdale in a whisper. “There was some appointment. He had told them to be all here at this hour.”

“They didn’t know, then?” asked Marie.

“Nothing⁠—till the man told them.”

“And did you go in?”

“Yes; we all went into the room.” Marie shuddered, and again hid her face. “I think the best thing I can do,” said Nidderdale, “is to go to Abchurch Lane, and find out from Smith who is the lawyer whom he chiefly trusted. I know Smith had to do with his own affairs, because he has told me so at the Board; and if necessary I will find out Croll. No doubt I can trace him. Then we had better employ the lawyer to arrange everything for you.”

“And where had we better go to?”

“Where would Madame Melmotte wish to go?”

“Anywhere, so that we could hide ourselves. Perhaps Frankfort would be the best. But shouldn’t we stay till something has been done here? And couldn’t we have lodgings, so as to get away from Mr. Longestaffe’s house?” Nidderdale promised that he himself would look for lodgings, as soon as he had seen the lawyer. “And now, my lord, I suppose that I never shall see you again,” said Marie.

“I don’t know why you should say that.”

“Because it will be best. Why should you? All this will be trouble enough to you when people begin to say what we are. But I don’t think it has been my fault.”

“Nothing has ever been your fault.”

“Goodbye, my lord. I shall always think of you as one of the kindest people I ever knew. I thought it best to send to you for different reasons, but I do not want you to come back.”

“Goodbye, Marie. I shall always remember you.” And so they parted.

After that he did go into the City, and succeeded in finding both Mr. Smith and Herr Croll. When he reached Abchurch Lane, the news of Melmotte’s death had already been spread abroad; and more was known, or said to be known, of his circumstances than Nidderdale had as yet heard. The crushing blow to him, so said Herr Croll, had been the desertion of Cohenlupe⁠—that and the sudden fall in the value of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway shares, consequent on the rumours spread about the City respecting the Pickering property. It was asserted in Abchurch Lane that had he not at that moment touched the Pickering property, or entertained the Emperor, or stood for Westminster, he must, by the end of the autumn, have been able to do any or all of those things without danger, simply as the result of the money which would then have been realised by the railway. But he had allowed himself to become hampered by the want of comparatively small sums of ready money, and in seeking relief had rushed from one danger to another, till at last the waters around him had become too deep even for him, and had overwhelmed him. As to his immediate death, Herr Croll expressed not the slightest astonishment. It was just the thing, Herr Croll said, that he had been sure that Melmotte would do, should his difficulties ever become too great for him. “And dere vas a leetle ting he lay himself open by de oder day,” said Croll, “dat vas nasty⁠—very nasty.” Nidderdale shook his head, but asked no questions. Croll had alluded to the use of his own name, but did not on this occasion make any further revelation. Then Croll made a further statement to Lord Nidderdale, which I think he must have done in pure good-nature. “My lor,” he said, whispering very gravely, “de money of de yong lady is all her own.” Then he nodded his head three times. “Nobody can toch it, not if he vas in debt millions.” Again he nodded his head.

“I am very glad to hear it for her sake,” said Lord Nidderdale as he took his leave.

LXXXVII Down at Carbury

When Roger Carbury returned to Suffolk, after seeing his cousins in Welbeck Street, he was by no means contented with himself. That he should be discontented generally with the circumstances of his life was a matter of course. He knew that he was farther removed than ever from the object on which his whole mind was set. Had Hetta Carbury learned all the circumstances of Paul’s engagement with Mrs. Hurtle before she had confessed her love to Paul⁠—so that her heart might have been turned against the man before she had made her confession⁠—then, he thought, she might at last have listened to him. Even though she had loved the other man, she might have at last done so, as her love would have been buried in her own bosom. But the tale had been told after the fashion which was most antagonistic to his own interests. Hetta had never heard Mrs. Hurtle’s name till she had given herself away, and had declared to all her friends that she had given herself away to this man, who was so unworthy of her. The more Roger thought of this, the more angry he was with Paul Montague, and the more convinced that that man had done him an injury which he could never forgive.

But his grief extended even beyond that. Though he was never tired of swearing to himself that he would not forgive Paul Montague, yet there was present to him a feeling that an injury was being done to the man, and that he was in some sort responsible for that injury. He had declined to tell Hetta any part of the story about Mrs. Hurtle⁠—actuated by a feeling that he ought not to betray the trust put in him by a man who was at the time his friend; and he had told nothing. But