by his stout old uncle.
In due time the Gazette announced that Thomas Newcome, Esq., was returned
as one of the Members of Parliament for the borough of Newcome; and after
triumphant dinners, speeches, and rejoicings, the Member came back to his
family in London, and to his affairs in that city.
The good Colonel appeared to be by no means elated by his victory. He
would not allow that he was wrong in engaging in that family war, of
which we have just seen the issue; though it may be that his secret
remorse on this account in part occasioned his disquiet. But there were
other reasons, which his family not long afterwards came to understand,
for the gloom and low spirits which now oppressed the head of their home.
It was observed (that is, if simple little Rosey took the trouble to
observe) that the entertainments at the Colonel's mansion were more
frequent and splendid even than before; the silver cocoa-nut tree was
constantly in requisition, and around it were assembled many new guests,
who had not formerly been used to sit under those branches. Mr. Sherrick
and his wife appeared at those parties, at which the proprietor of Lady
Whittlesea's Chapel made himself perfectly familiar. Sherrick cut jokes
with the master of the house, which the latter received with a very grave
acquiescence; he ordered the servants about, addressing the butler as
"Old Corkscrew," and bidding the footman, whom he loved to call by his
Christian name, to "look alive." He called the Colonel "Newcome"
sometimes, and facetiously speculated upon the degree of relationship
subsisting between them now that his daughter was married to Clive's
uncle, the Colonel's brother-in-law. Though I dare say Clive did not much
relish receiving news of his aunt, Sherrick was sure to bring such
intelligence when it reached him; and announced, in due time, the birth
of a little cousin at Boggley Wollah, whom the fond parents designed to
name "Thomas Newcome Honeyman."
A dreadful panic and ghastly terror seized poor Clive on occasion which
he described to me afterwards. Going out from home one day with his
father, he beheld a wine-merchant's cart, from which hampers were carried
down the area gate into the lower regions of Colonel Newcome's house.
"Sherrick and Co., Wine Merchants, Walpole Street," was painted upon the
vehicle.
"Good heavens! sir, do you get your wine from him?" Clive cried out to
his father, remembering Honeyman's provisions in early times. The
Colonel, looking very gloomy and turning red, said, "Yes, he bought wine
from Sherrick, who had been very good-natured and serviceable; and who--
and who, you know, is our connexion now." When informed of the
circumstance by Clive, I too, as I confess, thought the incident
alarming.
Then Clive, with a laugh, told me of a grand battle which had taken place
in consequence of Mrs. Mackenzie's behaviour to the wine-merchant's wife.
The Campaigner had treated this very kind and harmless, but vulgar woman,
with extreme hauteur--had talked loud during her singing--the beauty of
which, to say truth, time had considerably impaired--had made
contemptuous observations regarding her upon more than one occasion. At
length the Colonel broke out in great wrath against Mrs. Mackenzie--bade
her to respect that lady as one of his guests--and, if she did not like
the company which assembled at his house, hinted to her that there were
many thousand other houses in London where she could find a lodging. For
the sake of her grandchild, and her adored child, the Campaigner took no
notice of this hint; and declined to remove from the quarter which she
had occupied ever since she had become a grandmamma.
I myself dined once or twice with my old friends, under the shadow of the
pickle-bearing cocoa-nut tree; and could not but remark a change of
personages in the society assembled. The manager of the City branch of
the B. B. C. was always present--an ominous-looking man, whose whispers
and compliments seemed to make poor Clive, at his end of the table, very
melancholy. With the City manager came the City manager's friends, whose
jokes passed gaily round, and who kept the conversation to themselves.
Once I had the happiness to meet Mr. Ratray, who had returned, filled
with rupees from the Indian Bank; who told us many anecdotes of the
splendour of Rummun Loll at Calcutta, who complimented the Colonel on his
fine house and grand dinners with sinister good-humour. Those compliments
did not seem to please our poor friend; that familiarity choked him. A
wife of dubious gentility, was another constant guest. He enlivened the
table by his jokes, and recounted choice stories about the aristocracy,
with certain members of whom the little man seemed very familiar. He knew
to a shilling how much this lord owed--and how much the creditors allowed
to that marquis. He had been concerned with such and such a nobleman, who
was now in the Queen's Bench. He spoke of their lordships affably and
without their titles--calling upon "Louisa, my dear," his wife, to
testify to the day when Viscount Tagrag dined with them, and Earl
Bareacres sent them the pheasants. F. B., as sombre and downcast as his
hosts now seemed to be, informed me demurely that the attorney was a
member of one of the most eminent firms in the City--that he had been
engaged in procuring the Colonel's parliamentary title for him--and in
various important matters appertaining to the B. B. C.; but my knowledge
of the world and the law was sufficient to make me aware that this
gentleman belonged to a well-known firm of money-lending solicitors, and
I trembled to see such a person in the home of our good Colonel. Where
were the generals and the judges? Where were the fogies and their
respectable ladies? Stupid they were, and dull their company; but better
a stalled ox in their society, than Mr. Campion's jokes over Mr.
Sherrick's wines.
After the little rebuke administered by Colonel Newcome, Mrs. Mackenzie
abstained from overt hostilities against any guests of her daughter's
father-in-law; and contented herself by assuming grand and princess-like
airs in the company of the new ladies. They flattered her and poor little
Rosa intensely. The latter liked their company, no doubt. To a man of the
world looking on, who has seen the men and morals of many cities, it was
curious, almost pathetic, to watch that poor little innocent creature
fresh and smiling, attired in bright colours and a thousand gewgaws,
simpering in the midst of these darkling people--practising her little
arts and coquetries, with such a court round about her. An unconscious
little maid, with rich and rare gems sparkling on all her fingers, and
bright gold rings as many as belonged to the late Old Woman of Banbury
Cross--still she smiled and prattled innocently before these banditti--I
thought of Zerlina and the Brigands, in Fra Diavolo.
Walking away with F. B. from one of these parties of the Colonel's, and
seriously alarmed at what I had observed th
ere, I demanded of Bayham
whether my conjectures were not correct, that some misfortune overhung
our old friend's house? At first Bayham denied stoutly or pretended
ignorance; but at length, having reached the Haunt together, which I had
not visited since I was a married man, we entered that place of
entertainment, and were greeted by its old landlady and waitress, and
accommodated with a quiet parlour. And here F. B., after groaning and
sighing--after solacing himself with a prodigious quantity of bitter
beer--fairly burst out, and, with tears in his eyes, made a full and sad
confession respecting this unlucky Bundelcund Banking Company. The shares
had been going lower and lower, so that there was no sale now for them at
all. To meet the liabilities, the directors must have undergone the
greatest sacrifices. He did know--he did not like to think what the
Colonel's personal losses were. The respectable solicitors of the Company
had retired, long since, after having secured payment of a most
respectable bill; and had given place to the firm of dubious law-agents
of whom I had that evening seen a partner. How the retiring partners from
India had been allowed to withdraw, and to bring fortunes along with
them, was a mystery to Mr. Frederick Bayham. The great Indian
millionnaire was in his, F. B.'s eyes, "a confounded mahogany-coloured
heathen humbug." These fine parties which the Colonel was giving, and
that fine carriage which was always flaunting about the Park with poor
Mrs. Clive and the Campaigner, and the nurse and the baby, were, in F.
B.'s opinion, all decoys and shams. He did not mean to say that the meals
were not paid, and that the Colonel had to plunder for his horses' corn;
but he knew that Sherrick, and the attorney, and the manager, insisted
upon the necessity of giving these parties, and keeping up this state and
grandeur, and opined that it was at the special instance of these
advisers that the Colonel had contested the borough for which he was now
returned. "Do you know how much that contest cost?" asks F. B. "The sum,
myself from Newcome to Campion and Sherrick about it. I betray no
secrets--F. B., sir, would die a thousand deaths before he would tell the
secrets of his benefactor!--But, Pendennis, you understand a thing or
two. You know what o'clock it is, and so does yours truly, F. B., who
drinks your health. I know the taste of Sherrick's wine well enough.
F. B., sir, fears the Greeks and all the gifts they bring. Confound his
Amontillado! I had rather drink this honest malt and hops all my life
than ever see a drop of his abominable sherry. Golden? F. B. believes it
is golden--and a precious deal dearer than gold too"--and herewith,
ringing the bell, my friend asked for a second pint of the just-named and
cheaper fluid.
I have of late had to recount portions of my dear old friend's history
which must needs be told, and over which the writer does not like to
dwell. If Thomas Newcome's opulence was unpleasant to describe, and to
contrast with the bright goodness and simplicity I remembered in former
days, how much more painful is that part of his story to which we are now
come perforce, and which the acute reader of novels has, no doubt, long
foreseen? Yes, sir or madam, you are quite right in the opinion which you
have held all along regarding that Bundelcund Banking Company, in which
our Colonel has invested every rupee he possesses, Solvuntur rupees, etc.
I disdain, for the most part, the tricks and surprises of the novelist's
art. Knowing, from the very beginning of our story, what was the issue of
this Bundelcund Banking concern, I have scarce had patience to keep my
counsel about it; and whenever I have had occasion to mention the
Company, have scarcely been able to refrain from breaking out into fierce
diatribes against that complicated, enormous, outrageous swindle. It was
one of many similar cheats which have been successfully practised upon
the simple folks, civilian and military, who toil and struggle--who fight
with sun and enemy--who pass years of long exile and gallant endurance in
the service of our empire in India. Agency houses after agency houses
have been established, and have flourished in splendour and magnificence,
and have paid fabulous dividends--and have enormously enriched two or
three wary speculators--and then have burst in bankruptcy, involving
widows, orphans, and countless simple people who trusted their all to the
keeping of these unworthy treasurers.
The failure of the Bundelcund Bank which we now have to record, was one
only of many similar schemes ending in ruin. About the time when Thomas
Newcome was chaired as Member of Parliament for the borough of which he
bore the name, the great Indian merchant who was at the head of the
Bundelcund Banking Company's affairs at Calcutta, suddenly died of
cholera at his palace at Barackpore. He had been giving of late a series
of the most splendid banquets with which Indian prince ever entertained a
Calcutta society. The greatest and proudest personages of that
aristocratic city had attended his feasts. The fairest Calcutta beauties
had danced in his halls. Did not poor F. B. transfer from the columns of
the Bengal Hurkaru to the Pall Mall Gazette the most astounding
descriptions of those Asiatic Nights Entertainments, of which the very
grandest was to come off on the night when cholera seized Rummun Loll in
its grip? There was to have been a masquerade outvying all European
masquerades in splendour. The two rival queens of the Calcutta society
were to have appeared each with her court around her. Young civilians at
the College, and young ensigns fresh landed, had gone into awful expenses
and borrowed money at interest from the B. B. C. and other banking
companies, in order to appear with befitting splendour as knights and
noblemen of Henrietta Maria's Court (Henrietta Maria, wife of Hastings
Hicks, Esq., Sudder Dewanee Adawlut), or as princes and warriors
surrounding the palanquin of Lalla Rookh (the lovely wife of Hon.
Cornwallis Bobus, Member of Council): all these splendours were there. As
carriage after carriage drove up from Calcutta, they were met at Rummun
Loll's gate by ghastly weeping servants, who announced their master's
demise.
On the next day the Bank at Calcutta was closed, and the day after, when
heavy bills were presented which must be paid, although by this time
Rummun Loll was not only dead but buried, and his widows howling over his
grave, it was announced throughout Calcutta that but 800 rupees were left
in the treasury of the B. B. C. to meet engagements to the amount of four
lakhs then immediately due, and sixty days afterwards the shutters were
closed at No. 175 Lothbury, the London offices of the B. B. C. of India,
and 35,000 pounds worth of their bills refused by their agents, Messrs.
Baines, Jolly and Co., of Fog Court.
When the accounts of that ghastly bankruptcy arrived from Calcutta, it
was found, of course, that the merchant-prince Rummun
Loll owed the
B. B. C. twenty-five lakhs of rupees, the value of which was scarcely
even represented by his respectable signature. It was found that one of
the auditors of the bank, the generally esteemed Charley Conder (a
capital fellow, famous for his good dinners, and for playing low-comedy
characters at the Chowringhee Theatre), was indebted to the bank in
90,000 pounds; and also it was discovered that the revered Baptist
Bellman, Chief Registrar of the Calcutta Tape and Sealing-Wax Office (a
most valuable and powerful amateur preacher who had converted two
natives, and whose serious soirees were thronged at Calcutta), had helped
himself to 73,000 pounds more, for which he settled in the Bankruptcy
Court before he resumed his duties in his own. In justice to Mr. Bellman,
it must be said that he could have had no idea of the catastrophe
impending over the B. B. C. For, only three weeks before that great bank
closed its doors, Mr. Bellman, as guardian of the children of his widowed
sister Mrs. Green, had sold the whole of the late Colonel's property out
of Company's paper and invested it in the bank, which gave a high
interest, and with bills of which, drawn upon their London
correspondents, he had accommodated Mrs. Colonel Green when she took her
departure for Europe with her numerous little family on board the
Burrumpooter.
And now you have the explanation of the title of this chapter, and know
wherefore Thomas Newcome never sat in Parliament. Where are our dear old
friends now? Where are Rosey's chariots and horses? Where her jewels and
gewgaws? Bills are up in the fine new house. Swarms of Hebrew gentlemen
with their hats on are walking about the drawing-rooms, peering into the
bedrooms, weighing and poising the poor old silver cocoa-nut tree, eyeing
the plate and crystal, thumbing the damask of the curtains, and
inspecting ottomans, mirrors, and a hundred articles of splendid
trumpery. There is Rosey's boudoir which her father-in-law loved to
ornament--there is Clive's studio with a hundred sketches--there is the
Colonel's bare room at the top of the house, with his little iron
bedstead and ship's drawers, and a camel trunk or two which have
accompanied him on many an Indian march, and his old regulation sword,
and that one which the native officers of his regiment gave him when he
bade them farewell. I can fancy the brokers' faces as they look over this
camp wardrobe, and that the uniforms will not fetch much in Holywell
Street. There is the old one still, and that new one which he ordered and
wore when poor little Rosey was presented at court. I had not the heart
to examine their plunder, and go amongst those wreckers. F. B. used to
attend the sale regularly, and report its proceedings to us with eyes
full of tears. "A fellow laughed at me," says F. B., "because when I came
into the dear old drawing-room I took my hat off. I told him that if he
dared say another word I would knock him down." I think F. B. may be
pardoned in this instance for emulating the office of auctioneer. Where
are you, pretty Rosey and poor little helpless baby? Where are you, dear
Clive--gallant young friend of my youth? Ah! it is a sad story--a
melancholy page to pen! Let us pass it over quickly--I love not to think
of my friend in pain.
CHAPTER LXXI
In which Mrs. Clive Newcome's Carriage is ordered
All the friends of the Newcome family, of course, knew the disaster which
had befallen the good Colonel, and I was aware, for my own part, that not
only his own, but almost the whole of Rosa Newcome's property was
involved in the common ruin. Some proposals of temporary relief were made
to our friends from more quarters than one, but were thankfully rejected
--and we were led to hope that the Colonel, having still his pension
secured to him, which the law could not touch, might live comfortably