After Michael had spent a month in France, he discovered that he must still travel on, and still sacrifice time and exertion, if he hoped to bring his unfortunate parent's affairs to a satisfactory issue. Many things had happened since his arrival to give him great pain and annoyance. In the first place, he had learned, with a sickening heart, that the private debts of his father considerably exceeded in amount those which had appeared in the testamentary memorandum. He had seen with his own eyes his father's acknowledgment of liabilities, the existence of which was thus revealed to him for the first time. In his immediate and violent disgust, he burned to expose his parent's cupidity and dishonesty, and to rid himself of the burden which he had voluntarily taken as his own; but pride, shame, and other low incentives, came between him and the fulfilment of a rash resolution, and he had nothing to do but to look his difficulty fully and bravely in the face. In addition to this trial, he found it necessary to proceed without delay as far eastward as Vienna; for thither his chief creditor had taken himself on urgent business, which threatened to detain him on the spot until the following year. Nor was this all; a Lyonese merchant, who held old Allcraft's note of hand for a considerable sum, advanced under assurances of early payment, had grown obstinate and restive with disappointment and anxiety. He insisted upon the instant discharge of his claim, and refused to give another hour's grace. To rid himself of this plague, Michael had not hesitated to draw upon his house for a sum somewhat greater than five thousand pounds. The act had not been committed without some distress of mind—some murmurings of conscience; but the necessity was great—the compulsion not to be avoided. To put an end to all further and importunate demands, he posted into Austria fast as he could be conveyed. The chief creditor was destined to be Michael's chief misery. He was an obdurate, unyielding man, and, after days of negotiation, would finally listen to nothing but the chink of the gold that was due to him. And how much that was, Michael dared not trust himself to think. Now, what was to be done? To draw again upon the bank—to become himself, to his partners, an example of recklessness and extravagance, was out of the question. He had but one course before him, and it was one which he had solemnly vowed never to adopt. To beg a loan from his wife so early in the morning of their union, seemed a thing impossible—at least it seemed so in the outset, when the thought first blushed upon him, and there remained a chance, a hope, of escaping from the miserable alternative. But as the creditor got clamorous, and every prospect of satisfying his demand—every means save one—grew dim, and shadowy, and blank, the wrongfulness, the impropriety of making an appeal to her, whose heart was willing as her hand was able to release him from despair, became less evident, and by degrees not evident at all. It would have been well for Allcraft, and for Margaret too, had the latter resisted his demand, or opposed it with one kind word of remonstrance. Michael was prepared for this, and the gentlest opposition would have saved them both. But what did Margaret possess, which she wished not to share with him who was her idol—dearer to her than her life—the joy and light of life! He hinted his request; she hardly suffered him to hint it. She placed her substance at his command, and bade him use it. Like a guilty man—one guilty of his first but heavy fault—blushing and faltering, Allcraft thanked his Margaret for the loan, promised speedy payment, and vowed that he would beg no more. Fond Margaret! she kissed the vow away, and bade him clear his brow, smile, and be happy. It was a woman's part, who loves not wisely, but too well. The day that gave him the means of satisfying the claims of one great creditor, bound Allcraft more seriously to another; but he rejoiced at his success, which brought him temporary ease, and he congratulated himself upon his deliverance from failure and exposure. There was little to do. The lady's broker was written to; the legal adviser of the gentleman, at Michael's own request, prepared an instrument to secure repayment of the loan; the money came—the debts of Allcraft senior to the last farthing were discharged, and scarcely discharged before Michael, eager and anxious to be at home, quitted Vienna, ready to travel by night and day, and longing to feel his footing safely in the banking-house again.
It is now proper to state, that on the very day that Michael's draft of five thousand pounds applied for honourable reception at the counter of his most respectable establishment, by a curious coincidence another demand for double that amount appeared there likewise; not in the shape of cheque or written order, but in that of a request, personal and oral, proceeding from the proud and high-born lips of Walter Bellamy, Esquire, lord of the manor—gentleman and banker. Mr Bellamy was not the first man, by a great number, who has attempted to clothe and conceal real poverty in the stately apparel of arrogance and offensive self-sufficiency. He, man of the world, knew well enough, that, thus disguised, necessity need never fear discovery—might look and laugh in secret at mankind—might feed and thrive upon its faults and weaknesses. How comparatively easy it is to avoid the shoals and rocks of life—to sail smoothly and pleasantly on its waters, when we take for our rudder and our guide the world's great axiom, "riches are virture—poverty is vice." "Assume the virtue, if you have it not;" assume its shows and appearances, its tricks, its offences, and its crimes, rather than confess your nakedness. Be liberal and prodigal, if it must be, with the crown you need to pay your necessary lodging; adorn with velvet and with silk the body that grows sick for lack of wholesome food; bribe, beyond their expectation, the pampered things in livery that stand between you and the glory you aspire to—bribe them, though to part with money is to lose your meal. Upon this broad principle it was, that Walter Bellamy existed—in virtue of it he held lands, and by its means he had become a partner in the bank, an active one, as very soon he proved himself to be. His property was estimated by shrewd calculators at a hundred thousand pounds—that, at the very least. And Bellamy chuckled at his fireside—no one being by—at the universal gullibility of man. A hundred thousand pounds! Why, he could not—at any one period during the last twenty years, command as many farthings. What right had strangers to calculate for him? What right had Allcraft to depend upon such calculations? We may well ask the question, since Mr Bellamy did so, when he endeavoured, as the worst of us will do, to justify bad conduct to an unfaithful conscience. Why, what was he? a simple locum tenens of a dozen mortgagees, who had advanced upon the estate a great deal more money than it would ever realize, if forced to sale—a haughty, overbearing man, (though very benevolent to postboys and other serving men,) a magistrate, and a great disciplinarian. This was the amount of his pretensions, and yet men worshipped him. It was surely not the fault of Mr Bellamy, but rather his good fortune; and if he chose to make the most of it, he was a wise and prudent personage. When it is borne in mind that the possessions of Mr Bellamy were involved beyond their actual worth—that for some time he had lived in a perpetual dread of exposure and utter ruin—that for years he had looked abroad for some kind friend, who, if not altogether willing, might still be prevailed upon to release him from his difficulties—it will be easy to understand his very great desire to confer on Michael Allcraft all the advantages of his own position and high character.
The part which Bellamy had taken in the business of the house, was very inconsiderable until Michael's departure. Up to that time, he came to the bank in his carriage with much ceremony—spoke to the dependents there with becoming hauteur, and took his leave, on all occasions, as a rich man should, with abundant fuss, scarcely troubling himself with the proceedings of the day. "He had," he was always repeating the words, "he had the greatest confidence in Allcraft. It was unbounded. He felt that he could trust to him entirely and unreservedly." Gratefully did such expressions fall upon the flattered ear of Michael, applauding himself ever upon his victory—upon the acquisition of such a man. Of what service he would be to him in his well-laid plans! Of what use was his name already—and how much more serviceable than all would be the noble sum of money which he had promised to bring into the bank at the close of the year! Michael, in his moments of chivalry, standing in the presence of Bellamy, looked upon him almost with an eye of pity and self-reproach. Whilst he himself could only plead guilty to a most refined and cunning policy, his innocent partner was but too full of trust; too simple and too unsuspecting. Somebody remarks, that God reserves unto himself that horrid sight—a naked, human heart. Had Allcraft and Bellamy, during one of their early interviews, suddenly stripped, and favoured each other with reciprocal glances—one or both would have been slightly startled by the unexpected exhibition. Planner had always looked upon Mr Bellamy as a very great man indeed—had contemplated him with that exact admixture of awe and admiration, that was pleasing and acceptable to the subject of it. Mr Bellamy, in his turn, conducted himself towards the schemer with much cordiality and kindness. Proud men never unbend until their supremacy is acknowledged through your servility. Your submission turns their gall to honey—converts their vinegar to milk—to the very cream of human complaisance. Mr Bellamy acted his part in this respect, as in every other—well; a tiger to such as would not cringe, he could become a playful lamb to all who were content to fawn. Planner and he were on the best possible terms. Looking into what is called the nature of things, we shall think it very natural on the part of Mr Bellamy, when he found himself so agreeably situated in regard to the circulating medium, if he took an early opportunity to help himself of the abundance by which he was surrounded. The truth is, that some time before the visit of Allcraft to the Continent, he had entertained a very serious intention of drawing out of the concern the anticipatory profits of a few years, in order to relieve himself and fine estate from certain engagements which pressed inconveniently on both—but his object had not, for many reasons, been carried into effect. In the first place, a moderate degree of actual shame withheld him—and again, he had begged for time from his creditor, and obtained it. Allcraft absent, the sense of shame diminished; before he could return to England, the grateful respite was at an end. It was a fine bright morning when Mr Bellamy's grand carriage drew up in state before the banking-house, and the highly respectable proprietor descended from it with his accustomed style and dignity. Mr Planner was, at the moment, at his desk, very busy with the prospectus of the Pantamorphica Association, in which he had just completed some very striking additions—but perceiving his respected colleague, he jumped from his seat, and hastened to give him greeting.
"Don't let me disturb you, my dear friend," said the gracious Mr Bellamy. "I beg you'll prosecute your labours."
"Don't mention it, I pray—so like you, Mr Bellamy—always considerate and kind."
"Busy, Mr Planner—eh?—a deal to do now in the absence of our good friend?"
"Enough, enough sir, I assure you—but business, sir, is pleasure to the active mind."
"Very true—we feel your worth, sir—the house acknowledges your ability, Mr Planner."
"Dear Mr Bellamy—you are very flattering."
"No—not at all. Have you any engagement, Mr Planner, for this evening? Can you find time to dine with us at the Hall? I am positively angry with you for your repeated excuses."