THE BANKING HOUSE
A HISTORY IN THREE PARTS. PART III
.
CHAPTER I.
SYMPTOMS OF ROTTENNESS.
Michael Allcroft returned to his duties, tuned for labour, full of courage, and the spirit of enterprise and action. Discharged from the thrall which had hitherto borne hard upon his energies, and kept them down, he felt the blessed influence of perfect Liberty, and the youthful elasticity of mind and body that liberty and conscious strength engender. Devoted to the task that he had inflicted upon himself, he grudged every hour that kept him from the field of operations. Firm in his determination to realize, by his exertions, a sum of money equal to his parent's debts, and to redeem the estate from its insolvency, he was uneasy and impatient until he could resume his yoke, and press resolutely forward. Rich and independent as he was, in virtue of the fortune of his wife, he still spurned the idea of relying upon her for his release—for the means of rescuing his fathers name and house from infamy. No; he saw—he fancied that he saw a brighter way marked out before him. Industry, perseverance, and extreme attention would steer his bark steadily through the difficult ocean, and bring her safely into harbour: these he could command, for they depended upon himself whom he might trust. He had looked diligently into the transactions of the house for many years past, and the investigation was most satisfactory. Year after year, the business had increased—the profits had improved. The accumulations of his father must have been considerable when he entered upon his ruinous speculations. What was the fair inference to draw from this result? Why—that with the additional capital of his partners—the influx and extension of good business, and the application of his own resolute mind, a sum would be raised within a very few years, sufficient to reinstate the firm, to render it once more stable and secure. And then—this desirable object once effected, and the secret of the unfortunate position of the house never divulged—the income which would afterwards follow for his partners and himself, must be immense. It was this view of the subject that justified, to his mind, the means which he had used—that silenced self-reproof, when it accused him of artifice, and called him to account for the deception he had practised upon his colleagues. It must be acknowledged, that the plan which he proposed held out fair promise of ultimate success and that, reckoning upon the united will and assistance of his partners, he had good reason to look for an eventual release from all his difficulties and cares. Yet it was not to be. "We still have judgment here." Punishment still comes to us from those whom we would circumvent. It was in vain that Michael set foot in the Bank with an indomitable and eager spirit; in vain that he longed to grapple with his fate—resolute to overcome it. The world was against him. The battle was already decided. His first hard struggle for deliverance was coincident with his last hour of earthly peace.
Before one year had passed over the respectable heads of our notable Banking-House, Allcraft was involved in a net of perplexity, from which it required all the acuteness of his apprehending mind to work out a mode of extrication. Augustus Brammel continued abroad, spending his money, and drawing upon the house, with the impudent recklessness which we have already seen to be a prime ingredient in his character. He did not condescend to communicate with his partners, or to give them any information touching his whereabouts, except such as might be gathered from his cheques, which came, week after week, with alarming punctuality, for sums as startling. From this one source of misery, where was a promise or a chance of a final rescue? Michael saw none. What if he refused to cash his partner's drafts? What if he permitted them to find their way back, as best they might, through the various channels by which they had travelled on their previous journey—dishonoured and disgraced? Who but himself would be the loser by the game? Such a refusal would lead to quick enquiry—enquiry to information—information to want of confidence and speedy ruin. What reliance could repose upon a house, divided against itself—not safe from the extravagance and pillage of its own members? The public eye, ever watchful and timid, waits scarcely for the show of danger to take alarm and withdraw its favour. Michael shrunk from the bare conception of an act of violence. It was more agreeable, in an hour of self-collectedness, to devise a remedy, which, if it did not cure the disease, helped at least to cicatrize the immediate wounds. He looked from Brammel to Brammel's father for indemnification. And the old man was in truth a rare temptation. Fond, pitiable father of a false and bloodless child! doting, when others would have hated, loving his prodigal with a more anxious fondness as his ingratitude grew baser—as the claims upon a parent's heart dwindled more and more away. The grey-haired man was a girl in tenderness and sensibility. He remembered the mother of the wayward child, and the pains she had taken to misuse and spoil her only boy; his own conduct returned to him in the shape of heavy reproaches, and he could not forget, or call to mind without remorse, the smiles of encouragement he had given, the flattering approbation he had bestowed when true love, justice, duty, mercy, all called loudly for rebuke, restraint, wholesome correction, solemn chastisement. Could he be conscious of all this, and not excuse the unsteady youth—accuse himself? It was he who deserved punishment—not the sufferer with his calamities imposed upon him by his erring sire. He was ready to receive his punishment. Oh, would that at any cost—at any expense of bodily and mental suffering, he could secure his child from further sorrow and from deeper degradation! To such a heart and mind, Michael might well carry his complaints with some expectation of sympathy and reimbursement. Aggrieved as he was, he did not fail to paint his disappointment and sense of injury in the strongest colours; but blacker than all—and he was capable of such a task, he pictured the gross deception of which he had so cruelly been made the subject.
"I could," he said to the poor father, in whose aged eyes, turned to the earth, tears of shame were gushing, "I could have forgiven any thing but that. You deceived me meanly and deliberately. The character you gave with him was false. You knew it to be so, and you were well aware that nothing but mischief and ruin could result from a connexion with him."
"Indeed, Mr Allcraft," replied the unhappy man, "I had great hopes of his reformation. He had improved of late years a little, and he gave me his word that he would be steady. If I had not thought so, I should certainly not have permitted you to receive him. What can we do, sir?"