Читать книгу Ride With Me - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 9

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Frank was in a depressed frame of mind. He had spent the previous evening with Sir Robert Wilson, listening to the sweeping arguments of that dynamic dragoon, and the night in making up his mind. He riffled a listless hand through the pile of letters on his desk and had no inclination to open any of them until he encountered an envelope addressed in a stiff foreign hand. He broke the seal, and his mind raced excitedly when he saw the signature: Robert, Comte de Salle.

What could the father of Gabrielle be writing him about? Many wild conjectures occurred to him, only to be dismissed when the purpose of the note became apparent in the first sentence. Robert, Comte de Salle, was registering a complaint. In concise and somewhat stilted French he protested against the charge in the Tablet that members of the Royalist colony were working secretly for the usurper and tyrant, Bonaparte. It was inconceivable that any of the devoted nobility who had gone into voluntary exile (Voluntary? thought Frank. Had he forgotten the guillotine?) could lend aid to the despoiler of their homes and the assassin of so many of their number. The Tablet, in brief, was requested to do justice in print to the faithful band of patriots it had thus traduced.

Frank leaned back in his chair, the open letter in his hand. He had feared he would never see Gabrielle de Salle again, but here, after all, was the chance to do so. He would call on the Comte to present his regrets and to secure such facts as might be necessary for an article on the true attitude of the French colony. That certainly constituted a reasonable basis for a visit, and if he had luck he might see the beautiful daughter of the family and recall himself to her notice. He looked up at the face of the large astronomical clock on the wall opposite him. The monthly meeting of the shareholders should be over by three o’clock, and he could reach the home of the Comte by four.

He went over in his mind everything that had occurred that evening in the fog, conning each word she had said to him, treasuring his memory of how she had looked. Had she remembered it only as a trifling incident, an encounter of no importance at all? He recalled that Walter Scott, the rhyming border sheriff, had fallen in love at first sight with the pretty daughter of an émigré and had succeeded in winning her hand, even though her family had been of noble extraction. The Charpentiers, of course, had not belonged to the nobility of the court, but he need not assume that this difference in grade would prove an insurmountable obstacle. The De Salles must be in severe straits when Gabrielle found it necessary to brave the dampness and the cold of a December evening in such a thin wrap and such inadequate shoes. There was hope for him there perhaps.

He forced himself finally to think of the day’s work ahead. He dreaded the meeting because it was going to be necessary to fight for the decision he had reached, to commit himself and the Tablet to the policy Wilson had been urging on him. It would inevitably cause a rift in the family, and that was not a pleasant prospect. He would be publicly criticized, his motives would be attacked, he might even be charged with disloyalty. The indignation of the governing classes would descend on him, and there would, without a doubt, be reprisals from the administration. He felt a little weak at the pit of the stomach. There was still time to change his mind, of course. Perhaps he would have done so if he could have forgotten one thing that Wilson had said: “We were fated to come together—for the good of our country.”

His mother came into the office, well bundled up in a fur-trimmed pelisse. She was wearing a poke bonnet of yellow straw with brown ribbons. Frank admitted grudgingly to himself that it was extremely becoming, although the fashion of wearing straw hats in cold weather seemed to him the height of absurdity.

“Francis,” she said, seating herself beside his desk and applying a wisp of handkerchief briefly and daintily to her nose, “you have been avoiding me. Purposely, I’m sure. Caradoc will be here in a few minutes, and I think we should settle matters before he arrives.”

He regarded her steadily, his thoughts busy. The two problems had become tied in together. One decision now depended on the other.

“We’ve been at the Towers,” went on Mrs. Ellery. “Caradoc and I. We lunched at Bilber, and the Duke was really quite affable. I began to hope he had changed his mind because he talked to Caradoc for a long time and praised his speech. But when Caradoc spoke to him later about Mary, he put his foot down. He said he didn’t regard him as an eligible husband for a daughter of the house of Murreys. Those were his exact words. You must see now, Francis, that my plan is the only possible way to win him over.”

“Why do you think he can be won over? It doesn’t seem likely to me after what he said.”

“Hughie brought Mary over to see us the next day. He said his father had talked to him about it. It seems he doesn’t object to Caradoc at all. It’s only because the poor boy has no position. I took Hughie aside and hinted to him—well, that something might be done about that, and he said right away it would make a great difference. Hughie is very fond of Caradoc and is all in favor of the match. That’s very important because the old man can’t live forever, and then Hughie will be the head of the family.”

Frank brought himself to a final decision. He would go through with the course he had planned and face the consequences, whatever they might be. Reaching into a drawer of his desk, he brought out two legal-looking documents and spread them in front of him.

“The proposal is completely one-sided as far as values are concerned,” he said. “The property on any reckoning is worth double the one share in the newspaper. And, remember, I would have to wait for that until after Carr had married. You said the loss would be made up to me by the prospect of finally getting control of the paper. Very well. Carr would step into the property and enjoy the full benefit of the deal at once. I don’t propose to wait indefinitely for the control of the paper. It comes down to this, Mother. If you and Carr will sign these documents I’ve had prepared, I’ll transfer the Towers to him on the terms you propose.”

Mrs. Ellery looked at the papers on the desk with a suspicious and reluctant eye. “What are they?” she demanded. Her voice had become sharper. “I don’t like signing papers, Francis. You know how I dislike it. I’m sure I would be signing away something.”

“I’ll be signing away something, Mother, when I give Carr a deed for the Towers—if I do. What I’m proposing is simple enough. These are a form of proxy. They give me the right to vote your shares in the newspaper on all points which come up at our monthly meetings for a period of five years.”

Her eyes snapped at him indignantly. “You’re asking us to give you our shares? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“No, no. The shares remain yours. You’ll continue to draw the profits on them, of course. I’ll have nothing but the right to vote them. At the end of the five years that right would lapse. In the meantime, if you so desired, you could sell the shares, although they would carry no voting privilege until the end of the five-year period.”

At this point Caradoc came into the room with a brisk “Hello, Frank.” He settled himself into a chair and smiled cordially at his older brother. “Have you and Mother settled this little matter between you? I suppose we’re asking a lot of you, old fellow. For that reason, I’ve been—well, I’ve left it in Mother’s hands. But don’t think that I’m not convinced you stand to benefit by this, Frank. After all, if I go up, the family goes up with me. That’s the main consideration, I think.”

“Caradoc,” said their mother, “a proposal has been made. I’m not sure just what it means. I’m afraid Francis wants too much from us. I’m not at all sure it’s Fair.”

“Well.” Caradoc waved a careless hand. “We can soon get to the bottom of it. Frank and I are intelligent men, I rather think.” He turned to Frank and smiled again. “What is this Machiavellian scheme which has put our little mother into a state of mind?”

Frank explained the plan again and then handed over the papers for inspection. Caradoc read them through with a trace of a frown on his handsome brow.

“Well,” he remarked finally, “I can’t say that I like the idea exactly. After all, old fellow, the Tablet is a mutual property now, isn’t it? I would be very reluctant to sign away my right to have any part in its direction. I feel that I’ve been a steadying factor in the conduct of it. I’ve been—well, shall we say a pole horse?”

“The Towers belong to me,” said Frank. “That property is not a mutual concern at all. Yet you’re asking me to transfer it to you.”

“That’s true.” Caradoc nodded his head. “We must be broad-minded about this. You have a point there.”

Their mother interjected a question which showed she was less at sea about the meaning of the proposal than she had led them to think. “What are you planning to do about the paper, Francis? Is it likely you would do things we wouldn’t approve?”

“It’s certain I would. I’m sure you wouldn’t approve many of my decisions. We must face this issue honestly, and so I’m going to say that I would take steps which would make you very angry.”

“What could we do about it?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing, Mother. Once you sign these papers you lose any right to interfere.”

“I like that! I do indeed.” Spots of angry color showed on her cheeks. “How do we know what awful things you’ll do? This is absurd. It’s beyond all Reason.”

Caradoc nodded his head. “That’s how I feel about it. You’re asking too much.”

Frank was keeping himself under a taut rein. “Hasn’t it occurred to you, Carr, that you’re asking a great deal too much?”

“Frankly, I don’t think so. As I said before, it’s all for the ultimate good of the family. We must pull together. I must get into office. Once I do, I’ll guarantee to move on up. I’ll get that title Father let slip through his fingers.” His eyes flashed. “Perhaps I’ll even get an earldom in time. I don’t see why that’s too much to aim at. I’m ambitious, Frank. I propose to make our family a great one.”

“The title, when it comes, will be yours,” said Frank dryly.

There was a silence of several moments’ duration. Frank waited for his brother to break it. “Well, old fellow,” said Caradoc finally, “just where do we stand? Let’s get the issue squarely before us and get it settled.”

Frank motioned toward the proxy papers. “I stand on that,” he said. “I’ll leave you and Mother alone so you can talk it over. Take all the time you want. The meeting can wait.”

He walked out into the hall, closing his ears to the sound of his mother’s voice. She had gone into what she herself would have spoken of as a Tirade.

Old Clayhorn bore down on him, watch in hand. “Meeting’s six minutes late,” he said. “We never used to be late, Mr. Francis.”

“Calm yourself, Horny. The meeting isn’t likely to start for a long time.”

The subeditor, a bespectacled little man whose pinched-up nose formed an ill-tempered triangle with his bare cheekbones, popped out at him, carrying a wad of copy in his hands. He was perturbed at the critical tone of a theatrical criticism. “Let it go as it is, Spinnycraw,” advised Frank. “I’m sure it’s a matter of small consequence.” The subeditor was not content to do this. He made it a rule, he said, not to let the writers go too far. He made it a rule to avoid making enemies for the Tablet.

“From now on,” sighed Frank, “we’re going to make nothing but enemies. I’m sure the notice can be published safely. It will go practically unnoticed in the issue we put out tomorrow morning.”

He had been listening with no more than half his mind. The thought kept recurring: “Perhaps they won’t agree after all.” He was beginning to hope they would refuse his terms. It would be so easy then to tell the importunate Wilson that the plan had fallen through. He would keep Caster Towers and perhaps—well, his chances of winning a bride might then be less remote than, say, the heavenly bodies embossed on the astronomical clock.

A young man from the obscure offices in the rear where the business department carried on its activities commanded his attention next. He was carrying a sheet of stiff paper, filled with squares and spidery lines. This was an invention of Joseph Ellery’s to show the trends in advertising and circulation. The first owner had made them himself, using different colored inks and laboring meticulously with them. He had called them charts, and it was his rule to have one before him whenever he called in his aides for a consultation. Frank, it must be confessed, considered them a great bother.

“The circulation is moving up, Mr. Ellery. See, this shows the whole picture. The red line is ours. It tends steadily up. The black line is the combined figures for the other papers. Observe, sir, that the black line dips down. We’re beating them all, sir.”

“I may be very much interested in your charts after tomorrow,” said Frank.

He spent a quarter of an hour with Nathan Cope, talking over the news of the day. Then he made his reluctant way back to the corner office.

“Well, Carr, what decision have you reached?”

His brother did not look very happy. Mrs. Ellery’s mouth was drawn down into severe lines, and she was gripping her handkerchief with tight fingers.

“We’ll agree,” said the second son. “Candidly, I’m very much disturbed about this. You may play ducks and drakes with the publication when you have this free hand. You know, old fellow, I’ve kept you out of many things in the past.”

Frank said to himself that this was quite true. Many ideas which he had every reason to believe were sound and progressive had been blocked by his brother in the monthly meetings.

“But we have no alternative,” went on Caradoc. “I must have a better position in the county. I despise snobs, but there’s no getting around the fact that in politics your social standing counts.”

“I hope, Francis,” said their mother, regarding him with a reproachful look, “that you’re satisfied.”

Caradoc said hastily, “You’re not forgetting the matter of the town house, Mother?”

“No.” Mrs. Ellery’s tone was quite positive. “I’m forgetting nothing. We’re making one condition, Francis. It will be Highly Essential for us to entertain more in town. Caradoc says that promotions are won over the dinner table. I want to have a free hand. It will be necessary to make changes.”

“Where will the money come from?”

She brushed that question aside. “The dining room and the pantry back of it must be thrown into one so we’ll have room to entertain suitably at dinner. I don’t think that will be very expensive. I must find a number of linen-fold panels to replace the top of the screens where those cracks can be seen. And something must be done about the furnishings. You may not realize it, Francis, but people who Know are not content any more with all this Chippendale and Hepplewhite. It’s just a little parvenu, and I wish we didn’t have so much of it. It’s the latest twig to go to much earlier periods. I wish I could throw everything out and begin all over. Certainly I’m not going to have a single piece of French stuff in the house. I know where I can lay my hands on a dozen James I chairs. They’re inlaid oak and beautifully ugly; but I’m afraid they’re going to cost us a pretty penny. Then there’s a Tudor refectory table with gadroon carving that I saw in an inn out Norwich way. That I must have above everything.”

“Have you thought of a way of paying for all this?”

“I have some money of my own.” Frank was well aware of this fact. Their mother had great tenacity in all matters which concerned her own capital. “I shall pay for this myself. But on that account I’m insisting, Francis, that I have a completely free hand. If you’re to have five years to do what you want with the newspaper, I must have five years of a lease on the house. That’s only fair.”

Frank was puzzled. “A lease? Why, Mother, you know you can have the complete run of the place without that. As long as I have a roof over my head, I’ll not complain of anything.”

Caradoc broke in. “The mater’s right,” he declared. “Better to have it all down in black and white. We’re being very businesslike about everything.”

Well, they had provided him with a loophole. He could refuse to meet them in this last exaction. There was no reason why he should add to the magnificence of their bargain a five-year lease of the town house. But immediately his mind went back to the talks with Sir Robert Wilson. He could not let so small a matter as a lease stand in the way. It was very likely, in any event, he reflected grimly, that he would be spending more time in prison than in the town house.

“We’ll have a lease drawn up, Mother,” he said.

The meetings were held in a severe room of small proportions at the other end of the corridor. As he took his place at the head of the round table Frank realized that he hated this room. Old Clayhorn and Aunt Francilea were in their usual places, and Evans, the new business manager, was at the other end to take notes of the proceedings. Old Clayhorn’s eyes opened in surprise when Frank said that the session would now begin.

“Your mother and brother are not here, Mr. Francis,” he said in a tone of reproof.

“They won’t attend today.” Frank picked up the seal of the business and tapped on the table with it. “I wish to announce that I’ve decided on a change of editorial policy, beginning at once. Subject to the consent of the board, of course. In view of the national emergency which exists, and the danger that our government may not take sufficiently prompt and aggressive steps to protect the interests of our country—no, the certainty that they’re neglecting to do so—it’s my desire to abandon our attitude of automatic approval of administration measures and to adopt instead a position of watchful independence. I feel we must be free to demand stronger steps to protect the country from invasion.”

A deep silence fell on the room. The pen of Evans stopped scratching. Aunt Francilea watched her nephew with a look of amazement. Old Clayhorn’s face had turned red, and he was, literally, gasping for breath.

“The printing contracts!” the latter managed to get out finally. “They may be cut off if we say anything against the government!”

“I think we may take it for granted that we shall lose all government printing.”

“But—but—” Old Clayhorn was spluttering with indignation now. “Do you want to ruin us? You—you must have lost your mind, Mr. Francis. This is an unheard-of proposal!”

Frank asked quietly, “Would you expect to get printing contracts from Napoleon, Mr. Clayhorn?”

“I—I see no point in that at all!”

“It’s the real point at issue nevertheless. The only thing that counts today is the need of preventing him from getting over. It’s my purpose to do what we can to stiffen the resolution of the country to more sound and aggressive measures.”

Old Clayhorn suddenly pounded the table in front of him. “I insist,” he shouted, “that we postpone any further discussion of this insane, this—this damnable proposal until we have a full meeting!”

“That’s not necessary,” said Frank. He tossed the proxies across the table to Evans. “I’m voting the shares of my mother and brother from now on. I think, Mr. Evans, you’ll find the authorization in proper order.”

The old man seized the papers from the hands of the business manager with a clawing motion. He began to read in frantic haste, muttering some of the phrases in a partly audible voice. His hands were trembling.

“Extraordinary!” he gasped. “Most extraordinary! I don’t believe it. I won’t accept these documents until I’ve spoken to both Mrs. Ellery and Mr. Caradoc. I don’t understand this at all.” He dropped the sheets and glared across at Frank. “I suspect, sir, I suspect undue influence!”

Frank answered quietly: “Please return the proxies to Mr. Evans so they may be entered in the minutes. You’ll find there’s nothing wrong with them, Mr. Clayhorn. And now, if you like, I’ll tell you in a little more detail what I propose to do.”

He spoke briefly, explaining in general terms the policy that the Tablet was to follow. As he talked he could see that his aunt was beginning to understand a little better. She even smiled and nodded her head at one point. Evans was taking no notes. His mouth had fallen open and he was watching his young employer with a stupefied air. Clayhorn was beyond speech for the moment.

“I think now you all understand the nature of my proposal,” he concluded. “I shall, therefore, put it to a vote. Mr. Clayhorn?”

The old man gathered himself together. “I demand a discussion. We—we must have time.”

“My mind is made up and I have the authority to proceed. Further talk would be useless. How do you vote, sir?”

Clayhorn shouted, “No! I vote no! It’s an outrageous scheme.”

Frank turned to his aunt. “And you?”

Aunt Francilea swallowed hard. “I must confess I’m a little stunned. It seems like a very dangerous step. Still, I’ve always had confidence in you, Frank. I’ll vote yes.”

He smiled at her and said, “Thank you, Aunt Francilea. I hoped you would be with me.”

Old Clayhorn exclaimed: “She doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

“I vote my five shares in favor of the proposal. That makes it six to one.” Frank looked around the table and then tapped again with the seal. “The meeting is adjourned.”

The old man got to his feet and rushed from the room in an explosion of angry energy, throwing back over his shoulder, “I’ll look into this!” Evans gathered up his papers and prepared to follow him. He began to say, “I suppose this is all in order, Mr. Ellery, but I——” then changed his mind and left his doubts unsaid. When he, too, had left, Aunt Francilea walked over behind her nephew and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Frank?”

He nodded his head. “Yes, I’m fully aware of what it may lead me into. I’ve considered all the risks.”

“I can get along without any profits from the paper,” she said after a moment. “I’m not concerned about that at all. But I am worried about you, Frankie.”

“Winning this war is the only thing we should think about. I can’t fight, so I must do what I can in this way. I know it’s going to be pretty unpleasant.” He stopped. There was a long pause. “Will you do something for me, Aunt? Mother and Carr are back in my office, and by this time they’ll understand the full enormity of the steps I propose to take. I—I don’t seem to have any stomach for further arguments with them today. Go back and talk to them. Tell them for me that there’s no backing out now.”

“I’ll do that, Frank.”

“They’ve got what they wanted. But they’ve also got something they didn’t want at all. They aren’t going to be happy about it.”

“I hope not!” The old lady’s tone had become grim.

Frank went to Nathan Cope’s office. It was a foot or two wider than the other cubicles and boasted a chair for the convenience of visitors. Dropping into this, he looked across the desk into the intent eyes of his assistant.

“I’m glad you’re wearing your purple waistcoat today, Copey,” he said. “It’s your very best, isn’t it? That makes it quite fitting, because you’re going to have something to celebrate. Have you that article of yours handy? The one in which you blast His Majesty’s Government? I want to show it to Sir Robert Wilson and get whatever suggestions he may have to make about it.” He paused. “I think we’ll be publishing it at once.”