# Adventures of Susan Hopley/Volume 1/Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII.
A CONVERSATION IN A MERCHANT'S COUNTING HOUSE, AND A NIGHT SCENE ON BLACKFRIARS BRIDGE.
On the same evening that Mr. Wetherall underwent all the horrors of anticipated detection that we have described in the last chapter, and that Mr. Lyon's opportune intervention preserved him from the imminent danger that threatened him, in a certain counting house in Mark Lane, might be seen an elderly gentleman in deep cogitation over various letters and ledgers that were spread on the table before him. The room was one evidently devoted wholly to business; a couple of desks with high stools before them, shelves loaded with heavy account books, two well-worn black leathern arm chairs, and a table, also covered with black leather, on which stood a lamp, formed nearly all its furniture.
​The occupant of the apartment, for there was but one, was a gentleman of about fifty years of age, of the middle height, rather stout than otherwise, and of a cheerful agreeable aspect. He was attired in a full suit of brown, with gold buckles in his shoes, his hair well powdered, and tied in a queue behind, as was the fashion of the time, and with the wristbands of his shirt, which as well as the handkerchief round his throat were delicately white and fine, just appearing below the cuffs of his coat.
He was seated by the fire in one of the arm chairs, with his left side to the table, on which rested his elbow, whilst he appeared to be deeply considering the contents of the papers, to which he ever and anon referred, comparing some of them with the ledgers, making notes, casting up columns, and balancing sums total. Most of the letters bore a foreign post-mark, but there was one which bore that of Mapleton.
Several times the gentleman looked at his watch, and listened, as if expecting somebody; and as the hour grew late, and he impatient, he frequently arose and took two or three turns about the room.
At length, towards ten o'clock, when a foot was heard ascending the stairs, he resumed his ​seat, thrust the letters under a ledger, and prepared to receive his visitor with composure.
"I'm afraid I'm late, Simpson, and have kept you waiting," said a tall good-looking man, in a great coat and comforter round his neck, who entered the room with the familiarity of easy acquaintance; "but I came up by that d—d coach, for Bess had taken a mash when I received your summons, and I couldn't bring her out."
"I'm afraid you are wet," replied Mr. Simpson, stirring the fire, and drawing forward the other arm chair, whilst the visitor took off his great coat and comforter, and hung them on pegs appropriated to such uses.
"But what's the matter?" said he, "there's nothing wrong, is there?"
"How's Miss Wentworth, Sir?" inquired Mr. Simpson.
"Quite well," returned Mr Gaveston, for it was he; "you know we're to be married in a few days, and she desired me to say that she hoped you would come down and be present at the ceremony."
"I fear that will not be in my power," replied Mr. Simpson, with a sigh, and casting his eye on a handsome mourning ring that he wore on his little finger.
​"But what's the matter?" said Mr. Gaveston, without urging the invitation. "You must have had some particular reason for sending for me."
"I had, Sir," replied Mr. Simpson, "a very particular reason." Here he paused, as if he found some difficulty in announcing the motive of his summons. "In short, Mr. Gaveston, I have made up my mind to resign my situation. I do not think I can be of any further use here; and I propose to retire, and end my days in the country."
"You don't think of such a thing, I hope, Simpson," replied Mr. Gaveston, with an unusual appearance of sincerity. "You have been conducting this business for many years to the entire satisfaction of every body concerned with you; why should you leave it now?"
"Because, Sir," returned Mr. Simpson, "I feel that I cannot henceforth conduct it to my own satisfaction; without which the approbation of others will be of very little avail to me."
"Why not, Sir?" asked Mr. Gaveston, with a less complacent voice and countenance. "If you mean because after my marriage Miss Wentworth I shall become sole proprietor of the concern, you need not throw up your ​situation on that account. I am very sensible that nobody can conduct the business as well as yourself; and I shall interfere very little with you, I assure you."
"Nevertheless," answered Mr. Simpson, "I must beg leave to adhere to my resolution. You may not propose to interfere with my management; but as sole proprietor, your power will be absolute; and things may happen that I may disapprove, without the power of controlling."
"Nonsense, nonsense, my dear Simpson," exclaimed Mr. Gaveston, assuming an air of frankness. "I dare say the truth is you feel yourself ill used—I ought to have proposed of my own accord to raise your salary—I know it's not equal to your merits."
"I have always been quite satisfied with my salary, Mr. Gaveston;" answered Simpson. "If I had not, I had only to have mentioned the matter to Mr. Wentworth, and he would have met my wishes on the subject; but I had quite enough for any single man, and never desired more, whilst he lived—but circumstances are now changed."
"Well then, what do you say to a couple of hundred a year in addition?"
​"That it would not make the slightest difference in my determination. I should be exactly as much subject to the disagreeables I apprehend as I am now. In short, Sir, to be more explicit, you will understand my motives better when I tell you, that I have received letters from Messrs. Râoul and Bonstetten, and also from the houses of Durand and Co., and the brothers Dulau, by which I learn that sums long ago intrusted to you by Mr. Wentworth to settle the accounts between us, have never been received—that we are in debt to those firms to a very large amount—so large, in fact, that they have begun to be apprehensive of our stability, and our credit totters at Bourdeaux—the credit of a house, Mr. Gaveston, that was never impeached till now."
The annoyance and confusion betrayed by Mr. Gaveston at this unexpected intelligence, are not to be described. A few days more, and all would have been secure. From the precautions he had taken he had reckoned with certainty on being able to accomplish his marriage before any stir was made in this business; and the ceremony once over, and he sole proprietor of Miss Wentworth's fortune, ​and the concern in Mark Lane, he would have had immediate means of discharging these debts, and of hushing up the whole affair. There were reasons of the most powerful nature, besides the care a man generally has for his own reputation, that made it of the last importance to him that this defalcation, this misapplication of sums intrusted to his faith, should not come under public discussion. Investigation, inquiry, gossip, once set afloat, who shall say into what port the wind may waft them? In what direction might suspicion, once raised, conduct the curious? It was a peril not to be encountered, and must be fought off at any cost—but how? He knew Mr. Simpson to be a sturdy, straightforward, upright man; a man whom he feared was neither to be cajoled , bought, nor intimidated. Nevertheless, the case was desperate and urgent; and hopeless as he considered the experiment, he resolved to try the first; and if that failed, to have recourse to the second.
At Mr. Simpson 's alarming announcement, Mr. Gaveston had risen from his chair, and during these reflections had been pacing the room with an agitated step, his hands in the pockets of his trowsers, and his eyes bent on ​the ground. He now, however, re-seated himself, and drawing his chair nearer to the worthy clerk, he said, "I will not deny that I had hoped these early imprudences of mine would never have become known to you. It was my intention to discharge those debts as soon as I had the means, which you know my marriage in a few days will give me. I shall still do so, and you need be under no apprehensions of similar follies recurring on my part. I have sown my wild oats, and intend henceforth to be a sober steady man; and I trust therefore, Simpson, for the credit of a concern you have so long conducted, and for the interest of Miss Wentworth and myself, that you will not refuse to keep your present situation. I will make any addition to your salary you desire."
Mr. Simpson shook his head. "Your intentions may be very good," replied he, "but you are yet a young man, and—excuse me—I have heard, much addicted to the turf and high play. As long as you are sole proprietor you may draw upon me for every shilling the concern yields, and I must answer your demands; till, at last, we shall not be able to pay our way, and the house will stop disgracefully. Now, I do not choose to involve my character nor my ​peace of mind in this perilous contingency. And as I am disposed to agree with you, that when I have left it the concern will be even less likely to prosper than it is now, I intend recommending Miss Wentworth to dispose of it at once, without a day's delay, whilst it is in her power to do so. I have made up and balanced the accounts as they stand, debtor and creditor; and I have a purchaser ready to sign and seal the moment I get her consent."
"But she's not of age," returned Mr. Gaveston.
"I shall recommend her to defer her marriage till she is," replied Mr. Simpson—"or we can throw the business into Chancery till she can dispose of it."
"Consider the sacrifice!" urged Mr. Gaveston—"such a business, such a connexion."
"The first loss is the least," returned Mr. Simpson. "If the concern gets involved, Miss Wentworth's whole fortune may go to pay the deficit."
"I see but one way," said Mr. Gaveston, after a pause, "since you are so mistrustful. Suppose you take a share in the business—a fourth we'll say. I'll give you this, and leave the whole management of the concern in your hands."
​A faint smile might have been observed stealing over Mr. Simpson's features at this proposal, but he hastened to convert the expression into a look of dissent.
"I should still be nearly as much at your mercy, Sir," replied Mr. Simpson, "with the additional disadvantage of having the savings of my life perilled with the fortunes of the firm."
"What would induce you to remain, Mr. Simpson?" said Gaveston. "If my offer don't satisfy you, name your own terms."
"They are what you probably will not accede to, Sir," replied Mr. Simpson, "therefore it would be useless to name them."
"Name them, nevertheless," returned Gaveston.
"Half the concern, Sir, instead of a quarter; and that all payments and receipts of every kind whatsoever be permitted to pass through my hands. I dare say you do not doubt my honour; besides, you will be welcome to inspect the accounts whenever you please."
This was a hard morsel for Gaveston to digest. Again he started up and walked about the room, and bit his lips, and knit his brows; and as they trembled on his tongue, swallowed a ​volley of oaths that might have shaken the welkin; but exposure was ruin in every way—there was no alternative but to submit.
"As soon after my marriage as I can come to town," said he, when he had expressed his acquiescence in Mr. Simpson's demands, "I will settle this business to your satisfaction—in the mean time you can get a deed drawn up."
"That, Sir," replied Mr. Simpson, "can be done to-morrow; and if this agreement between us is to stand, the whole affair must be arranged, signed and sealed, before your marriage."
When the conference had terminated, the triumphant clerk conducted his visitor with great deference to the door; and then with a satisfied smile, and rubbing his hands with delight, he returned to his arm chair and prepared to write a note. "I'll send a line to Olliphant immediately," said he to himself, "to beg he'll get the deed put into hand early tomorrow morning. He'll be as much surprised at my success as I am—I couldn't have believed he'd be so easily frightened, or that he'd have cared half as much about his reputation—however, since the poor girl's so infatuated that she'll listen to no advice, it's fortunate there's some hold over him, be it of what nature it ​may. I've half a mind," thought he, pausing as he was about to ring the bell, "that I'll take the note myself— the walk will do me good after that battle. By the by, there's that letter of Jeremy's, too, I must attend to to-morrow—it's a disagreeable business, and one I'm not very fond of interfering in; I wish I knew the safest way of setting about it—but I don't know who to consult—" and thus soliloquising, he put on his great coat, and telling the porter he should be back presently, he took his way to the solicitor's.
Nothing could exceed the rage that boiled within Gaveston's breast at finding himself thus in the power of a man whom he at once feared, despised, and respected. He clenched his hands as he went down the stairs, and strode along the streets towards the west end of the town, where he intended to sleep, figuring to himself the joy with which he could have closed them round the throat of the man that had found the way to take such advantage of his fears. He was astonished too as well as incensed—"He, too, with all his parade of honesty," he said, "is to be bought—a fellow that has no use for money—that will never spend it: but every man has his price."
In this state of mind he felt it was useless to ​go to his lodging with the view of sleeping; and when he drew near the river, the cool air from the water blew pleasantly on his heated brow, and he turned towards it. He wanted to think—to reflect if there were yet no way of escaping his dilemma without such a sacrifice; and when he reached Blackfriars Bridge, it looked so inviting for a nocturnal walk, that he directed his steps that way, and began pacing backwards and forwards, reviewing the conversation that had passed; anon regretting his own precipitation, and then again rejoicing that even that way remained of escaping the éclat and danger of an exposure.
It was now approaching to midnight, and his cogitations were undisturbed by noise or jostle. But two human beings besides himself were on the bridge—a woman, who with a child on her lap, was sitting on a stone. She had a bonnet on, and a shawl, the ends of which were folded round the infant; and she sat silently rocking herself backwards and forwards as if in trouble, but she said nothing; and Mr. Gaveston passed her again and again unheeded, till the words, "Mamma, I'm so hungry!" reached his ears; and then he abruptly crossed over to the other side to escape the interruption to his reflections.
​He had not taken many turns here, before he heard the sound of feet approaching from Bridge Street. The passenger was advancing along the side that he had just quitted, and as he drew near, he perceived it was a gentleman. There was something about the air and carriage of the new comer that struck him, and he retired into the shade to observe. A slight cough and a "hem!" confirmed his suspicions; he had heard that voice too recently to be deceived. —"It's Simpson himself!" said he. "He's going to Olliphant's about the deed, I'll be sworn!" and he stepped lightly after him to observe his movements. "He'll drop the letter in the box and return," thought he—"and, now, if fortune favours me—" and he grasped more firmly a stout stick with a thick knob at the end of it, that he held in his hand—"One good blow, and a heave over the parapet, and I'm at once revenged and safe!"
In the mean time, the unconscious Mr. Simpson proceeded on his way. He too was deep in thought, looking neither to the right nor the left, till the sound of a feeble moan from a child, followed by a groan from a more mature voice, attracted his attention, and looking back he perceived the mournful group whose ​proximity had driven Mr. Gaveston away. "Poor thing!" said he, feeling in his pocket for some silver—"I shall return in a minute, and then I'll give her something—I wish I'd done it at once this is a dangerous neighbourhood for misery at midnight," and he hastened forward to Albion Place, which is just at the farther extremity of the bridge, dropped his note into the solicitor's box, and hurried back.
"Here he comes!" thought Mr. Gaveston, who, concealed in a recess with his bludgeon poised, awaited his victim. On came Mr. Simpson but just as he arrived at the spot where his enemy was lurking to take his life, the faint outline of a figure mounted on the parapet caught his eye—"Gracious Heavens! It's that wretched creature going to drown herself," exclaimed he—and with a loud cry to arrest her desperate purpose he darted across the road, whilst the weapon raised for his destruction, descended through the unresisting air.