When Mr Melmotte made his promise to Mr Longestaffe and to Dolly, in the presence of Mr Bideawhile, that he would, on the next day but one, pay to them a sum of fifty thousand pounds, thereby completing, satisfactorily as far as they were concerned, the purchase of the Pickering property, he intended to be as good as his word. The reader knows that he had resolved to face the Longestaffe difficulty — that he had resolved that at any rate he would not get out of it by sacrificing the property to which he had looked forward as a safe haven when storms should come. But, day by day, every resolution that he made was forced to undergo some change. Latterly he had been intent on purchasing a noble son-in-law with this money — still trusting to the chapter of chances for his future escape from the Longestaffe and other difficulties. But Squercum had been very hard upon him; and in connexion with this accusation as to the Pickering property, there was another, which he would be forced to face also, respecting certain property in the East of London, with which the reader need not much trouble himself specially, but in reference to which it was stated that he had induced a foolish old gentleman to consent to accept railway shares in lieu of money. The old gentleman had died during the transaction, and it was asserted that the old gentleman’s letter was hardly genuine. Melmotte had certainly raised between twenty and thirty thousand pounds on the property, and had made payment for it in stock which was now worth — almost nothing at all. Melmotte thought that he might face this matter successfully if the matter came upon him single-handed; — but in regard to the Longestaffes he considered that now, at this last moment, he had better pay for Pickering.
The property from which he intended to raise the necessary funds was really his own. There could be no doubt about that. It had never been his intention to make it over to his daughter. When he had placed it in her name, he had done so simply for security — feeling that his control over his only daughter would be perfect and free from danger. No girl apparently less likely to take it into her head to defraud her father could have crept quietly about a father’s house. Nor did he now think that she would disobey him when the matter was explained to her. Heavens and earth! That he should be robbed by his own child — robbed openly, shamefully, with brazen audacity! It was impossible. But still he had felt the necessity of going about this business with some little care. It might be that she would disobey him if he simply sent for her and bade her to affix her signature here and there. He thought much about it and considered that it would be wise that his wife should be present on the occasion, and that a full explanation should be given to Marie, by which she might be made to understand that the money had in no sense become her own. So he gave instructions to his wife when he started into the city that morning; and when he returned, for the sake of making his offer to the Longestaffes, he brought with him the deeds which it would be necessary that Marie should sign, and he brought also Mr Croll, his clerk, that Mr Croll might witness the signature.
When he left the Longestaffes and Mr Bideawhile he went at once to his wife’s room. ‘Is she here?’ he asked.
‘I will send for her. I have told her.’
‘You haven’t frightened her?’
‘Why should I frighten her? It is not very easy to frighten her, Melmotte. She is changed since these young men have been so much about her.’
‘I shall frighten her if she does not do as I bid her. Bid her come now.’ This was said in French. Then Madame Melmotte left the room, and Melmotte arranged a lot of papers in order upon a table. Having done so, he called to Croll, who was standing on the landing-place, and told him to seat himself in the back drawing-room till he should be called. Melmotte then stood with his back to the fireplace in his wife’s sitting-room, with his hands in his pockets, contemplating what might be the incidents of the coming interview. He would be very gracious — affectionate if it were possible — and, above all things, explanatory. But, by heavens, if there were continued opposition to his demand — to his just demand — if this girl should dare to insist upon exercising her power to rob him, he would not then be affectionate nor gracious! There was some little delay in the coming of the two women, and he was already beginning to lose his temper when Marie followed Madame Melmotte into the room. He at once swallowed his rising anger with an effort. He would put a constraint upon himself The affection and the graciousness should be all there — as long as they might secure the purpose in hand.
‘Marie,’ he began, ‘I spoke to you the other day about some property which for certain purposes was placed in your name just as we were leaving Paris.’
‘Yes, papa.’
‘You were such a child then — I mean when we left Paris — that I could hardly explain to you the purpose of what I did.’
‘I understood it, papa.’
‘You had better listen to me, my dear. I don’t think you did quite understand it. It would have been very odd if you had, as I never explained it to you.’
‘You wanted to keep it from going away if you got into trouble.’
This was so true that Melmotte did not know how at the moment to contradict the assertion. And yet he had not intended to talk of the possibility of trouble. ‘I wanted to lay aside a large sum of money which should not be liable to the ordinary fluctuations of commercial enterprise.’
‘So that nobody could get at it.’
‘You are a little too quick, my dear.’
‘Marie, why can’t you let your papa speak?’ said Madame Melmotte.
‘But of course, my dear,’ continued Melmotte, ‘I had no idea of putting the money beyond my own reach. Such a transaction is very common; and in such cases a man naturally uses the name of some one who is very near and dear to him, and in whom he is sure that he can put full confidence. And it is customary to choose a young person, as there will then be less danger of the accident of death. It was for these reasons, which I am sure that you will understand, that I chose you. Of course the property remained exclusively my own.’
‘But it is really mine,’ said Marie.
‘No, miss; it was never yours,’ said Melmotte, almost bursting out into anger, but restraining himself. ‘How could it become yours, Marie? Did I ever make you a gift of it?’
‘But I know that it did become mine — legally.’
‘By a quibble of law — yes; but not so as to give you any right to it. I always draw the income.’
‘But I could stop that, papa — and if I were married, of course it would be stopped.’
Then, quick as a flash of lightning, another idea occurred to Melmotte, who feared that he already began to see that this child of his might be stiff-necked. ‘As we are thinking of your marriage,’ he said, ‘it is necessary that a change should be made. Settlements must be drawn for the satisfaction of Lord Nidderdale and his father. The old Marquis is rather hard upon me, but the marriage is so splendid that I have consented. You must now sign these papers in four or five places. Mr Croll is here, in the next room, to witness your signature, and I will call him.’
‘Wait a moment, papa.’
‘Why should we wait?’
‘I don’t think I will sign them.’
‘Why not sign them? You can’t really suppose that the property is your own. You could not even get it if you did think so.’
‘I don’t know how that may be; but I had rather not sign them. If I am to be married, I ought not to sign anything except what he tells me.’
‘He has no authority over you yet. I have authority over you. Marie, do not give more trouble. I am very much pressed for time. Let me call in Mr Croll.’
‘No, papa,’ she said.
Then came across his brow that look which had probably first induced Marie to declare that she would endure to be ‘cut to pieces,’ rather than to yield in this or that direction. The lower jaw squared itself and the teeth became set, and the nostrils of his nose became extended — and Marie began to prepare herself to be ‘cut to pieces.’ But he reminded himself that there was another game which he had proposed to play before he resorted to anger and violence. He would tell her how much depended on her compliance. Therefore he relaxed the frown — as well as he knew how, and softened his face towards her, and turned again to his work. ‘I am sure, Marie, that you will not refuse to do this when I explain to you its importance to me. I must have that property for use in the city to-morrow, or — I shall be ruined.’ The statement was very short, but the manner in which he made it was not without effect.
‘Oh!’ shrieked his wife.
‘It is true. These harpies have so beset me about the election that they have lowered the price of every stock in which I am concerned, and have brought the Mexican Railway so low that they cannot be sold at all. I don’t like bringing my troubles home from the city; but on this occasion I cannot help it. The sum locked up here is very large, and I am compelled to use it. In point of fact it is necessary to save us from destruction.’ This he said, very slowly, and with the utmost solemnity.
‘But you told me just now you wanted it because I was going to be married,’ rejoined Marie.
A liar has many points to his favour — but he has this against him, that unless he devote more time to the management of his lies than life will generally allow, he cannot make them tally. Melmotte was thrown back for a moment, and almost felt that the time for violence had come. He longed to be at her that he might shake the wickedness, and the folly, and the ingratitude out of her. But he once more condescended to argue and to explain. ‘I think you misunderstood me, Marie. I meant you to understand that settlements must be made, and that of course I must get my own property back into my own hands before anything of that kind can be done. I tell you once more, my ............