The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 178: what you’re looking at

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Nee eee ena metas oeenrieiabvae~ishnennemnprmeinseee nese -— THE MYSTERIES OF THE COUSBT. 163 CHAPTER XLIX. THE MONEY-LENDER. Tux scene changes to the office of a bill-broker and discounter in Nicholas Lane, Lombard Street. The front door of the house stood open during basiness-hours—that is to say, from nine till five; and upon the circular ground-glass window of an inner door, which swung either way upon its hinges, was painted the name of “ Mr. EMMERSON.” In a front office a clerk and a boy were seated at a desk; and a door, with the word “ Private ” upon it, opened into a well furnished room where Mr. Emmerson himself sate at a table covered with papers. Several handsome pictures were sus- pended to the walls; and upon a aide-table stood a number of sample-bottles, containing various sorts of wine. Mr. Emmerson was a man of about forty— well dressed— with a diamond pin in his shirt- frill, a handsome gold-chain f over his figured silk waistcoat, and a brilliant ring upon each hand. He was dark-haired—of sallow com- lexion—and hard-featured: his looks denoted the money-graubber and driver of close bargains— while his general appearance indicated flourishing circumstances. He had a splendid house at Clap- ham—drove to town in his phaeton in the morn- ing — and had his close carriage to fetch him home to dinner in the evening. He had a wife and daughter who dressed elegantly and gave themselves no small amount of airs: and his en- tertainments at Clapham were of the most magni- ficent description. For Mr. Emmerson was a man of note in the City: he was already a member of the Common Council, and hoped to be an Alder- man shortly. His connexion, however, lay as much at the West End as in the vicinage of the Royal Ex- change—as much with the extravagant young men and dissipated aristocrats who loungod up Bond Street, as with the traders and retailers east- ward of Temple Bar. In fact, Mr. Emmerson never refused business when he saw his way pretty clear, no matter who the applicants for money might be, nor from which quarter they came. Being a rank Tory and a rich man, Mr. Emmer- eon was of course held up as a person of the high- est respectability. No one ventured to breathe a word relative teu the slimy ways and usurious prac- tices by which he obtained his wealth. He was a professing Christian—indeed, a very severe one: but the most maligned, persecuted, and contemned Jew never drove harder bargains than this church- going Protestant. He was constantly interlarding his discourse with parenthetic eulogies of our “glorious Constitution,” our “admirable laws,” and the “ blessings of English civilization ;"—and there is no doubt he was sincere enough in his enco- miums. For it was this same glorious Constitu- tion which created and sustained the awfully vitiated condition of society that led the extravagant man, the dupe, or the struggling tradesman to have re- course to such usurers and money-grubbers as Mr. Emmerson: it was those same admirable laws which gave impunity to his practices, instead of causing him to be whipped at the cart’s tail ;—and the influence of our biessed civilization was seen in the fact that such a wretch rolled in his carriage and revelled in all the luxuries of life, while the honest working-man was crushed with tho fatigues of incessant toil and was half-starved upon the scantiest and poorest fare. Such, however, was Mr. Emmerson: and now that we have afforded our readers some insight into his character, we will endeavour te do the same in respect to his practices. We have already said that a clerk and a boy were seated in the front office. The clerk was a young man of about four-and-twenty—tall, well- made, and tolerably good-looking. He dressed with a certain neatness which was entirely devoid of pretension: his linen was always remarkably clean, and denoted the superintendence of some careful female hand. Yet he was not married: but he had an only sister—a beautiful girl of abeut seventeen—to whom he was devotedly attached, and for whose sake he had hitherto remained single. They were orphans; and in the house where they rented a couple of rooms, they were looked upon with the highest respect by the land- lady and their fellow-lodgers. Although the sister obtained a trifle by her skill with the needle, their principal means of support were derived from the brother's salary, which was however only a guinea a-week. Yet Mr. Emmerson insisted that his clerk should always appear well dressed, “in order to do credit to his situation "—and most probably to create a belief that he was handsomely paid by his master ! The boy in the front office was about fourteen, and received seven a-week. He also was bound “to look respectable”—in other words, to wear clothes the cost of which would absorb his entire salary, leaving nothing towards helping his parents to keep him. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when we thus introdu@ our readers to Mr. Emmerson’s office in Nicholas Lane, Lombard Street. Having carefully examined some accounts, the bill-broker suddenly started frum his seat and rang a silver hand- bell which stood upon the table. The boy instantaneously answered the summons; and Emmerson said in a cold stern yoice, “ Tell Mr. Varian to step in.” The boy retired—and the | | | next moment the clerk stood in his masters presence. “Shut the door, Varian,” said Emmerson, with @ more than usual abruptness of manner. The clerk instantly saw that something was wrong; and he was glad of the opportunity to turn aside for the moment in order to conceal the confusion which seized upon him. But haying closed the door of communication between the two Offices, he was again compelled to confront his master, whose eyes were fixed upon him with a coldly searching look that turned the young man’s heart into ice to its very core. “Mr. Varian,” said Emmerson, still in that freezing tone which appeared pitiless and relent- less: “there is something wrong in your accounts. Have the kindness to explain it:”—and the bill- broker leant back against the mantel-piece with the air of a man who feels that he has got a fellow- creature in his power, and means to crush him. “Something wrong, sir?” stammered Theodore Varian, now stooping down as if to look at the papers upon the table, but in reality te hide his in- creasing co a a mat EOMICOOOKS. conn