The Fête.—Villany Prospers for a Season.—An Interruption.—The Dance.
That night the halls of the princely residence of Learmont presented to
the eye one blaze of light, brilliant costumes, costly decorations, and
everything that his imagination could suggest as calculated to entrance
the senses, and convey a notion of his boundless wealth and unlimited
prodigality. Learmont was now in truth carrying out to its utmost the
mode of life he had so often proposed to himself as that alone which
could smother the stings of conscience, and by not allowing him time to
think of the past, enable him to extract some enjoyment from the gaudy
glittering present.
To the entertainment which he now gave, he invited scores of persons
which he knew only by name, but who scrupled not to accept the bidding
of a man who was supposed to be rich beyond all comparison.
There were members of Parliament—of both houses, holy ministers of the
church, high legal functionaries. In fact, Learmont, from the mere
rumour of his enormous wealth—a rumour which he had himself originated,
and to which he lent countenance by his great expenses, found no
difficulty in filling his saloons with all that were considered
illustrious or great in the metropolis.
Learmont was not a man to allow anything to be wanting at such an
entertainment as that he was now giving. He possessed education,
talent, and taste, although all were perverted by the utter absence of
all moral feeling in his mind.
The most delightful music, breathing low dulcet sounds, mingled sweetly
and harmoniously, with the hum of conversation among his courtly
guests. The saloons rivalled the mid-day splendour of a summer’s day,
by the colour and profusion of the lights, which lent a charm to
everything within their glittering influence.
There were beaufets loaded with costly luxuries, to which the guests
helped themselves at discretion; and all this, heightened as it was by
brilliant costumes, civil and military, created a scene of magnificence
that astonished and delighted every one there to witness it.
The guests would congregate together in small knots,—those who knew
each other, to wonder at the glory and enchantment around them, and
many were the whispered surmises as to how the owner of such riches had
spent his early life, when now he manifested so prodigal a spirit, and
showed such rare taste and royal magnificence in his mode of life.
Some of the more superstitious would have it that he was an alchemist,
and had discovered the transmutation of metals, by which he could turn
lead and copper to gold. Others looked upon it with the jaundiced eye
of party politics upon the scene, and whispered to a friend that the
lord of so much wealth must be a spy in the service of the dethroned
family, whose rights, real or fancied, were not at that period, set at
rest in this realm.
It was strange that but one of all the guests of Learmont suggested a
probably and creditable mode of accounting for his great wealth, and
sudden freak of spending it; that was that he had lived many years in
melancholy seclusion, making mercantile ventures secretly with his
large revenues, which proving successful, had placed some enormous sum
at his disposal, the possession of which had dazzled his brain, and
induced him to fly from the pecuniary economy to that of profuse and
lavish expenditure.
This supposition was, however, far too commonplace and reasonable to
find many supporters, and the majority decidedly inclined to the more
marvellous opinion.
Learmont himself, attired in a handsome dress, which set off his tall
figure to the best advantage, seemed upon this occasion to have cast
off his habitual gloom and asperity of manner. He mingled freely with
his guests, jesting with one, discussing some knotty political point
with another in forcible and lofty language, cautiously complimenting a
third, and in fact, winning from all those golden opinions which ever
wait upon a known cold, proud, and haughty man, when he chooses to
unbend himself, and make an effort to become agreeable.
By degrees, however, he confined almost all his attention to a few
well-known political characters who were at the fête, and who were the
agents of ministers in the barter of a baronetcy for a certain sum of
money invested in parliamentary seats with Learmont. This baronetcy to
procure which Learmont had lent all his abilities of intrigue, he
fairly considered as the first grand step up the ladder of ambition;
for even supposing the remote probability of his legitimate claim to
the Learmont estates to be disputed successfully, he would still have
higher dignities of his own acquisition to fall back upon.
Thus it will be seen that the wily Learmont was playing a complicated
game of public ambition, while at the same time, he was privately
tortured by doubts and fears, concerning the fidelity of his
accomplices in crime—the crafty Jacob Gray, and the dissipated and
ruffianly Britton.
The fête was to conclude with a ball in a style of unparalleled
splendour: one of the largest of the saloons had been fitted up as the
ball-room, in a style of costly and rare elegance; the chalked flooring
alone costing five hundred pounds in execution, it being designed by
some of the first artists of the day.
This room was kept carefully closed, until Learmont himself should
perceive that his guests were desirous of some changes of amusement,
when upon a signal given by him, the folding doors were to be thrown
open.
This signal he did not give until late; and he had been assured of the
baronetcy in the following week, before he fancied it time to change
the scene.
“Your exceedingly patriotic conduct, sir,” said an eminent political
personage present, “has been represented to his majesty, who at once
acceded to the proposed baronetcy, which he was gracious enough to say
should be but the prelude to much greater things.”
“I trust that my future patriotism will be equally appreciated,”
replied Learmont, courteously, and with the smallest dash of satire in
his manner; “the next step up the ladder of nobility, I am quite aware
is not so easy of access.”
“Real patriotism,” replied the political personage, with, a low bow to
Learmont, “will accomplish wonders.”
“Would three more seats in the Commons be of service to the minister?”
said Learmont, in a low tone.
“I should say, decidedly,” replied the other in a suppressed voice;
“and a-hem, Baron Learmont would sound well.”
“There is nothing like patriotism,” said the squire.
“Oh! Nothing,” replied the political personage.
“And it should be rewarded.”
“I quite agree with you, sir.”
Learmont then took another round of his saloons, and conversed gaily
and appropriately with several groups of his guests.
A new arrival was now announced, which Learmont had been most anxiously
looking for. Not the least important of the schemes of Learmont was to
unite himself by marriage to some noble and influential family, who
would feel their own dignity and importance interested in upholding him
against any untoward circumstance that might occur of a nature to
depreciate him; and the announcement that now greeted his ears, of the
arrival of Lord Brereton, Lady Brereton, and the Honourable Georgiana
Brereton, their only daughter, was the most welcome that had occurred.
This family had all the mean, proud vices of the aristocracy, with
scarcely any of their redeeming virtues; but they were of ancient race,
and numbered among their connexions all the principal nobles of
England, claiming likewise a distant alliance with royalty itself.
Her father was one of those men who fancy they and their extravagancies
have some sort of claim upon society at large for support, and all
thoughts of usefulness or prudence were with him quite out of the
question, and derogatory to his dignity. The family estates were
mortgaged to the last farthing; the family plate and diamonds were only
their possession on hire from the money scriveners. Still the income of
Lord Brereton was immense, for he was in various shapes quartered upon
the public purse as a holder of sinecure appointments with large
salaries, on account of his high birth.
His lady was silly, weak, and egotistical—the Honourable Georgiana
Brereton, it was well understood, was for sale to the highest bidder;
she was proud, supercilious, and handsome.
Lord Brereton, it was understood, would settle upon his daughter an
estate worth ten thousand pounds per annum, always provided the happy
man who made her his wife was in a condition to advance the sum
necessary to redeem the title deeds from the money-lenders. Therefore
was the Honourable Georgiana Brereton, with all her pride and all her
insolence, put up for sale at the goodly sum claimed by divers lords as
mortgagees of the estate which was to be settled upon her.
Into this family Learmont thought it policy to enter. They had all the
influence of high rank, and were unscrupulous in using it. For the
Honourable Georgiana he cared no more than for the feathers that danced
in her head-dress. She might be proud, haughty, insolent, silly, but
her pride was nothing to his; her haughtiness must cringe before his,
associated as his was with intellect of a high order. Her indolence,
too, he could treat with contempt. She was, in his eyes, merely one of
the props to his ambition, and he approached the family, that he
despised in his heart, with a smile of welcome of the most engaging
character he could assume.
“Welcome to my humble house,” said Learmont; “no longer humble,
however, when graced by your presence, ladies.”
Lady Brereton bowed, and agitated all her feathers, while the
honourable daughter took no notice whatever of the courteous salutation
of the master of the house.
“You are well lodged here, sir,” remarked Lord Brereton. “I hear it is
his Majesty’s intention to create a baronetcy for you.”
“His Majesty is very gracious,” replied Learmont.
“I think it judicious,” added the lord; “wealth should never be allowed
to remain in the hands of untitled persons. Either they, if fitted,
should be raised to rank, or the wealth should be by some means taken
from them.”
“There is much sound philosophy in what your lordship says,” answered
Learmont.
“It is my opinion,” said Lord Brereton, with affected dignity.
“Certainly,” added Learmont; “and that should be sufficient to settle
the question for ever, my lord.”
Lord Brereton bowed stiffly.
Learmont now cast his eyes around the saloon, and fancying he saw an
air of satiety creeping over his guests, he resolved upon opening the
ball-room, which he felt sure would give an impetus to the flagging
spirits of the company, who were really getting tired of the incessant
glitter of all around them.