The Baron turned into his drawing-room, and Leslie followed.
“Pleasant young men, those,” said Levy, with a slight sneer, as he threw
himself into an easy chair and stirred the fire. “And not at all proud;
but, to be sure, they are—under great obligations to me. Yes; they owe me
a great deal. _Apropos_, I have had a long talk with Frank Hazeldean—fine
young man—remarkable capacities for business. I can arrange his affairs
for him. I find, on reference to the Will Office, that you were quite
right; the Casino property is entailed on Frank. He will have the fee
simple. He can dispose of the reversion entirely. So that there will be no
difficulty in our arrangements.”
“But I told you also that Frank had scruples about borrowing on the event
of his father’s death.”
“Ay, you did so. Filial affection! I never take that into account in
matters of business. Such little scruples, though they are highly
honorable to human nature, soon vanish before the prospect of the King’s
Bench. And, too, as you so judiciously remarked, our clever young friend
is in love with Madame di Negra.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No; but Madame di Negra did.”
“You know her?”
“I know most people in good society, who now and then require a friend in
the management of their affairs. And having made sure of the fact you
stated, as to Hazeldean’s contingent property (excuse my prudence), I have
accommodated Madame di Negra, and bought up her debts.”
“You have—you surprise me!”
“The surprise will vanish on reflection. But you are very new to the world
yet, my dear Leslie. By the way, I have had an interview with Peschiera—”
“About his sister’s debts?”
“Partly. A man of the nicest honor is Peschiera.”
Aware of Levy’s habit of praising people for the qualities in which,
according to the judgment of less penetrating mortals, they were most
deficient, Randal only smiled at this eulogy, and waited for Levy to
resume. But the Baron sat silent and thoughtful for a minute or two, and
then wholly changed the subject.
“I think your father has some property in ——shire, and you probably can
give me a little information as to certain estates of a Mr.
Thornhill—estates which, on examination of the title-deeds, I find once,
indeed, belonged to your family.” The Baron glanced at a very elegant
memorandum book—“The manors of Rood and Dulmonsberry, with sundry farms
thereon. Mr. Thornhill wants to sell them as soon as his son is of age—an
old client of mine, Thornhill. He has applied to me on the matter. Do you
think it an improvable property?”
Randal listened with a livid cheek and a throbbing heart. We have seen
that, if there was one ambitious scheme in his calculation which, though
not absolutely generous and heroic, still might win its way to a certain
sympathy in the undebased human mind, it was the hope to restore the
fallen fortunes of his ancient house, and repossess himself of the long
alienated lands that surrounded the dismal wastes of the mouldering Hall.
And now to hear that those lands were getting into the inexorable gripe of
Levy—tears of bitterness stood in his eyes.
“Thornhill,” continued Levy, who watched the young man’s
countenance—“Thornhill tells me that that part of his property—the old
Leslie lands—produces £2000 a year, and that the rental could be raised.
He would take £50,000 for it—£20,000 down, and suffer the remaining
£30,000 to lie on mortgage at four per cent. It seems a very good
purchase. What do you say?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Randal, stung into rare honesty; “for I had hoped I
might live to repossess myself of that property.”
“Ah! indeed. It would be a very great addition to your consequence in the
world—not from the mere size of the estate, but from its hereditary
associations. And if you have any idea of the purchase—believe me, I’ll
not stand in your way.”
“How can I have any idea of it?”
“But I thought you said you had.”
“I understood that these lands could not be sold till Mr. Thornhill’s son
came of age, and joined in getting rid of the entail.”
“Yes, so Thornhill himself supposed, till, on examining the title-deeds, I
found he was under a mistake. These lands are not comprised in the
settlement made by old Jasper Thornhill, which ties up the rest of the
property. The title will be perfect. Thornhill wants to settle the matter
at once—losses on the turf, you understand; an immediate purchaser would
get still better terms. A Sir John Spratt would give the money; but the
addition of these lands would make the Spratt property of more consequence
in the county than the Thornhill. So my client would rather take a few
thousands less from a man who don’t set up to be his rival. Balance of
power in counties as well as nations.”
Randal was silent.
“Well,” said Levy, with great kindness of manner, “I see I pain you; and
though I am what my very pleasant guests will call a _parvenu_, I
comprehend your natural feelings as a gentleman of ancient birth.
_Parvenu!_ Ah! is it not strange, Leslie, that no wealth, no fashion, no
fame can wipe out that blot? They call me a _parvenu_, and borrow my
money. They call our friend, the wit, a _parvenu_, and submit to all his
insolence—if they condescend to regard his birth at all—provided they can
but get him to dinner. They call the best debater in the Parliament of
England a _parvenu_, and will entreat him, some day or other, to be prime
minister, and ask him for stars and garters. A droll world, and no wonder
the _parvenus_ want to upset it!”
Randal had hitherto supposed that this notorious tuft-hunter—this dandy
capitalist—this money-lender, whose whole fortune had been wrung from the
wants and follies of an aristocracy, was naturally a firm supporter of
things as they are—how could things be better for men like Baron Levy? But
the usurer’s burst of democratic spleen did not surprise his precocious
and acute faculty of observation. He had before remarked, that it is the
persons who fawn most upon an aristocracy, and profit the most by the
fawning, who are ever at heart its bitterest disparagers. Why is this?
Because one full half of democratic opinion is made up of envy; and we can
only envy what is brought before our eyes, and what, while very near to
us, is still unattainable. No man envies an archangel.
“But,” said Levy, throwing himself back in his chair, “a new order of
things is commencing; we shall see. Leslie, it is lucky for you that you
did not enter Parliament under the government; it would be your political
ruin for life.”
“You think that the ministry can not last?”
“Of course I do; and what is more, I think that a ministry of the same
principles can not be restored. You are a young man of talent and spirit;
your birth is nothing compared to the rank of the reigning party; it would
tell, to a certain degree, in a democratic one. I say, you should be more
civil to Avenel; he could return you to Parliament at the next election.”
“The next election! In six years! We have just had a general election.”
“There will be another before this year, or half of it, or perhaps a
quarter of it, is out.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Leslie, let there be confidence between us; we can help each other. Shall
we be friends?”
“With all my heart. But, though you may help me, how can I help you?”
“You have helped me already to Frank Hazeldean—and the Casino estate. All
clever men can help me. Come then, we are friends; and what I say is
secret. You ask me why I think there will be a general election so soon? I
will answer you frankly. Of all the public men I ever met with, there is
no one who has so clear a vision of things immediately before him as
Audley Egerton.”
“He has that character. Not _far_-seeing, but _clear_-sighted to a certain
limit.”
“Exactly so. No one better, therefore, knows public opinion, and its
immediate ebb and flow.”
“Granted.”
“Egerton, then, counts on a general election within three months; and I
have lent him the money for it.”
“Lent him the money! Egerton borrow money of you—the rich Audley Egerton!”
“Rich!” repeated Levy in a tone impossible to describe, and accompanying
the word with that movement of the middle finger and thumb, commonly
called a “snap,” which indicates profound contempt.
He said no more. Randal sate stupefied. At length, the latter muttered,
“But if Egerton is really not rich—if he lose office, and without the hope
of return to it—”
“If so, he is ruined!” said Levy coldly; “and therefore, from regard to
you, and feeling interest in your future fate, I say—Rest no hopes of
fortune or career upon Audley Egerton. Keep your place for the present,
but be prepared at the next election to stand upon popular principles.
Avenel shall return you to parliament; and the rest is with luck and
energy. And now, I’ll not detain you longer,” said Levy rising and ringing
the bell. The servant entered.
“Is my carriage here?”
“Yes, Baron.”
“Can I set you down any where?”
“No, thank you; I prefer walking.”
“Adieu, then. And mind you remember the _soirée dansante_ at Mrs.
Avenel’s.” Randal mechanically shook the hand extended to him, and went
down the stairs.
The fresh frosty air roused his intellectual faculties, which Levy’s
ominous words had almost paralyzed.
And the first thing that the clever schemer said to himself was this:
“But what can be the man’s motive in what he said to me?”
The next was:
“Egerton ruined? What am I, then?”
And the third was:
“And that fair remnant of the old Leslie property! £20,000 down—how to get
the sum? Why should Levy have spoken to me of this?”
And lastly, the soliloquy rounded back:—“The man’s motives! His motives?”
Meanwhile, the Baron threw himself into his chariot—the most comfortable
easy chariot you can possibly conceive—single man’s chariot—perfect
taste—no married man ever has such a chariot; and in a few minutes he was
at ——’s hotel, and in the presence of Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera.
“_Mon cher_,” said the Baron in very good French, and in a tone of the
most familiar equality with the descendant of the princes and heroes of
grand mediæval Italy—“_Mon cher_, give me one of your excellent cigars. I
think I have put all matters in train.”
“You have found out—”
“No; not so fast yet,” said the Baron, lighting the cigar extended to him.
“But you said that you should be perfectly contented if it only cost you
£20,000 to marry off your sister (to whom that sum is legally due), and to
marry yourself to the heiress.”
“I did, indeed.”
“Then I have no doubt I shall manage both objects for that sum, if Randal
Leslie really knows where the young lady is, and can assist you. Most
promising, able man is Randal Leslie—but innocent as a babe just born.”
“Ha, ha! Innocent? _Que diable!_”
“Innocent as this cigar, _mon cher_—strong, certainly, but smoked very
easily. _Soyez tranquille!_”