“Arcades ambo!”
Blackguards both!
In the window of a very pretty cottage-room overlooking the Liffey, and
that romantic drive so well known to Dub-liners as the “low road” to
Lucan, sat Tom Linton. He was enjoying a cigar and a glass of weak
negus, as a man may enjoy such luxuries seated in the easiest of chairs,
looking out upon one of the sweetest of woodland landscapes, and feeling
the while that the whole was “his own.” If conscientious scruples
had been any part of that gentleman's life philosophy, he might have
suffered some misgivings, seeing that the cottage itself, its furniture,
the plate, the very horses in the stable and the grooms about it,
had been won at the hazard-table, and from one whose beggary ended in
suicide. But Linton did not dwell on such things, and if they did for
an instant cross his mind, he dismissed them at once with a contemptuous
pity for the man who could not build up a fortune by the arts with which
he had lost one. He had not begun the world himself with much principle,
and all his experiences went to prove that even less would suffice, and
that for the purposes of the station he occupied, and the society he
frequented, it was only necessary that he should not transgress in his
dealings with men of a certain rank and condition; so that while every
transaction with people of class and fashion should be strictly on
“the square,” he was at perfect liberty to practise any number of sharp
things with all beneath them. It was the old axiom of knight-errantry
adapted to our own century, which made every weapon fair used against
the plebeian!
From a pleasant revery over some late successes and some future ones in
anticipation, he was aroused by a gentle tap at the door.
“Come in,” said he; “I think I guess who it is,--Phillis, eh?”
“Yes, sir, you're quite correct,” said that individual, advancing from
the misty twilight of the room, which was only partly lighted by a
single alabaster lamp. “I thought I'd find you at home, sir, and I knew
this letter might interest you. He dropped it when going up the stairs
at Kennyfeck's, and could scarcely have read it through.”
“Sit down, George--sit down, man--what will you take? I see you 've had
a fast drive; if that was your car I heard on the road, your pace was
tremendous. What shall it be--claret--sherry--brandy-and-water?”
“If you please, sir, sherry. I have lost all palate for Bordeaux since I
came to Mr. Cashel. We get abominable wine from Cullan.”
“So I remarked myself; but this must be looked to. Come, try that; it's
some of Gordon's, and he would not send a bad bottle to me.”
“I 'm very certain of that, sir. It is excellent.”
“Now then for the epistle.” So saying, he lighted a taper and prepared
to read.. “Jamaica,--oh, a shipmate's letter!”
“A curious one, too, sir, as you 'll say when you read it.”
Linton, without reply, began to read, nor did he break silence till he
finished, when, laying down the paper, he said, “And this very fellow
who writes this he actually spoke of inviting to Ireland,--to stay some
time at his house,--to be introduced, in fact, to his acquaintances as a
personal friend.”
“It's very sad, sir,” sighed Phillis. “I have long been of opinion that
I must leave him. The appointments, it is true, are good; perquisites,
too, very handsome; but the future, Mr. Linton,--what a future it will
be!”
“It need not be a very near one, at all events,” said Linton, smiling;
“you've read this?”
“Just threw an eye over it, sir!”
“Well, you see that your excellent master has been little better than a
pirate or a slaver.”
“Very shocking, indeed, sir!”
“Of course this must not go abroad, George.”
“It would ruin me utterly, sir.”
“To be sure it would. No nobleman, nor any gentleman of rank or fashion,
could think of engaging your services after such an appointment.
Happily, George, you may not require such, if you only mind your hits.
Your master can afford to make your fortune, and never know himself the
poorer. Come, how go on matters latterly at No. 50?”
“Pretty much as usual, sir; two dinner-parties last week.”
“I know all about them, though I affected to be engaged and did n't dine
there. What I want is to hear of these Kennyfecks,--do they come much
after him?”
“Only once, sir, when they came to see the house and stopped to
luncheon.”
“Well, was he particular in his attentions to either of the daughters?”
“Very attentive, indeed, sir, to the younger. She dropped her
handkerchief in the gallery, and ran back for it, and so did he, sir.”
“You followed, of course?”
“I did, sir, and she was blushing very much as I came in, and I heard
her say something about 'forgiving him,' and then they left the room.”
“And what of Kennyfeck,--has he had any conversations with him on
business?”
“None, sir; I have strictly followed your orders, and never admitted
him.”
“Lord Charles Frobisher was a large winner t'other night?” said Linton,
after a pause.
“Yes, sir, so I heard them say at supper, and Mr. Cashel first gave a
check and then changed his mind, and I saw him hand over a heavy sum in
notes.”
“Indeed!” muttered Linton to himself; “and my worthy friend Charley did
not confess this to me. Have you taken care that the people don't send
in their bills and accounts, as I mentioned?”
“Yes, sir; with few exceptions, nothing of the kind comes.”
“What brought that Mr. Clare Jones so frequently of late?”
“He came twice in Mr. Downie Meek's carriage, sir, but sat all the while
outside, while Mr. Meek was with my master; the third day, however, he
was sent for to come in, and spent nearly an hour in the study.”
“Well, what took place?”
“I could only hear part of the conversation, sir, as I feared I might be
sent for. The subject was a seat in Parliament, which Mr. Cashel owns,
and that Mr. Meek is desirous of procuring for Jones.”
“Ha! ha! my little Judas! is that your game? Go on, George, this
interests me.”
“I have little more to tell, sir, for Mr. Meek always speaks so low, and
my master scarcely said anything.”
“And Jones?”
“He merely remarked on the identity of his political principles with
those of the present Government.”
“Of course; the fellow began as a Radical, and then turned Tory, and now
is a Whig. Blue and yellow when mixed always make green. But how did it
end?”
“As well as I could perceive, sir, without any promise. My master was to
deliberate and send his answer.”
“Let neither have access to him till you hear from me again,--mark
that.”
“You shall be obeyed, sir.”
“Did Lord Kilgoff call?”
“Twice, sir; but my master was out. I followed your directions, however,
and said that her Ladyship was with him, and he seemed much provoked at
not finding him at home.”
“Well, how did he take it,--did he make any remark?”
“A half smile, sir; nothing more.”
“But said nothing?”
“Not a word, sir.”
Linton arose and walked the room in deep meditation; at last he said,--
“You had better let him have those letters we held back the last two
days, to-day. He'll not think deeply over his losses on the Derby while
dwelling on this missing letter.”
“I don't suspect his losses, sir, will cause much uneasiness on any
score; money occupies very little of his thoughts.”
“True; but here the sum is a very heavy one. I made the book myself, and
stood to win thirty thousand pounds; but, no matter,--it can't be helped
now,--better luck another time. Now, another point. It strikes me of
late that he seems bored somewhat by the kind of life he is leading, and
that these carouses at the messes are becoming just as distasteful to
him as the heavy dinner-parties with the Dean and the rest of them. Is
that your opinion?”
“Perfectly, sir. He even said as much to me t'other evening, when he
came back from a late supper. He is always wishing for the yacht to
come over,--speaks every now and then of taking a run over to London and
Paris; in fact, sir, he _is_ bored here. There is no disguising it.”
“I feared as much, George; I suspected, many a day ago, he would not be
long satisfied with the provincial boards. But this must not be; once
away from Dublin, he is lost to us forever. I know, and so do you know,
the hands he would fall into in town. Better let him get back to his old
prairie haunts, for a while, than that.”
“Not so very unlikely, sir. He sits poring over maps and charts for
hours together, and scans the new coast survey like a man bent on
exploring the scenes for himself. It is hard to say what is best to do
with him.”
“I'll tell you what he must not be permitted to do with himself: he must
not leave Ireland; he must not marry; he must not enter Parliament; and,
for the moment, to employ his thoughts and banish _ennui_, we 'll get up
the house-warming at Tubbermore. I mean to set off thither to-morrow.”
“Without Mr. Cashel, sir?”
“Of course; be it your care that matters are well looked to in my
absence, and as Kennyfeck's house is safer than the barracks, he may
dine there as often as he pleases. Keep a watch on Jones,--not that I
think he 'll be very dangerous; see after Lord Charles, whether he may
try to profit by my absence; and, above all, write me a bulletin each
day.”
Mr. Phillis promised a strict obedience to orders, and rose to retire,
pleading the necessity of his being at home when his master returned.
“What of this letter, sir? Shall I contrive to place it in his pocket,
and discover it as he is undressing? He never suspects anything or
anybody.”
“No, George,--I 'll keep it; it may turn out useful to us one of these
days; there's no knowing when or how. I 'm curious, too, to see how
he will act with reference to it,--whether he will venture on any
confidence towards me. I suspect not; he never alludes to his
bygones. The only terror his mind is capable of would seem the fear of
fashionable contempt. If he ever lose this, he's lost to us forever.”
This was said rather in soliloquy than addressed to Phillis, who did not
appear to catch the meaning of the remark. “You'll leave this note
on his table, and take care he sees it. It is to remind him of an
appointment here to-morrow with Hoare, the money-lender, at eleven
o'clock punctually.”
Phillis took the note, and after a very respectful leave-taking,
withdrew.
“Yes,” said Linton, musing, as he leaned against the window, “all goes
fairly so far. Mr. Phillis may live to see himself once more a merchant
tailor in Cheapside, and Tom Linton, under the buckler of his M.P., defy
duns and bums, and be again a denizen of the only city worth living in.”
He then reseated himself in an easy-chair, and prepared to con over the
letter, to which he had only given a passing attention. The narrative
of Enrique, full of exciting details and hair-breadth 'scapes, was,
however, far less an object of interest to Linton than the consideration
how far a character like this might be made use of for the purpose of
threat and intimidation over Cashel.
His reflections ran somewhat thus: “The day may come--is, perhaps, even
now nigh--when Cashel shall reject my influence and ascendency. There
never has been anything which could even counterfeit friendship between
us,--close intimacy has been all. To maintain that hold over him so
necessary to my fortunes, I must be in a position to menace. Roland
himself has opened the way to this by his own reserve. The very
concealment he has practised implies fear;--otherwise, why, in all the
openness of our familiar intercourse, never have mentioned Enrique's
name; still more, never once alluded to this Maritaña? It is clear
enough with what shame he looks back on the past. Let mine be the task
to increase that feeling, and build up the fear of the world's ridicule,
till he shall be the slave of every whisper that syllables his name! The
higher his path in society, the greater the depth to which disclosures
may consign him; and what disclosures so certainly ruinous as to connect
him with the lawless marauders of the Spanish main,--the slaver and
the pirate? His dear friend, a felon, taken in open fight by a British
cruiser! Maritaña, too, may serve us; her name as mistress--or, if need
be, as wife--will effectually oppose any matrimonial speculations here.
So far this letter has been a rare piece of fortune!”
For some moments he walked the room with excited and animated looks, the
alternating shades of pleasure and its opposite flitting rapidly across
his strong features. At last he broke out in words: “Ay, Cashel, I am as
suddenly enriched as yourself,--but with a different heritage. Yours was
Gold; mine, Revenge! And there are many to whom I could pay the old debt
home. There's Forster, with his story of Ascot, and his black-ball at
Graham's!--a double debt, with years of heavy interest upon it; there's
Howard, too, that closed his book at Tattersall's, after tearing out the
leaf that had my name! Frobisher himself daring his petty insolence at
every turn!--all these cry for acquittance, and shall have it There are
few men of my own standing, that with moneyed means at my command, I
could not ruin! and, ungallant as the boast may be, some fair ladies,
too! How I have longed for the day, how I have schemed and plotted for
it! and now it comes almost unlooked for.
“Another month or two of this wasteful extravagance, and Cashel will be
deeply, seriously embarrassed. Kennyfeck will suggest retrenchment and
economy; that shall be met with an insidious doubt of the good man's
honesty. And how easy to impeach it! The schemes of his wife and
daughter will aid the accusation. Roland shall, meanwhile, learn the
discomfort of being 'hard up.' The importunity--nay, the insolence--of
duns shall assail him at every post and every hour. From this there is
but one bold, short step,--and take it he must,--make me his agent. That
done, all the rest is easy. Embarrassment and injurious reports will
soon drive him from the country, and from an estate he shall never
revisit as his own! So far,--the first act of the drama! The second
discovers Tom Linton the owner of Tubbermore, and the host of Lord and
Lady Kilgoff, who have condescendingly agreed to pass the Easter recess
with him. Mr. Linton has made a very splendid maiden speech, which,
however, puzzles the ministers and the 'Times;' and, if he were not a
man perfectly indifferent to place, would expose him to the imputation
of courting it.
“And Laura all this while!” said he, in a voice whose accents trembled
with intense feeling, “can she forgive the past? Will old memories
revive old affections, or will they rot into hatred? Well,” cried he,
sternly, “whichever way they turn, I 'm prepared.”
There was a tone of triumphant meaning in his last words that seemed to
thrill through his frame, and as he threw himself back upon his seat,
and gazed out upon the starry sky, his features wore the look of proud
and insolent defiance. “So is it,” said he, after a pause; “one must be
alone--friendless, and alone--in life, to dare the world so fearlessly.”
He filled a goblet of sherry, and as he drank it off, cried, “Courage!
Tom Linton against 'the field!'”