Apropos of the inexpressibles, Mr Richard did not forget to provide his
nephew with a much larger wardrobe than could have been thrust into Dr
Riccabocca's knapsack. There was a very good tailor in the town, and
the clothes were very well made. And, but for an air more ingenuous,
and a cheek that, despite study and night vigils, retained much of the
sunburnt bloom of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have almost
passed, without disparaging comment, by the bow-window at White's.
Richard burst into an immoderate fit of laughter when he first saw the
watch which the poor Italian had bestowed upon Leonard; but, to atone
for the laughter, he made him a present of a very pretty substitute,
and bade him "lock up his turnip." Leonard was more hurt by the jeer
at his old patron's gift than pleased by his uncle's. But Richard
Avenel had no conception of sentiment. It was not for many days that
Leonard could reconcile himself to his uncle's manner. Not that the
peasant could pretend to judge of its mere conventional defects; but
there is an ill breeding to which, whatever our rank and nurture, we
are almost equally sensitive--the ill breeding that comes from want of
consideration for others. Now, the Squire was as homely in his way as
Richard Avenel, but the Squire's bluntness rarely hurt the feelings;
and when it did so, the Squire perceived and hastened to repair his
blunder. But Mr Richard, whether kind or cross, was always wounding you
in some little delicate fibre--not from malice, but from the absence of
any little delicate fibres of his own. He was really, in many respects,
a most excellent man, and certainly a very valuable citizen. But his
merits wanted the fine tints and fluent curves that constitute beauty
of character. He was honest, but sharp in his practice, and with a keen
eye to his interests. He was just, but as a matter of business. He
made no allowances, and did not leave to his justice the large margin
of tenderness and mercy. He was generous, but rather from an idea of
what was due to himself than with much thought of the pleasure he gave
to others; and he even regarded generosity as a capital put out to
interest. He expected a great deal of gratitude in return, and, when he
obliged a man, considered that he had bought a slave. Every needy voter
knew where to come, if he wanted relief or a loan; but woe to him if he
had ventured to express hesitation when Mr Avenel told him how he must
vote.
In this town Richard had settled after his return from America,
in which country he had enriched himself--first, by spirit and
industry--lastly, by bold speculation and good luck. He invested his
fortune in business--became a partner in a large brewery--soon bought
out his associates--and then took a principal share in a flourishing
corn-mill. He prospered rapidly--bought a property of some two or three
hundred acres, built a house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make
a figure. He had now become the leading man of the town, and the boast
to Audley Egerton that he could return one of the members, perhaps
both, was by no means an exaggerated estimate of his power. Nor was his
proposition, according to his own views, so unprincipled as it appeared
to the statesman. He had taken a great dislike to both the sitting
members--a dislike natural to a sensible man of moderate politics,
who had something to lose. For Mr Slappe, the active member--who was
head-over-ears in debt--was one of the furious democrats rare before
the Reform Bill--and whose opinions were held dangerous even by the
mass of a Liberal constituency; while Mr Sleekie, the gentleman member,
who laid by £5000 every year from his dividends in the Funds, was one
of those men whom Richard justly pronounced to be "humbugs"--men who
curry favour with the extreme party by voting for measures sure not to
be carried; while, if there were the least probability of coming to
a decision that would lower the money market, Mr Sleekie was seized
with a well-timed influenza. Those politicians are common enough now.
Propose to march to the Millennium, and they are your men. Ask them to
march a quarter of a mile, and they fall to feeling their pockets, and
trembling for fear of the footpads. They are never so joyful as when
there is no chance of a victory. Did they beat the Minister, they would
be carried out of the house in a fit.
Richard Avenel--despising both these gentlemen, and not taking kindly
to the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were Lords--looked with a
friendly eye to the Government as it then existed, and especially to
Audley Egerton, the enlightened representative of commerce. But in
giving Audley and his colleagues the benefit of his influence, through
conscience, he thought it all fair and right to have a _quid pro quo_,
and, as he had so frankly confessed, it was his whim to rise up "Sir
Richard." For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on the
same principle as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thornhill--he had
a sneaking affection for what he abused. The society of Screwstown was,
like most provincial capitals, composed of two classes--the commercial
and the exclusive. These last dwelt chiefly apart, around the ruins
of an old abbey; they affected its antiquity in their pedigrees, and
had much of its ruin in their finances. Widows of rural thanes in the
neighbourhood--genteel spinsters--officers retired on half-pay--younger
sons of rich squires, who had now become old bachelors--in short,
a very respectable, proud, aristocratic set--who thought more of
themselves than do all the Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and Seymours,
put together. It had early been the ambition of Richard Avenel to
be admitted into this sublime coterie; and, strange to say, he had
partially succeeded. He was never more happy than when he was asked to
their card-parties, and never more unhappy than when he was actually
there. Various circumstances combined to raise Mr Avenel into this
elevated society. First, he was unmarried, still very handsome, and
in that society there was a large proportion of unwedded females.
Secondly, he was the only rich trader in Screwstown who kept a good
cook, and professed to give dinners, and the half-pay captains and
colonels swallowed the host for the sake of the venison. Thirdly, and
principally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting members, and
"idem nolle idem velle de republicâ, ea firma amicta est;" that is,
congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crockery together better
than the best diamond cement. The sturdy Richard Avenel--who valued
himself on American independence--held these ladies and gentlemen in an
awe that was truly Brahminical. Whether it was that, in England, all
notions, even of liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally,
socially, with that fine and subtle element of aristocracy which,
like the press, is the air we breathe; or whether Richard imagined
that he really became magnetically imbued with the virtues of these
silver pennies and gold seven-shilling pieces, distinct from the
vulgar coinage in popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must
be told--Richard Avenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great
longing to marry out of this society; but he had not yet seen any one
sufficiently high-born and high-bred to satisfy his aspirations. In
the meanwhile, he had convinced himself that his way would be smooth
could he offer to make his ultimate choice "My Lady;" and he felt
that it would be a proud hour in his life when he could walk before
stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound of "Sir Richard." Still, however
disappointed at the ill success of his bluff diplomacy with Mr Egerton,
and however yet cherishing the most vindictive resentment against that
individual--he did not, as many would have done, throw up his political
convictions out of personal spite. He resolved still to favour the
ungrateful and undeserving Administration; and as Audley Egerton had
acted on the representations of the mayor and deputies, and shaped his
bill to meet their views, so Avenel and the Government rose together in
the popular estimation of the citizens of Screwstown.
But, duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in just
counterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he had
effected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood;" he had
done as much for the town as he had for his fields. His energy, his
quick comprehension of public utility, backed by his wealth, and bold,
bullying, imperious character, had sped the work of civilisation as if
with the celerity and force of a steam-engine.
If the town were so well paved and so well lighted--if half-a-dozen
squalid lanes had been transformed into a stately street--if half the
town no longer depended on tanks for their water--if the poor-rates
were reduced one-third,--praise to the brisk new blood which Richard
Avenel had infused into vestry and corporation. And his example itself
was so contagious! "There was not a plate-glass window in the town
when I came into it," said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High
Street!" He took the credit to himself, and justly; for, though his own
business did not require windows of plate-glass, he had wakened the
spirit of enterprise which adorns a whole city.
Mr Avenel did not present Leonard to his friends for more than a
fortnight. He allowed him to wear off his rust. He then gave a grand
dinner, at which his nephew was formally introduced, and, to his great
wrath and disappointment, never opened his lips. How could he, poor
youth, when Miss Clarina Mowbray only talked upon high life; till proud
Colonel Pompley went in state through the history of the siege of
Seringapatam.