Early the next day Randal Leslie was in the luxurious business-room
of Baron Levy. How unlike the cold Doric simplicity of the statesman’s
library! Axminster carpets, three inches thick; portieres a la Francaise
before the doors; Parisian bronzes on the chimney-piece; and all the
receptacles that lined the room, and contained title-deeds and postobits
and bills and promises to pay and lawyer-like japan boxes, with many
a noble name written thereon in large white capitals--“making ruin
pompous,” all these sepulchres of departed patrimonies veneered in
rosewood that gleamed with French polish, and blazed with ormulu. There
was a coquetry, an air of petit maitre, so diffused over the whole
room, that you could not, for the life of you, recollect you were with a
usurer! Plutus wore the aspect of his enemy Cupid; and how realize your
idea of Harpagon in that baron, with his easy French “Mon cher,” and
his white, warm hands that pressed yours so genially, and his dress so
exquisite, even at the earliest morn? No man ever yet saw that baron in
a dressing-gown and slippers! As one fancies some feudal baron of old
(not half so terrible) everlastingly clad in mail, so all one’s notions
of this grand marauder of civilization were inseparably associated with
varnished boots and a camellia in the button-hole.
“And this is all that he does for you!” cried the baron, pressing
together the points of his ten taper fingers. “Had he but let you
conclude your career at Oxford, I have heard enough of your scholarship
to know that you would have taken high honours, been secure of a
fellowship, have betaken yourself with content to a slow and laborious
profession, and prepared yourself to die on the woolsack.”
“He proposes to me now to return to Oxford,” said Randal. “It is not too
late!”
“Yes, it is,” said the baron. “Neither individuals nor nations ever go
back of their own accord. There must be an earthquake before a river
recedes to its source.”
“You speak well,” answered Randal, “and I cannot gainsay you. But now!”
“Ah, the now is the grand question in life, the then is obsolete, gone
by,--out of fashion; and now, mon cher, you come to ask my advice?”
“No, Baron, I come to ask your explanation.”
“Of what?”
“I want to know why you spoke to me of Mr. Egerton’s ruin; why you spoke
to me of the lands to be sold by Mr. Thornhill; and why you spoke to
me of Count Peschiera. You touched on each of those points within ten
minutes, you omitted to indicate what link can connect them.”
“By Jove,” said the baron, rising, and with more admiration in his face
than you could have conceived that face, so smiling and so cynical,
could exhibit,--“by Jove, Randal Leslie, but your shrewdness is
wonderful. You really are the first young man of your day; and I
will ‘help you,’ as I helped Audley Egerton. Perhaps you will be more
grateful.”
Randal thought of Egerton’s ruin. The parallel implied by the baron did
not suggest to him the rare enthusiasm of gratitude. However, he merely
said, “Pray, proceed; I listen to you with interest.”
“As for politics, then,” said the baron, “we will discuss that topic
later. I am waiting myself to see how these new men get on. The first
consideration is for your private fortunes. You should buy this ancient
Leslie property--Rood and Dulmansberry--only L20,000 down; the rest may
remain on mortgage forever--or at least till I find you a rich wife,--as
in fact I did for Egerton. Thornhill wants the L20,000 now,--wants them
very much.”
“And where,” said Randal, with an iron smile, “are the L20,000 you
ascribe to me to come from?”
“Ten thousand shall come to you the day Count Peschiera marries the
daughter of his kinsman with your help and aid; the remaining ten
thousand I will lend you. No scruple, I shall hazard nothing, the
estates will bear that additional burden. What say you,--shall it be
so?”
“Ten thousand pounds from Count Peschiera!” said Randal, breathing
hard. “You cannot be serious? Such a sum--for what?--for a mere piece
of information? How otherwise can I aid him? There must be trick and
deception intended here.”
“My dear fellow,” answered Levy, “I will give you a hint. There is such
a thing in life as being over-suspicious. If you have a fault, it is
that. The information you allude to is, of course, the first assistance
you are to give. Perhaps more may be needed, perhaps not. Of that you
will judge yourself, since the L10,000 are contingent on the marriage
aforesaid.”
“Over-suspicious or not,” answered Randal, “the amount of the sum is
too improbable, and the security too bad, for me to listen to this
proposition, even if I could descend to--”
“Stop, mon cher. Business first, scruples afterwards. The security too
bad; what security?”
“The word of Count di Peschiera.”
“He has nothing to do with it, he need know nothing about it. ‘T is my
word you doubt. I am your security.”
Randal thought of that dry witticism in Gibbon, “Abu Rafe says he will
be witness for this fact, but who will be witness for Abu Rafe?” but
he remained silent, only fixing on Levy those dark observant eyes, with
their contracted, wary pupils.
“The fact is simply this,” resumed Levy: “Count di Peschiera has
promised to pay his sister a dowry of L20,000, in case he has the
money to spare. He can only have it to spare by the marriage we are
discussing. On my part, as I manage his affairs in England for him, I
have promised that, for the said sum of L20,000, I will guarantee the
expenses in the way of that marriage, and settle with Madame di Negra.
Now, though Peschiera is a very liberal, warm-hearted fellow, I don’t
say that he would have named so large a sum for his sister’s dowry, if
in strict truth he did not owe it to her. It is the amount of her own
fortune, which by some arrangements with her late husband, not exactly
legal, he possessed himself of. If Madame di Negra went to law with him
for it, she could get it back. I have explained this to him; and, in
short, you now understand why the sum is thus assessed. But I have
bought up Madame di Negra’s debts, I have bought up young Hazeldean’s
(for we must make a match between these two a part of our arrangements).
I shall present to Peschiera, and to these excellent young persons, an
account that will absorb the whole L20,000. That sum will come into my
hands. If I settle the claims against them for half the money, which,
making myself the sole creditor, I have the right to do, the moiety will
remain. And if I choose to give it to you in return for the services
which provide Peschiera with a princely fortune, discharge the debts of
his sister, and secure her a husband in my promising young client, Mr.
Hazeldean, that is my lookout,--all parties are satisfied, and no one
need ever be the wiser. The sum is large, no doubt; it answers to me to
give it to you; does it answer to you to receive it?”
Randal was greatly agitated; but vile as he was, and systematically as
in thought he had brought himself to regard others merely as they could
be made subservient to his own interest, still, with all who have not
hardened themselves in actual crime, there is a wide distinction between
the thought and the act; and though, in the exercise of ingenuity and
cunning, he would have had few scruples in that moral swindling which
is mildly called “outwitting another,” yet thus nakedly and openly to
accept a bribe for a deed of treachery towards the poor Italian who
had so generously trusted him--he recoiled. He was nerving himself to
refuse, when Levy, opening his pocket-book, glanced over the memoranda
therein, and said, as to himself, “Rood Manor--Dulmansberry, sold to the
Thornhills by Sir Gilbert Leslie, knight of the shire; estimated present
net rental L2,250 7s. 0d. It is the greatest bargain I ever knew. And
with this estate in hand, and your talents, Leslie, I don’t see why
you should not rise higher than Audley Egerton. He was poorer than you
once!”
The old Leslie lands--a positive stake in the country--the restoration
of the fallen family; and on the other hand, either long drudgery at
the Bar,--a scanty allowance on Egerton’s bounty, his sister wasting
her youth at slovenly, dismal Rood, Oliver debased into a boor!--or
a mendicant’s dependence on the contemptuous pity of Harley
L’Estrange,--Harley, who had refused his hand to him, Harley, who
perhaps would become the husband of Violante! Rage seized him as these
contrasting pictures rose before his view. He walked to and fro in
disorder, striving to re-collect his thoughts, and reduce himself from
the passions of the human heart into the mere mechanism of calculating
intellect. “I cannot conceive,” said he, abruptly, “why you should tempt
me thus,--what interest it is to you!”
Baron Levy smiled, and put up his pocket-book. He saw from that moment
that the victory was gained.
“My dear boy,” said he, with the most agreeable bonhommie, “it is very
natural that you should think a man would have a personal interest in
whatever he does for another. I believe that view of human nature is
called utilitarian philosophy, and is much in fashion at present. Let
me try and explain to you. In this affair I sha’n’t injure myself. True,
you will say, if I settle claims which amount to L20,000 for L10,000, I
might put the surplus into my own pocket instead of yours. Agreed. But
I shall not get the L20,000, nor repay myself Madame di Negra’s debts
(whatever I may do as to Hazeldean’s), unless the count gets this
heiress. You can help in this. I want you; and I don’t think I could
get you by a less offer than I make. I shall soon pay myself back the
L10,000 if the count get hold of the lady and her fortune. Brief, I see
my way here to my own interests. Do you want more reasons,--you shall
have them. I am now a very rich man. How have I become so? Through
attaching myself from the first to persons of expectations, whether from
fortune or talent. I have made connections in society, and society has
enriched me. I have still a passion for making money. ‘Que voulez-vous?’
It is my profession, my hobby. It will be useful to me in a thousand
ways to secure as a friend a young man who will have influence with
other young men, heirs to something better than Rood Hall. You may
succeed in public life. A man in public life may attain to the knowledge
of State secrets that are very profitable to one who dabbles a little
in the Funds. We can perhaps hereafter do business together that may put
yourself in a way of clearing off all mortgages on these estates,--on
the encumbered possession of which I shall soon congratulate you. You
see I am frank; ‘t is the only way of coming to the point with so clever
a fellow as you. And now, since the less we rake up the mud in a pond
from which we have resolved to drink the better, let us dismiss all
other thoughts but that of securing our end. Will you tell Peschiera
where the young lady is, or shall I? Better do it yourself; reason
enough for it, that he has confided to you his hope, and asked you
to help him; why should not you? Not a word to him about our little
arrangement; he need never know it. You need never be troubled.” Levy
rang the bell: “Order my carriage round.”
Randal made no objection. He was deathlike pale, but there was a
sinister expression of firmness on his thin, bloodless lips.
“The next point,” Levy resumed, “is to hasten the match between Frank
and the fair widow. How does that stand?”
“She will not see me, nor receive him.”
“Oh, learn why! And if you find on either side there is a hitch, just
let me know; I will soon remove it.”
“Has Hazeldean consented to the post-obit?”
“Not yet; I have not pressed it; I wait the right moment, if necessary.”
“It will be necessary.”
“Ah, you wish it. It shall be so.”
Randal Leslie again paced the room, and after a silent self-commune came
up close to the baron, and said,
“Look you, sir, I am poor and ambitious; you have tempted me at the
right moment, and with the right inducement. I succumb. But what
guarantee have I that this money will be paid, these estates made mine
upon the conditions stipulated?”
“Before anything is settled,” replied the baron, “go and ask my
character of any of our young friends, Borrowell, Spendquick--whom you
please; you will hear me abused, of course; but they will all say this
of me, that when I pass my word, I keep it. If I say, ‘Mon cher, you
shall have the money,’ a man has it; if I say, ‘I renew your bill for
six months,’ it is renewed. ‘T, is my way of doing business. In all
cases any word is my bond. In this case, where no writing can pass
between us, my only bond must be my word. Go, then, make your mind clear
as to your security, and come here and dine at eight. We will call on
Peschiera afterwards.”
“Yes,” said Randal, “I will at all events take the day to consider.
Meanwhile, I say this, I do not disguise from myself the nature of the
proposed transaction, but what I have once resolved I go through with.
My sole vindication to myself is, that if I play here with a false die,
it will be for a stake so grand, as once won, the magnitude of the prize
will cancel the ignominy of the play. It is not this sum of money for
which I sell myself,--it is for what that sum will aid me to achieve.
And in the marriage of young Hazeldean with the Italian woman, I have
another, and it may be a larger interest. I have slept on it lately,--I
wake to it now. Insure that marriage, obtain the post-obit. from
Hazeldean, and whatever the issue of the more direct scheme for which
you seek my services, rely on my gratitude, and believe that you will
have put me in the way to render gratitude of avail. At eight I will be
with you.”
Randal left the room.
The baron sat thoughtful. “It is true,” said he to himself, “this young
man is the next of kin to the Hazeldean estate, if Frank displease his
father sufficiently to lose his inheritance; that must be the clever
boy’s design. Well, in the long-run, I should make as much, or more, out
of him than out of the spendthrift Frank. Frank’s faults are those of
youth. He will reform and retrench. But this man! No, I shall have
him for life. And should he fail in this project, and have but this
encumbered property--a landed proprietor mortgaged up to his ears--why,
he is my slave, and I can foreclose when I wish, or if he prove
useless;--no, I risk nothing. And if I did--if I lost L10,000--what
then? I can afford it for revenge!--afford it for the luxury of leaving
Audley Egerton alone with penury and ruin, deserted, in his hour of
need, by the pensioner of his bounty, as he will be by the last friend
of his youth, when it so pleases me,--me whom he has called ‘scoundrel’!
and whom he--” Levy’s soliloquy halted there, for the servant entered to
announce the carriage. And the baron hurried his band over his features,
as if to sweep away all trace of the passions that distorted their
smiling effrontery. And so, as he took up his cane and gloves, and
glanced at the glass, the face of the fashionable usurer was once more
as varnished as his boots.