Notwithstanding all the patronage of fashion, which the Miss
Falconers had for some time enjoyed, notwithstanding all their own
accomplishments, and their mother’s address and knowledge of the world,
the grand object had not been obtained--for they were not married.
Though every where seen, and every where admired, no proposals had yet
been made adequate to their expectations. In vain had one young
nobleman after another, heir apparent after heir apparent, been invited,
cherished, and flattered by Mrs. Falconer, had been constantly at her
balls and concerts, had stood beside the harp and the piano-forte, had
danced or flirted with the Miss Falconers, had been hung out at all
public places as a pendant to one or other of the sisters.
The mother, seeing project after project fail for the establishment
of her daughters, forced to bear and to conceal these disappointments,
still continued to form new schemes with indefatigable perseverance. Yet
every season the difficulty increased; and Mrs. Falconer, in the
midst of the life of pleasure which she seemed to lead, was a prey
to perpetual anxiety. She knew that if any thing should happen to
the commissioner, whose health was declining; if he should lose Lord
Oldborough’s favour, which seemed not impossible; if Lord Oldborough
should not be able to maintain himself in power, or if he should die;
she and her daughters would lose every thing. From a small estate,
overwhelmed with debt, there would be no fortune for her daughters; they
would be left utterly destitute, and absolutely unable to do any thing
for themselves--unlikely to suit plain country gentlemen, after the high
style of company in which they had lived, and still more incapable
than she would be of bearing a reverse of fortune. The young ladies,
confident of their charms, unaccustomed to reflect, and full of the
present, thought little of these probabilities of future evil, though
they were quite as impatient to be married as their mother could wish.
Indeed, this impatience becoming visible, she was rather anxious to
suppress it, because it counteracted her views. Mrs. Falconer had still
two schemes for their establishment. Sir Robert Percy had luckily lost
his wife within the last twelvemonth, had no children, and had been
heard to declare that he would marry again as soon as he decently could,
because, if he were to die without heirs, the Percy estate might revert
to the relations, whom he detested. Mrs. Falconer had persuaded the
commissioner to cultivate Sir Robert Percy’s acquaintance; had this
winter watched for the time when law business called him to town; had
prevailed upon him to go to her house, instead of staying, as he usually
did, at an hotel, or spending his day at his solicitor’s chambers. She
had in short made things so agreeable to him, and he seemed so well
pleased with her, she had hopes he would in time be brought to propose
for her daughter Arabella. To conciliate Sir Robert Percy, it was
necessary to avoid all connexion with _the other Percys_; and it was
for this reason that the commissioner had of late avoided Alfred and
Erasmus. Mrs. Falconer’s schemes for Georgiana, her beautiful daughter,
were far more brilliant. Several great establishments she had in view.
The appearance of Count Altenberg put many old visions to flight--her
whole fancy fixed upon him. If she could marry her Georgiana to Count
Altenberg!--There would be a match high as her most exalted ambition
could desire; and this project did not seem impossible. The count had
been heard to say that he thought Miss Georgiana Falconer the handsomest
woman he had seen since he had been in London. He had admired her
dancing, and had listened with enthusiastic attention to her music, and
to her charming voice; the young lady herself was confident that he
was, would be, or ought to be, her slave. The count was going into the
country for some weeks with Lord Oldborough. Mrs. Falconer, though
she had not seen Falconer-court for fifteen years, decided to go there
immediately. Then she should have the count fairly away from all
the designing mothers and rival daughters of her acquaintance, and
besides--she might, by this seasonable visit to the country, secure Sir
Robert Percy for her daughter Arabella. The commissioner rejoiced in
his lady’s determination, because he knew that it would afford him an
opportunity of obliging Lord Oldborough. His lordship had always been
averse from the trouble of entertaining company. He disliked it still
more since the death of Lady Oldborough; but he knew that it was
necessary to keep up his interest and his popularity in the country, and
he would, therefore, be obliged by Mrs. Falconer’s giving dinners
and entertainments for him. This game had succeeded, when it had been
played--at the time of the Marchioness of Twickenham’s marriage. Mr.
Falconer was particularly anxious now to please Lord Oldborough, for he
was fully aware that he had lost ground with his patron, and that
his sons had all in different ways given his lordship cause of
dissatisfaction. With Buckhurst Falconer Lord Oldborough was displeased
for being the companion and encourager of his nephew, Colonel Hauton,
in extravagance and gaming. In paying his court to the nephew, Buckhurst
lost the uncle. Lord Oldborough had hoped that a man of literature and
talents, as Buckhurst had been represented to him, would have drawn his
nephew from the turf to the senate, and would have raised in Colonel
Hauton’s mind some noble ambition.
“A clergyman! sir,” said Lord Oldborough to Commissioner Falconer, with
a look of austere indignation.--“What could induce such a man as Mr.
Buckhurst Falconer to become a clergyman?” The commissioner, affecting
to sympathize in this indignation, declared that he was so angry with
his son that he would not see him. All the time, however, he comforted
himself with the hope that his son would, in a few months, be in
possession of the long-expected living of Chipping-Friars, as the old
incumbent was now speechless. Lord Oldborough had never, after this
disowning of Buckhurst, mentioned his name to the father, and the
commissioner thought this management had succeeded.
Of John Falconer, too, there had been complaints. Officers returned from
abroad had spoken of his stupidity, his neglect of duty, and, above all,
of his boasting that, let him do what he pleased, he was sure of
Lord Oldborough’s favour--certain of being a major in one year, a
lieutenant-colonel in two. At first his boasts had been laughed at by
his brother officers, but when, at the year’s end, he actually was made
a major, their surprise and discontent were great. Lord Oldborough was
blamed for patronizing such a fellow. All this, in course of time, came
to his lordship’s knowledge. He heard these complaints in silence. It
was not his habit suddenly to express his displeasure. He heard, and
saw, without speaking or acting, till facts and proofs had accumulated
in his mind. He seemed to pass over many things unobserved, but they
were all registered in his memory, and he would judge and decide at last
in an instant, and irrevocably. Of this Commissioner Falconer, a cunning
man, who watched parts of a character narrowly, but could not take in
the whole, was not aware. He often blessed his good fortune for having
escaped Lord Oldborough’s displeasure or detection, upon occasions
when his lordship had marked all that the commissioner imagined he had
overlooked; his lordship was often most awake to what was passing, and
most displeased, when he appeared most absent or unmoved.
For instance, many mistakes, and much ignorance, had frequently appeared
in his envoy Cunningham Falconer’s despatches; but except when, in the
first moment of surprise at the difference between the ineptitude of the
envoy, and the talents of the author of the pamphlet, his lordship had
exclaimed, “_A slovenly despatch_,” these mistakes, and this ignorance,
had passed without animadversion. Some symptoms of duplicity, some
evasion of the minister’s questions, had likewise appeared, and the
commissioner had trembled lest the suspicions of his patron should be
awakened.
Count Altenberg, without design to injure Cunningham, had accidentally
mentioned in the presence of the commissioner and of Lord Oldborough
something of a transaction which was to be kept a profound secret from
the minister, a private intrigue which Cunningham had been carrying on
to get himself appointed envoy to the court of Denmark, by the interest
of the opposite party, in case of a change of ministry. At the moment
when this was alluded to by Count Altenberg, the commissioner was so
dreadfully alarmed that he perspired at every pore; but perceiving
that Lord Oldborough expressed no surprise, asked no explanation,
never looked towards him with suspicion, nor even raised his eyes, Mr.
Falconer flattered himself that his lordship was so completely engrossed
in the operation of replacing a loose glass in his spectacles, that he
had not heard or noticed one word the count had said. In this hope the
commissioner was confirmed by Lord Oldborough’s speaking an instant
afterwards precisely in his usual tone, and pursuing his previous
subject of conversation, without any apparent interruption in the train
of his ideas. Yet, notwithstanding that the commissioner fancied that he
and his son had escaped, and were secure in each particular instance,
he had a general feeling that Lord Oldborough was more reserved towards
him; and he was haunted by a constant fear of losing, not his patron’s
esteem or confidence, but his favour. Against this danger he constantly
guarded. To flatter, to keep Lord Oldborough in good humour, to make
himself agreeable and necessary by continual petty submissions and
services, was the sum of his policy.
It was with this view that he determined to go into the country;
and with this view he had consented to various expenses, which were
necessary, as Mrs. Falconer declared, to make it practicable for her and
her daughters to accompany him. Orders were sent to have a theatre
at Falconer-court, which had been long disused, fitted up in the most
elegant manner. The Miss Falconers had been in the habit of acting at
Sir Thomas and Lady Flowerton’s private theatre at Richmond, and they
were accomplished actresses. Count Altenberg had declared that he was
particularly fond of theatrical amusements. That hint was sufficient.
Besides, what a sensation the opening of a theatre at Falconer-court
would create in the country! Mrs. Falconer observed that the only
possible way to make the country supportable was to have a large party
of town friends in your house--and this was the more necessary for her,
as she was almost a stranger in her own county.
Alfred kept his promise, and sent Rosamond a list of the persons of
whom the party was to consist. Opposite to several names he
wrote--commonplace young--or, commonplace old ladies:--of the latter
number were Lady Trant and Lady Kew: of the former were the Miss G----s,
and others not worth mentioning. Then came the two Lady Arlingtons,
nieces of the Duke of Greenwich.
“The Lady Arlingtons,” continues Alfred, “are glad to get to Mrs.
Falconer, and Mrs. Falconer is glad to have them, because they are
related to my lord duke. I have met them at Mrs. Falconer’s, at Lady
Angelica Headingham’s, and often at Lady Jane Granville’s. The style and
tone of the Lady Anne is languishing--of Lady Frances, lively: both seem
mere spoilt selfish ladies of quality. Lady Anne’s selfishness is of the
cold, chronic, inveterate nature; Lady Frances’ of the hot, acute, and
tormenting species. She ‘loves everything by fits, and nothing long.’
Every body is _an angel_ and _a dear creature_, while they minister
to her fancies--and no longer. About these fancies she is restless and
impatient to a degree which makes her sister look sick and scornful
beyond description. Lady Anne neither fancies nor loves any thing or any
body. She seems to have no object upon earth but to drink barley-water,
and save herself from all manner of trouble or exertion, bodily or
mental. So much for the Lady Arlingtons.
“Buckhurst Falconer cannot be of this party--Colonel Hauton has him
at his regiment. But Buckhurst’s two friends, the Clays, are earnestly
pressed into the service. Notwithstanding the fine sanctified speech
Mrs. Falconer made me, about _that sad affair of Lewis Clay with Lady
Harriot H----_, she invites him; and I have a notion, if Count Altenberg
had not appeared, that she would have liked to have had him, _or_ his
brother, for her son-in-law. That you may judge how much my mother
would like them for her sons-in-law, I will take the trouble to draw you
portraits of both gentlemen.
“_French_ Clay and _English_ Clay, as they have been named, are
brothers, both men of large fortune, which their father acquired
respectably by commerce, and which they are spending in all kinds
of extravagance and profligacy, not from inclination, but merely
to purchase admission into fine company. French Clay is a travelled
coxcomb, who, _à propos de bottes_, begins with, ‘When I was abroad with
the Princess Orbitella--’ But I am afraid I cannot speak of this man
with impartiality, for I cannot bear to see an Englishman apeing
a Frenchman. The imitation is always so awkward, so ridiculous, so
contemptible. French Clay talks of _tact_, but without possessing any;
he delights in what he calls _persiflage_, but in his _persiflage_,
instead of the wit and elegance of Parisian raillery, there appears only
the vulgar love and habit of derision. He is continually railing at
our English want of _savoir vivre_, yet is himself an example of
the ill-breeding which he reprobates. His manners have neither the
cordiality of an Englishman nor the polish of a foreigner. To improve us
in _l’esprit de société_, he would introduce the whole system of French
gallantry--the vice without the refinement. I heard him acknowledge it
to be ‘his principle’ to intrigue with every _married_ woman who would
listen to him, provided she has any one of his four requisites,
wit, fashion, beauty, or a good table. He says his late suit in
Doctors’-commons cost him nothing; for 10,000_l._ are nothing to him.
“Public virtue, as well as private, he thinks it a fine air to disdain,
and patriotism and love of our country, he calls prejudices of which a
philosopher ought to divest himself. Some charitable people say that
he is not so unfeeling as he seems to be, and that above half his vices
arise from affectation, and from a mistaken ambition to be what he
thinks perfectly French.
“His brother, English Clay, is a cold, reserved, proud, dull-looking
man, whom art, in despite of nature, strove, and strove in vain, to
quicken into a ‘gay deceiver.’ He is a grave man of pleasure--his first
care being to provide for his exclusively personal gratifications. His
dinner is a serious, solemn business, whether it be at his own table
or at a tavern, which last he prefers--he orders it so that his repast
shall be the very best of its kind that money can procure. His next
care is, that he be not cheated in what he is to pay. Not that he values
money, but he cannot bear to be _taken in_. Then his dress, his horses
his whole appointment and establishment, are complete, and accurately in
the fashion of the day--no expense spared. All that belongs to Mr. Clay,
of Clay-hall, is the best of its kind, or, at least, _had from the best
hand_ in England. Every thing about him is English; but I don’t know
whether this arises from love of his country or contempt of his brother.
English Clay is not ostentatious of that which is his own, but he is
disdainful of all that belongs to another. The slightest deficiency in
the _appointments_ of his companions he sees, and marks by a wink
to some bystander, or with a dry joke laughs the wretch to scorn. In
company he delights to sit by silent and snug, sneering inwardly at
those who are entertaining the company, and _committing_ themselves.
He never entertains, and is seldom entertained. His joys are neither
convivial nor intellectual; he is gregarious, but not companionable; a
hard drinker, but not social. Wine sometimes makes him noisy, but never
makes him gay; and, whatever be his excesses, he commits them seemingly
without temptation from taste or passion. He keeps a furiously expensive
mistress, whom he curses, and who curses him, as Buckhurst informs me,
ten times a day; yet he prides himself on being free and unmarried!
Scorning and dreading women in general, he swears he would not marry
Venus herself unless she had 100,000_l._ in each pocket; and now that
no mortal Venus wears pockets, he thanks Heaven he is safe. Buckhurst,
I remember, assured me that beneath this crust of pride there is some
good-nature. Deep hid under a large mass of selfishness there may be
some glimmerings of affection. He shows symptoms of feeling for his
horses, and his mother, and his coachman, and his country. I do believe
he would fight for old England, for it is his country, and he is English
Clay. Affection for his coachman, did I say?--He shows admiration,
if not affection, for every whip of note in town. He is their
companion--no, their pupil, and, as Antoninus Pius gratefully prided
himself in recording the names of those relations and friends from
whom he learnt his several virtues, this man may boast to after-ages of
having learnt from one coachman how to cut a fly off his near leader’s
ear, how to tuck up a duck from another, and the _true spit_ from a
third--by-the-bye, it is said, but I don’t vouch for the truth of the
story, that this last accomplishment cost him a tooth, which he had had
drawn to attain it in perfection. Pure _slang_ he could not learn from
any one coachman, but from constantly frequenting the society of all. I
recollect Buckhurst Falconer telling me that he dined once with English
Clay, in company with a baronet, a viscount, an earl, a duke, and the
driver of a mail-coach, to whom was given, by acclamation, the seat
of honour. I am told there is a house, at which these gentlemen and
noblemen meet regularly every week, where there are two dining-rooms
divided by glass doors. In one room the real coachmen dined, in the
other the amateur gentlemen, who, when they are tired of their own
conversation, throw open the glass doors, that they may be entertained
and edified by the coachmen’s wit and _slang_; in which dialect English
Clay’s rapid proficiency has, it is said, recommended him to the _best_
society, even more than his being the master of the best of cooks, and
of Clay-hall.
“I have said so much more than I intended of both these brothers, that I
have no room for more portraits; indeed, the other gentlemen are zeros.
“Yours affectionately,
“ALFRED PERCY.”
Notwithstanding the pains which Mrs. Falconer took to engage these Mr.
Clays to accompany her, she could obtain only a promise that they would
wait upon her, if possible, some time during the recess.
Count Altenberg also, much to Mrs. Falconer’s disappointment, was
detained in town a few days longer than he had foreseen, but he promised
to follow Lord Oldborough early in the ensuing week. All the rest of
the _prodigious_ party arrived at Falconer-court, which was within a few
miles of Lord Oldborough’s seat at Clermont-park.
The day after Lord Oldborough’s arrival in the country, his lordship
was seized with a fit of the gout, which fixed in his right hand.
Commissioner Falconer, when he came in the morning to pay his respects,
and to inquire after his patron’s health, found him in his study,
writing a letter with his left hand. “My lord, shall not I call Mr.
Temple--or--could I offer my services as secretary?”
“I thank you, sir--no. This letter must be written with my own hand.”
Whom can this letter be to, that is of so much consequence? thought
the commissioner; and glancing his eye at the direction, he saw, as
the letter was given to a servant, “_To L. Percy, Esq._”--his surprise
arrested the pinch of snuff which he was just going to take. “What could
be the business--the secret--only a few lines, what could they contain?”
Simply these words
“MY DEAR SIR,
“I write to you with my left hand, the gout having, within these few
hours, incapacitated my right. Since this gout keeps me a prisoner, and
I cannot, as I had intended, go to you, may I beg that you will do me
the favour to come to me, if it could suit your convenience, to-morrow
morning, when I shall be alone from twelve till four.
“With true esteem,
“Yours,
“OLDBOROUGH.”
In the course of the day the commissioner found out, by something Lord
Oldborough _let fall_, what his lordship had no intention to conceal,
that he had requested Mr. Percy to come to Clermont-park the next
morning; and the commissioner promised himself that he would be in the
way to see his good cousin Percy, and to satisfy his curiosity. But his
manoeuvres and windings were, whenever it was necessary, counteracted
and cut short by the unexpected directness and peremptory plain
dealing of his patron. In the morning, towards the hour of twelve, the
commissioner thought he had well begun a conversation that would draw
out into length upon a topic which he knew must be interesting to his
lordship, and he held in his hand private letters of great consequence
from his son Cunningham; but Lord Oldborough, taking the letters, locked
them up in his desk, saying, “To-night I will read them--this morning
I have set apart for a conversation with Mr. Percy, whom I wish to see
alone. In the mean time, my interest in the borough has been left
too much to the care of that attorney Sharpe, of whom I have no great
opinion. Will you be so good to ride over, as you promised me that you
would, to the borough, and see what is doing there?”
The commissioner endeavoured not to look disconcerted or discomfited,
rang the bell for his horses, and took his leave, as Lord Oldborough
had determined that he should, before the arrival of Mr. Percy, who came
exactly at twelve.
“I thank you for this punctuality, Mr. Percy,” said Lord Oldborough,
advancing in his most gracious manner; and no two things could be more
strikingly different than his gracious and ungracious manner. “I
thank you for this kind punctuality. No one knows better than I do the
difference between the visit of a friend and all other visits.”
Without preface, Lord Oldborough always went directly to the point. “I
have requested you to come to me, Mr. Percy, because I want from you two
things, which I cannot have so much to my satisfaction from any other
person as from you--assistance and sympathy. But, before I go to my
own affairs, let me--and not by way of compliment, but plainly and
truly--let me congratulate you, my dear sir, on the success of your
sons, on the distinction and independence they have already acquired
in their professions. I know the value of independence--of that which
I shall never have,” added his lordship, with a forced smile and a deep
sigh. “But let that be. It was not of that I meant to speak. You
pursue your course; I, mine. Firmness of purpose I take to be the great
difference between man and man. I am not one of those who habitually
covet sympathy. It is a sign of a mind insufficient to its own support,
to look for sympathy on every trivial occurrence; and on great
occasions it has not been my good fortune to meet many persons who could
sympathize with me.”
“True,” said Mr. Percy, “people must think with you, before they can
feel with you.”
“It is extraordinary, Mr. Percy,” continued Lord Oldborough, “that,
knowing how widely you differ from me in political principles, I should
choose, of all men living, to open my mind to you. But the fact is, that
I am convinced, however we may differ about the means, the end we both
have in view is one and the same--the good and glory of the British
empire.”
“My lord, I believe it,” cried Mr. Percy--with energy and warmth he
repeated, “My lord, I believe it.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Lord Oldborough; “you do me justice. I have
reason to be satisfied when such men as you do me justice; I have reason
also to be satisfied that I have not to make the common complaint of
those who serve princes. From him whom I have served I have not met with
any ingratitude, with any neglect: on the contrary, I am well assured,
that so firm is his conviction of my intending the good of his throne
and of his people, that to preserve me his minister is the first wish of
his heart. I am confident that without hesitation he would dismiss from
his councils any who should obstruct my views, or be inimical to my
interests.”
“Then, my lord, you are happy; if man can be happy at the summit of
ambition.”
“Pardon me. It is a dizzy height at best; but, were it attained, I trust
my head would be strong enough to bear it.”
“Lord Verulam, you know, my lord,” said Mr. Percy, smiling, “tells us,
that people, by looking down precipices, do put their spirits in the act
of falling.”
“True, true,” said Lord Oldborough, rather impatient at Mr. Percy’s
going to Lord Verulam and philosophy. “But you have not yet heard the
facts. I am encompassed with enemies, open and secret. Open enemies
I meet and defy--their strength I can calculate and oppose; but the
strength of my secret enemies I cannot calculate, for that strength
depends on their combination, and that combination I cannot break till
I know of what it consists. I have the power and the will to strike, but
know not where to aim. In the dark I will not strike, lest I injure the
innocent or destroy a friend. Light I cannot obtain, though I have been
in search of it for a considerable time. Perhaps by your assistance it
may be obtained.”
“By my assistance!” exclaimed Mr. Percy: “ignorant, as I am, of all
parties, and of all their secret transactions, how, my dear lord, can I
possibly afford you any assistance?”
“Precisely by your being unconnected with all parties--a cool
stander-by, you can judge of the play--you can assist me with your
general knowledge of human nature, and with a particular species of
knowledge, of which I should never have guessed that you were possessed,
but for an accidental discovery of it made to me the other day by your
son Alfred--your knowledge of the art of deciphering.”
Lord Oldborough then produced the Tourville papers, related how they had
been put into his hands by Commissioner Falconer, showed him what the
commissioner and his son had deciphered, pointed out where the remaining
difficulty occurred, and explained how they were completely at a stand
from their inability to decipher the word Gassoc, or to decide who
or what it could mean. All the conjectures of the commissioner,
the cassock, and the bishop, and the _gosshawk_, and the heraldic
researches, and the French misnomers, and the puns upon the coats of
arms, and the notes from Wilkins on universal language, and an old book
on deciphering, which had been lent to the commissioner, and the private
and public letters which Cunningham had written since he went abroad,
were all laid before Mr. Percy.
“As to my envoy, Mr. Cunningham Falconer,” said Lord Oldborough, as
he took up the bundle of Cunningham’s letters, “I do not choose to
interrupt the main business before us, by adverting to him or to his
character, farther than to point out to you this mark,” showing a
peculiar pencil mark, made on certain papers. “This is my note of
distrust, observe, and this my note for mere circumlocution, or
nonsense. And here,” continued his lordship, “is a list of all those in,
or connected with the ministry, whom it is possible may be my enemies.”
The list was the same as that on which the commissioner formerly went to
work, except that the name of the Duke of Greenwich had been struck
out, and two others added in his place, so that it stood thus: “Dukes
of Doncaster and Stratford; Lords Coleman, Naresby, Skreene, Twisselton,
Waltham, Wrexfield, Chelsea, and Lancaster; Sir Thomas Cope, Sir James
Skipworth; Secretaries Arnold and Oldfield.” This list was marked with
figures, in different coloured inks, prefixed to each name, denoting the
degrees of their supposed enmity to Lord Oldborough, and these had been
calculated from a paper, containing notes of the probable causes and
motives of their disaffection, drawn up by Commissioner Falconer,
but corrected, and in many places contradicted, by notes in Lord
Oldborough’s hand-writing. His lordship marked which was _his_
calculation of probabilities, and made some observations on the
character of each, as he read over the list of names rapidly.
Doncaster, a dunce--Stratford, a miser--Coleman, a knave--Naresby, non
compos--Skreene, the most corrupt of the corrupt--Twisselton, puzzle
headed--Waltham, a mere theorist--Wrexfield, a speechifier--Chelsea, a
trimmer--Lancaster, deep and dark--Sir Thomas Cope, a wit, a poet, and
a fool--Sir James Skipworth, finance and finesse--Arnold, able and
active--and Oldfield, a diplomatist in grain.
“And is this the summary of the history of the men with whom your
lordship is obliged to act and live?” said Mr. Percy.
“It is--I am: but, my dear sir, do not let us fly off at a tangent
to morality or philosophy; these have nothing to do with the
present purpose. You have before you all the papers relative to this
transaction. Now, will you do me the favour, the service, to look them
over, and try whether you can make out _le mot d’énigme_? I shall not
disturb you.”
Lord Oldborough sat down at a small table by the fire, with a packet of
letters and memorials beside him, and in a few minutes was completely
absorbed in these, for he had acquired the power of turning his
attention suddenly and entirely from one subject to another.
Without reading the mass of Commissioner Falconer’s explanations and
conjectures, or encumbering his understanding with all that Cunningham
had collected, as if purposely to puzzle the cause, Mr. Percy examined
first very carefully the original documents--then Lord Oldborough’s
notes on the views and characters of the suspected persons, and the
reasons of their several enmities or dissatisfaction. From the scale of
probabilities, which he found had been with great skill calculated on
these notes, he selected the principal names, and then tried with these,
whether he could make out an idea that had struck him the moment he had
heard of the Gassoc. He recollected the famous word Cabal, in the reign
of Charles the Second, and he thought it possible that the cabalistical
word Gassoc might be formed by a similar combination. But _Gassoc_ was
no English word, was no word of any language. Upon close examination of
the Tourville papers, he perceived that the commissioner had been right
in one of his suggestions, that the _G_ had been written instead of a
_C_: in some places it had been a _c_ turned into a _g_, and the writer
seemed to be in doubt whether the word should be Gassoc or Cassoc.
Assuming, therefore, that it was _Cassock_, Mr. Percy found the
initials of six persons, who stood high in Lord Oldborough’s scale of
probabilities: Chelsea--Arnold--Skreene--Skipworth--Oldfield--Coleman;
and the last k, for which he hunted in vain a considerable time, was
supplied by Kensington (one of the Duke of Greenwich’s titles), whose
name had been scratched out of the list, since his reconciliation and
connexion by marriage with Lord Oldborough, but who had certainly at one
time been of the league of his lordship’s enemies. Every circumstance
and date in the Tourville papers exactly agree with this explanation:
the Cassock thus composed cleared up all difficulties; and passages,
that were before dark and mysterious, were rendered by this reading
perfectly intelligible. The interpretation, when once given, appeared
so simple, that Lord Oldborough wondered how it was possible that it had
not before occurred to his mind. His satisfaction was great--he was at
this moment relieved from all danger of mistaking friend for foe; he
felt that his enemies were in his power, and his triumph secure.
“My dear sir,” cried he, “you do not know, you cannot estimate, the
extent of the service you have done me: far from wishing to lessen it
in your eyes, I wish you to know at this moment its full importance.
By Lady Oldborough’s death, and by circumstances with which I need
not trouble you, I lost the support of her connexions. The Duke of
Greenwich, though my relation, is a weak man, and a weak man can never
be a good friend. I was encompassed, undermined, the ground hollow under
me--I knew it, but I could not put my finger upon one of the traitors.
Now I have them all at one blow, and I thank you for it. I have the
character, I believe, of being what is called proud, but you see that I
am not too proud to be assisted and obliged by one who will never allow
me to oblige or assist him or any of his family. But why should this be?
Look over the list of these men. In some one of these places of trust,
give me a person in whom I can confide, a friend to me, and to your
country. Look over that list, now in your hand, and put your finger upon
any thing that will suit you.”
“I thank you, my lord,” said Mr. Percy; “I feel the full value of your
good opinion, and true gratitude for the warmth of your friendship, but
I cannot accept of any office under your administration. Our political
principles differ as much as our private sentiments of honour agree; and
these sentiments will, I trust, make you approve of what I now say--and
do.”
“But there are places, there are situations which you might accept,
where your political opinions and mine could never clash. It is an
extraordinary thing for a minister to press a gentleman to accept of a
place, unless he expects more in return than what he gives. But come--I
must have Mr. Percy one of us. You have never tried ambition yet,” added
Lord Oldborough, with a smile: “trust me, you will find ambition has its
pleasures, its proud moments, when a man feels that he has his foot on
the neck of his enemies.”
Lord Oldborough stood, as if he felt this pride at the instant. “You do
not know the charms of ambition, Mr. Percy.”
“It may be delightful to feel one’s foot on the neck of one’s enemies,
but, for my part, I rather prefer having no enemies.”
“No enemies!” said Lord Oldborough: “every man that has character enough
to make friends has character enough to make enemies--and must have
enemies, if not of his power or place, of his talents and property--the
sphere lower, the passion’s the same. No enemies!--What is he, who has
been at law with you, and has robbed you of your estate?”
“I forgot him--upon my word, I forgot him,” said Mr. Percy. “You see,
my lord, if he robbed me of my estate, he did not rob me of my peace
of mind. Does your lordship think,” said Mr. Percy, smiling, “that any
ambitious man, deprived of his place, could say as much?”
“When I can tell you that from my own experience, you shall know,”
said Lord Oldborough, replying in the same tone; “but, thanks to your
discovery, there seems to be little chance, at present, of my being
competent to answer that question. But to business--we are wasting
life.”
Every word or action that did not tend to a political purpose appeared
to Lord Oldborough to be a waste of life.
“Your ultimatum? Can you be one of us?”
“Impossible, my lord. Pardon me if I say, that the nearer the view your
confidence permits me to take of the workings of your powerful mind, and
of the pains and penalties of your exalted situation, the more clearly
I feel that ambition is not for me, that my happiness lies in another
line.”
“Enough--I have done--the subject is at rest between us for ever.” A
cloud, followed instantaneously by a strong radiance of pleasure,
passed across Lord Oldborough’s countenance, while he pronounced, as
if speaking to himself, the words, “Singular obstinacy! Admirable
consistency! And I too am consistent, my dear sir,” said he, sitting
down at the table. “Now for business; but I am deprived of my right
hand.” He rang, and desired his secretary, Mr. Temple, to be sent to
him. Mr. Percy rose to take leave, but Lord Oldborough would not permit
him to go. “I can have no secrets for you, Mr. Percy--stay and see the
end of the Cassock.”
Mr. Temple came in; and Lord Oldborough, with that promptitude and
decision by which he was characterised, dictated a letter to the king,
laying before his majesty the whole intrigue, as discovered by
the Tourville papers, adding a list of the members of the
_Cassock_--concluding by begging his majesty’s permission to resign,
unless the cabal, which had rendered his efforts for the good of the
country and for his majesty’s service in some points abortive, should
be dismissed from his majesty’s councils. In another letter to a private
friend, who had access to the royal ear, Lord Oldborough named the
persons, whom, if his majesty should do him the favour of consulting
him, he should wish to recommend in the places of those who might be
dismissed. His lordship farther remarked, that the marriage which
had taken place between his niece and the eldest son of the Duke of
Greenwich, and the late proofs of his grace’s friendship, dissipated all
fears and resentment arising from his former connexion with the Cassock.
Lord Oldborough therefore entreated his majesty to continue his grace in
his ministry. All this was stated in the shortest and plainest terms.
“No rounded periods, _no phrases_, no fine writing, Mr. Temple, upon
this occasion, if you please; it must be felt that these letters are
straight from my mind, and that if they are not written by my own hand,
it is because that hand is disabled. As soon as the gout will let me
stir, I shall pay my duty to my sovereign in person. These arrangements
will be completed, I trust, by the meeting of parliament. In the mean
time I am better here than in London; the blow will be struck, and none
will know by whom--not but what I am ready to avow it, if called upon.
But--let the coffee-house politicians decide, and the country gentlemen
prose upon it,” said Lord Oldborough, smiling--“some will say the
ministry split on India affairs, some on Spanish, some on French
affairs. How little they, any of them, know what passes or what governs
behind the curtain! Let them talk--whilst I act.”
The joy of this discovery so raised Lord Oldborough’s spirits, and
dilated his heart, that he threw himself open with a freedom and
hilarity, and with a degree of humour unusual to him, and unknown except
to the few in his most intimate confidence. The letters finished, Mr.
Temple was immediately despatched with them to town.
“There,” said Lord Oldborough, as soon as Mr. Temple had left him,
“there’s a secretary I can depend upon; and there is another obligation
I owe to your family--to your son Alfred.”
Now this business of the Tourville papers was off his mind, Lord
Oldborough, though not much accustomed to turn his attention to the
lesser details of domestic life, spoke of every individual of the Percy
family with whom he was acquainted; and, in particular, of Godfrey, to
whom he was conscious that he had been unjust. Mr. Percy, to relieve him
from this regret, talked of the pleasure his son had had in his friend
Gascoigne’s late promotion to the lieutenant-colonelcy. Whilst Mr. Percy
spoke, Lord Oldborough searched among a packet of letters for one which
made honourable mention of Captain Percy, and put it into the hands of
the happy father.
“Ah! these are pleasurable feelings denied to me,” said Lord Oldborough.
After a pause he added, “That nephew of mine, Colonel Hauton, is
irretrievably profligate, selfish, insignificant. I look to my niece,
the Marchioness of Twickenham’s child, that is to say, if the mother--”
Another long pause, during which his lordship rubbed the glasses of his
spectacles, and looked through them, as if intent that no speck should
remain; while he did this very slowly, his mind ran rapidly from the
idea of the Marchioness of Twickenham to John Falconer, and thence to
all the causes of distrust and discontent which he felt towards all the
different individuals of the Falconer family. He considered, that now
the Tourville papers had been completely deciphered, the necessity for
engaging the secrecy of the commissioner, and of his son Cunningham,
would soon cease.
Lord Oldborough’s reverie was interrupted by seeing, at this instant,
the commissioner returning from his ride.
“Not a word, Mr. Percy, of what has passed between us, to Commissioner
Falconer--not a word of the _Gassoc_. I put you on your guard, because
you live with those in whom you have entire confidence,” said Lord
Oldborough; “but that is what a public man, a minister, cannot do.”
Another reason why I should not like to be a minister, thought Mr.
Percy. “I took it for granted that the commissioner was entirely in your
lordship’s confidence.”
“I thought you were too good a philosopher to take any thing for
granted, Mr. Percy. Consider, if you please, that I am in a situation
where I must have tools, and use them, as long as I can make them
serviceable to my purposes. Sir, I am not a missionary, but a minister.
I must work with men, and upon men, such as I find them. I am not a
chemist, to analyze and purify the gold. I make no objection to that
alloy, which I am told is necessary, and fits it for being moulded to my
purposes. But here comes the ductile commissioner.”
Lord Oldborough began to talk to him of the borough, without any
mercy for his curiosity, and without any attempt to evade the various
dexterous pushes he made to discover the business which had this morning
occupied his lordship. Mr. Percy was surprised, in the course of this
day, to see the manner in which the commissioner, a gentleman well-born,
of originally independent fortune and station, humbled and abased
himself to a patron. Mr. Falconer had contracted a certain cringing
servility of manner, which completely altered his whole appearance, and
which quite prevented him even from looking like a gentleman. It was his
principle never to contradict a great man, never to give him any sort
of pain; and his idea of the deference due to rank, and of the danger of
losing favour by giving offence, was carried so far, that not only his
attitude and language, but his whole mind, seemed to be new modified. He
had not the free use of his faculties. He seemed really so to subdue and
submit his powers, that his understanding was annihilated. Mr. Percy
was astonished at the change in his cousin; the commissioner was equally
surprised, nay, actually terrified, by Mr. Percy’s freedom and boldness.
“Good Heavens! how can you speak in this manner?” said Mr. Falconer,
as they were going down stairs together, after parting with Lord
Oldborough.
“And why not?--I have nothing to fear or to hope, nothing to gain or to
lose. Lord Oldborough can give me nothing that I would accept, but his
esteem, and that I am sure of never losing.”
Heigho! if I had your favour with my lord, what I would make of it!
thought the commissioner, as he stepped into his chariot. Mr. Percy
mounted his horse, and rode back to his humble home, glad to have done
his friend Lord Oldborough a service, still more glad that he was not
bound to the minister by any of the chains of political dependence.
Rejoiced to quit Tourville papers--state intrigues--lists of
enemies,--and all the necessity for reserve and _management_, and all
the turmoil of ambition.