Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. V, No. XXV, June, 1852. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.
temples, as if to stop the torture of thought. Suddenly a voice was heard below, the door opened, and Randal Leslie entered.
CHAPTER XXIII
Punctually at eight o'clock that evening, Baron Levy welcomed the new ally he had secured. The pair dined en tête-à-tête, discussing general matters till the servants left them to their wine. Then said the Baron, rising and stirring the fire – then said the Baron, briefly and significantly —
"Well!"
"As regards the property you spoke of," answered Randal, "I am willing to purchase it on the terms you name. The only point that perplexes me is how to account to Audley Egerton, to my parents, to the world, for the power of purchasing it."
"True," said the Baron, without even a smile at the ingenious and truly Greek manner in which Randal had contrived to denote his meaning, and conceal the ugliness of it – "true, we must think of that. If we could manage to conceal the real name of the purchaser for a year or so – it might be easy – you may be supposed to have speculated in the Funds; or Egerton may die, and people may believe that he had secured to you something handsome from the ruins of his fortune."
"Little chance of Egerton's dying."
"Humph!" said the Baron. "However, this is a mere detail, reserved for consideration. You can now tell us where the young lady is?"
"Certainly. I could not this morning – I can now. I will go with you to the Count. Meanwhile, I have seen Madame di Negra: she will accept Frank Hazeldean if he will but offer himself at once."
"Will he not?"
"No! I have been to him. He is overjoyed at my representations, but considers it his duty to ask the consent of his parents. Of course they will not give it; and if there be delay, she will retract. She is under the influence of passions, on the duration of which there is no reliance."
"What passions? Love?"
"Love; but not for Hazeldean. The passions that bring her to accept his hand are pique and jealousy. She believes, in a word, that one, who seems to have gained the mastery over her affections with a strange suddenness, is but blind to her charms, because dazzled by Violante's. She is prepared to aid in all that can give her rival to Peschiera; and yet, such is the inconsistency of woman" (added the young philosopher, with a shrug of the shoulders), "that she is also prepared to lose all chance of securing him she loves, by bestowing herself on another!"
"Woman, indeed, all over!" said the Baron, tapping the snuff-box (Louis Quinze), and regaling his nostrils with a scornful pinch. "But who is the man whom the fair Beatrice has thus honored? Superb creature! I had some idea of her myself when I bought up her debts; but it might have embarrassed me, on more general plans, as regards the Count. All for the best. Who's the man? Not Lord L'Estrange?"
"I do not think it is he; but I have not yet ascertained. I have told you all I know. I found her in a state so excited, so unlike herself, that I had no little difficulty in soothing her into confidence so far. I could not venture more."
"And she will accept Frank?"
"Had he offered to-day she would have accepted him!"
"It may be a great help to your fortunes, mon cher, if Frank Hazeldean marry this lady without his father's consent. Perhaps he may be disinherited. You are next of kin."
"How do you know that?" asked Randal, sullenly.
"It is my business to know all about the chances and connections of any one with whom I do money matters. I do money matters with young Mr. Hazeldean; so I know that the Hazeldean property is not entailed; and, as the Squire's half-brother has no Hazeldean blood in him, you have excellent expectations."
"Did Frank tell you I was next of kin?"
"I rather think so; but I am sure you did."
"I – when?"
"When you told me how important it was to you that Frank should marry Madame di Negra. Peste! mon cher, do you think I am a blockhead?"
"Well, Baron, Frank is of age, and can marry to please himself. You implied to me that you could help him in this."
"I will try. See that he call at Madame di Negra's to-morrow, at two precisely."
"I would rather keep clear of all apparent interference in this matter. Will you not arrange that he call on her?"
"I will. Any more wine? No; – then let us go to the Count's."
CHAPTER XXIV
The next morning Frank Hazeldean was sitting over his solitary breakfast-table. It was long past noon. The young man had risen early, it is true, to attend his military duties, but he had contracted the habit of breakfasting late. One's appetite does not come early when one lives in London, and never goes to bed before daybreak.
There was nothing very luxurious or effeminate about Frank's rooms, though they were in a very dear street, and he paid a monstrous high price for them. Still, to a practiced eye, they betrayed an inmate who can get through his money and make very little show for it. The walls were covered with colored prints of racers and steeplechases, interspersed with the portraits of opera-dancers – all smirk and caper. Then there was a semicircular recess, covered with red cloth, and fitted up for smoking, as you might perceive by sundry stands full of Turkish pipes in cherry-stick and jessamine, with amber mouth-pieces; while a great serpent hookah, from which Frank could no more have smoked than he could have smoked out of the head of a boa constrictor, coiled itself up on the floor; over the chimney-piece was a collection of Moorish arms. What use on earth, ataghan and scimitar, and damasquined pistols, that would not carry straight three yards, could be to an officer in his Majesty's Guards, is more than I can conjecture, or even Frank satisfactorily explain. I have strong suspicions that this valuable arsenal passed to Frank in part-payment of a bill to be discounted. At all events, if so, it was an improvement on the bear that he had sold to the hairdresser. No books were to be seen any where, except a Court Guide, a Racing Calendar, an Army List, the Sporting Magazine complete (whole bound in scarlet morocco, at about a guinea per volume), and a small book, as small as an Elzevir, on the chimney-piece, by the side of a cigar-case. That small book had cost Frank more than all the rest put together; it was his Own Book, his book par excellence; book made up by himself – his Betting-Book!
On a centre-table were deposited Frank's well-brushed hat – a satin-wood box, containing kid-gloves of various delicate tints, from primrose to lilac – a tray full of cards and three-cornered notes – an opera-glass, and an ivory subscription ticket to his opera stall.
In one corner was an ingenious receptacle for canes, sticks, and whips – I should not like, in these bad times, to have paid the bill for them, – and, mounting guard by that receptacle, stood a pair of boots as bright as Baron Levy's – "the force of brightness could no further go." Frank was in his dressing-gown – very good taste – quite Oriental – guaranteed to be true India cashmere, and charged as such. Nothing could be more neat, though perfectly simple, than the appurtenances of his breakfast-table; – silver tea-pot, ewer and basin – all fitting into his dressing-box – (for the which may Storr and Mortimer be now praised, and some day paid!) Frank looked very handsome – rather tired, and exceedingly bored. He had been trying to read the Morning Post, but the effort had proved too much for him.
Poor dear Frank Hazeldean! true type of many a poor dear fellow who has long since gone to the dogs. And if, in this road to ruin, there had been the least thing to do the traveler any credit by the way! One feels a respect for the ruin of a man like Audley Egerton. He is ruined en roi! From the wrecks of his fortune he can look down and see stately monuments built from the stones of that dismantled edifice. In every institution which attests the humanity of England, was a record of the princely bounty of the public man. In those objects of party for which the proverbial sinews of war are necessary – in those rewards for service, which private liberality can confer – the hand of Egerton had been opened as with the heart of a king. Many a rising member of Parliament, in those days when talent was brought forward through the aid of wealth and rank, owed his career to the seat which Audley Egerton's large subscription had secured to him; many an obscure supporter in letters