Book: My Novel, Volume 6.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 6.




"But pardon me my ignorance. Lord Lansmere is so well known to be one of
your supporters, that I fancied his son must share his sentiments, and be
in your confidence."

Egerton's brows slightly contracted, and gave a stern expression to a
countenance always firm and decided. He however answered in a mild tone,

"At the entrance into political life, Mr. Leslie, there is nothing in
which a young man of your talents should be more on his guard than
thinking for himself; he will nearly always think wrong. And I believe
that is one reason why young men of talent disappoint their friends, and
remain so long out of office."

A haughty flush passed over Randal's brow, and faded away quickly; he
bowed in silence.

Egerton resumed, as if in explanation, and even in kindly apology,

"Look at Lord L'Estrange himself. What young man could come into life
with brighter auspices? Rank, wealth, high animal spirits (a great
advantage those same spirits, Mr. Leslie), courage, self-possession,
scholarship as brilliant perhaps as your own; and now see how his life is
wasted! Why? He always thought fit to think for himself. He could
never be broken into harness, and never will be. The state coach, Mr.
Leslie, requires that all the horses should pull together."

"With submission, sir," answered Randal, "I should think that there were
other reasons why Lord L'Estrange, whatever be his talents--and of these
you must be indeed an adequate judge--would never do anything in public
life."

"Ay, and what?" said Egerton, quickly.

"First," said Randal, shrewdly, "private life has done too much for him.
What could public life give to one who needs nothing? Born at the top of
the social ladder, why should he put himself voluntarily at the last
step, for the sake of climbing up again? And secondly, Lord L'Estrange
seems to me a man in whose organization /sentiment/ usurps too large a
share for practical existence."

"You have a keen eye," said Audley, with some admiration,--"keen for one
so young. Poor Harley!"

Mr. Egerton's last words were said to himself. He resumed quickly,

"There is something on my mind, my young friend. Let us be frank with
each other. I placed before you fairly the advantages and disadvantages
of the choice I gave you. To take your degree with such honours as no
doubt you would have won, to obtain your fellowship, to go to the Bar,
with those credentials in favour of your talents,--this was one career.
To come at once into public life, to profit by my experience, avail
yourself of my interest, to take the chances of rise or fall with a
party,--this was another. You chose the last. But in so doing, there
was a consideration which might weigh with you, and on which, in stating
your reasons for your option, you were silent."

"What is that, sir?"

"You might have counted on my fortune, should the chances of party fail
you: speak, and without shame if so; it would be natural in a young man,
who comes from the elder branch of the House whose heiress was my wife."

"You wound me, Mr. Egerton," said Randal, turning away.

Mr. Egerton's cold glance followed Randal's movements; the face was hid
from the glance, and the statesman's eye rested on the figure, which is
often as self-betraying as the countenance itself. Randal baffled Mr.
Egerton's penetration,--the young man's emotion might be honest pride and
pained and generous feeling, or it might be something else. Egerton
continued slowly,

"Once for all, then, distinctly and emphatically, I say, never count upon
that; count upon all else that I can do for you, and forgive me when I
advise harshly or censure coldly; ascribe this to my interest in your
career. Moreover, before decision becomes irrevocable, I wish you to
know practically all that is disagreeable or even humiliating in the
first subordinate steps of him who, without wealth or station, would rise
in public life. I will not consider your choice settled till the end of
a year at least,--your name will be kept on the college books till then;
if on experience you should prefer to return to Oxford, and pursue the
slower but surer path to independence and distinction, you can. And now
give me your hand, Mr. Leslie, in sign that you forgive my bluntness: it
is time to dress."

Randal, with his face still averted, extended his hand. Mr. Egerton held
it a moment, then dropping it, left the room. Randal turned as the door
closed; and there was in his dark face a power of sinister passion, that
justified all Harley's warnings. His lips moved, but not audibly; then
as if struck by a sudden thought, he followed Egerton into the hall.

"Sir," said he, "I forgot to say, that on returning from Maida Hill,
I took shelter from the rain under a covered passage, and there I met
unexpectedly with your nephew, Frank Hazeldean."

"Ah!" said Egerton, indifferently, "a fine young man; in the Guards.
It is a pity that my brother has such antiquated political notions;
he should put his son into parliament, and under my guidance; I could
push him. Well, and what said Frank?"

"He invited me to call on him. I remember that you once rather cautioned
me against too intimate an acquaintance with those who have not got their
fortunes to make."

"Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right,--better not
to be too intimate with a young Guardsman."

"Then you would not have me call on him, sir? We were rather friends
at Eton; and if I wholly reject his overtures, might he not think that
you--"

"I!" interrupted Egerton. "Ah, true; my brother might think I bore him a
grudge; absurd. Call then, and ask the young man here. Yet still, I do
not advise intimacy." Egerton turned into his dressing-room. "Sir,"
said his valet, who was in waiting, "Mr. Levy is here,--he says by
appointment; and Mr. Grinders is also just come from the country."

"Tell Mr. Grinders to come in first," said Egerton, seating himself.
"You need not wait; I can dress without you. Tell Mr. Levy I will see
him in five minutes."

Mr. Grinders was steward to Audley Egerton.

Mr. Levy was a handsome man, who wore a camellia in his button-hole;
drove, in his cabriolet, a high-stepping horse that had cost L200; was
well known to young men of fashion, and considered by their fathers a
very dangerous acquaintance.




CHAPTER XII.

As the company assembled in the drawing-rooms, Mr. Egerton introduced
Randal Leslie to his eminent friends in a way that greatly contrasted the
distant and admonitory manner which he had exhibited to him in private.
The presentation was made with that cordiality and that gracious respect,
by which those who are in station command notice for those who have their
station yet to win.

"My dear lord, let me introduce to you a kinsman of my late wife's" (in a
whisper),--"the heir to the elder branch of her family. Stanmore, this
is Mr. Leslie, of whom I spoke to you. You, who were so distinguished at
Oxford, will not like him the worse for the prizes he gained there.
Duke, let me present to you Mr. Leslie. The duchess is angry with me for
deserting her balls; I shall hope to make my peace, by providing myself
with a younger and livelier substitute. Ah, Mr. Howard, here is a young
gentleman just fresh from Oxford, who will tell us all about the new sect
springing up there. He has not wasted his time on billiards and horses."

Leslie was received with all that charming courtesy which is the /To
Kalon/ of an aristocracy.

After dinner, conversation settled on politics. Randal listened with
attention, and in silence, till Egerton drew him gently out; just enough,
and no more,--just enough to make his intelligence evident, and without
subjecting him to the charge of laying down the law. Egerton knew how to
draw out young men,--a difficult art. It was one reason why he was so
peculiarly popular with the more rising members of his party.

The party broke up early.

"We are in time for Almack's," said Egerton, glancing at the clock, "and
I have a voucher for you; come."

Randal followed his patron into the carriage. By the way Egerton thus
addressed him,

"I shall introduce you to the principal leaders of society; know them and
study them: I do not advise you to attempt to do more,--that is, to
attempt to become the fashion. It is a very expensive ambition: some men
it helps, most men it ruins. On the whole, you have better cards in your
hands. Dance or not as it pleases you; don't flirt. If you flirt people
will inquire into your fortune,--an inquiry that will do you little good;
and flirting entangles a young man into marrying. That would never do.
Here we are."

In two minutes more they were in the great ballroom, and Randal's eyes
were dazzled with the lights, the diamonds, the blaze of beauty. Audley
presented him in quick succession to some dozen ladies, and then
disappeared amidst the crowd. Randal was not at a loss: he was without
shyness; or if he had that disabling infirmity, he concealed it. He
answered the languid questions put to him with a certain spirit that kept
up talk, and left a favourable impression of his agreeable qualities.
But the lady with whom he got on the best was one who had no daughters
out, a handsome and witty woman of the world,--Lady Frederick Coniers.

It is your first ball at Almack's then, Mr. Leslie?"

"My first."

"And you have not secured a partner? Shall I find you one? What do you
think of that pretty girl in pink?"

"I see her--but I cannot think of her."

"You are rather, perhaps, like a diplomatist in a new court, and your
first object is to know who is who."

"I confess that on beginning to study the history of my own day I should
like to distinguish the portraits that illustrate the memoir."

"Give me your arm, then, and we will come into the next room. We shall
see the different notabilites enter one by one, and observe without being
observed. This is the least I can do for a friend of Mr. Egerton's."

"Mr. Egerton, then," said Randal,--as they threaded their way through the
space without the rope that protected the dancers,--"Mr. Egerton has had
the good fortune to win your esteem even for his friends, however
obscure?"

"Why, to say truth, I think no one whom Mr. Egerton calls his friend need
long remain obscure, if he has the ambition to be otherwise; for Mr.
Egerton holds it a maxim never to forget a friend nor a service."

"Ah, indeed!" said Randal, surprised.

"And therefore," continued Lady Frederick, "as he passes through life,
friends gather round him. He will rise even higher yet. Gratitude, Mr.
Leslie, is a very good policy."

"Hem," muttered Mr. Leslie.

They had now gained the room where tea and bread and butter were the
homely refreshments to the habitues of what at that day was the most
exclusive assembly in London. They ensconced themselves in a corner by a
window, and Lady Frederick performed her task of cicerone with lively
ease, accompanying each notice of the various persons who passed
panoramically before them with sketch and anecdote, sometimes good-
natured, generally satirical, always graphic and amusing.

By and by Frank Hazeldean, having on his arm a young lady of haughty air
and with high though delicate features, came to the tea-table.

"The last new Guardsman," said Lady Frederick; "very handsome, and not
yet quite spoiled. But he has got into a dangerous set."

RANDAL.--"The young lady with him is handsome enough to be dangerous."

LADY FREDERICK (laughing).--"No danger for him there,--as yet at least.
Lady Mary (the Duke of Knaresborough's daughter) is only in her second
year. The first year, nothing under an earl; the second, nothing under a
baron. It will be full four years before she comes down to a commoner.
Mr. Hazeldean's danger is of another kind. He lives much with men who
are not exactly /mauvais ton/, but certainly not of the best taste. Yet
he is very young; he may extricate himself,--leaving half his fortune
behind him. What, he nods to you! You know him?"

"Very well; he is nephew to Mr. Egerton."

"Indeed! I did not know that. Hazeldean is a new name in London. I
heard his father was a plain country gentleman, of good fortune, but not
that he was related to Mr. Egerton."

"Half-brother."

"Will Mr. Egerton pay the young gentleman's debts? He has no sons
himself."

RANDAL.---"Mr. Egerton's fortune comes from his wife, from my family,
--from a Leslie, not from a Hazeldean." Lady Frederick turned sharply,
looked at Randal's countenance with more attention than she had yet
vouchsafed to it, and tried to talk of the Leslies. Randal was very
short there.

An hour afterwards, Randal, who had not danced, was still in the
refreshment-room, but Lady Frederick had long quitted him. He was
talking with some old Etonians who had recognized him, when there entered
a lady of very remarkable appearance, and a murmur passed through the
room as she appeared.

She might be three or four and twenty. She was dressed in black velvet,
which contrasted with the alabaster whiteness of her throat and the clear
paleness of her complexion, while it set off the diamonds with which she
was profusely covered. Her hair was of the deepest jet, and worn simply
braided. Her eyes, too, were dark and brilliant, her features regular
and striking; but their expression, when in repose, was not prepossessing
to such as love modesty and softness in the looks of woman. But when she
spoke and smiled, there was so much spirit and vivacity in the
countenance, so much fascination in the smile, that all which might
before have marred the effect of her beauty strangely and suddenly
disappeared.

"Who is that very handsome woman?" asked Randal. "An Italian,--
a Marchesa something," said one of the Etonians.

"Di Negra," suggested another, who had been abroad: "she is a widow; her
husband was of the great Genoese family of Negra,--a younger branch of
it."

Several men now gathered thickly around the fair Italian. A few ladies
of the highest rank spoke to her, but with a more distant courtesy than
ladies of high rank usually show to foreigners of such quality as Madame
di Negra. Ladies of rank less elevated seemed rather shy of her,--that
might be from jealousy. As Randal gazed at the marchesa with more
admiration than any woman, perhaps, had before excited in him, he heard a
voice near him say,

"Oh, Madame di Negra is resolved to settle amongst us, and marry an
Englishman."

"If she can find one sufficiently courageous," returned a female voice.

"Well, she's trying hard for Egerton, and he has courage enough for
anything."

The female voice replied, with a laugh, "Mr Egerton knows the world too
well, and has resisted too many temptations to be--"

"Hush! there he is."

Egerton came into the room with his usual firm step and erect mien.
Randal observed that a quick glance was exchanged between him and the
marchesa; but the minister passed her by with a bow.

Still Randal watched, and, ten minutes afterwards, Egerton and the
marchesa were seated apart in the very same convenient nook that Randal
and Lady Frederick had occupied an hour or so before.

"Is this the reason why Mr. Egerton so insultingly warns me against
counting on his fortune?" muttered Randal. "Does he mean to marry
again?"

Unjust suspicion!--for, at that moment, these were the words that Audley
Egerton was dropping forth from his lips of bronze,

"Nay, dear madam, do not ascribe to my frank admiration more gallantry
than it merits. Your conversation charms me, your beauty delights me;
your society is as a holiday that I look forward to in the fatigues of my
life. But I have done with love, and I shall never marry again."

"You almost pique me into trying to win, in order to reject you," said
the Italian, with a flash from her bright eyes.

"I defy even you," answered Audley, with his cold hard smile. "But to
return to the point. You have more influence, at least, over this subtle
ambassador; and the secret we speak of I rely on you to obtain me. Ah,
Madam, let us rest friends. You see I have conquered the unjust
prejudices against you; you are received and feted everywhere, as becomes
your birth and your attractions. Rely on me ever, as I on you. But I
shall excite too much envy if I stay here longer, and am vain enough to
think that I may injure you if I provoke the gossip of the ill-natured.
As the avowed friend, I can serve you; as the supposed lover, No--"
Audley rose as he said this, and, standing by the chair, added
carelessly, "--propos, the sum you do me the honour to borrow will
be paid to your bankers to-morrow."

"A thousand thanks! my brother will hasten to repay you."

Audley bowed. "Your brother, I hope, will repay me in person, not
before. When does he come?"

"Oh, he has again postponed his visit to London; he is so much needed in
Vienna. But while we are talking of him, allow me to ask if your friend,
Lord L'Estrange, is indeed still so bitter against that poor brother of
mine?"

"Still the same."

"It is shameful!" cried the Italian, with warmth; "what has my brother
ever done to him that he should actually intrigue against the count in
his own court?"

"Intrigue! I think you wrong Lord L'Estrange; he but represented what he
believed to be the truth, in defence of a ruined exile."

"And you will not tell me where that exile is, or if his daughter still
lives?"

"My dear marchesa, I have called you friend, therefore I will not aid
L'Estrange to injure you or yours. But I call L'Estrange a friend also;
and I cannot violate the trust that--" Audley stopped short, and bit his
lip. "You understand me," he resumed, with a more genial smile than
usual; and he took his leave.

The Italian's brows met as her eye followed him; then, as she too rose,
that eye encountered Randal's.

"That young man has the eye of an Italian," said the marchesa to herself,
as she passed by him into the ballroom.




CHAPTER XIII.

Leonard and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers in a small
lane. The neighbourhood was dull enough, the accommodation humble; but
their landlady had a smile. That was the reason, perhaps, why Helen
chose the lodgings: a smile is not always found on the face of a landlady
when the lodger is poor. And out of their windows they caught sight of a
green tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in a carpenter's yard at
the rear. That tree was like another smile to the place. They saw the
birds come and go to its shelter; and they even heard, when a breeze
arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs.

Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodgings, but he
could learn there no intelligence of friends or protectors for Helen.
The people were rude and surly, and said that the captain still owed them
L1 17s. The claim, however, seemed very disputable, and was stoutly
denied by Helen. The next morning Leonard set out in search of Dr.
Morgan. He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of the
doctor at the nearest chemist's, and the chemist civilly looked into the
"Court Guide," and referred him to a house in Bulstrode Street,
Manchester Square. To this street Leonard contrived to find his way,
much marvelling at the meanness of London: Screwstown seemed to him the
handsomer town of the two.

A shabby man-servant opened the door, and Leonard remarked that the
narrow passage was choked with boxes, trunks, and various articles of
furniture. He was shown into a small room containing a very large round
table, whereon were sundry works on homoeopathy, Parry's "Cymbrian
Plutarch," Davies's "Celtic Researches," and a Sunday news paper. An
engraved portrait of the illustrious Hahnemann occupied the place of
honour over the chimneypiece. In a few minutes the door to an inner room
opened, and Dr. Morgan appeared, and said politely, "Come in, sir."

The doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, and then
at a great chronometer lying on the table. "My time's short, sir,--going
abroad: and now that I am going, patients flock to me. Too late. London
will repent its apathy. Let it!"

The doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leonard's face the
consternation he had anticipated, he repeated peevishly, "I am going
abroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to my
successor. Hum!

"Hair chestnut; eyes--what colour? Look this way,--blue, dark blue.
Hem! Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?"

"Sir," began Leonard, "a little girl--"

DR. MORGAN (impatiently).--"Little girl; never mind the history of your
sufferings; stick to the symptoms,--stick to the symptoms."

LEONARD.--"YOU mistake me, Doctor, I have nothing the matter with me. A
little girl--"

DR. MORGAN.--"Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall I
go to her? She must describe her own symptoms,--I can't judge from your
talk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or some
such disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions,--symptoms,
sir, symptoms."

LEONARD (forcing his way).--"You attended her poor father, Captain Digby,
when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and his child
is an orphan."

DR. MORGAN (fumbling in his medical pocket-book).--"Orphan! nothing for
orphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla."

[It may be necessary to observe that bomoeopathy professes to deal
with our moral affections as well as with our physical maladies, and
has a globule for every sorrow.]

With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to the
recollection of the homoeopathist, stating how he came in charge of her,
and why he sought Dr. Morgan.

The doctor was much moved.

"But, really," said he, after a pause, "I don't see how I can help the
poor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord Les--whatever
his name is--I know of no lords in London. I knew lords, and physicked
them too, when I was a blundering allopathist. There was the Earl of
Lansmere,--has had many a blue pill from me, sinner that I was. His son
was wiser; never would take physic. Very clever boy was Lord
L'Estrange--"

"Lord L'Estrange! that name begins with Les--"

"Stuff! He's always abroad,--shows his sense. I'm going abroad too.
No development for science in this horrid city,--full of prejudices,
sir, and given up to the most barbarous allopathical and phlebotomical
propensities. I am going to the land of Hahnemann, sir,--sold my good-
will, lease, and furniture, and have bought in on the Rhine. Natural
life there, sir,--homeeopathy needs nature: dine at one o'clock, get up
at four, tea little known, and science appreciated. But I forget. Cott!
what can I do for the orphan?"

"Well, sir," said Leonard, rising, "Heaven will give me strength to
support her."

The doctor looked at the young man attentively. "And yet," said he, in a
gentler voice, "you, young man, are, by your account, a perfect stranger
to her, or were so when you undertook to bring her to London. You have a
good heart, always keep it. Very healthy thing, sir, a good heart,--that
is, when not carried to excess. But you have friends of your own in
town?"

LEONARD.--"Not yet, sir; I hope to make them."

DOCTOR.--"Pless me, you do? How?--I can't make any."

Leonard coloured and hung his'head. He longed to say, "Authors find
friends in their readers,--I am going to be an author." But he felt that
the reply would savour of presumption, and held his tongue.

The doctor continued to examine him, and with friendly interest. "You
say you walked up to London: was that from choice or economy?"

LEONARD.--"Both, sir."

DOCTOR.--"Sit down again, and let us talk. I can give you a quarter of
an hour, and I'll see if I can help either of you, provided you tell me
all the symptoms,--I mean all the particulars."

Then, with that peculiar adroitness which belongs to experience in the
medical profession, Dr. Morgan, who was really an acute and able man,
proceeded to put his questions, and soon extracted from Leonard the boy's
history and hopes. But when the doctor, in admiration at a simplicity
which contrasted so evident an intelligence, finally asked him his name
and connections, and Leonard told them, the homoeopathist actually
started. "Leonard Fairfield, grandson of my old friend, John Avenel of
Lansmere! I must shake you by the hand. Brought up by Mrs. Fairfield!--

"Ah, now I look, strong family likeness,--very strong"

The tears stood in the doctor's eyes. "Poor Nora!" said he.

"Nora! Did you know my aunt?"

"Your aunt! Ah! ah! yes, yes! Poor Nora! she died almost in these
arms,--so young, so beautiful. I remember it as if yesterday."

The doctor brushed his hand across his eyes, and swallowed a globule; and
before the boy knew what he was about, had, in his benevolence, thrust
another between Leonard's quivering lips.

A knock was heard at the door.

"Ha! that 's my great patient," cried the doctor, recovering his self-
possession,--"must see him. A chronic case, excellent patient,--tic,
sir, tic. Puzzling and interesting. If I could take that tic with me, I
should ask nothing more from Heaven. Call again on Monday; I may have
something to tell you then as to yourself. The little girl can't stay
with you,--wrong and nonsensical! I will see after her. Leave me
your address,--write it here. I think I know a lady who will
take charge of her. Good-by. Monday next, ten o'clock." With this, the
doctor thrust out Leonard, and ushered in his grand patient, whom he was
very anxious to take with him to the banks of the Rhine.

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