Book: My Novel, Volume 9.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 9.




It would be in vain to describe the rapid, varying, indefinable emotions
that passed through the inexperienced heart of the youthful listener as
Harley thus spoke. He so moved all the springs of amaze, compassion,
tender respect, sympathy, child-like gratitude, that when he paused and
gently took her hand, she remained bewildered, speechless, overpowered.
Harley smiled as he gazed upon her blushing, downcast, expressive face.
He conjectured at once that the idea of such proposals had never crossed
her mind; that she had never contemplated him in the character of wooer;
never even sounded her heart as to the nature of such feelings as his
image had aroused.

"My Helen," he resumed, with a calm pathos of voice, "there is some
disparity of years between us, and perhaps I may not hope henceforth for
that love which youth gives to the young. Permit me simply to ask, what
you will frankly answer, Can you have seen in our quiet life abroad, or
under the roof of your Italian friends, any one you prefer to me?"

"No, indeed, no!" murmured Helen. "How could I; who is like you?" Then,
with a, sudden effort--for her innate truthfulness took alarm, and her
very affection for Harley, childlike and reverent, made her tremble lest
she should deceive him--she drew a little aside, and spoke thus,

"Oh, my dear guardian, noblest of all human beings, at least in my eyes,
forgive, forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, hesitating; but I cannot,
cannot think of myself as worthy of you. I never so lifted my eyes.
Your rank, your position--"

"Why should they be eternally my curse? Forget them, and go on."

"It is not only they," said Helen, almost sobbing, "though they are much;
but I your type, your ideal!--I?--impossible! Oh, how can I ever be
anything even of use, of aid, of comfort to one like you!"

"You can, Helen--you can," cried Harley, charmed by such ingenuous
modesty. "May I not keep this hand?" And Helen left her hand in
Harley's, and turned away her face, fairly weeping.

A stately step passed under the wintry trees.

"My mother," said Harley L'Estrange, looking up, "I present to you my
future wife."




CHAPTER IX.

With a slow step and an abstracted air, Harley L'Estrange bent his way
towards Egerton's house, after his eventful interview with Helen. He had
just entered one of the streets leading into Grosvenor Square, when a
young man, walking quickly from the opposite direction, came full against
him, and drawing back with a brief apology, recognized him, and
exclaimed, "What! you in England, Lord L'Estrange! Accept my
congratulations on your return. But you seem scarcely to remember me."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Leslie. I remember you now by your smile; but
you are of an age in which it is permitted me to say that you look older
than when I saw you last."

"And yet, Lord L'Estrange, it seems to me that you look younger."

Indeed, this reply was so far true that there appeared less difference of
years than before between Leslie and L'Estrange; for the wrinkles in the
schemer's mind were visible in his visage, while Harley's dreamy worship
of Truth and Beauty seemed to have preserved to the votary the enduring
youth of the divinities.

Harley received the compliment with a supreme indifference, which might
have been suitable to a Stoic, but which seemed scarcely natural to a
gentleman who had just proposed to a lady many years younger than
himself.

Leslie renewed: "Perhaps you are on your way to Mr. Egerton's. If so,
you will not find him at home; he is at his office."

"Thank you. Then to his office I must re-direct my steps."

"I am going to him myself," said Randal, hesitatingly. L'Estrange had no
prepossessions in favour of Leslie from the little he had seen of that
young gentleman; but Randal's remark was an appeal to his habitual
urbanity, and he replied, with well-bred readiness, "Let us be companions
so far."

Randal accepted the arm proffered to him; and Lord L'Estrange, as is
usual with one long absent from his native land, bore part as a
questioner in the dialogue that ensued.

"Egerton is always the same man, I suppose,--too busy for illness, and
too firm for sorrow?"

"If he ever feel either, he will never stoop to complain. But, indeed,
my dear lord, I should like much to know what you think of his health."

"How! You alarm me!"

"Nay, I did not mean to do that; and pray do not let him know that I went
so far. But I have fancied that he looks a little worn and suffering."

"Poor Audley!" said L'Estrange, in a tone of deep affection. "I will
sound him, and, be assured, without naming you; for I know well how
little he likes to be supposed capable of human infirmity. I am obliged
to you for your hint, obliged to you for your interest in one so dear to
me."

And Harley's voice was more cordial to Randal than it had ever been
before. He then began to inquire what Randal thought of the rumours that
had reached himself as to the probable defeat of the Government, and how
far Audley's spirits were affected by such risks. But Randal here,
seeing that Harley could communicate nothing, was reserved and guarded.

"Loss of office could not, I think, affect a man like Audley," observed
Lord L'Estrange. "He would be as great in opposition--perhaps greater;
and as to emoluments--"

"The emoluments are good," interposed Randal, with a half-sigh.

"Good enough, I suppose, to pay him back about a tenth of what his place
costs our magnificent friend. No, I will say one thing for English
statesmen, no man amongst them ever yet was the richer for place."

"And Mr. Egerton's private fortune must be large, I take for granted,"
said Randal, carelessly.

"It ought to be, if he has time to look to it."

Here they passed by the hotel in which lodged the Count di Peschiera.

Randal stopped. "Will you excuse me for an instant? As we are passing
this hotel, I will just leave my card here." So saying he gave his card
to a waiter lounging by the door. "For the Count di Peschiera," said he,
aloud.

L'Estrange started; and as Randal again took his arm, said, "So that
Italian lodges here; and you know him?"

"I know him but slightly, as one knows any foreigner who makes a
sensation."

"He makes a sensation?"

"Naturally; for he is handsome, witty, and said to be very rich,--that
is, as long as he receives the revenues of his exiled kinsman."

"I see you are well informed, Mr. Leslie. And what is supposed to bring
hither the Count di Peschiera?"

"I did hear something, which I did not quite understand, about a bet of
his that he would marry his kinsman's daughter, and so, I conclude,
secure to himself all the inheritance; and that he is therefore here to
discover the kinsman and win the heiress. But probably you know the
rights of the story, and can tell me what credit to give to such gossip."

"I know this at least, that if he did lay such a wager, I would advise
you to take any odds against him that his backers may give," said
L'Estrange, dryly; and while his lip quivered with anger, his eye gleamed
with arch ironical humour.

"You think, then, that this poor kinsman will not need such an alliance
in order to regain his estates?"

"Yes; for I never yet knew a rogue whom I would not bet against, when he
backed his own luck as a rogue against Justice and Providence."

Randal winced, and felt as if an arrow had grazed his heart; but he soon
recovered.

"And indeed there is another vague rumour that the young lady in question
is married already--to some Englishman." This time it was Harley who
winced. "Good heavens! that cannot be true,--that would undo all! An
Englishman just at this moment! But some Englishman of correspondent
rank I trust, or at least one known for opinions opposed to what an
Austrian would call Revolutionary doctrines?"

"I know nothing. But it was supposed merely a private gentleman of good
family. Would not that suffice? Can the Austrian Court dictate a
marriage to the daughter as a condition for grace to the father?"

"No,--not that!" said Harley, greatly disturbed. "But put yourself in
the position of any minister to one of the great European monarchies.
Suppose a political insurgent, formidable for station and wealth, had
been proscribed, much interest made on his behalf, a powerful party
striving against it; and just when the minister is disposed to relent, he
hears that the heiress to this wealth and this station is married to the
native of a country in which sentiments friendly to the very opinions for
which the insurgent was proscribed are popularly entertained, and thus
that the fortune to be restored may be so employed as to disturb the
national security, the existing order of things,--this, too, at the very
time when a popular revolution has just occurred in France, and its
effects are felt most in the very land of the exile;--suppose all this,
and then say if anything could be more untoward for the hopes of the
banished man, or furnish his adversaries with stronger arguments against
the restoration of his fortune? But pshaw! this must be a chimera! If
true, I should have known of it."

[As there have been so many revolutions in France, it may be
convenient to suggest that, according to the dates of this story,
Harley no doubt alludes to that revolution which exiled Charles X.
and placed Louis Philippe on the throne.]

"I quite agree with your lordship,--there can be no truth in such a
rumour. Some Englishman, hearing, perhaps, of the probable pardon of the
exile, may have counted on an heiress, and spread the report in order to
keep off other candidates. By your account, if successful in his suit,
he might fail to find an heiress in the bride."

"No doubt of that. Whatever might be arranged, I can't conceive that
he would be allowed to get at the fortune, though it might be held in
suspense for his children. But indeed it so rarely happens that an
Italian girl of high name marries a foreigner that we must dismiss this
notion with a smile at the long face of the hypothetical fortune-hunter.
Heaven help him, if he exist!"

"Amen!" echoed Randal, devoutly.

"I hear that Peschiera,'s sister is returned to England. Do you know her
too?"

"A little."

"My dear Mr. Leslie, pardon me if I take a liberty not warranted by our
acquaintance. Against the lady I say nothing. Indeed, I have heard some
things which appear to entitle her to compassion and respect. But as to
Peschiera all who prize honour suspect him to be a knave,--I know him to
be one. Now, I think that the longer we preserve that abhorrence for
knavery which is the generous instinct of youth, why, the fairer will be
our manhood, and the more reverend our age. You agree with me?" And
Harley suddenly turning, his eyes fell like a flood of light upon
Randal's pale and secret countenance.

"To be sure," murmured the schemer.

Harley, surveying him, mechanically recoiled, and withdrew his arm.

Fortunately for Randal, who somehow or other felt himself slipped into a
false position, he scarce knew how or why, he was here seized by the arm;
and a clear, open, manly voice cried, "My dear fellow, how are you? I
see you are engaged now; but look into my rooms when you can, in the
course of the day."

And with a bow of excuse for his interruption to Lord L'Estrange, the
speaker was then turning away, when Harley said,

"No, don't let me take you from your friend, Mr. Leslie. And you need
not be in a hurry to see Egerton; for I shall claim the privilege of
older friendship for the first interview."

"It is Mr. Egerton's nephew Frank Hazeldan."

"Pray, call him back, and present me to him. He has a face that would
have gone far to reconcile Timon to Athens." Randal obeyed, and after a
few kindly words to Frank, Harley insisted on leaving the two young men
together, and walked on to Downing Street with a brisker step.




CHAPTER X.

"That Lord L'Estrange seems a very good fellow."

"So-so; an effeminate humourist,--says the most absurd things, and
fancies them wise. Never mind him. You wanted to speak to me, Frank?"

"Yes; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy. I must tell you
how handsomely he has behaved."

"Stop; allow me to remind you that I did not introduce you to Levy; you
had met him before at Borrowell's, if I recollect right, and he dined
with us at the Clarendon,--that is all I had to do with bringing you
together. Indeed I rather cautioned you against him than not. Pray
don't think I introduced you to a man who, however pleasant and perhaps
honest, is still a money-lender. Your father would be justly angry with
me if I had done so."

"Oh, pooh! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But just hear: I was
sitting very ruefully, thinking over those cursed bills, and how the
deuce I should renew them, when Levy walked into my rooms; and after
telling me of his long friendship for my uncle Egerton and his admiration
for yourself, and (give me your hand, Randal) saying how touched he felt
by your kind sympathy in my troubles, he opened his pocket-book, and
showed me the bills safe and sound in his own possession."

"How?"

"He had bought them up. 'It must be so disagreeable to me,' he said, 'to
have them flying about the London moneymarket, and those Jews would be
sure sooner or later to apply to my father. And now,' added Levy, 'I am
in no immediate hurry for the money, and we must put the interest upon
fairer terms.' In short, nothing could be more liberal than his tone.
And he says, he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, and will
call about it in a few days, when his plan is matured. After all, I must
owe this to you, Randal. I dare swear you put it into his head."

"Oh, no, indeed! On the contrary, I still say, Be cautious in all your
dealings with Levy. I don't know, I 'm sure, what he means to propose.
Have you heard from the Hall lately?"

"Yes, to-day. Only think--the Riccaboccas have disappeared. My mother
writes me word of it,--a very odd letter. She seems to suspect that I
know where they are, and reproaches me for 'mystery'--quite enigmatical.
But there is one sentence in her letter--see, here it is in the
postscript--which seems to refer to Beatrice: 'I don't ask you to tell me
your secrets, Frank, but Randal will no doubt have assured you that my
first consideration will be for your own happiness, in any matter in
which your heart is really engaged.'"

"Yes," said Randal, slowly; "no doubt this refers to Beatrice; but, as I
told you, your mother will not interfere one way or the other,--such
interference would weaken her influence with the squire. Besides, as she
said, she can't wish, you to marry a foreigner; though once married, she
would--But how do you stand now with the marchesa? Has she consented to
accept you?"

"Not quite; indeed I have not actually proposed. Her manner, though much
softened, has not so far emboldened me; and, besides, before a positive
declaration, I certainly must go down to the Hall and speak at least to
my mother."

"You must judge for yourself, but don't do anything rash: talk first to
me. Here we are at my office. Good-by; and--and pray believe that, in
whatever you do with Levy, I have no hand in it."




CHAPTER XI.

Towards the evening, Randal was riding fast on the road to Norwood. The
arrival of Harley, and the conversation that had passed between that
nobleman and Randal, made the latter anxious to ascertain how far
Riccabocca was likely to learn L'Estrange's return to England, and to
meet with him. For he felt that, should the latter come to know that
Riccabocca, in his movements, had gone by Randal's advice. Harley would
find that Randal had spoken to him disingenuously; and on the other hand,
Riccabocca, placed under the friendly protection of Lord L'Estrange,
would no longer need Randal Leslie to defend him from the machinations of
Peschiera. To a reader happily unaccustomed to dive into the deep and
mazy recesses of a schemer's mind, it might seem that Randal's interest
in retaining a hold over the exile's confidence would terminate with the
assurances that had reached him, from more than one quarter, that
Violante might cease to be an heiress if she married himself. "But
perhaps," suggests some candid and youthful conjecturer,--"perhaps Randal
Leslie is in love with this fair creature?" Randal in love!--no! He was
too absorbed by harder passions for that blissful folly. Nor, if he
could have fallen in love, was Violante the one to attract that sullen,
secret heart; her instinctive nobleness, the very stateliness of her
beauty, womanlike though it was, awed him. Men of that kind may love
some soft slave,--they cannot lift their eyes to a queen. They may look
down,--they cannot lookup. But on the one hand, Randal could not resign
altogether the chance of securing a fortune that would realize his most
dazzling dreams, upon the mere assurance, however probable, which had so
dismayed him; and on the other hand, should he be compelled to relinquish
all idea of such alliance, though he did not contemplate the base perfidy
of actually assisting Peschiera's avowed designs, still, if Frank's
marriage with Beatrice should absolutely depend upon her brother's
obtaining the knowledge of Violante's retreat, and that marriage should
be as conducive to his interests as he thought he could make it, why--he
did not then push his deductions further, even to himself,--they seemed
too black; but he sighed heavily, and that sigh foreboded how weak would
be honour and virtue against avarice and ambition. Therefore, on all
accounts, Riccabocca was one of those cards in a sequence, which so
calculating a player would not throw out of his hand: it might serve for
repique, at the worst it might score well in the game. Intimacy with the
Italian was still part and parcel in that knowledge which was the synonym
of power.

While the young man was thus meditating, on his road to Norwood,
Riccabocca and his Jemima were close conferring in their drawing-room.
And if you could have seen them, reader, you would have been seized with
equal surprise and curiosity: for some extraordinary communication had
certainly passed between them. Riccabocca was evidently much agitated,
and with emotions not familiar to him. The tears stood in his eyes at
the same time that a smile, the reverse of cynical or sardonic, curved
his lips; while his wife was leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand
clasped in his, and, by the expression of her face, you might guess that
he had paid her some very gratifying compliment, of a nature more genuine
and sincere than those which characterized his habitual hollow and
dissimulating gallantry. But just at this moment Giacomo entered, and
Jemima, with her native English modesty, withdrew in haste from
Riccabocca's sheltering side.

"Padrone," said Giacomo, who, whatever his astonishment at the connubial
position he had disturbed, was much too discreet to betray it,--"Padrone,
I see the young Englishman riding towards the house, and I hope, when he
arrives, you will not forget the alarming information I gave to you this
morning."

"Ah, ah!" said Riccabocca, his face falling. "If the signorina were but
married!"

"My very thought,--my constant thought!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "And you
really believe the young Englishman loves her?"

"Why else should he come, Excellency?" asked Giacomo, with great naivete.

"Very true; why, indeed?" said Riccabocca. "Jemima, I cannot endure the
terrors I suffer on that poor child's account. I will open myself
frankly to Randal Leslie. And now, too, that which might have been a
serious consideration, in case I return to Italy, will no longer stand in
our way, Jemima."

Jemima smiled faintly, and whispered something to Riccabocca, to which he
replied,

"Nonsense, anima mia. I know it will be,--have not a doubt of it.
I tell you it is as nine to four, according to the nicest calculations.
I will speak at once to Randal. He is too young, too timid to speak
himself."

"Certainly," interposed Giacomo; "how could he dare to speak, let him
love ever so well?"

Jemima shook her head.

"Oh, never fear," said Riccabocca, observing this gesture; "I will give
him the trial. If he entertain but mercenary views, I shall soon detect
them. I know human nature pretty well, I think, my love; and, Giacomo,
just get me my Machiavelli;--that's right. Now leave me, my dear; I must
reflect and prepare myself."

When Randal entered the house, Giacomo, with a smile of peculiar suavity,
ushered him into the drawing-room. He found Riccabocca alone, and seated
before the fireplace, leaning his face on his hand, with the great folio
of Machiavelli lying open on the table.

The Italian received him as courteously as usual; but there was in his
manner a certain serious and thoughtful dignity, which was perhaps the
more imposing, because but rarely assumed. After a few preliminary
observations, Randal remarked that Frank Hazeldean had informed him of
the curiosity which the disappearance of the Riccaboccas had excited at
the Hall, and inquired carelessly if the doctor had left instructions as
to the forwarding of any letters that might be directed to him at the
Casino.

"Letters!" said Riccabocca, simply; "I never receive any; or, at least,
so rarely, that it was not worth while to take an event so little to be
expected into consideration. No; if any letters do reach the Casino,
there they will wait."

"Then I can see no possibility of indiscretion; no chance of a clew to
your address."

"Nor I either."

Satisfied so far, and knowing that it was not in Riecabocca's habits to
read the newspapers, by which he might otherwise have learned of
L'Estrange's arrival in London, Randal then proceeded to inquire, with
much seeming interest, into the health of Violante,--hoped it did not
suffer by confinement, etc. Riccabocca eyed him gravely while he spoke,
and then suddenly rising, that air of dignity to which I have before
referred became yet more striking.

"My young friend," said he, "hear me attentively, and answer me frankly.
I know human nature--" Here a slight smile of proud complacency passed
the sage's lips, and his eye glanced towards his Machiavelli.

"I know human nature,--at least I have studied it," he renewed more
earnestly, and with less evident self-conceit; "and I believe that when
a perfect stranger to me exhibits an interest in my affairs, which
occasions him no small trouble,--an interest," continued the wise man,
laying his hand on Randal's shoulder, "which scarcely a son could exceed,
he must be under the influence of some strong personal motive."

"Oh, sir!" cried Randal, turning a shade more pale, and with a faltering
tone. Riccabocca, surveyed him with the tenderness of a superior being,
and pursued his deductive theories.

"In your case, what is that motive? Not political; for I conclude you
share the opinions of your government, and those opinions have not
favoured mine. Not that of pecuniary or ambitious calculations; for how
can such calculations enlist you on behalf of a ruined exile? What
remains? Why, the motive which at your age is ever the most natural and
the strongest. I don't blame you. Machiavelli himself allows that such
a motive has swayed the wisest minds, and overturned the most solid
States. In a word, young man, you are in love, and with my daughter
Violante."

Randal was so startled by this direct and unexpected charge upon his own
masked batteries, that he did not even attempt his defence. His head
drooped on his breast, and he remained speechless.

"I do not doubt," resumed the penetrating judge of human nature, "that
you would have been withheld by the laudable and generous scruples which
characterize your happy age, from voluntarily disclosing to me the state
of your heart. You might suppose that, proud of the position I once
held, or sanguine in the hope of regaining my inheritance, I might be
over-ambitious in my matrimonial views for Violante; or that you,
anticipating my restoration to honours and fortune, might seem actuated
by the last motives which influence love and youth; and, therefore, my
dear young friend, I have departed from the ordinary custom in England,
and adopted a very common one in my own country. With us, a suitor
seldom presents himself till he is assured of the consent of a father.
I have only to say this,--if I am right, and you love my daughter, my
first object in life is to see her safe and secure; and, in a word--you
understand me."

Now, mightily may it comfort and console us ordinary mortals, who advance
no pretence to superior wisdom and ability, to see the huge mistakes made
by both these very sagacious personages,--Dr. Riccabocca, valuing himself
on his profound acquaintance with character, and Randal Leslie,
accustomed to grope into every hole and corner of thought and action,
wherefrom to extract that knowledge which is power! For whereas the
sage, judging not only by his own heart in youth, but by the general
influence of the master passion on the young, had ascribed to Randal
sentiments wholly foreign to that able diplomatist's nature, so no sooner
had Riccabocca brought his speech to a close, than Randal, judging also
by his own heart, and by the general laws which influence men of the
mature age and boasted worldly wisdom of the pupil of Machiavelli,
instantly decided that Riccabocca presumed upon his youth and
inexperience, and meant most nefariously to take him in.

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