CHAPTER VII.
THE HYPOCRITE AND HIS TOOL.
In the same elegant apartment where we first introduced him to the reader, sat the lordly millionaire, the smooth-faced, oily-tongued, hypocritical Oliver Goldfinch. He sat in an easy chair, gazing thoughtfully into the fire—perhaps reflecting upon his past career, and listening to the still small voice of conscience—or perhaps devising some villainous scheme whereby to grind the faces of the poor, put wealth in his coffers, heap wrong upon wrong, the while he would make the world believe him unexceptionable in piety and benevolence. The latter, most likely; for Oliver Goldfinch was not one to regret what he had done, so long as he could keep his cloven foot concealed; and even in case of exposure, would care less for the crime than its publicity. If the truth were all told, he had many and black-hearted sins to answer for; but these only troubled when they menaced him. With him, as with many others, crime was not in the commission, but detection; and he ever took all possible means to guard against the latter, by rearing a pinacle of virtue behind which to screen himself—well knowing that the world looks to the deed, and not the motive, which latter may be deeply buried from human knowledge. For this he belonged to a popular church, and, like the Pharasee of old, made long prayers before his fellow-men, and wore a saint-like vissage of humility and attendant virtues. For this he gave liberally to benevolent societies, where there seemed a likelihood his name would be publicly displayed. For this he preached the virtues of a God, while he plotted vices Satan might envy, and which were fast bearing him down to his own damnation. Beware! thou opulent hypocrite!—beware! There is a boundary to all things; and thou, of all men, should'st beware thou dost not overstep thy limits! For a quarter of an hour, Oliver Goldfinch removed not his gaze from the fire; but during that time his countenance often varied with the thoughts of his plotting brain. Now his brow would contract, and a dark shade steal athwart his features, as something seemed to perplex and annoy him; and anon his eye would softly twinkle, and a peculiar smile of deep meaning usurp its place, as though he had triumphed over a difficult obstacle. What his thoughts were—whether on a new scheme or old one—we shall not pause to investigate, but let them appear for themselves in the voice of the thinker. Ringing a small bell on the table beside him, the black servant appeared in the door-way. "Has Wesley come, Jeff!" he questioned. "Yes, massa, him waiting," answered the negro, who, notwithstanding his arrogance to Edgar, and his boast of freedom, did not venture on dropping the usual term of slavery-servitude, by saying mister. "Bid him come in!" The black bowed and withdrew, and his place at the door was soon supplied by a white man, carrying in his hand a green bag, who doffed his hat with defference, and halted as if for an order to advance. The rich man had again fixed his gaze on the fire, and for a short time appeared unconscious of the other's presence. Let us take advantage of this quietude, to slightly glance at the new comer. In person he was small and slender, and very ungainly, both in form and feature— in the latter particular possessing a cunning, sinister, hang-dog look. H is black, coarse hair fell far over a low, villainous forehead, from under which, and long black eye-brows that met over his snub nose, two dark, fiery eyes gleamed out maliciously, and with an ever restless expression and movement, as if the possessor were continually on the lookout to guard against a sudden attack. To compensate in some measure, as it were, for his extreme ugliness and repulsive appearance, nature had endowed him with a soft, musical voice, and the faculty of smiling in such a way as to win favor and conceal the blackness of his heart. And this made him a dangerous character; for without this mask, he was too plainly marked as a villain to deceive even a novice in human nature; whereas, with it, the most experienced were sometimes made his dupes. He had round shoulders, bow-legs, and very long arms, terminating in bony hands and fingers. His age was thirty, though it might have been forty, for any thing by which one could safely judge otherwise. He was rather richly dressed in a suit of black, and wore a gold chain and diamond breast-pin— all of which served much to relieve his person of sheer ugliness—especially with those (and these comprise the greater portion of mankind) who look more to outward display than the inner man. "Ah, you're here!" said the plottingman at length, turning his eyes upon the other. "Advance!" and he pointed to a seat beside the table. "So! what news?" "Nothing particularly valuable," replied Wesley, as he quietly seated himself and placed his bag on the table. "Any thing of Wall street?" "Nothing—no." "Strange!" mused Goldfinch, glancing at the fire; "I expected something before this." "I did," responded the other. "Have you seen him since!" "Not since," replied Wesley, who, if it were possible, always answered a question by repeating the closing portion of it. "And why, Wesley?" "Couldn't find him." "Ha! has he gone?" "Gone." "The old bird, too, Wesley?" "The old bird, too. She's flown upward, the rest elsewhere." "I do not understand you." "She's dead, then, and the others have left." "Dead, Wesley?" and the rich man gave a start of surprise. "Dead, say you?" "Dead." "And the others have removed?" "Removed." "And you don't know where?" "Don't exactly." "Out of the city?" "Think not." "Well, you must hunt him out. If in the city, mark me! you must find him. In case the first trap don't catch him, we must construct another, and put on a different bait. You understand, Wesley?" "Understand." "He is dangerous, I fear, for he threw out some very unpleasant hints. In short, he either knows or suspects too much, and must be silenced. Must, Wesley," repeatGoldfinch, with emphasis — "mark you that!" "Exactly that." "And now to other matters. Did you succeed in purchasing the Middleton property?" "Succeeded," grinned Wesley. "Good!" returned Goldfinch, smiling and rubbing his hands. "And, Wesley, did the ruse take, eh?" "Took," nodded Wesley. "Good again—good again!" exclaimed the rich man, in an ecstacy of delight rarely by him displayed. "Revenge and ten thousand dollars at one stroke is rather a good hit—eh! Wesley?" In his happiest moods, Goldfinch sometimes, as now, threw off his usually dignified reserve, and allowed himself to be rather familiar with his attorney, counsellor, agent and private secretary, all of which offices Wesley filled. "Good hit," grinned Wesley again. "The old man," continued Goldfinch, with a sardonis smile of deep import, "old Middleton, little dreamed of the consequence of his attempt to crush me—to ruin my reputation, the villain! Ah, I had him. I cried him down by my agents, bought his paper at a discount, and then, best of all, bought his property at a sacrifice, by making his title appear doubtful, and paid him in his own notes at par. Well done, Oliver Goldfinch—well done!" This was spoken in a low tone, and evidently not intended for the ears of the attorney; but the latter was sharp of hearing, and he heard it, though not a single look of his betrayed the fact.— "What next, Wesley?" querried the millionaire. "Widow Malone can't pay rent." "Into the street with her then—you know my invariable rule in all cases of this kind." "I did it." "Ri h! Did she go quietly?" "She called you a villain—cursed you." "Humph! that little troubles me, you know." "I know," grinned the attorney. "What next?" "Old Shuffler's sick and all his family— won't be able to pay rent, I reckon." "Into the street with him then. Well?" "Mrs. Brady, whose husband was killed by a kick of your horse, begs you will allow her a small sum to keep her family from starvation." "Tell Mrs. Brady to be—" "But she's noticed," interrupted the politic counsellor. "Mrs. Malcolm has already sent to her." "Ah, indeed! that alters the case," said Goldfinch, with interest. "It will be known then: I must be liberal. Give her fifty dollars, Wesley. Any thing farther!" "The New England Benevolent Tract Society wants your signature." "Curse these societies—these blood suckers of the wealthy!" ejaculated Goldfinch, shutting his teeth hard in nager "But there's no avoiding them, and maintaining one's position," pursued the worldly man; "and so, as the old adage has it, `what can't be cured must be endured.' Is this society popular, Wesley!" "Popular," responded the secretary. "Give five hundred dollars then. Proceed!— what next?" "Done," said the other. "Ah, done, eh!" Then musing a few moments, and glancing keenly about the apartment, meanwhile, to be sure there were no listners, Goldfinch, in a low tone, resumed: "Do you think he
can have got any clue to the truth, more than a vague suspicion, Wesley?" "Hard telling," answered the other. "You know there was but one besides you and I; and he, the prying fool, was drowned, was he not?" "Was drowned," quoth the attorney, with a slight shudder. "Well, he is dangerous, and we must be rid of him, my friend;" and the calm, cold, blue eye of the scheming man fastened upon his subordinate with an expression of deep, dark import. "I hope my first plan will succeed—if not—" Here he paused, and glanced at the other significantly, who at once exclaimed: "No, no—no more blood!" "He must be silenced, though!" pursued Goldfinch, in a low, deep, sepulchral tone, bending over the table till his face almost touched his agent's: "you know that as well as I. Should he get the upper hand, we are lost—or rather you are—for I will make my money save me, though at the expense of my reputation." As he said this, looking full in the eye of his dupe or tool, there was a glance— sudden and of lightning duration—a glance from the latter, which made him recoil as if bitten by a serpent. He looked again, but it was gone, and he was fain to believe his eyes had deceived him. "Think of it," added Goldfinch, after vainly waiting for the other to make some reply; "think of it, and act accordingly. The inside of a prison is a dreary place;" and he waved his hand, as was customary with him, in token their conference was ended. The attorney arose and withdrew without a word. As he descended the stairs, however, there was a terrible, sinister look on his ugly visage, and he muttered: "He will make his money save him! O, ho! he will make his money save him, and I am to be the victim! Thank you, Oliver Goldfinch, for your candor! We shall see—we shall see;" and muttering thus, he quitted the mansion indignantly. Better for the man of the world that that morning's conference had not been, or that he had been more like himself, less candid, farther seeing, more cautious. For a few minutes after the departure of Wesley, the hypocrite rivetted his gaze upon the fire, with a stern, gloomy expression, when his reverie was broken by a soft, white hand being laid upon his shoulder. He looked up with a start, and his countenance betrayed the presence of guilty thoughts; but on perceiving it was only his daughter who stood beside him, he quickly recovered his composure, and pointing her to a seat, observed: "I had forgotten I sent for you." "Neither you did, father: I stole in upon you of my own accord." With a motion quick as lightning, Goldfinch seized her by the arm, and eagerly peering into her face, while he held his breath, said: "You have not been listening, Arabella?" "Would I do so base a thing, father?" interrogatively answered the other, her color heightened with proud indignation. "True—true—yes—ha, ha—of course— certainly not," stammered Goldfinch, in some confusion, aware his suspicion had betrayed his guilt. "I—I was thinking— ha, ha—in fact I hardly know what I was thinking—but—Well, now you are here I would like some conversation. You came opportunely, as I was about sending for you. 'Pon the word of a father," he added, gazing proudly upon her, "you look charming to-day, Arabella; beautiful, if I may be so complimentary." And beautiful Arabella Goldfinch ever looked in the eyes of that hollow-hearted, fashionable world, which prefer the cold beauty that dazzles and towers aloft like a mountain of ice, to that softer and more effeminate loveliness, which, like a sylvan landscape full of flowers, steals gently upon the senses, and awakes all the finer emotions of the soul. In the bloom of nineteen summers, Arabella was a belle; and being a supposed heiress to great wealth, had more suitors to her hand than heart. In sooth, she was illy fitted to win by the latter; for her's was a proud, imperious nature, little calculated to love, herself, or inspire others with the tender passion. And yet both might come to pass; she might love, and be in turn beloved; but in her present position, and with her worldly education, the possibility was much greater than the probability. In stature she was medium, and possessed a form almost a model of perfection. A sp'endid bust, above which were a neck and head of a carriage the most lofty, gave her a commanding appearance, that, no matter what her position in society, would not allow of her passing through the world unnoticed. Her features were regular, but not particularly fine, unless seen by artificial light, at a short distance, when they appeared beautiful. Her forehead was high and smooth, bearing upon it the stamp of pride—pride as of a conscious superiority even over her equals. And this same pride was in her dark, lustrous eye, in her slightly expanded nostrils, and around her well formed mouth. It was a pride not only of birth, beauty, position and wealth, but of nature; pride that plainly showed she knew her value, and would by no means allow herself to be underrated. Had she been born a beggar, she would still have shown pride, and felt herself the superior of her companions. And this pride, so displayed, was her ruling or strongest passion; and though, when she chose, she could be extremely affable and winning, still pride was ever lurking near, and made her affability dignified, her reserve most haughty. On the present occasion, she was richly dressed in a lilac silk, fashioned so as to display the outlines of her heaving bosom, which, even in its rise and fall, spoke pride. Her well-rounded, velvet-like arms were bare, save where encircled by golden bracelets just above her matchless, snowy hands. To mark her, as she turned her eyes inquiringly upon her father, one could not but admit she was handsome. In fact she was more so now than usual; and this it was which had drawn from him the compliment already quoted, and to which she responded with: "Thank you! I must indeed look well to win the approbation of one so fastidious." "And, by-the-by," returned the other, "this same beauty must bring its full value." "What do you mean, father?" she asked, with flashing eyes. "Am I to be bought and sold like a slave or dumb beast?" "By no means, my daughter, to be bought and sold. I would only imply that your wealth and beauty must not be thrown away upon one inferior to yourself in any respect." "Never fear, my dear father," rejoined Arabella, with sarcasm and a haughty toss of her head, "that I shall stoop to disgrace myself or you. There is as much family pride in my breast as in your own. It is not every suitor, I beg to assure you, that will gain even a promise of my hand." "But at the same time, Arabella," pursued her politic father, "you must not be too haughty when the right suitor is before you, or you may mar all." "And who, I pray, is the right suitor?" she asked, sharply. "Who should he be, but the rich and accomplished Clarence Malcolm?" "Umpn!" rejoined the other, with a proud curl of the lip; "and am I then to do him reverence?" "By no means; there are a thousand ways to win, without in the least sacrificing your dignity. Of a truth, a certain reserve is necessary to inspire a man with proper respect and esteem—for every thing is prized according to the labor and expense required in obtaining it—and to nothing does this more strictly apply than to woman; but what I fear is, that you may so far forget your true policy, as to treat him as you have done many a one before him, with a haughtiness so disdainful that his own manly pride will force him to leave you." "I shall treat him," rejoined Arabella, "according to his deserts and behavior. If he presume too much, he shall find I have not forgotten what is due to myself." "But let me charge you, Arabella, to be very cautious, for he is certainly a prize worth securing. I have it from his own lawyer, that he has already been apportioned five hundred thousand dollars, and will in time fall heir to as much more. He is an only son of a widowed mother, and her possessions are vast; so you see the importance of making him yours; and will do it, I trust, even at the sacrifice, if necessary, of a little self-pride." "I do not know that I shall," returned Arabella, coldly. "I do not think I shall cross my nature for any man, rich or poor, high or low. Besides, I am not anxious to tie myself in wedlock, at least for the present. There is time enough for that years ahead." "But think, my dear Arabella," pleaded the worldly man, "what it is to be the wife of one so immensely rich, and so universally esteemed as Clarence Malcolm. If you have true pride, my daughter, this is the way to gratify it; for you will thus not only triumph over all your associates, but place yourself in a position where you can overawe them with your grandeur and magnificence. Think what it is, my child, to be the richest lady in the metropolis, and leader of the ton! Why, were I you, I would stoop to any thing to be so exalted." "Would
you?" said Arabella, with another scornful curl of the lip; "I wouldn't— there is the difference. I would not condescend to lose one grain of self-respect, such as you advise, to win Clarence Malcolm, were he even ten times what you represent him. No, did I do so, I could never after forgive myself." "But, my daughter—" "Nay, hear me out. That Clarence Malcolm is rich, I believe; that he is a gentleman of fine talents and accomplishments, I know; and, to be candid, I like him as well as any other, and have reason to believe, from his attentions to me of late, that I have found favor in his eyes. Farther than this, I know nothing; for not a word of affection, or any thing tending towards matrimony, has ever passed our lips to one another. Now should Clarence Malcolm see proper to sue for my hand in a correct way, taking me all in all, as I am, with all my imperfections on my head, I might be disposed to grant his suit—not for his money, mark you, father—not for his fine accomplishments—but simply because the whim might be upon me." "Well, well, Arabella, you are a strange, spoiled child, and so I suppose must have your own way, though I trust you will not disappoint me in this matter." "But why are you so anxious, father? Have you not wealth enough?" "Enough, Arabella! why, you talk like a simple girl. Enough! bless your soul— why, were I as rich as Croesus, I should still thirst for more. Enough! no, I shall never have enough, though every addition will be something towards a satisfaction. My whole soul, Arabella, is concentrated upon the ambition of being the wealthiest gentleman in the metropolis, that men may point at me and say, `There goes he who can buy and sell all others.' So be a true child of mine, Arabella, and aid me to accomplish what I have struggled for for years. With your consent, and our cards skilfully handled, we are sure to win. Malcolm is in every sense a strict man of honor, and would rather sacrifice his right hand than do a mean action, or be thought guilty of one. His attentions to you have already been somewhat marked; endeavor to make them still more so, and we are safe. I will have the report circulated that you are engaged; and then, should he seek to avoid you, I will privately threaten him with a suit for breach of promise. This will settle the matter; for he would suffer death sooner than have his fair name dragged thus before the world and bandied in the public prints." "But, father," said Arabella, with a look of painful displeasure, "what respect could he have for a wife so obtained?" "Respect? Pshaw! girl, don't be a fool! Who cares for his respect, so we have his money!" "But how would his money benefit you?" "Ah, leave that to me—leave that to me!" answered Goldfinch, rubbing his hands with delight at the happy prospect of effecting some well concocted, devilish scheme, which he did not care to reveal to his daughter. "Come, girl, promise me you will use your best endeavors to succeed in this!" "I will think of it," said the other, coldly, rising to withdraw. "You will promise, Arabella?" urged her father. "Come, say you will promise!" "I say I will think of it," sharply and haughtily rejoined Arabella. And then turning, as she was about to quit the apartment: "Who was that young man I saw here the other evening?" she asked. "His face seemed familiar, but I do not know where to place him." "Mention him not!" replied Goldfinch, with a dark frown; "mention him not, Arabella; he is a villain who has much annoyed me of late;" and he bit his lips in vexation. "Then his face belies him," rejoined Arabella, looking hard at her father; "for I have rarely seen a more handsome, frank, ingenious countenance;" and without waiting a reply from her angry parent, she quitted the apartment, with the proud majesty of a queen, leaving the schemer alone to his thoughts. "So, so," he muttered, "her pride overtops her judgment, and therefore must have a fall. She must wed Clarence Malcolm, though, for I have set my soul upon it, and when was I ever known to fail in my undertakings!" Beware, Oliver Goldfinch! for you are reckoning without your host.
Bennett, Emerson - Oliver Goldfinch Page 6
