“Yes, sir.”
“And you can ride round by Holloway and find out—also by indirect inquiries, remember—whether Mr. Markham is at home, and any other particulars relative to him which you can glean. I have already told you that I have the deepest interest in being acquainted with all that that young man does—his minutest actions even.”
“I will attend to your orders, sir.”
“To-night, you will dress yourself in mean attire and repair to a low public-house on Saffron-hill, known by the name of the Boozing Ken by the thieves and reprobates of that district. You will inquire for a man who frequents that house, and who is called Tom the Cracksman. No one knows him by any other name. You will tell him who your master is, and that I wish to see him upon very particular business. He must be here to-morrow night at nine o’clock. Give him this five-pound note as an earnest of good intentions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now take these duplicates and that bank-note for five hundred pounds, and just go yourself to V——’s the pawnbroker’s in the Strand, and redeem the diamonds mentioned in these tickets. You will have time before any one comes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And should Lord Tremordyn happen to be here when you return, hand me the packet, which you will have wrapped up in white paper, saying ‘With the Duke’s compliments, sir.’”
“Yes, sir.”
Thus ended the morning’s instructions.
The valet took the letter (which Mr. Greenwood had written to himself,) the duplicates, and the bank notes; and retired.
In half an hour he returned with a small purple morocco case containing a complete set of diamonds, worth at least twelve hundred guineas.
He again withdrew, and returned in a few minutes;—but this time it was to usher in Count Alteroni.
Mr. Greenwood received the Italian noble with more than usual affability and apparent friendship.
“I am delighted to inform you, my dear count,” he said, when they were both seated, “that our enterprise is progressing well. I yesterday received a letter from a certain capitalist to whom I applied relative to the loan of two hundred thousand pounds which I informed you it was necessary to raise to carry out our undertaking, in addition to the capital which you and I have both subscribed; and I have no doubt that I shall succeed in this point. Indeed, he is to send me his decision this very morning.”
“Then I hope that at length the Company is definitively formed?” said the count.
“Definitively,” answered Mr. Greenwood.
“And the deed by which you guarantee to me the safety of the money I have embarked, let the event be what it may?” said the count.
“That will be ready to-morrow evening. Can you dine with me to-morrow, and terminate that portion of the business after dinner? My solicitor will send the deed hither by one of his clerks at half-past eight o’clock.”
“With pleasure,” said the count, evidently pleased at this arrangement.
“There has been some delay,” said Mr. Greenwood; “but really the fault has not existed with me.”
“You will excuse my anxiety in this respect: indeed, I have probably pressed you more than I ought for the completion of that security; but you will remember that I have embarked my all in this enterprise.”
“Do not attempt an apology. You have acted as a man of prudence and caution; and you will find that I shall behave as a man of business.”
“I am perfectly satisfied,” said the count. “I should not have advanced my money unless I had been so perfectly satisfied with your representations; for—unless events turn up in my favour in my own country, I must for ever expect to remain an exile from Castelcicala. And that good fortune will shine upon me from that quarter, I can scarcely expect. My liberal principles have offended the Grand-Duke and the old nobility of that state; and now that the aristocracy has there gained the ascendancy, and is likely to retain it, I can hope for nothing. I would gladly have aided the popular cause, and obtained for the people of Castelcicala a constitution; but the idea of representative principles is odious to those now in power.”
“I believe that you were a staunch adherent of the Prince of Castelcicala, who is the nephew of the reigning Grand-Duke and the heir-apparent to the throne,” said Mr. Greenwood.
“You have been rightly informed; but if the Pope and the Kings of Naples and Sardinia support the aristocracy of Castelcicala, that prince will be excluded from his inheritance and a foreigner will be placed upon the grand-ducal throne. In this case, the prince will be an exile until his death—without even a pension to support him; so irritated are the old aristocracy against him.”
“I believe that Castelcicala is a fine state?”
“A beautiful country—extensive, well-cultivated, and productive. It contains two millions of inhabitants. The capital, Montoni, is a magnificent city, of a hundred thousand souls. The revenues of the Grand-Duke are two hundred thousand pounds sterling a-year; and yet he is not contented! He does not study his people’s happiness.”
“And where at the present moment is that gallant prince who has thus risked his accession to the throne for the welfare of his fellow-countrymen?” inquired Greenwood.
“That remains a secret,” answered the count. “His partisans alone know.”
“Of course I would not attempt to intrude upon matters so sacred,” said Greenwood, “were I not deeply interested in yourself, whom I know to be one of his most staunch adherents.”
At that moment the door opened; and Lafleur entered, bearing a letter, which he handed to Mr. Greenwood. He then retired.
“Will you excuse me?” said Greenwood to the count; then, opening the letter, he appeared to read it with attention.
At the expiration of a few moments, he said, “This letter is from my capitalist. He gives me both good and bad news. He will advance the loan; but he cannot command the necessary amount for three months.”
“Then there will be three months’ more delay?” exclaimed the count in a tone of vexation.
“Three months! and what is that? A mere nothing!” cried Mr. Greenwood. “You can satisfy yourself of my friend’s sincerity.”
With these words he handed to the count the letter which he had written to himself in a feigned hand, and to which he had affixed a fictitious name and address.
The count read the letter and was satisfied.
He then rose to depart.
“To-morrow evening, at seven o’clock punctually, I shall do myself the pleasure of waiting upon you. In a few days, you remember, I and my family are coming up to town to pass some time with Lord Tremordyn.”
“And I shall then be bold and presumptuous enough,” said Greenwood, “to endeavour to render myself acceptable to the Signora Isabella.”
“By the bye,” exclaimed the count, “I forgot to inform you of the villany of that Richard Markham, whom I received into the bosom of my family, and treated as a son, or a brother.”
“His villany!” ejaculated Greenwood, in a tone of unfeigned surprise.
“Villany the most atrocious!” cried the count. “He is a man branded with the infamy of a felon’s gaol!”
“Impossible!” said Greenwood, this time affecting the astonishment expressed by his countenance.
“It is, alas! too true. The night before last, he invited thieves to break into my dwelling: and to those miscreants had he boasted of his intentions to win the favour of my daughter!”
“Oh! no—no,” said Greenwood emphatically; “you must have been misinformed!”
“On the contrary, I have received evidence only too corroborative of what I tell you. But when I come to-morrow evening, I will give you the details.”
The count then took his departure.
“Thank God!” said Mr. Greenwood to himself, the moment the door had closed behind the Italian nobleman: “I have succeeded in putting off that bothering count for three good months. Much may be done in the mean time; and if I can secure his daughter—all will be well! I can then pension him off upon a hundred and fifty pounds a year—and retain possession of his capital. But this deed—he demands the deed of guarantee: he presses for that! I must give him the security to show my good-will; and then neutralise that concession on my part, in the manner already resolved upon. How strange was the account he gave me of Richard Markham! That unhappy young man appears to be the victim of the most wonderful combination of suspicious circumstances ever known; for guilty he could not be—oh! no—impossible!”
Mr. Greenwood’s meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Lord Tremordyn.
This nobleman was a short, stout, good-tempered man. Being a large landholder, he exercised considerable influence in his county, of which he was lord-lieutenant; and he boasted that he could return six members to parliament in spite of the Reform-bill. His wife was moreover allied to one of the richest and most important families in the hierarchy of the aristocracy; and thus Lord Tremordyn—with no talent, no knowledge, no acquirements to recommend him, but with certain political tenets which he inherited along with the family estate, and which he professed for no other reason than because they were those of his ancestors,—Lord Tremordyn, we say, was a very great man in the House of Lords. He seldom spoke, it is true; but then he voted—and dictated to others how to vote; and in this existed his power. When he did speak, he uttered an awful amount of nonsense; but the reporters were very kind—and so his speeches read well. Indeed, he did not know them again when he perused them in print the morning after their delivery. Moreover, his wife was a blue-stocking, and dabbled a little in politics; and she occasionally furnished her noble husband with a few hints which might have been valuable had he clothed them in language a little intelligible. For the rest, Lord Tremordyn was a most hospitable man, was fond of his bottle, and fancied himself a sporting character because he kept hounds and horses, and generally employed an agent to “make up a book” for him at races, whereby he was most amazingly plundered.
“My dear lord,” exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, conducting his noble visitor to a seat; “I am delighted to see your lordship look so well. So you have parted with Electricity? I heard of it yesterday at Tattersalls’.”
“Yes—and a good price I had for him. But, by the way, my dear Greenwood, I must not forget to thank you for the Hock you sent me. It is superb!”
“I am delighted that your lordship is pleased with it. Have you seen Sir Rupert Harborough lately?”
“My scapegrace son-in-law? I wish I had never seen him at all!” ejaculated his lordship. “He is over head and ears in debt again: and I swear most solemnly that I will do nothing more for him—not to the amount of a penny-piece! Cecilia, too, has quarrelled with her mother; and, even if she had not, Lady Tremordyn is the last woman on earth to advance them a shilling.”
“It is a pity—a great pity!” said Mr. Greenwood, apparently musing; then, after a brief pause, he added, “You never can guess, my dear lord, why I wished to see your lordship so particularly this morning?”
“About the match between Electricity and Galvanism? The odds are three to four.”
“That was not exactly my business,” said Greenwood, with a bland smile: “the fact is, the representation of Rottenborough will be vacant in a few weeks. I know positively, that the present member intends to accept the Chiltern Hundreds.”[124]
“I have received a similar intimation,” observed his lordship.
“At present the matter is a profound secret.”
“Yes—a profound secret: known only to the member’s friends, and me and my friends, and you and your friends,” added the nobleman, seriously meaning what he said without any attempt at irony or satire.
“Of course there will be an election in February, shortly after the Houses meet,” continued Greenwood. “I was going to observe to your lordship that I should be most happy to offer myself as a candidate——”
“You, Greenwood! What—are you a politician?”
“Not so profound nor so well versed as your lordship; but I flatter myself that, aided by your lordship’s advice——”
“Lady Tremordyn would never consent to it!”
“And by Lady Tremordyn’s suggestions——”
“It would never do! She will have a man of rank and family; and—excuse me, Greenwood—although you are no doubt rich enough for a lord, and well educated, and clever, and so on—the deuce of it is that we don’t know who the devil you are!”
“An excellent family—an excellent family, my dear lord,” exclaimed Mr. Greenwood; “and although nothing equal to your own, which I know to be the most ancient in England——”
“Or Scotland, or Ireland, either.”
“Or Scotland, or Ireland, or even Europe—still——”
“No—it cannot be done, Greenwood;—it cannot be done,” interrupted the nobleman. “I would do any thing to oblige you;—but——”
At that moment the door opened, and Lafleur entered the study.
“If you please, sir,” said the French valet, “the Duke of Portsmouth has sent round to know whether he can positively rely upon your company to dinner this evening?’
“My best compliments to his grace, Lafleur,” said Mr. Greenwood, affecting to meditate upon this message for a moment, “and I will do myself the honour of waiting on his grace at the usual hour.”
“Very good, sir.”
And Lafleur retired.
“Well, after all,” resumed Lord Tremordyn, who had not lost a word of this message and the answer, “I think I might undertake to arrange the Rottenborough business for you. You have high acquaintances—and they often do more good than high connexions. So we will consider that matter as settled.”
“I am deeply obliged to your lordship,” said Greenwood, with the calmness of a man who had never entertained a fear of being ultimately enabled to carry his point: “you will see that I shall imitate in the Lower House your lordship’s admirable conduct in the Upper, to the very best of my ability.”
“Of course you will always support the measures I support, and oppose those which I may oppose?”
“Oh! that is a matter of course! What would become of society—where should we be, if the Commons did not obey the great landholders who allow them to be returned?”
“Ah! what indeed?” said the nobleman, shaking his head ominously. “But really, Greenwood, I wasn’t at all aware that you were half so clever a politician as I see you are.”
“Your lordship does me honour. I know how to value your lordship’s good opinion,” said Greenwood, in a meek and submissive manner: then, after a moment’s silence, he added, “By the bye, I understand that our mutual friend Alteroni, and his amiable wife, and beautiful daughter, are going to pass the first few weeks of the new year with your lordship and Lady Tremordyn?”
“Yes: we shall be very gay. The signora must pick up a husband amongst the young nobles or scions of great families whom she will meet this winter in London.”
“Do you not know, my lord,” said Greenwood, sinking his voice to a mysterious whisper, “that Count Alteroni detests gaiety? are you not aware that he and the ladies have accepted your kind invitation under the impression that they will enjoy the pleasing society of your lordship and Lady Tremordyn, and a few select friends only?”
“I am glad you have told me that!” exclaimed the nobleman. “We will have no gaiety at all.”
“The count has honoured me with his utmost confidence, and his sincere friendship,” said Greenwood.
“Oh! of course you will be welcome on all occasions: do not wait for invitation
s—I give you a general one.”
“I am more than ever indebted to your lordship.”
After a little more conversation in the same strain, the nobleman took his leave, more pleased with Mr. Greenwood than ever.
This gentleman, the moment he was alone, threw himself into his chair, and smiled complacently.
“Gained all my points!” he said, musing. “I shall be a member of parliament—the fair Isabella will stand no chance of captivating some wealthy and titled individual who might woo and win her—and I have obtained a general invitation to Lord Tremordyn’s dwelling! I alone shall therefore have an opportunity of paying court to this Italian beauty.”
The French valet entered the room.
“Lady Cecilia Harborough is in the drawing room, sir.”
Mr. Greenwood thrust the morocco case containing the diamonds into the pocket of his dressing-gown; and then proceeded to the apartment where the lady was waiting.
Lady Cecilia Harborough was about two-and-twenty, and very beautiful. Her hair was auburn, her eyes blue, and her features regular. Her figure was good; but she was very slightly made—a perfect sylph in symmetry and model. Nursed amidst fashionable pleasure and aristocratic dissipation, she was without those principles which are the very basis of virtue. If she were true and faithful to her husband, it was only because she had not been strongly tempted to prove otherwise: if she had never indulged in an intrigue, it was simply because one to her taste had never come in her way. Her passions were strong—her disposition decidedly sensual. Thus was it that she had become an easy prey to Sir Rupert Harborough; and when she had discovered that she was in a way to become a mother in consequence of that amour, she only repented of her conduct through dread of shame, and not for the mere fact of having deviated from the path of virtue. Her disgrace was concealed by a patched-up marriage with her seducer, a trip to the Continent, and the death of the child at its birth; and thus there was no scandal in society attached to the name of Lady Cecilia Harborough.
The Mysteries of London Volume 1 Page 48
