On Randal’s return to town, he heard mixed and contradictory rumours in the streets, and at the clubs, of the probable downfall of the Government at the approaching session of parliament. These rumours had sprung up suddenly, as if in an hour. True that, for some time, the sagacious had shaken their heads and said, “Ministers could not last.” True, that certain changes in policy, a year or two before, had divided the party on which the Government depended, and strengthened that which opposed it. But still the more important members of that Government had been so long identified with official station, and there seemed so little power in the Opposition to form a Cabinet of names familiar to official ears, that the general public had anticipated, at most, a few partial changes. Rumour now went far beyond this. Randal, whose whole prospects at present were but reflections from the greatness of his patron, was alarmed. He sought Egerton, but the minister was impenetrable, and seemed calm, confident, and imperturbed. Somewhat relieved, Randal then set himself to work to find a safe home for Riccabocca; for the greater need to succeed in obtaining fortune there, if he failed in getting it through Egerton. He found a quiet house, detached and secluded, in the neighbourhood of Norwood. No vicinity more secure from espionage and remark. He wrote to Riccabocca, and communicated the address, adding fresh assurances of his own power to be of use. The next morning he was seated in his office, thinking very little of the details, that he mastered, however, with mechanical precision, when the minister who presided over that department of the public service sent for him into his private room, and begged him to take a letter to Egerton, with whom he wished to consult relative to a very important point to be decided in the Cabinet that day. “I want you to take it,” said the minister, smiling (the minister was a frank homely man), “because you are in Mr. Egerton’s confidence, and he may give you some verbal message besides a written reply. Egerton is often over cautious and brief in the litera scripta.”
Randal went first to Egerton’s neighbouring office—Egerton had not been there that day. He then took a cabriolet and drove to Grosvenor Square. A quiet-looking chariot was at the door. Mr. Egerton was at home; but the servant said, “Dr. F——- is with him, sir; and perhaps he may not like to be disturbed.”
“What! is your master ill?”
“Not that I know of, sir. He never says he is ill. But he has looked poorly the last day or two.”
Randal hesitated a moment; but his commission might be important, and Egerton was a man who so held the maxim that health and all else must give way to business, that he resolved to enter; and, unannounced and unceremoniously, as was his wont, he opened the door of the library. He started as he did so. Audley Egerton was leaning back on the sofa, and the doctor, on his knees before him, was applying the stethoscope to his breast. Egerton’s eyes were partially closed as the door opened. But at the noise he sprang up, nearly oversetting the doctor. “Who’s that? How dare you?” he exclaimed, in a voice of great anger. Then recognizing Randal, he changed colour, bit his lip, and muttered dryly, “I beg pardon for my abruptness; what do you want, Mr. Leslie?”
“This letter from Lord—; I was told to deliver it immediately into your own hands. I beg pardon—”
“There is no cause,” said Egerton, coldly. “I have had a slight attack of bronchitis; and as parliament meets so soon, I must take advice from my doctor, if I would be heard by the reporters. Lay the letter on the table, and be kind enough to wait for my reply.”
Randal withdrew. He had never seen a physician in that house before, and it seemed surprising that Egerton should even take a medical opinion upon a slight attack. While waiting in the ante-room there was a knock at the street door, and presently a gentleman, exceedingly well dressed, was shown in, and honoured Randal with an easy and half-familiar bow. Randal remembered to have met this personage at dinner, and at the house of a young nobleman of high fashion, but had not been introduced to him, and did not even know him by name. The visitor was better informed.
“Our friend Egerton is busy, I hear, Mr. Leslie,” said he, arranging the camellia in his button-hole.
“Our friend Egerton!” It must be a very great man to say “Our friend Egerton.”
“He will not be engaged long, I dare say,” returned Randal, glancing his shrewd inquiring eye over the stranger’s person.
“I trust not; my time is almost as precious as his own. I was not so fortunate as to be presented to you when we met at Lord Spendquick’s. Good fellow, Spendquick; and decidedly clever.”
Lord Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman without three ideas.
Randal smiled.
In the mean while the visitor had taken out a card from an embossed morocco case, and now presented it to Randal, who read thereon, “Baron Levy, No.—, Bruton St.”
The name was not unknown to Randal. It was a name too often on the lips of men of fashion not to have reached the ears of an habitue of good society.
Mr. Levy had been a solicitor by profession. He had of late years relinquished his ostensible calling: and not long since, in consequence of some services towards the negotiation of a loan, had been created a baron by one of the German kings. The wealth of Mr. Levy was said to be only equalled by his good-nature to all who were in want of a temporary loan, and with sound expectations of repaying it some day or other.
You seldom saw a finer-looking man than Baron Levy, about the same age as Egerton, but looking younger: so well preserved, such magnificent black whiskers, such superb teeth! Despite his name and his dark complexion, he did not, however, resemble a Jew,—at least externally; and, in fact, he was not a Jew on the father’s side, but the natural son of a rich English grand seigneur, by a Hebrew lady of distinction—in the opera. After his birth, this lady had married a German trader of her own persuasion, and her husband had been prevailed upon, for the convenience of all parties, to adopt his wife’s son, and accord to him his own Hebrew name. Mr. Levy, senior, was soon left a widower, and then the real father, though never actually owning the boy, had shown him great attention,—had him frequently at his house, initiated him betimes into his own high-born society, for which the boy showed great taste. But when my Lord died, and left but a moderate legacy to the younger Levy, who was then about eighteen, that ambiguous person was articled to an attorney by his putative sire, who shortly afterwards returned to his native land, and was buried at Prague, where his tombstone may yet be seen. Young Levy, however, contrived to do very well without him. His real birth was generally known, and rather advantageous to him in a social point of view. His legacy enabled him to become a partner where he had been a clerk, and his practice became great amongst the fashionable classes of society. Indeed he was so useful, so pleasant, so much a man of the world, that he grew intimate with his clients,—chiefly young men of rank; was on good terms with both Jew and Christian; and being neither one nor the other, resembled (to use Sheridan’s incomparable simile) the blank page between the Old and the New Testament.
Vulgar some might call Mr. Levy from his assurance, but it was not the vulgarity of a man accustomed to low and coarse society,—rather the mauvais ton of a person not sure of his own position, but who has resolved to swagger into the best one he can get. When it is remembered that he had made his way in the world, and gleaned together an immense fortune, it is needless to add that he was as sharp as a needle, and as hard as a flint. No man had had more friends, and no man had stuck by them more firmly—so long as there was a pound in their pockets!
Something of this character had Randal heard of the baron, and he now gazed, first at his card, and then at him with—admiration.
“I met a friend of yours at Borrowell’s the other day,” resumed the baron,—“young Hazeldean. Careful fellow—quite a man of the world.”
As this was the last praise poor Frank deserved, Randal again smiled.
The baron went on: “I hear, Mr. Leslie, that you have much influence over this same Hazeldean. His affairs are in a sad state. I should be very happy to be of use to him, as a relation of my friend Egerton’s; but he understands business so well that he despises my advice.”
“I am sure you do him injustice.”
“Injustice! I honour his caution. I say to every man, ‘Don’t come to me: I can get you money on much easier terms than any one else; and what’s the result! You come so often that you ruin yourself; whereas a regular usurer without conscience frightens you. ‘Cent percent,’ you say; ‘oh, I must pull in.’ If you have influence over your friend, tell him to stick to his bill-brokers, and have nothing to do with Baron Levy.”
Here the minister’s bell rung, and Randal, looking through the window, saw Dr. F——- walking to his carriage, which had made way for Baron Levy’s splendid cabriolet,—a cabriolet in the most perfect taste, baron’s coronet on the dark-brown panels, horse black, with such action! harness just relieved with plating. The servant now entered, and requested Randal to step in; and addressing the baron, assured him that he would not be detained a minute.
“Leslie,” said the minister, sealing a note, “take this back to Lord ———, and say that I shall be with him in an hour.”
“No other message?—he seemed to expect one.”
“I dare say he did. Well, my letter is official, my message is not: beg him to see Mr. ——- before we meet,—he will understand,—all rests upon that interview.”
Egerton then, extending the letter, resumed gravely, “Of course you will not mention to any one that Dr. F——- was with me: the health of public men is not to be suspected. Hum,—were you in your own room or the ante-room?”
“The ante-room, sir.”
Egerton’s brow contracted slightly. “And Mr. Levy was there, eh?”
“Yes—the baron.”
“Baron! true. Come to plague me about the Mexican loan, I suppose. I will keep you no longer.”
Randal, much meditating, left the house, and re-entered his hack cab. The baron was admitted to the statesman’s presence.
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