University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

It often happens that, in places far removed
each from the other, events are occurring
to different individuals, almost at
the same moment, which are destined to
produce the most serious results to other
persons, who are equally ignorant of the
present action, and unsuspicious of the
future consequence. So intricately and
inextricably blended are the threads of
mortal life, and so wonderfully linked are
those chains of cause and effect, in which
even unborn generations are not unfrequently
involved, by that vast and all comprehensive
Providence which mortals, in
their blindness, are wont to call chance.

Especially was this the case with Sir
Edward Hale, at the present moment of
my tale; though he would have laughed
very heartily had any one told him that the
whole happiness of his future life was
brought into jeopardy, while he was thinking
only of the pleasures of the hour, by
the intrigues of men in London, some of
whom he had never seen, and scarcely
even heard of; yet such unquestionably
was the case.

It was about seven o'clock on the same
morning that a plain dark carriage, con
taining a tall, thin, grave looking gentleman,
with a peculiarly sardonic smile,
drove rapidly from the door of the Secretary
of State, at whose house an extraordinary
cabinet council had been just held, through
Charing Cross, where the magnificent
statue of King Charles the First, by Hubert
le Sœur, had resumed its position, and passed
the stately front of Northumberland House,
toward Spring Garden.

Here it paused, before the portico of a
stately mansion; and the footman springing
down from the board behind the chariot,
notwithstanding the earliness of the hour,
raised such a noisy summons as soon brought
a servant to the door, when the name of the
untimely visitor procured his admittance
without delay, although the man appeared
at first somewhat reluctant—saying that
the Earl was not yet awake, and had left
word that he should not be disturbed, as it
was very late when he retired.

“I know it, my good friend,” replied the
visitor—“I know that it was very late; but
it was later by two hours before I was abed,
and I have been up, I assure you, since
four o'clock this morning. But, leaving
this aside, which is no matter, I will be
your security that you will do no wrong in
awakening my lord, seeing that I have
news for him about which he is very anxious;
and it is, moreover, on business of his
majesty that I must see him.”

This, of course, put an end, on the instant,
to all discussion or remonstrance on
the subject, the man showing him immediately
into a handsome library, containing
several thousand volumes, and decorated
with many busts, and two or three fine antique
statues.

Begging the visitor, with whom he appeared
to be well acquainted, to take a seat
while he apprised the earl of his arrival,
he then withdrew, but returned in a few
minutes, saying, “My lord, Sir Henry,
will be down in a quarter of an hour, at the
farthest, and begs that you will wait for
him. He desired me to ask if you would
take some chocolate, Sir Henry?”

“Yes, bring me some, Anderson, if it be

ready; and, hark ye, tell my fellows to go
home with the chariot; I will walk, when I
go hence.”

As soon as the man had left the room,
the other arose from his chair and walked
toward one of the tall book-cases, as if to
seek a volume, wherewith to while away
the time; but, after he had opened the glass
doors, and suffered his eyes to run over a
shelf or two, he either changed his mind or
fell into a different train of thought, and
forgot it; for he turned round abruptly,
and walked across the room again, with
his hands clasped behind his back.

“It must be done! it must,” he muttered
to himself; “we must have his vote, or
the whole thing is at an end, and we may
just as well give up the campaign at once!
But this will do it; I think, I dare swear it
will! and, if not—if not—we must give him
more; though, hang me! if I know what
there is that we can give him that he is fit
for! The garter! aye, the garter—a rare
successor he to the great champions of the
order!” And he smiled, with the bitter,
sneering, caustic expression that has been
mentioned as peculiar to him.

At this moment the servant returned,
bearing a silver salver, with a tall chocolate
pot of the same metal, richly embossed,
and a couple of superb French-china cups.
Scarcely, however, had he frothed and
poured out the rich beverage, which had
but lately been introduced into England,
and was still a rarity, before his master
entered the library, in some small agitation,
as it seemed, and perhaps even anxiety.
He was a tall and powerfully made
man, of some fifty-seven or fifty-eight years,
with features that would have been positively
handsome had there been a solitary
gleam of intelligence—a single trace expressing
any thing of character in their
symmetrical outlines and harmonious coloring.
He was magnificently, though not
completely, attired in the costume of the
day; wearing a dressing gown of splendid
brocade in place of the embroidered coat,
and a cap of green velvet, with a gold band
and tassel, in lieu of the huge periwig,
which was then an essential part of a gentleman's
full dress.

“Give you good day, Sir Henry,” he
said as he entered, with a bland smile upon
his face, which did not, however, conceal a
nervousness of manner that told something
of eager and fretful expectation. “You
come so early that, as you see, I make no
ceremony with you; I have not even tarried
to finish dressing, as I presumed you
were in a hurry.”

“I thank you much, my lord,” returned
the other, sipping his chocolate, “both for
what you have done, and what you have
left undone; for, indeed, I have something
to say to you of moment.” Then, seeing
that he did not take the hint, as he expected
he would do, and dismiss the valet, who
stood with both his ears wide open, ready
to drink in every word, he said carelessly,
“Excellent chocolate, this, my lord, but I
do not think it has ever paid any duty.”

“No, no! not it, not it! Sir Henry,”
answered the ponderous earl, making precisely
the reply for which his guest was
looking. “I had it, in a present, from my
good friend, the French ambassador.”

“Ah! ah!” answered Sir Henry Davenant,
as if thoughtfully, “and apropos of
French, had you Anderson, here, with you
when you were at Paris last?”

“No; he came to me after my return,”
said the obtuse earl, not yet perceiving that
the drift of Sir Henry's question was to call
his attention to the presence of the man.
After a few minutes, however, during
which he appeared to ruminate very sagely,
he lifted up his head with what he intended
for a very knowing smile, and told his valet
that he need not wait.

“Very deep of you—very deep, that, Sir
Henry. Almost too deep! for, drown me
for a witch if I caught your meaning at the
first!”

“But why, in Heaven's name, my dear
lord, do you keep such a long-eared knave
as that about you? Why, curiosity is
written, as plainly as the name of a book on
its title-page, in every feature of his face;
the very owning such a fellow is enough,

almost, to destroy one's reputation for diplomacy.
It is true that the Earl of Asterly
has less need to regard such things than
we beginners; but, nevertheless, even with
your finesse, I would hardly desire to risk
it!”

“Ha! ha! you are flattering me—you
are flattering me, I am afraid, Sir Henry;
though you have not very much the character
of saying pretty things, even to the
ladies, bless their souls!” And, while he
spoke, it was as evident as the sun in heaven,
that he had swallowed the dose, palpable
as it was, without wincing, or suspecting
that it was, even as he said, a mixture
of the grossest adulation with the most
bare-faced ridicule. “But, come,” he added,
after another pause of hesitation, “unbuckle
your budget, my good sir; what can
you possibly have to say to me so early this
morning?”

“Why, the fact is, my lord,” answered
Davenant, who filled at that time the very
useful post, in reference to the then ministry,
which is now known as that of whipperin
to the House of Commons, “that, as I
told you would be the case, when I had the
honor of speaking with you last night, there
has been a meeting of the cabinet at Mr.
Secretary's house, this morning.”

And the wily baronet paused at this piece
of information, partly to give his heavy auditor
time to take in its whole meaning, and
partly because he wished to see exactly
what was the amount of his dupe's anxiety
on the subject.

“Indeed—indeed?” the earl replied, in
the tone of one inquiring farther; “you
are well informed always, Sir Henry; and
what then? What was the result of their
conference, my dear sir?—that is to say, if
it may be spoken.”

“Oh, yes, my lord, it may be spoken. If
that were not the case, you would not have
seen me here this morning; for my object
in coming was purely to give you the inforformation;
which I have leave to do from
Mr. Secretary, and a message from him,
likewise—that is to say, if the government
may rely, as they presume they can, on the
continued support of the Earl of Asterly.
If not, why—I must keep my budget closed;
which I should be the more sorry to do—
because, if opened, it contains news that I
think would give you pleasure.”

“Oh! yes, Sir Henry,” replied the peer,
immediately. “His majesty's government
may certainly count on my support in all
matters consistent with the Protest—”

But before he could get out the whole
word and commit himself to any measure,
Davenant interrupted him.

“Oh! my dear lord, of course, the cabinet
will not attempt to carry any measure
out, which shall not have received, previously,
your distinguished approbation. But
your lordship is too good a politician, not to
feel that no ministry would be justified in
submitting a plan of its campaign, and perhaps
offering honors, to any gentleman or
nobleman, how sure soever they might feel
of his support, without something more
definite, in the shape of a pledge—”

“Ah!” said the earl, affecting to ponder
on what he had heard, but in reality endeavoring
to outwit the keen clear-sighted
diplomatist, who could read every thought
in his bosom, almost before it was formed.
“Ah! that makes all the difference!—”

“That is to say,” thought Davenant in
his own heart, “the hope of office, or additional
rank, makes all the difference.
Showing your hand, rather too openly, my
good lord!”

“That makes all the difference, Sir
Henry,” he resumed, “for as you say, the
fact of the ministry being desirous of consulting
me on their measures, or indeed of
their asking for my support at all, is as I
think a sufficient guarantee of their intentions.
For it is evident that they could
not imagine it possible that I should
lend my countenance to measures—”

“Of which your lordship's well known
capacity and foresight should not induce
you cordially to approve. You take the
same views of the matter which I do myself,
my lord. The noble lords, now at the
head of his majesty's government, doubtless
would not expect any thing incompatible

with Lord Asterly's known character,
for political consistency and personal integrity.
Nevertheless, it is their resolution in
the present unsettled state of parties—and I
think your lordship will admit it to be a
necessary and a wise one—to associate no
person, however great his merits, with
themselves, unless it be upon an unconditional
pledge.”

“Well, sir, I cannot blame them, upon
my word, Sir Henry, I cannot. For there
is now-a-days so much political tergiversation,
even in the highest quarters, that no
one can be absolutely above suspicion!”—
and, at the very moment he said this, despite
all his dullness, he clearly understood what
was expected of him; and, having fully
made up his mind to desert his party for
a consideration, was only now endeavoring
to conceal his premeditated baseness from
Sir Henry; which he had about as much
chance of doing, as the ostrich, when it
buries its head in the sand of the desert,
has of keeping its body hidden from the
lynx-eyed Arabian hunter.

“Then I am to understand, my lord, that
you do not object to give such a pledge to
the Secretary—a written pledge, my lord?”

“Why—no—no!” said lord Asterly, in a
sort of half-doubtful tone, “Not absolutely
—no! I should not absolutely object—but
I should like to know something a little
more definite about the nature of the measures!”

“Well, then, my lord,” returned Sir
Henry Davenant,” since your lordship is
so scrupulous, for which I confess I honor
you so much the more, I will venture to
give you a few hints. In the first place, the
captured French colonies will not be given
up under any circumstances!” This piece
of information, by the way, was the more
valuable, because it was the first any one
had ever received concerning the question
of their cession; which had never once been
mooted. But notwithstanding this, the earl
expressed his grave satisfaction at the firmness
of the noble lords.

“In the next place, his grace of B— will
have the vice-royalty of Ireland. The earl
of F— goes as ambassador to France, and
your humble servant, I believe, to the Hague
—but that is not quite certain yet!”—the
other two appointments having been known
to all the quid nuncs of the town for a week
past, the earl learned little by this last
sentence, and that little, utterly of no account;
but he replied—

“Excellent—excellent—Sir Henry, no
better men for the offices, than they. I
will say that it does honor to Mr. Secretary's
discernment. For I presume he had a word
to say in the appointments.”

“Surely, my lord—surely. His word,
I may say, is almost omnipotent with
their lordships; and that, I fancy, is one reason
why he is so desirous of attaching you,
my lord, with some others of his friends, to
the party; while he is himself in power.”

The Earl of Asterly noted and treasured
up the words, but pretending not to have
given them much attention, he added—

“But have you nothing more to tell
me?”

“Faith! very little more, my lord—there
will be several new additions to the peerage—two
or three ancient titles to be
raised to a higher grade; and then, there
are, you know, the two vacant garters—
But upon my life!” he added, breaking off,
suddenly, “this is scarce fair of your lordship;
here, you have pumped me of almost
all my secrets, and given me nothing satisfactory
after all. But I trust your lordship
will deal kindly with me—this would go
far to ruin me with the great man, if it got
wind.”

“Why! ha! ha!” responded the earl,
laughing very knowingly, “I think I have
been a little hard on you, Sir Henry, a little
too hard—I believe! But, ha! ha! ha! you
young fellows ought not to fancy that you
can hood-wink us old boys!—well—well—
well!—but, as you say, I must make it up
with you. See here, I will write a word or
two—pray you, excuse me.”

Could the dull nobleman have marked
the cold, calm, cutting smile, ineffably
contemptuous and full of loathing, with
which the politician surveyed him, while he

penned his memorandum, well cased as he
was in complete panoply of self-conceit and
gross, complacent stolidity, he must have
been cut to the quick; but he did not raise
his head till he had finished writing, and
when he did so, Davenant's eyes were
fixed on the ground in quiet and apparently
conscious humility.

The earl pushed the sheet of paper, on
which he had written a few lines with his
signature appended to them, across the
table to Sir Henry, saying—

“There, my good friend; see if that will
meet Mr. Secretary's views!”

It was a full and formal promise to support,
with all his personal and political influence,
the present cabinet in all its measures,
whatsoever.

“I presume,” he added, “that of course
it will not be shown.”

“Of course not, my lord,” Sir Henry
answered, as he took it; and then, after
casting his eyes slightly over the document,
“Perfectly—perfectly satisfactory,” he added,—“nothing
can be more honorable, open,
or above board. And now, my lord, allow
me to congratulate you—”

“To congratulate me, Sir Henry! upon
what?” said Lord Asterly, with a pleasant
and conscious smile, which he endeavored
vainly to dissemble.

“There is a dormant marquisate in your
lordship's family, I believe. Beverly, is it
not? which your lordship claimed from the
last ministry.”

“And was refused!” replied the earl,
haughtily, “owing to the opposition, I think,
of my Lord Calverly, who lays claim to it
likewise, though he has no more plea of right,
than he has to the dukedom of Northumberland!
I never cared much about it myself,
Sir Henry. But it was an old hobby of my
father's; and in respect to his memory, it
was, that I revived the claim.”

“And gross injustice was done to you in
the refusal. Well, my lord, in consideration
of this, his majesty has been pleased of
his own accord, quite unsolicited, to create
you Marquis of Beverly, and I am happy to
be the first person to salute you by the
ancient title of your family.”

“Indeed! Sir Henry—indeed!” exclaimed
the new marquis, exceedingly gratified,
“this is indeed very flattering. His majesty
is very gracious—the rather, as you
say, that it is quite unsolicited; and that
no one can say that it is a reward of any
party services!”

Old hand as he was at intrigue, and an
adept at concealing every emotion, Davenant
hardly could refrain from laughing
aloud at the impudent self-complacency of
this speech, when he thought of the precious
document, which he had just pocketed;
but he did refrain—and answered, quietly,
and as a matter of course—

“Yes! marquis, it must be very gratifying.
But now let us speak of business.
The Irish Bill comes on, you know, next
Tuesday se'nnight; and by it the ministry
have determined that they will stand, or
fall.”

“The Irish Bill! indeed! the Irish Bill!”
said the marquis, as he must now be called.
“I did not look for that! you should have
told me of that, Sir Henry.”

“Why, marquis,” answered Davenant,
as if surprised, “I took it for granted
that you must see that. It followed as a
natural consequence, from his Grace's nomination
to the vice-royalty.”

“And so it did— and so it did—upon
my word!” replied the other, quite as much
relieved by the futile explanation, as if it
were a satisfactory excuse for his adopting
the measures to-day, which yesterday he
had repudiated—“I never thought of that
before.”

“I felt quite certain that you would view
it in that light, when you came to reflect,”
answered Davenant.

“Certainly—certainly—I could not do
otherwise,” said the marquis, “but what
was it you said about the garter? who
did you say were to succeed to the two vacant
stalls?”

“I did not say, marquis; for I don't
know; and I don't know, simply because

it has not yet been determined by their
lordships.”

“Not yet determined! Is not that very
strange? a matter, too, of so great and
paramount importance.”

“Doubtless there are strong reasons for
delay, marquis. In the first place, notwithstanding
the accession of strength to
the government from the complete over-throw
of the Duke of Monmouth's people
at Sedgemoor, and the final close of all
that infamous affair, you are aware that
there is still a very strong opposition—
and on this Irish question—by the way,
how many votes do you carry with you,
marquis?”

“Five in the lower House, and in the
Peers my son-in-law Helvelyn's, in addition
to my own.”

“Oh! in the Peers we are safe enough;
but, to be frank with you, marquis, there is
a good deal to fear in the Commons—at
the best, we can only count a tie, reckoning
all your votes—and, I fancy, though I
do not know it for certain, that any one
who could bring over one or two votes so
as to make sure of a majority, might reckon
pretty certainly on the garter.”

“Aye! aye!” responded the marquis,
falling into a deep fit of cogitation, from
which he presently aroused himself to inquire
who were the members that remained
at all doubtful.

“Why, by my honor!” answered Davenant,
“there are but three whom we dare
even to count doubtful—and they are at
the present dead against us—the only reason
why I call them doubtful is that they
are against us from whim only, or what
they call principle; and not from any
pledge, or any great interest, that they
have in the matter.”

“And who are they?”

“First of all, Captain Trevor—”

“Why don't you give him a regiment?”

“It would not do—he is not at all that
sort of man—besides, it is hardly worth
the while to try him; he has a grudge of
some kind, I believe, against Berkley; and
we may set him down against us, without
more ado. The next is Frampton of Frampton,
and as there is not a newly imported
Arab stallion, or an invincible gamecock of
extraordinary lineage, to be got for love or
money in the kingdom, we have no means
of bribing him. As for offering him rank,
that is useless to a man who thinks that
to be Frampton of Frampton is a far finer
thing than to be premier peer of England,
if we could make him that, which we
can't. Money—worse yet, to a fellow
who complains that he cannot for his life
get through a third of his rent roll; though
I believe he feeds half the East Riding
with beef and beer, the year round. Ashley
did speak of sending to the Dey of Algiers
for a barb, but there is not time
enough. So he is a lost vote, too! The
third and last is Lord Henry St. Maur.”

“Ah! St. Maur—St. Maur! is he inclined
against you?”

“Not inclined merely. He has declared
himself opposed to all our measures; and
he is too young, too full of generous and
high fantasies, to be approachable.”

“And yet I think I could approach him
on the subject,” said the marquis.

“You—my lord—you? impossible!”
cried Davenant, the whole aim and object
of whose mission was simply to procure
the influence of his man on young St.
Maur. “Impossible! we were not aware
even that you knew him.”

“I do, but very slightly,” answered
Beverly; “and yet I think he can be won.
Nay! I almost think I can promise you
his vote. Do you know where he is, Sir
Henry?”

“By accident, I do—for I called at his
father's yesterday. He is on a visit to
some young country bumpkin of a baronet
or other, at Arrington, in Hampshire—the
post town is Stow-cum-Barnsley.”

“Indeed, at Sir Edward Hale's—is
he?”

“Hale—Hale! By George! I believe
Hale was the name. Upon my word,
marquis, you seem to know all the world.”

“My place is near Oxford, you know,

Sir Henry, and this young fellow was at
Christ Church, with my son, who brought
him to Asterly last year in the long vacation.
But he is not at all a bumpkin.”

“I dare say not, indeed—for I know nothing
about it—only Fred Jermyn, of the
Life Guards, was laughing at him for a
quiz the other night, at the Nag's Head,”
replied Davenant, who never said a word
without its object, and who had now his
own peculiar reason for doing the young
baronet an ill office with the marquis.

“I will write to St. Maur to-day,” said
the marquis, after a moment's thought, “I
am nearly sure that I can secure you his
vote.”

“I do not think it is possible,” said Davenant,
knowing all the time that it was
pretty certain, if the old peer only chose to
exert himself on the right track. “It
would require immense influence—immense
influence!”

“I flatter myself I have a good deal of
influence over him,” answered the marquis,
knowingly.

“I thought you said, but now, that you
only knew him slightly?”

“I do only know him slightly.”

“Then how, in the devil's name,” Sir
Henry began, with well feigned astonishment,
when the peer interrupted him—

“Ask me no questions—it is a secret—
but I tell you, that Mr. Secretary may
make himself tolerably easy on the matter.
I will write to him this very day, and I
shall have an answer by to-morrow night,
for I will send one of my fellows post.”

“You are an extraordinary man, marquis;
but, if you accomplish this, I shall
set you down as a second Mazarin. Well!
well! you are a fortunate man, too; for I
see that you will be the wearer of this
garter, which his grace of Lauderdale, they
say, is looking after.”

“Fie! fie! Sir Henry—fie! Do you
suppose that a thought of that kind ever
occurred to me? Oh no—fie! fie! but,
on my word, I believe I can do it.”

“I trust that you may not be disappointed.
But, in the mean time, I will take my
leave; for I can hear the marchioness', and
pretty lady Fanny's voices in the breakfast
parlor. Besides which, I must make haste
with this good news to master Secretary.”

Then, with the courtly ceremonial of the
day, he took his leave; but as he crossed
the threshold, he muttered to himself—

“Cursed old hypocrite and knave! and
idiot, worse than either, for daring to imagine
that he could hoodwink me. Well!
never mind. St. Maur will get Lady Fan's
pretty hand, and we shall get his vote;
and Beverly his garter; and, what is worth
all the rest, I shall go to the Hague! the
Hague—and then—and then!” and he
walked rapidly away, in the direction of
Whitehall, with his whole brain boiling
with ambition, and his whole heart elated
and self-confident.

As soon as he had left the room, the new-created
marquis rang his bell, and when his
valet entered—

“Anderson,” he said, “let Parkins take
the green chariot, that has the coronet only
and the cipher on the panels, in embossed
work, down to the coachmaker's, and have
them altered instantly for a marquis' coronet
and the letter B—the silver-mounted
harness must be all changed likewise, in
the same manner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And let him tell Mr. Ryckman that all
must be ready by two hours after noon—
that it must be ready. I shall require it to
go to St. Stephens. My Lady's chairs must
be remounted also, and the coach newly
painted—and do you see that the liveries
are correct—”

“Correct, my lord?”

“Yes! correct, you blockhead—correct!
The Marquis of Beverly's—do you understand,
you stupid fellow?”

“Yes, my lord marquis,” replied the
man, with an obeisance almost oriental in
its depth and duration—“your orders shall
be performed instantly, my lord marquis.”

“Now, then, follow me to the dressing
room, I want my coat, and periwig, and
sword. Has the marchioness come down
stairs yet?”

“Yes, my lord marquis.”

And strutting away like a peacock, with
his head half a foot higher than when he
had come down stairs, as yet an honest
man, he conceived that he had made a
capital bargain in swopping away his own
conscience,and the happiness of two or three
human beings, one of them his own daughter,
for an empty title, and a yard of satin
ribbon!