Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 2

“It never occurred to me to fancy I had inspired all this interest, sir,” said she, calmly.

“Probably because your thoughts never dwelt on me,” said Hankes, with a most entreating look; “but I assure you,” added he, warmly, “the indifference was not reciprocal. I have been long – very long attracted by those shining abilities you display. Another might dwell upon your personal attractions, and say the impression your beauty had made upon him; but beauty is a flower, – a perishable hot-house flower. Not,” added he, hastily, “that I pretend to be insensible to its fascinations; no, Miss Kellett, I have my weaknesses like the rest.”

Sybella scarcely heard his words. It was but a day before, and a poor unlettered peasant, an humble creature unread in life and human nature, told her that he deemed her one fit for high and devoted enterprise, and that her rightful place was amidst the wounded and the dying in the Crimea. Had he construed her, then, more truly? At all events, the career was a noble one. She did not dare to contrast it any longer with her late life, so odious now did it seem to her, with all its schemes for wealth, its wily plot-tings and intrigues.

“I am afraid, sir, I have been inattentive, – I fear that my thoughts were away from what you have been saying,” said she, hastily.

“Shall I just throw my ideas on paper, Miss Kellett, and wait your answer – say to-morrow?”

“My answer to what, sir?”

“I have been presumptuous enough to make you an offer of my hand, Miss Kellett,” said he, with a half-offended dignity. “There are, of course, a number of minor considerations – I call them minor, as they relate to money matters – to be discussed after; for instance, with regard to these shares – ”

“It will save us both a world of trouble, sir, when I thank you deeply for the honor you would destine me, and decline to accept it.”

“I know there is a discrepancy in point of years – ”

“Pray, sir, let us not continue the theme. I have given my answer, and my only one.”

“Or if it be that any meddling individual should have mentioned the late Mrs. H.,” said he, bristling up, – “for she is the late, that I can satisfy you upon, – I have abundant evidence to show how that woman behaved – ”

“You are confiding to me more than I have the right or wish to hear, sir.”

“Only in vindication, – only in vindication. I am aware how her atrocious book has libelled me. It made me a perfect martyr for the season after it came out; but it is out of print, – not a copy to be had for fifty pounds, if it were offered.”

“But really, sir – ”

“And then, Miss Kellett,” added he, in a sort of thrilling whisper, “she drank; at first sherry, – brown sherry – but afterwards brandy, – ay, ma’am, brandy neat and a matter of a bottle daily. If you only knew what I went through with her, – the scenes in the streets, in the playhouses, in coffee-rooms, – ay, and police-offices, – I give you my sacred word of honor Simpson Hankes was rapidly becoming as great a public scandal as the Rev. Paul Classon himself!”

“Cannot you perceive, sir, that these details are less than uninteresting to me?”

“Don’t say that, Miss Kellett, – don’t, I beg you, or else you ‘ll make me fear that you ‘ll not read the little pamphlet I published, entitled ‘A Brief Statement by Simpson Hankes,’ – a brochure that I am proud to believe decided the world in my favor.”

“Once for all, Mr. Hankes, I decline to hear more of these matters. If I have not more plainly told you how little they claim to interest me, it is because my own selfish cares fill up my thoughts. I will try to hand you the correspondence Mr. Dunn desires to see in your keeping by to-morrow morning. There are many circumstances will require special explanation in it. However I will do my best to be ready.”

“And my offer, Miss Kellett?”

“I have declined it, sir.”

“But really, young lady, are you well aware of what it is you refuse?” asked he, angrily.

“I will not discuss the question, sir,” said she, haughtily. “Give me that letter I showed you.”

“The letter, I opine, is mine, Miss Kellett. The address alone pertains to you.”

“Do you mean, then, to retain possession of the letter?” asked she, hurriedly.

“I protest, I think it is better – better for all of us – that I should do so. You will pardon me if I observe that you are now under the influence of excited feelings, – you are irritated. Any line of action, under such circumstances, will necessarily be deficient in that calm, matured judgment which is mainly your characteristic.”

“It needed but this, sir, to fill up the measure!” ex-claimed she, passionately.

“I don’t perfectly apprehend you, Miss Kellett.”

“I mean, sir, that this last trait of yours was alone wanting to complete the utter contempt I now feel for my late life and its associates. Mr. Dunn’s letter, with all its disgraceful disclosures, – your own crafty counsels how best to profit by the accidental knowledge, – and now this refusal to restore the letter, – this mean distrust based on a breach of confidence – ”

“By no means, madam. In withholding this letter, I maintain it to be my own. I have already explained to you that the address is all you can lay claim to; a recent legal decision is in my favor. It was tried last Hilary term before Justice Whitecroff. The case was Barnes versus Barnes.”

“If my anger prompt me to rasher acts than my calmer reason might have counselled,” broke in Sybella, “remember, sir, it is to yourself you owe it. At least upon one point you may rely. Whatever I decide to do in this affair, it will not be swayed by any – the slightest – regard for your friends or their interests. I will think of others alone, – never once of them. Your smile seems to pay, ‘The war between us is an unequal one.’ I know it. I am a woman, poor, friendless, unprotected; you and yours are rich, and well thought of; and yet, with all this odds, if I accept the conflict I do not despair of victory.”

As she left the room and the door closed after her, Mr. Hankes wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and sat down, the perfect picture of dismay.

“What is she up to?” cried he, three or four times to himself. “If she resolves to make a public scandal of it, there’s an end of us! The shares would be down – down to nothing – in four-and-twenty hours! I’ll telegraph to Dunn at once!” said he, rising, and taking his hat. “The mischance was his own doing; let him find the remedy himself.”

With all that perfection of laconic style which practice confers, Mr. Hankes communicated to Davenport Dunn the unhappy mistake which had just befallen. Under the safeguard of a cipher used between them, he expressed his deepest fears for the result, and asked for immediate counsel and guidance.

This despatch, forwarded by telegraph, he followed by a long letter, entering fully into all the details of the mischance, and reporting with – it must be acknowledged – a most scrupulous accuracy an account of the stormy scene between Miss Kellett and himself. He impressed upon his chief that no terms which should secure her silence would be too high, and gently insinuated that a prompt and generous offer on Dunn’s part might not impossibly decide the writer to seal his devotion to the cause, by making the lady Mrs. Hankes. “Only remember,” added he, “it must be in cash or approved bills.”

Partly to illustrate the difficulty of the negotiation he was engaged in, partly to magnify the amount of the sacrifice he proposed to make, he depicted Sybella in colors somewhat less flattering than ardent love usually employs. “It is clear to me now,” wrote he, “from what I witnessed to-day, that neither you nor I ever understood this girl aright. She has a temper of her own, and an obstinacy perfectly invincible. Acting on the dictate of what she fancies to be her conscience, she is quite capable of going to any extreme, and I have the strongest doubt that she is one to be moved by affection or deterred by fear.” After a little more of this eulogistic strain, he wound up by repeating his former generous proposal He adroitly pointed out that it was in the interest of only such a patron he could ever dream of so great a sacrifice; and then in that half-jocular way in which he often attained to all the real and businesslike elements of a project, he added, “Say ten thousand, and the ‘match’ will come off, – a very moderate stake, if you only remember the ‘forfeit.’”

In a brief postscript he mentioned the discovery of the ancient document found at the cottage, with, as he said, “some curious papers about the Conway family. These I have duly sealed up in the box, and retain in my possession, although Miss K. has evidently an eye upon them.

“Write fully and explicitly whatever you mean to do; should you, however, fully agree to what I propose, telegraph back to

“Yours, ever faithfully,

“Simpson Hankes.

“They have come to tell me she is packing up her things and has sent a twenty-pound note to be changed.”

CHAPTER XVIII. DOWNING STREET

If our story had a hero – which it has not – that hero would be Mr. Davenport Dunn himself, and we might, consequently, feel certain compunctious scruples as to the length of time that has elapsed since we last saw him. When we parted, however, we took care to remind our reader that we left him in good company, and surely such a fact ought to allay all apprehensions on his behalf.

Months have rolled over; the London season has passed; Parliament has but a few days to run; the wearied speakers are longing to loiter along green lanes, or be touring or water-curing it in Germany; cities are all but deserted, and town-houses have that dusty, ill-cared-for air that reminds one of an estate in Chancery, or a half-pay lieutenant. Why is it, then, that Mr. Dunn’s residence in Merrion Square wears a look of unusual trimness? Fresh paint – that hypocrisy of architecture – has done its utmost; the hall door is a marvel of mock oak, as are the columns of spurious marble; the Venetian blinds are of an emerald green, and the plate-glass windows mirror the parched trees in the square, and reflect back the almost equally picturesque jaunting-cars as they drive past; the balcony, too, throughout its whole length, is covered with rich flowers and flowery shrubs. In a word, there is a look of preparation that bespeaks a coming event. What can it be?

Various rumors are afloat as to the reason of these changes, some averring that Mr. Dunn is about to take a high official position, and be raised to a distinguished rank; others opine that he is about to retire from the cares of a business life, and marry. What may he not be? Whom may he not aspire to? Surely the world has gone well with this roan. What a great general is to an army in the field, – what a great leader to a party in the “House,” was he to every industrial enterprise. His name was a guarantee for all that was accurate in discipline and perfect in organization. The Board over which he presided as Chairman was sure to meet with regularity and act with energy. The officials who served under him, even to the very humblest, seemed to typify the wise principles by which he had himself been guided in life. They appeared as though imbued with the same patient industry; the same untiring application, the same grave demeanor marked them. “I served under Mr. Davenport Dunn,” “Mr. Dunn knows me,” “Mr. Dunn will speak for me,” were characters that had the force of a diploma, since they vouched not alone for capacity, but for conduct.

It is a very high eminence to attain when a man’s integrity and ability throw such a light about him that they illumine not alone the path he treads in life, but shine brightly on those who follow his track, making an atmosphere in which all around participate. To this height had Dunn arrived, and he stood the confessed representative of those virtues Englishmen like to honor, and that character they boast to believe national, – the man of successful industry. The fewer the adventitious advantages he derived from fortune, the greater and more worthy did he appear. He was no aristocrat, propped and bolstered by grand relatives. He had no Most Noble or Right Honorable connections to push him. He was not even gifted with those qualities that win popular favor, – he had none of those graces of easy cordiality that others possess, – he was not insinuating in address, nor ready of speech. They who described him called him an awkward, bashful man, always struggling against his own ignorance of society, and only sustained by a proud consciousness that whispered the “sterling stuff that was inside,” – qualities which appeal to large audiences, and are intelligible to the many. Ay, there was indeed his grand secret. Genius wounds deeply, talent and ability offend widely, but the man of mere commonplace faculties, using common gifts with common opportunities, trading rather upon negative than positive properties, succeeding because he is not this, that, and t’ other, plodding along the causeway of life steadily and unobtrusively, seen by all, patched and noticed in every successive stage of his upward progress, so that each may say, “I remember him a barefooted boy, running errands in the street, – a poor clerk at forty pounds a year, – I knew him when he lived in such an alley, up so many pair of stairs!” Strange enough, the world likes all this; there is a smack of self-gratulation in it that seems to say, “If I liked it, I could have done as well as he.” Success in life won, these men rise into another atmosphere, and acquire another appreciation. They are then used to point the moral of that pleasant fallacy we are all so fond of repeating to each other, when we assert, amongst the blessings of our glorious Constitution, that there is no dignity too great, no station too high, for the Englishman who combines industry and integrity with zeal and perseverance. Shame on us, that we dare to call fallacy that which great Lord Chancellors and Chief Justices have verified from their own confessions; nay, we have even heard a Lord Mayor declare that he was, once upon a time, like that “poor” publican! The moral of it all is that with regard to the Davenport Dunns of this world, we pity them in their first struggles, we are proud of them in their last successes, and we are about as much right in the one sentiment as in the other.

The world – the great wide world of man – is marvellously identical with the small ingredient of humanity of whose aggregate it consists. It has its moods of generosity, distrust, liberality, narrowness, candor, and suspicion, – its fevers of noble impulse, and its cold fits of petty meanness, – its high moments of self-devotion, and its dark hours of persecution and hate. Men are judged differently in different ages, just as in every-day life we hear a different opinion from the same individual, when crossed by the cares of the morning and seated in all the voluptuous repose of an after-dinner abandonnement.

Now it chanced that Mr. Dunn’s lot in life had thrown him into a fortunate conjuncture of the world’s temper. The prosperity of a long peace had impressed us with an exaggerated estimate of all the arts that amass wealth; riches became less the reward than the test of ability; success and merit had grown to be convertible terms; clever speakers and eloquent writers assured us that wars pertained only to ages of barbarism, – that a higher civilization would repudiate them, – that men, now bent upon a high and noble philanthropy, would alone strive to diffuse the benefits of abundance and refinement amongst their fellows, and that we were about to witness an elysian age of plenty, order, and happiness. The same men who stigmatized the glory of war as the hypocrisy of carnage, invented another hypocrisy infinitely meaner and more ignoble, and placed upon the high altars of our worship the golden image of Gain.

As the incarnation of this passion Davenport Dunn stood out before the world; nor was there a tribute of its flattery that was not laid at his feet. Even they who had neither wish nor necessity to benefit by his peculiar influence did not withhold their homage, but joined in the general acclamation that pronounced him the great man of our time; and at his Sunday dinners were met the most distinguished in rank, – all that the country boasted of great in station, illustrious by services or capacity. His splendid house in Piccadilly – rented for the season for a fabulous sum – was beset all the morning by visitors, somewhat unlike, it must be owned, the class who frequented his Dublin levees. Here they were not deputations or bank directors, railway chairmen or drainage commissioners; they were all that fashion claims as her own, – proud duchesses of princely fortune, great countesses high in courtly favor, noble ladies whose smile of recognition was a firman to the highest places. They met there, by one of those curious compacts the grand world occasionally makes with itself, to do something, in a sort of half imitation of that inferior race of mortals who live and marry and die in the spheres beneath them. In fact, Dunn’s house was a sort of bourse, where shares were trafficked in, and securities bought and sold, with an eagerness none the less that the fingers that held them wore gloves fastened with rubies and emeralds.

In those gorgeous drawing-rooms, filled with objects of high art, statues stolen from the Vatican, gems obtained by Heaven knows what stratagems from Italian or Spanish convents, none deigned to notice by even a passing look the treasures that surrounded them. In vain the heavenly beauty of Raphael beamed from the walls, – in vain the seductive glances of Greuze in all their languishing voluptuousness, – in vain the haughty nobility of Van Dyck claimed the homage of a passing look. All were eagerly bent upon lists of stocks and shares, and no words were heard save such as told of rise or fall, – the alternations of that chance which makes or mars humanity.

It was while in the midst of that distinguished company Mr. Dunn received the telegram we have mentioned in our last chapter as despatched by Mr. Hankes. His was a nature long inured to the ups and downs of fortune; his great self-teaching had been principally directed to the very point of how best to meet emergencies; and yet, as he read over these brief lines, for a moment his courage seemed to have deserted him.

“Chimbarago Artesian Well and Water Company,” lisped out a very pale, sickly-looking Countess. “Shares are rising, Mr. Dunn; may I venture upon them?”

“Here’s the Marquesas Harbor of Refuge scheme going to smash, Dunn!” whispered an old gentleman, with a double eye-glass, his hand trembling as it held the share-list. “Eh, what do you say to that?”

“Glengariff ‘s going steadily up, – steadily up,” muttered Lord Glengariff, in Dunn’s ear. Then, struck by the sudden pallor of his face, he added, “Are you ill? – are you faint?”

“A mere nothing,” said Dunn, carelessly. “By the way, what hour is it? Near one, and I have an appointment with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Yes, Lady Massingberd, perfectly safe; not a splendid investment, but quite sure. Cagliari Cobalts are first-rate, Sir George; take all you can get of them. The Dalmatian line is guaranteed ‘by the Austrian Government, my Lord. I saw the Ambassador yesterday. Pray excuse a hasty leave-taking.”

His carriage was quickly ordered, but before he set out he despatched a short telegraphic message to Hankes. It ran thus: “Detain her; suffer no letters from her to reach the post.” This being duly sent off, he drove to Downing Street. That dingy old temple of intrigue was well known to him. His familiar steps had mounted that gloomy old stair some scores of times; but now, for the first – the very first time in his life, instead of being at once ushered into the presence of the Minister, he was asked to “wait for a few moments.” What a shock did the intimation give him! Was the news already abroad, – had the fell tidings escaped? A second’s consideration showed this was impossible; and yet what meant this reserve?

“Is the Council sitting, Mr. Bagwell?” asked he, of a very well-dressed young gentleman, with a glass fixed in his eye, who acted as Private Secretary to the Minister.

“No; they’re chatting, I fancy,” lisped out the other. “The Council was up half an hour ago.”

“Have you mentioned my name, sir?” asked Dunn, with a formidable emphasis on the pronoun.

“Yes,” said he, arranging his hair before the glass; “I sent in your card.”

“Well, and the answer?”

“There was no answer, which, I take it, means ‘wait,’” replied he, in the same light and graceful tone of voice.

Dunn took his hat hastily from the table; and with a stern stare, intended to mean “I shall remember your face again,” said, —

“You may inform Lord Jedburg that I came by appointment; that I was here punctually at one o’clock; that I waited full fifteen minutes; that – ”

What more Mr. Dunn was about to say was cut short by the opening of a-door, and the issuing forth of some five or six gentlemen, all laughing and talking together.

“How d’ye do, Mr. Dunn?” “How d’ye do, Dunn?” “How are you, Dunn?” said some three or four, familiarly, as they passed through the room. And ere he could acknowledge the salutations, Lord Jedburg himself appeared at the door, and made a sign for him to enter. Never before had Davenport Dunn crossed those precincts with so nervous a heart. If his reason assured him that there was no cause of fear, his instincts and his conscience spoke a different language. He bent one quick penetrating glance on the Minister ere he sat down, as though to read there what he might of the future; but there was nothing to awaken anxiety or distrust in that face. His Lordship was far advanced in life, his hair more white than gray, his brow wrinkled and deep-furrowed; and yet, if, instead of the cares of a mighty empire, his concern had been the passing events of a life of society and country habits, nothing could have more suited the easy expression, the graceful smile, and the pleasant bonhomie of that countenance. Resuming the cigar he had been smoking as Dunn came in, he lounged back indolently in his deep chair, and said, —

“What can I do for you at the Isle of Wight, Dunn? I fancy we shall have a trip to Osborne to-morrow morning.”

“Indeed, my Lord?” asked he, anxiously; “are you going out?”

“So they say,” replied the other, carelessly. “Do you smoke? You ‘ll find those Cubans very mild. So they say, Dunn. Monksley assures us that we shall be in a minority to-night of fifteen or sixteen. Drake thinks five-and-twenty.”

“From your Lordship’s easy mode of taking it, I conclude that there is either a remedy for the disaster, or that – ”

“It is no disaster at all,” chimed in his Lordship, gayly. “Well, the Carlton Club are evidently of that mind, and some of the evening papers too.”

“I perceive, my Lord,” said Dunn, with a peculiar smile, “the misfortune is not irremediable.”

“You are right, Dunn,” said the other, promptly. “We have decided to accept a defeat, which, as our adversaries have never anticipated, will find them perfectly unprepared how to profit by it They will beat us, but, when called upon to form a Government, will be utterly unable. The rest is easy enough: a new Parliament, and ourselves stronger than ever.”

“A very clever countryman of mine once told me, my Lord, that he made a ruinous coach-line turn out a most lucrative speculation by simply running an opposition and breaking it; so true are the world in their attachment to success.”

A hearty laugh from the Minister acknowledged the parallel, and he added carelessly, —

“Sir George Bosely has a story of a fellow who once established a run on his own bank just to get up his credit. A hit above even you, Master Dunn, – eh?”

If Dunn laughed, it was with a face of deepest crimson, though he saw, the while, his secret was safe. Indeed, the honest frankness of his Lordship’s laugh guaranteed that all was well.

“The fellow ought to have been a Cabinet Minister, Dunn. He had the true governing element in him, which is a strong sense of human gullibility.”

“A little more is needed, my Lord, – how to turn that flame tendency to profit.”

“Of course, – of course. By the way, Dunn, though not apropos,” said he, laughingly, “what of the great Glengariff scheme? Is it prospering?”

“The shares stand at one hundred and seventy-seven and an eighth, my Lord,” said Dunn, calmly. “I can only wish your Lordship’s party as favorable a fortune.”