Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

Ferdinand was not long alone, and Mr. Levison, the proprietor of all this splendour, entered. He was a short, stout man, with a grave but handsome countenance, a little bald, but nevertheless with an elaborateness of raiment which might better have become a younger man. He wore a plum-colored frock coat of the finest cloth; his green velvet waistcoat was guarded by a gold chain, which would have been the envy of a new town council; an immense opal gleamed on the breast of his embroidered shirt; and his fingers were covered with very fine rings.

‘Your sarvant, Captin,’ said Mr. Levison, and he placed a chair for his guest.

‘How are you, Levison?’ responded our hero in an easy voice. ‘Any news?’

Mr. Levison shrugged his shoulders, as he murmured, ‘Times is very bad, Captin.’

‘Oh! I dare say,’ said Ferdinand; ‘I wish they were as well with me as with you. By Jove, Levison, you must be making an immense fortune.’

Mr. Levison shook his head, as he groaned out, ‘I work hard, Captin; but times is terrible.’

‘Fiddlededee! Come! I want you to assist me a little, old fellow. No humbug between us.’

‘Oh!’ groaned Mr. Levison, ‘you could not come at a worse time; I don’t know what money is.’

‘Of course. However, the fact is, money I must have; and so, old fellow, we are old friends, and you must get it.’

‘What do you want, Captin?’ slowly spoke Mr. Levison, with an expression of misery.

‘Oh! I want rather a tolerable sum, and that is the truth; but I only want it for a moment.’

‘It is not the time, ‘tis the money,’ said Mr. Levison. ‘You know me and my pardner, Captin, are always anxious to do what we can to sarve you.’

‘Well, now you can do me a real service, and, by Jove, you shall never repent it. To the point; I must have 1,500L.’

‘One thousand five hundred pounds!’ exclaimed Mr. Levison. ‘’Tayn’t in the country.’

‘Humbug! It must be found. What is the use of all this stuff with me? I want 1,500L., and you must give it me.’

‘I tell you what it is, Captin,’ said Mr. Levison, leaning over the back of a chair, and speaking with callous composure; ‘I tell you what it is, me and my pardner are very willing always to assist you; but we want to know when the marriage is to come off, and that’s the truth.’

‘Damn the marriage,’ said Captain Armine, rather staggered.

‘There it is, though,’ said Mr. Levison, very quietly. ‘You know, Captin, there is the arrears on that ‘ere annuity, three years next Michaelmas. I think it’s Michaelmas; let me see.’ So saying, Mr. Levison opened an escritoire, and brought forward an awful-looking volume, and, consulting the terrible index, turned to the fatal name of Armine. ‘Yes! three years next Michaelmas, Captin.’

‘Well, you will be paid,’ said Ferdinand.

‘We hope so,’ said Mr. Levison; ‘but it is a long figure.’

‘Well, but you get capital interest?’

‘Pish!’ said Mr. Levison; ‘ten per cent.! Why! it is giving away the money. Why! that’s the raw, Captin. With this here new bill annuities is nothink. Me and my pardner don’t do no annuities now. It’s giving money away; and all this here money locked up; and all to sarve you.’

‘Well; you will not help me,’ said Ferdinand, rising.

‘Do you raly want fifteen hundred?’ asked Mr. Levison.

‘By Jove, I do.’

‘Well now, Captin, when is this marriage to come off?’

‘Have I not told you a thousand times, and Morris too, that my cousin is not to marry until one year has passed since my grandfather’s death? It is barely a year. But of course, at this moment, of all others, I cannot afford to be short.’

‘Very true, Captin; and we are the men to sarve you, if we could. But we cannot. Never was such times for money; there is no seeing it. However, we will do what we can. Things is going very bad at Malta, and that’s the truth. There’s that young Catchimwhocan, we are in with him wery deep; and now he has left the Fusiliers and got into Parliament, he don’t care this for us. If he would only pay us, you should have the money; so help me, you should.’

‘But he won’t pay you,’ said Ferdinand. ‘What can you do?’

‘Why, I have a friend,’ said Mr. Levison, ‘who I know has got three hundred pound at his bankers, and he might lend it us; but we shall have to pay for it.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Well, three hundred.’

‘I have not got a shilling myself,’ said Mr. Levison. ‘Young Touchemup left us in the lurch yesterday for 750L., so help me, and never gave us no notice. Now, you are a gentleman, Captin; you never pay, but you always give us notice.’

Ferdinand could not help smiling at Mr. Levison’s idea of a gentleman.

‘Well, what else can you do?’

‘Why, there is two hundred coming in to-morrow,’ said Mr. Levison; ‘I can depend on that.’

‘Well, that is five.’

‘And you want fifteen hundred,’ said Mr. Levison. ‘Well, me and my pardner always like to sarve you, and it is very awkward certainly for you to want money at this moment. But if you want to buy jewels, I can get you any credit you like, you know.’

‘We will talk of that by and by,’ said Ferdinand.

‘Fifteen hundred pound!’ ejaculated Mr. Levison. ‘Well, I suppose we must make it 700L. somehow or other, and you must take the rest in coals.’

‘Oh, by Jove, Levison, that is too bad.’

‘I don’t see no other way,’ said Mr. Levison, rather doggedly.

‘But, damn it, my good fellow, my dear Levison, what the deuce am I to do with 800L. worth of coals?’

‘Lord! My dear Captin, 800L. worth of coals is a mere nothink. With your connection, you will get rid of them in a morning. All you have got to do, you know, is to give your friends an order on us, and we will let you have cash at a little discount.’

‘Then you can let me have the cash now at a little discount, or even a great; I cannot get rid of 800L. worth of coals.’

‘Why, ‘tayn’t four hundred chaldron, Captin,’ rejoined Mr. Levison. ‘Three or four friends would do the thing. Why, Baron Squash takes ten thousand chaldron of us every year; but he has such a knack, he gits the Clubs to take them.’

‘Baron Squash, indeed! Do you know whom you are talking to, Mr. Levison? Do you think that I am going to turn into a coal merchant? your working partner, by Jove! No, sir; give me the 700L., without the coals, and charge what interest you please.’ ‘We could not do it, Captin. ‘Tayn’t our way.’ ‘I ask you once more, Mr. Levison, will you let me have the money, or will you not?’

‘Now, Captin, don’t be so high and mighty! ‘Tayn’t the way to do business. Me and my pardner wish to sarve you; we does indeed. And if a hundred pound will be of any use to you, you shall have it on your acceptance; and we won’t be curious about any name that draws; we won’t indeed.’

‘Well, Mr. Levison,’ said Ferdinand, rising, ‘I see we can do nothing to-day. The hundred pounds would be of no use to me. I will think over your proposition. Good morning to you.’

‘Ah, do!’ said Mr. Levison, bowing and opening the door, ‘do, Captin; we wish to sarve you, we does indeed. See how we behave about that arrears. Think of the coals; now do. Now for a bargin; come! Come, Captin, I dare say now you could get us the business of the Junior Sarvice Club; and then you shall have the seven hundred on your acceptance for three months, at two shillings in the pound; come!’

CHAPTER XI

In  Which Captain Armine  Unexpectedly Resumes His Acquaintance with Lord Catchimwhocan, Who  Introduces  Him to Mr. Bond Sharpe.

FERDINAND quitted his kind friend Mr. Levison in no very amiable mood; but just as he was leaving the house, a cabriolet, beautifully painted, of a brilliant green colour picked out with a somewhat cream-coloured white, and drawn by a showy Holstein horse of tawny tint, with a flowing and milk-white tail and mane, and caparisoned in harness almost as precious as Mr. Levison’s sideboard, dashed up to the door.

‘Armine, by Jove!’ exclaimed the driver, with great cordiality.

‘Ah! Catch, is it you?’ said Ferdinand. ‘What! have you been here?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘At the old work, eh? Is “me and my pardner” troublesome? for your countenance is not very radiant.’

‘By Jove, old fellow!’ said Ferdinand, in a depressed tone, ‘I am in a scrape, and also in a rage. Nothing is to be done here.’

‘Never mind,’ said his lordship; ‘keep up your spirits, jump into my cab, and we will see how we can carry on the war. I am only going to speak one word to “me and my pardner.”’

So saying, his lordship skipped into the house as gay as a lark, although he had a bill for a good round sum about to be dishonoured in the course of a few hours.

‘Well, my dear Armine,’ he resumed, when he reappeared and took the reins; ‘now as I drive along, tell me all about it; for if there be a man in the world whom I should like to “sarve,” it is thyself, my noble Ferdinand.’

With this encouragement, Captain Armine was not long in pouring his cares into a congenial bosom.

‘I know the man to “sarve” you,’ said Catchimwhocan.

‘The fact is, these fellows here are regular old-fashioned humbugs. The only idea they have is money, money. They have no enlightened notions. I will introduce you to a regular trump; and if he does not do our business, I am much mistaken. Courage, old fellow! How do you like this start?’

‘Deuced neat. By-the-bye, Catch, my boy, you are going it rather, I see.’

‘To be sure. I have always told you there is a certain system in affairs which ever prevents men being floored. No fellow is ever dished who has any connection. What man that ever had his run was really ever fairly put hors de combat, unless he was some one who ought never to have entered the arena, blazing away without any set, making himself a damned fool and everybody his enemy. So long as a man bustles about and is in a good set, something always turns up. I got into Parliament, you see; and you, you are going to be married.’

All this time the cabriolet was dashing down Regent-street, twisting through the Quadrant, whirling along Pall Mall, until it finally entered Cleveland-row, and stopped before a newly painted, newly pointed, and exceedingly compact mansion, the long brass knocker of whose dark green door sounded beneath the practised touch of his lordship’s tiger. Even the tawny Holstein horse, with the white flowing mane, seemed conscious of the locality, and stopped before the accustomed resting-place in the most natural manner imaginable. A tall serving-man, well-powdered, and in a dark and well-appointed livery, immediately appeared.

‘At home?’ enquired Lord Catchimwhocan, with a peculiarly confidential expression.

‘To you, my lord,’ responded the attendant.

‘Jump out, Armine,’ said his lordship; and they entered the house.

‘Alone?’ said his lordship.

‘Not alone,’ said the servant, ushering the friends into the dining-room, ‘but he shall have your lordship’s card immediately. There are several gentlemen waiting in the third drawing-room; so I have shown your lordship in here, and shall take care that he sees your lordship before anyone.’

‘That’s a devilish good fellow,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, putting his hand into his waistcoat pocket to give him a sovereign; but not finding one, he added, ‘I shall remember you.’

The dining-room into which they were shown was at the back of the house, and looked into agreeable gardens. The apartment was in some little confusion at this moment, for their host gave a dinner to-day, and his dinners were famous. The table was arranged for eight guests; its appointments indicated refined taste. A candelabrum of Dresden china was the centre piece; there was a whole service of the same material, even to the handles of the knives and forks; and the choice variety of glass attracted Ferdinand’s notice. The room was lofty and spacious; it was simply and soberly furnished; not an object which could distract the taste or disturb the digestion. But the sideboard, which filled a recess at the end of the apartment, presented a crowded group of gold plate that might have become a palace; magnificent shields, tall vases, ancient tankards, goblets of carved ivory set in precious metal, and cups of old ruby glass mounted on pedestals, glittering with gems. This accidental display certainly offered an amusing contrast to the perpetual splendour of Mr. Levison’s buffet; and Ferdinand was wondering whether it would turn out that there was as marked a difference between the two owners, when his companion and himself were summoned to the presence of Mr. Bond Sharpe.

They ascended a staircase perfumed with flowers, and on each landing-place was a classic tripod or pedestal crowned with a bust. And then they were ushered into a drawing-room of Parisian elegance; buhl cabinets, marqueterie tables, hangings of the choicest damask suspended from burnished cornices of old carving. The chairs had been rifled from a Venetian palace; the couches were part of the spoils of the French revolution. There were glass screens in golden frames, and a clock that represented the death of Hector, the chariot wheel of Achilles conveniently telling the hour. A round table of mosaic, mounted on a golden pedestal, was nearly covered with papers; and from an easy-chair, supported by air cushions, half rose to welcome them Mr. Bond Sharpe. He was a man not many years the senior of Captain Armine and his friend; of elegant appearance, pale, pensive, and prepossessing. Deep thought was impressed upon his clear and protruding brow, and the expression of his grey sunken eyes, which were delicately arched, was singularly searching. His figure was slight but compact. His dress was plain, but a model in its fashion. He was habited entirely in black, and his only ornament were his studs, which were turquoise and of great size: but there never were such boots, so brilliant and so small!

He welcomed Lord Catchimwhocan in a voice scarcely above a whisper, and received Captain Armine in a manner alike graceful and dignified.

‘My dear Sharpe,’ said his lordship, ‘I am going to introduce to you my most particular friend, and an old brother officer. This is Captain Armine, the only son of Sir Ratcliffe, and the heir of Armine Castle. He is going to be married very soon to his cousin, Miss Grandison, the greatest heiress in England.’

‘Hush, hush,’ said Ferdinand, shrinking under this false representation, and Mr. Sharpe with considerate delicacy endeavoured to check his lordship.

‘Well, never mind, I will say nothing about that,’ continued Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘The long and the short of it is this, that my friend Armine is hard up, and we must carry on the war till we get into winter quarters. You are just the man for him, and by Jove, my dear Sharpe, if you wish sensibly to oblige me, who I am sure am one of your warmest friends, you will do everything for Armine that human energy can possibly effect.’

‘What is the present difficulty that you have?’ enquired Mr. Sharpe of our hero, in a calm whisper.

‘Why, the present difficulty that he has,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, ‘is that he wants 1,500L.’

‘I suppose you have raised money, Captain Armine?’ said Mr. Sharpe.

‘In every way,’ said Captain Armine.

‘Of course,’ said Mr. Sharpe, ‘at your time of life one naturally does. And I suppose you are bothered for this 1,500L.’

‘I am threatened with immediate arrest, and arrest in execution.’

‘Who is the party?’

‘Why, I fear an unmanageable one, even by you. It is a house at Malta.’

‘Mr. Bolus, I suppose?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I thought so.’

‘Well, what can be done?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan.

‘Oh! there is no difficulty,’ said Mr. Sharpe quietly. ‘Captain Armine can have any money he likes.’

‘I shall be happy,’ said Captain Armine, ‘to pay any consideration you think fit.’

‘Oh! my dear sir, I cannot think of that. Money is a drug now. I shall be happy to accommodate you without giving you any trouble. You can have the 1,500L., if you please, this moment.’

‘Really, you are very generous,’ said Ferdinand, much surprised, ‘but I feel I am not entitled to such favours. What security can I give you?’

‘I lend the money to you. I want no security. You can repay me when you like. Give me your note of hand.’ So saying, Mr. Sharpe opened a drawer, and taking out his cheque-book drew a draft for the 1,500L. ‘I believe I have a stamp in the house,’ he continued, looking about. ‘Yes, here is one. If you will fill this up, Captain Armine, the affair may be concluded at once.’

‘Upon my honour, Mr. Sharpe,’ said Ferdinand, very confused, ‘I do not like to appear insensible to this extraordinary kindness, but really I came here by the merest accident, and without any intention of soliciting or receiving such favours. And my kind friend here has given you much too glowing an account of my resources. It is very probable I shall occasion you great inconvenience.’

‘Really, Captain Armine,’ said Mr. Sharpe with a slight smile, ‘if we were talking of a sum of any importance, why, one might be a little more punctilious, but for such a bagatelle we have already wasted too much time in its discussion. I am happy to serve you.’

Ferdinand stared, remembering Mr. Levison and the coals. Mr. Sharpe himself drew up the note, and presented it to Ferdinand, who signed it and pocketed the draft.

‘I have several gentlemen waiting,’ said Mr. Bond Sharpe; ‘I am sorry I cannot take this opportunity of cultivating your acquaintance, Captain Armine, but I should esteem it a great honour if you would dine with me to-day. Your friend Lord Catchimwhocan favours me with his company, and you might meet a person or two who would amuse you.’

‘I really shall be very happy,’ said Ferdinand.

And Mr. Bond Sharpe again slightly rose and bowed them out of the room.

‘Well, is not he a trump?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, when they were once more in the cab.

‘I am so astonished,’ said Ferdinand, ‘that I cannot speak. Who in the name of fortune is this great man?’

‘A genius,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘Don’t you think he is a deuced good-looking fellow?’

‘The best-looking fellow I ever saw,’ said the grateful Ferdinand.

‘And capital manners?’

‘Most distinguished.’

‘Neatest dressed man in town!’

‘Exquisite taste!’

‘What a house!’

‘Capital!’

‘Did you ever see such furniture? It beats your rooms at Malta.’

‘I never saw anything more complete in my life.’

‘What plate!’ ‘Miraculous!’ ‘And, believe me, we shall have the best dinner in town.’

‘Well, he has given me an appetite,’ said Ferdinand. ‘But who is he?’

‘Why, by business he is what is called a conveyancer; that is to say, he is a lawyer by inspiration.’

‘He is a wonderful man,’ said Ferdinand. ‘He must be very rich.’

‘Yes; Sharpe must be worth his quarter of a million. And he has made it in such a deuced short time!’

‘Why, he is not much older than we are!’

‘Ten years ago that man was a prizefighter,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan.

‘A prizefighter!’ exclaimed Ferdinand.

‘Yes; and licked everybody. But he was too great a genius for the ring, and took to the turf.’

‘Ah!’

‘Then he set up a hell.’

‘Hum!’

‘And then he turned it into a subscription-house.’

‘Hoh!’

‘He keeps his hell still, but it works itself now. In the mean time he is the first usurer in the world, and will be in the next Parliament.’

‘But if he lends money on the terms he accommodates me, he will hardly increase his fortune.’

‘Oh! he can do the thing when he likes. He took a fancy to you. The fact is, my dear fellow, Sharpe is very rich and wants to get into society. He likes to oblige young men of distinction, and can afford to risk a few thousands now and then. By dining with him to-day you have quite repaid him for his loan. Besides, the fellow has a great soul; and, though born on a dung-hill, nature intended him for a palace, and he has placed himself there.’

‘Well, this has been a remarkable morning,’ said Ferdinand Armine, as Lord Catchimwhocan set him down at his club. ‘I am very much obliged to you, dear Catch!’

‘Not a word, my dear fellow. You have helped me before this, and glad am I to be the means of assisting the best fellow in the world, and that we all think you. Au revoir! We dine at eight.’

CHAPTER XII

Miss Grandison Makes a Remarkable Discovery.

IN THE mean time, while the gloomy morning which Ferdinand had anticipated terminated with so agreeable an adventure, Henrietta and Miss Grandison, accompanied by Lord Montfort and Glastonbury, paid their promised visit to the British Museum.

‘I am sorry that Captain Armine could not accompany us,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I sent to him this morning early, but he was already out.’

‘He has many affairs to attend to,’ said Glastonbury.

Miss Temple looked grave; she thought of poor Ferdinand and all his cares. She knew well what were those affairs to which Glastonbury alluded. The thought that perhaps at this moment he was struggling with rapacious creditors made her melancholy. The novelty and strangeness of the objects which awaited her, diverted, however, her mind from these painful reflections. Miss Grandison, who had never quitted England, was delighted with everything she saw; but the Egyptian gallery principally attracted the attention of Miss Temple. Lord Montfort, regardful of his promise to Henrietta, was very attentive to Miss Grandison.

‘I cannot help regretting that your cousin is not here,’ said his lordship, returning to a key that he had already touched. But Katherine made no answer.

‘He seemed so much better for the exertion he made yesterday,’ resumed Lord Montfort. ‘I think it would do him good to be more with us.’

‘He seems to like to be alone,’ said Katherine.

‘I wonder at that,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘I cannot conceive a happier life than we all lead.’

‘You have cause to be happy, and Ferdinand has not,’ said Miss Grandison, calmly.

‘I should have thought that he had very great cause,’ said Lord Montfort, enquiringly.

‘No person in the world is so unhappy as Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.

‘But cannot we cure his unhappiness?’ said his lordship. ‘We are his friends; it seems to me, with such friends as Miss Grandison and Miss Temple one ought never to be unhappy.’

‘Miss Temple can scarcely be called a friend of Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.

‘Indeed, a very warm one, I assure you.’

‘Ah, that is your influence.’

‘Nay, it is her own impulse.’

‘But she only met him yesterday for the first time.’

‘I assure you Miss Temple is an older friend of Captain Armine than I am,’ said his lordship.

‘Indeed!’ said Miss Grandison, with an air of considerable astonishment.

‘You know they were neighbours in the country.’

‘In the country!’ repeated Miss Grandison.

‘Yes; Mr. Temple, you know, resided not far from Armine.’

‘Not far from Armine!’ still repeated Miss Grandison.

‘Digby,’ said Miss Temple, turning to him at this moment, ‘tell Mr. Glastonbury about your sphinx at Rome. It was granite, was it not?’

‘And most delicately carved. I never remember having observed an expression of such beautiful serenity. The discovery that, after all, they are male countenances is quite mortifying. I loved their mysterious beauty.’

What Lord Montfort had mentioned of the previous acquaintance of Henrietta and her cousin made Miss Grandison muse. Miss Temple’s address to Ferdinand yesterday had struck her at the moment as somewhat singular; but the impression had not dwelt upon her mind. But now it occurred to her as very strange, that Henrietta should have become so intimate with the Armine family and herself, and never have mentioned that she was previously acquainted with their nearest relative. Lady Armine was not acquainted with Miss Temple until they met at Bellair House. That was certain. Miss Grandison had witnessed their mutual introduction. Nor Sir Ratcliffe. And yet Henrietta and Ferdinand were friends, warm friends, old friends, intimately acquainted: so said Lord Montfort, and Lord Montfort never coloured, never exaggerated. All this was very mysterious. And if they were friends, old friends, warm friends, and Lord Montfort said they were, and, therefore, there could be no doubt of the truth of the statement, their recognition of each other yesterday was singularly frigid.

It was not indicative of a very intimate acquaintance. Katherine had ascribed it to the natural disrelish of Ferdinand now to be introduced to anyone. And yet they were friends, old friends, warm friends. Henrietta Temple and Ferdinand Armine! Miss Grandison was so perplexed that she scarcely looked at another object in the galleries.