Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 2

A gentle tap at the door here interrupted Davis, and Beecher’s servant, with a most bland voice, said, “Her Ladyship is waiting breakfast, my Lord,” and disappeared.

“Who told him?” asked Beecher, a strange sense of pleasure vibrating through him as this recognition reminded him of his newly acquired station.

“I told him last night,” said Davis, with a look that seemed to say, “And of whatever I do, let there be no farther question.”

As they entered the breakfast-room, they found Lizzy – I must ask pardon if I return at times to their former names in speaking of her and her husband – in conversation with Mr. Twining, that gentleman having presented himself, and explained how he came to be there.

“Do you know Captain Davis, Twining? Let me present him to you,” said Beecher, blushing deeply as he spoke.

“Charmed, my Lord, – much honored, – fancy we have met before, – met at York Spring Meet. Rataplan beat by a neck, – great fun!”

“It was n’t great fun for me,” growled out Grog; “I stood to win on Bruiser.”

“Excellent horse, – capital horse, – wonderful stride!”

“I’ll tell you what he was,” said Grog, sternly, – “a rare bad ‘un!”

“You surprise – amaze me, Captain Davis, – quite astonish me! Always heard a great character of Braiser!”

“You did, did you?” said Grog, with a jocose leer.

“Well, the information wasn’t thrown away, for you laid heavily against him.”

“Most agreeable man, your father-in-law, my Lord,” said Twining, slapping his legs and laughing away in high good humor; then, turning again to Davis, he engaged him in conversation.

Meanwhile Beecher had drawn Lizzy into a recess of the window, and was whispering anxiously to her.

“Did this piece of news take you by surprise?” asked he, scanning her closely as he spoke.

“Yes,” said she, calmly.

“It was quite unexpected,” said he, half in question, – “at least by me,” added he, after a pause.

She saw that some suspicion – she knew not of what, and as possibly cared as little – agitated him, and she turned away to the breakfast-table without speaking. Beecher, however, led her back again to the window. “I ‘d like much to ask you a question,” said he, half timidly; “that is, if I did not fear you might take it ill.”

“And there is such a risk, is there?” asked she.

“Well, it is just possible,” faltered he.

“In that case, take my advice, and do not hazard it.” There was a calm resolution in her tone that carried more weight with it than anything like passion, and Beecher felt in his heart that he dared not reject her counsel.

Lizzy had now taken her place at the breakfast-table, her air, look, and manner being all that could denote a mind perfectly easy and contented. So consummate, too, was her tact, that she gradually led the conversation into that tone of pleasant familiarity when frank opinions are expressed and people talk without restraint; and thus, without the semblance of an effort, she succeeded, while developing any agreeability Beecher possessed, in silencing her father, whose judgments of men and events were not always the safest. As for Twining, she perfectly fascinated him. He was no mean critic in all that regards dress and manners; few men could more unerringly detect a flaw in breeding or a solecism in address. Mere acting, however good, would never have imposed upon him, and all the polish of manner and the charm of a finished courtesy would have failed with him if unaccompanied by that “sentiment” of good breeding which is its last and highest captivation. How subdued was all the flippant mockery of his manner! how respectful the tone in which he accosted her! It was the Viscountess, and not Grog Davis’s daughter, he saw before him. Now Beecher saw all this, and a sense of pride swelled his heart, and made him almost forget his distrusts and suspicions. When breakfast was over, Lizzy, passing her arm within her father’s, led him away. She had many things to say to him, and he to her, so that Beecher and Twining were left alone together.

“Well, Twining,” said Annesley, as he lighted a cigar, “tell me frankly, – don’t you think I might have done worse?”

“Impossible to have done better, – impossible!” said Twining. “I don’t speak of her Ladyship’s beauty, in which she surpasses all I have ever seen, but her manner – her courtesy – has a blending of grace and dignity that would confer honor on the most finished Court in Europe.”

“I’m glad you say so, Twining; men quote you as an authority on these things, and I own frankly I am delighted to have my own judgment so ratified.”

“Her appearance in the world will be such a success as one has not seen for years!” exclaimed Twining.

“She’ll be sharply criticised,” said Beecher, puffing his cigar.

“She can well afford it, my Lord.”

“What will the women say, Twining? She is so good-looking, – what will the women say?”

“Where there’s no rivalry, there will be no dispraise. She is so surpassingly beautiful that none will have courage to criticise; and if they should, where can they detect a fault?”

“I believe you are right, Twining, – I believe you are right,” said Beecher, and his face glowed with pleasure as he spoke. “Where she got her manners I can’t make out,” added he, in a whisper.

“Ay, my Lord, these are Nature’s own secrets, and she keeps them closely.”

“It is the father – old Grog – is the difficulty,” whispered Beecher, still lower; “what can be done with him?”

“Original, certainly; peculiar, – very peculiar, – what fun!” And Twining in an instant recovered all his wonted manner, and slapped away at his legs unmercifully.

“I don’t exactly see the fun of it, – especially for me,” said Beecher, peevishly.

“After all, a well-known man, my Lord, – public character, – a celebrity, so to say.”

“Confound it!” cried Beecher, angrily, “don’t you perceive there lies the whole annoyance? The fellow is known from one end of England to the other. You can’t enter a club of a rainy day, when men sit round the fire, without hearing a story of him; you don’t get to the third station on a railroad till some one says, ‘Have you heard old Grog’s last?’ There’s no end to him?”

“Wonderful resources! – astonishing! – great fun!”

“I’ll be hanged if it is great fun, though you are pleased to say so,” said Beecher, angrily.

Twining was far too good-tempered to feel hurt by this peevishness, and only rubbed his hands and laughed joyfully.

“And the worst of all,” resumed Beecher, – “the worst of all is, he will be a foreground figure; do what you may, he will be in the front of the Stand-house.”

“Get him a situation abroad, my Lord, – something in the colonies,” broke in Twining.

“Not a bad thought that, Twining; only he is so notorious.”

“Doesn’t signify in the least, my Lord. Every office under the Crown has its penal settlements. The Foreign Office makes its culprits consuls; the Colonial sends their chief justices to the Gold Coast; and the Home Secretary’s Botany Bay is Ireland.”

“But would they really give me something, – I mean something he ‘d take?”

“I have n’t a doubt of it, my Lord; I wanted to get rid of a poor relation t’ other day, and they made him a Boundary Commissioner at Baffin’s Bay. Baffin’s Bay! – what fun!” And he laughed immoderately.

“How am I to set about this, Twining? You are aware that up to this I have had no relations with politics or parties.”

“Nothing easier, my Lord; always easy for a peer, – proxy often of great consequence. Write to the Premier, – hint that you are well disposed to adopt his views, – due maintenance of all the glorious privileges of our Constitution, with progressive improvement, – great fun, capital fun! all the landmarks firm and fixed, and as much of your neighbor’s farm as possible. Or if you don’t like to do this, set Davenport Dunn at them; he is your Lordship’s Irish agent, – at least, he was the late Viscount’s, – he ‘ll do it, – none better, none so well!”

“That might be the best way,” said Beecher, musing.

“He’ll be charmed – delighted – overjoyed at this proof of your Lordship’s confidence. He ‘ll go to work at once, and before your Lordship begins to receive, or go out, your amiable and most highly gifted father-in-law may be Income-tax Collector in Cochin-China.”

“Now, there’s only one thing more, Twining, which is, to induce Davis to agree to this. He likes Europe, – likes the life of England and the Continent.”

“Certain he does, – quite sure of it; no man more calculated to appreciate society or adorn it. Capital fun!”

“Do you think,” resumed Beecher, “that you could just throw out a hint – a slight suggestion – to see how he’d take it?”

“Come much better from your Lordship.”

“Well, I don’t know – that is, I half suspect – ”

“Far better, infinitely better, my Lord; your own tact, your Lordship’s good taste – Oh dear me, one o’clock already, and I have an appointment!” And with the most profuse apologies for a hurried departure, and as many excuses to be conveyed to her Ladyship, Mr. Twining disappeared.

Although Twining’s reluctance to carry into execution the tone of policy he suggested did not escape Beecher’s penetration, the policy itself seemed highly recommendable. Grog out of Europe, – Grog beyond the seas, collecting taxes, imprisoning skippers, hunting runaway negroes, or flogging Caffres, – it mattered not, so that he never crossed his sight again. To be sure, it was not exactly the moment to persuade Davis to expatriate himself when his prospects at home began to brighten, and he saw his daughter a peeress. Still, Dunn was a fellow of such marvellous readiness, such astonishing resources! If any man could “hit off” the way here, it was he. And then, how fortunate! Grog was eagerly pressing Beecher to be accredited to this same Davenport Dunn; he asked that he might be sent to confer and negotiate with him about the pending action at law. What an admirable opportunity was this, then, for Dunn to sound Davis and, if occasion served, tempt him with an offer of place! Besides these reasons, valid and sound so far as they went, there was another impulse that never ceased to urge Beecher forward, and this was a vague shadowy sort of impression that if he could only succeed in his plan he should have outwitted Grog, and “done” him. There was a sense of triumph associated with this thought that made his heart swell with pride. In his passion for double-dealing, he began to think how he could effect his present purpose, – by what zigzag and circuitous road, through what tangled scheme of duplicity and trick. “I have it, – I have it,” cried he at length; and he hastened to his dressing-room, and, having locked the door, he opened his writing-desk and sat down to write. But it is not at the end of a chapter I can presume to insert his Lordship’s correspondence.

CHAPTER XXVII. OVERREACHINGS

Beecher did not amongst his gifts possess the pen of a ready writer; but there was a strange symmetry observable between the composition and the manual part. The lines were irregular, the letters variously sized, erasures frequent, blots everywhere, while the spelling displayed a spirit that soared above orthography. A man unused to writing, in the cares of composition, is pretty much in the predicament of a bad horseman in a hunting-field. He has a vague, indistinct motion of “where” he ought to go, without the smallest conception as to the “how.” He is balked or “pounded” at every step, always trying back, but never by any chance hitting off the right road to his object.

Above a dozen sheets of paper lay half scrawled over before him after two hours of hard labor, and there he still sat pondering over his weary task. His scheme was simply this: to write a few lines to Dunn, introducing his father-in-law, and instructing him to afford him all information and details as to the circumstances of the Irish property, it being his intention to establish Captain Davis in the position of his agent in that country; having done which, and given to Grog to read over, he meant to substitute another in its place, which other was confidentially to entreat of Dunn to obtain some foreign and far-away appointment for Davis, and by every imaginable means to induce him to accept it. This latter document Dunn was to be instructed to burn immediately after reading. In fact, the bare thought of what would ensue if Davis saw it, made him tremble all over, and aggravated all the difficulties of composition. Even the mode of beginning puzzled him, and there lay some eight or ten sheets scrawled over with a single line, thus: “Lord Lackington presents his compliments” – “The Viscount Lackington requests” – “Lord Lackington takes the present opportunity” – “Dear Dunn” – “Dear Mr. Dunn” – “My dear Mr. Dunn” – “Dear D.” How nicely and minutely did he weigh over in his mind the value to be attached to this exordium, and how far the importance of position counterbalanced the condescension of close intimacy! “Better be familiar,” said he, at last; “he ‘s a vulgar dog, and he ‘ll like it;” and so he decided for “My dear Dunn.”

“My dear Dunn, – As I know of your influence with the people in power – too formal that, perhaps,” said he, re-reading it – “as I know what you can do with the dons in Downing Street – that ‘s far better – I want you to book the bearer – no, that is making a flunkey of him – I want you to secure me a snug thing in the Colonies – or better, a snug Colonial appointment – for my father-in-law – no, for my friend – no, for my old and attached follower, Captain Davis – that’s devilish well-rounded, ‘old and attached follower, Captain Davis.’ When I tell you that I desire he may get something over the hills and far away, you ‘ll guess at once – you ‘ll guess at once why – no, guess the reason – no, you ‘ll see with half an eye how the cat jumps.” He threw down his pen at this, and rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight. “Climate does n’t signify a rush, for he’s strong as a three-year-old, and has the digestion of an ‘ostrage;’ the main thing, little to do, and opportunities for blind hookey. As to outfit, and some money in hand, I ‘ll stand it. Once launched, if there’s only a billiard-table or dice-box in the colony, he ‘ll not starve.”

“Eh, Grog, my boy,” cried he, with a laugh, “as the parsons say, ‘Salary less an object than a field of profitable labor!’ And, by Jove! the grass will be very short, indeed, where you can’t get enough to feed on! There ‘s no need to give Dunn a caution about reserve, and so forth with him, – he knows Grog well.”

Having finished this letter, and placed it carefully in his pocket, he began the other, which, seeing that it was never to be delivered, and only shown to Davis himself, cost him very little trouble in the composition. Still it was not devoid of all difficulty, since, by the expectations it might create in Grog’s mind of obtaining the management of the Irish property, it would be actually throwing obstacles in the way of his going abroad. He therefore worded the epistle more carefully, stating it to be his intention that Captain Davis should be his agent at some future time not exactly defined, and requesting Dunn to confer with him as one enjoying his own fullest confidence.

He had but finished the document when a sharp knock at the door announced Davis. “The very man I wanted,” said Beecher; “sit down and read that.”

Grog took his double eye-glass from his pocket, – an aid to his sight only had recourse to when he meant to scrutinize every word and every letter, – and sat down to read. “Vague enough,” said he, as he concluded. “Small credentials for most men, but quite sufficient for Kit Davis.”

“I know that,” said Beecher, half timidly; for no sooner in the redoubted presence than he began to tremble at his own temerity.

“This Mr. Dunn is a practical sort of man, they say, so that we shall soon understand each other,” said Davis.

“Oh, you’ll like him greatly.”

“I don’t want to like him,” broke in Grog; “nor do I want him to like me.”

“He’s a fellow of immense influence just now; can do what he pleases with the Ministry.”

“So much the better for him,” said Grog, bluntly.

“And for his friends, sir,” added Beecher. “He has only to send in a name, and he’s sure to get what he asks for, at home or abroad.”

“How convenient!” said Grog; and whether it was an accident or not, he directed his eyes full on Beecher as he spoke, and as suddenly a deep blush spread over the other’s face. “Very convenient, indeed,” went on Grog, while his unrelenting glance never wavered nor turned away. As he stared, so did Beecher’s confusion increase, till at last, unable to endure more, he turned away, sick at heart “My Lord Viscount,” said Grog, gravely, “let me give you a word of counsel: never commit a murder; for if you do, your own fears will hang you.”

“I don’t understand you,” faltered out Beecher.

“Yes, you do; and right well too,” broke in Grog, boldly. “What rubbish have you got into your head now, about ‘a place’ for me? What nonsensical scheme about making me an inspector of this or a collector of that? Do you imagine that for any paltry seven or eight hundred a year I ‘m going to enter into recognizance not to do what’s worth six times the amount? Mayhap you ‘d like to send me to India or to China. Oh, that’s the dodge, is it?” exclaimed he, as the crimson flush now extended over Beecher’s forehead to the very roots of his hair. “Well, where is it to be? There ‘s a place called Bogota, where they always have yellow fever; couldn’t you get me named consul there? Oh dear, oh dear!” laughed he out, “how you will go on playing that little game, though you never score a point!”

“I sometimes imagine that you don’t know how offensive your language is,” said Beecher, whose angry indignation had mastered all his fears; “at least, it is the only explanation I can suggest for your conduct towards myself!”

“Look at it this way,” said Grog; “if you always lost the game whenever you played against one particular man, wouldn’t you give in at last, and own him for your master? Well, now, that is exactly what you are doing with me, – losing, losing on, and yet you won’t see that you’re beaten.”

“I’ll tell you what I see, sir,” said Beecher, haughtily, – “that our intercourse must cease.”

Was it not strange that this coarse man, reckless in action, headstrong and violent, felt abashed, for the instant, in presence of the dignified manner which, for a passing moment, the other displayed. It was the one sole weapon Grog Davis could not match; and before the “gentleman” he quailed, but only for a second or two, when he rallied, and said, “I want the intercourse as little as you do. I am here for the pleasure of being with my daughter.”

“As for that,” began Beecher, “there is no need – ” He stopped abruptly, something terribly menacing in Grog’s face actually arresting his words in the utterance.

“Take you care what you say,” muttered Grog, as he approached him, and spoke with a low, guttural growl. “I have n’t much patience at the best of times; don’t provoke me now.”

“Will you take this letter, – yes or no?” said Beecher, resolutely.

“I will: seal and address it,” said Grog, searching for a match to light the taper, while Beecher folded the letter, and wrote the direction. Davis continued to break match after match in his effort to strike a light. Already the dusk of declining day filled the room, and objects were dimly descried. Beecher’s heart beat violently. The thought that even yet, if he could summon courage for it, he might outwit Grog, sent a wild thrill through him. What ecstasy, could he only succeed!

“Curse these wax contrivances! the common wooden ones never failed,” muttered Davis. “There goes the fifth.”

“If you ‘ll ring for Fisher – ”

An exclamation and an oath proclaimed that he had just burned his finger; but he still persevered.

“At last!” cried he, – “at last!” And just as the flame rose slowly up, Beecher had slipped the letter in his pocket, and substituted the other in its place.

“I’ll write ‘Private and confidential,’” added Beecher, “to show that the communication is strictly for himself alone.” And now the document was duly sealed, and the name “Lackington” inscribed in the corner.

“I ‘ll start to-night,” said Davis, as he placed the letter in his pocket-book; “I may have to delay a day in London, to see Fordyce. Where shall I write to you?”

“I’ll talk that over with my Lady,” said the other, still trembling with the remnant of his fears. “We dine at six,” added he, as Davis arose to leave the room.

“So Lizzy told me,” said Davis.

“You don’t happen to know if she invited Twining, do you?”

“No! but I hope she didn’t,” said Grog, sulkily.

“Why so? He’s always chatty, pleasant, and agreeable,” said Beecher, whose turn it was now to enjoy the other’s irritation.

“He’s what I hate most in the world,” said Davis, vindictively; “a swell that can walk into every leg in the Ring, – that’s what he is!” And with this damnatory estimate of the light-hearted, easy-natured Adderley Twining, Grog banged the door and departed.

That social sacrament, as some one calls dinner, must have a strange, mysterious power over our affections and our sympathies; for when these two men next met each other, with napkins on their knees and soup before them, their manner was bland, and even cordial. You will probably say, How could they be otherwise? that was neither the time nor place to display acrimony or bitterness, nor could they carry out in Lizzy’s presence the unseemly discussion of the morning. Very true; and their bearing might, consequently, exhibit a calm and decent courtesy; but it did more, – far more; it was familiar and even friendly, and it is to the especial influence of the dinner-table that I attribute the happy change. The blended decorum and splendor – that happy union of tangible pleasure with suggestive enjoyment, so typified by a well-laid and well-spread table – is a marvellous peacemaker. Discrepant opinions blend into harmonious compromise as the savory odors unite into an atmosphere of nutritious incense, and a wider charity to one’s fellows comes in with the champagne. Where does diplomacy unbend? where do its high-priests condescend to human feelings and sympathies save at dinner? Where, save at Mansion House banquets, are great Ministers facetious?

Where else are grave Chancellors jocose and Treasury Lords convivial?

The three who now met were each in their several ways in good spirits: Grog, because he had successfully reasserted his influence over Beecher; Beecher, because, while appearing to be defeated, he had duped his adversary; and Lizzy, for the far better reason that she was looking her very best, and that she knew it. She had, moreover, passed a very pleasant morning; for Mr. Twining had made it his business – doubtless, with much hand-rubbing and many exclamations of “What fun!” – to go amongst all the tradespeople of Baden, proclaiming the arrival of a “millionnaire Milor,” and counselling them to repair with all the temptations of their shops to the hotel. The consequence was that Lizzy’s drawing-room was like a fair till the hour of dressing for dinner. Jewelry in its most attractive forms, rich lace, silks, velvets, furs, costly embroideries, inlaid cabinets, gems, ancient and modern, – all the knick-knackeries which a voluptuous taste has conceived, all the extravagant inventions of a fashion bent on ruinous expenditure, – were there; fans sparkling with rubies, riding-whips incrusted with turquoises, slippers studded over with pearls. There was nothing wanting; even richly carved meerschaums and walking-sticks were paraded, in the hope that as objects of art and elegance they might attract her favor. Her father had found her dazzled and delighted by all this splendor, and told her that one of the first duties of her high station was the encouragement of art. “It is to you, and such as you, these people look for patronage,” said he. “An English peeress is a princess, and must dispense her wealth generously.”

I am bound to acknowledge, her Ladyship did not shrink from this responsibility of her station. Without caring for the cost, – as often without even inquiring the price, – she selected what she wished; and rows of pearls, diamond bracelets, rings, and head ornaments covered her dressing-table, while sable and Astrakan cloaks, cashmeres, and Genoa velvets littered every corner of the room. “After all,” thought she, as she fixed a jewelled comb in her hair, “it is very nice to be rich; and while delighting yourself you can make so many others happy.”