CHAPTER III.
/A propos/ of the inexpressibles, Mr. Richard did not forget to provide
his nephew with a much larger wardrobe than could have been thrust into
Dr. Riccabocca's knapsack. There was a very good tailor in the town, and
the clothes were very well made. And, but for an air more ingenuous, and
a cheek that, despite study and night vigils, retained much of the
sunburned bloom of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have almost
passed, without disparaging comment, by the bow-window at White's.
Richard burst into an immoderate fit of laughter when he first saw the
watch which the poor Italian had bestowed upon Leonard; but to atone for
the laughter, he made him a present of a very pretty substitute, and bade
him "lock up his turnip." Leonard was more hurt by the jeer at his old
patron's gift than pleased by his uncle's. But Richard Avenel had no
conception of sentiment. It was not for many days that Leonard could
reconcile himself to his uncle's manner. Not that the peasant could
pretend to judge of its mere conventional defects; but there is an ill
breeding to which, whatever our rank and nurture, we are almost equally
sensitive,--the ill breeding that comes from want of consideration for
others. Now, the squire was as homely in his way as Richard Avenel, but
the squire's bluntness rarely hurt the feelings; and when it did so, the
squire perceived and hastened to repair his blunder. But Mr. Richard,
whether kind or cross, was always wounding you in some little delicate
fibre,--not from malice, but from the absence of any little delicate
fibres of his own. He was really, in many respects, a most excellent
man, and certainly a very valuable citizen--; but his merits wanted the
fine tints and fluent curves that constitute beauty of character. He was
honest, but sharp in his practice, and with a keen eye to his interests.
He was just, but as a matter of business. He made no allowances, and did
not leave to his justice the large margin of tenderness and mercy. He
was generous, but rather from an idea of what was due to himself than
with much thought of the pleasure he gave to others; and he even regarded
generosity as a capital put out to interest. He expected a great deal of
gratitude in return, and, when he obliged a man, considered that he had
bought a slave. Every needy voter knew where to come, if he wanted
relief or a loan; but woe to him if he had ventured to express hesitation
when Mr. Avenel told him how he must vote.
In this town Richard had settled after his return from America, in which
country he had enriched himself,--first, by spirit and industry, lastly,
by bold speculation and good luck. He invested his fortune in business,
--became a partner in a large brewery, soon bought out his associates,
and then took a principal share in a flourishing corn-mill. He prospered
rapidly,--bought a property of some two or three hundred acres, built a
house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make a figure. He had now
become the leading man of the town, and the boast to Audley Egerton that
he could return one of the members, perhaps both, was by no means an
exaggerated estimate of his power. Nor was his proposition, according to
his own views, so unprincipled as it appeared to the statesman. He had
taken a great dislike to both the sitting members,--a dislike natural to
a sensible man of moderate politics, who had something to lose. For Mr.
Slappe, the active member, who was head-over-ears in debt, was one of the
furious democrats--rare before the Reform Bill,--and whose opinions were
held dangerous even by the mass of a Liberal constituency; while Mr.
Sleekie, the gentleman member who laid by L5000 every year from his
dividends in the Funds, was one of those men whom Richard justly
pronounced to be "humbugs,"--men who curry favour with the extreme party
by voting for measures sure not to be carried; while if there was the
least probability of coming to a decision that would lower the money
market. Mr. Sleekie was seized with a well-timed influenza. Those
politicians are common enough now. Propose to march to the Millennium,
and they are your men. Ask them to march a quarter of a mile, and they
fall to feeling their pockets, and trembling for fear of the footpads.
They are never so joyful as when there is no chance of a victory. Did
they beat the minister, they would be carried out of the House in a fit.
Richard Avenel--despising both these gentlemen, and not taking kindly to
the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were lords--had looked with a
friendly eye to the government as it then existed, and especially to
Audley Egerton, the enlightened representative of commerce. But in
giving Audley and his colleagues the benefit of his influence, through
conscience, he thought it all fair and right to have a quid pro quo, and,
as he had so frankly confessed, it was his whim to rise up "Sir Richard."
For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on the same principle
as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thornhill,--he had a sneaking
affection for what he abused. The society of Screwstown was, like most
provincial capitals, composed of two classes,--the commercial and the
exclusive. These last dwelt chiefly apart, around the ruins of an old
abbey; they affected its antiquity in their pedigrees, and had much of
its ruin in their finances. Widows of rural thanes in the neighbourhood,
genteel spinsters, officers retired on half-pay, younger sons of rich
squires, who had now become old bachelors,--in short, a very respectable,
proud, aristocratic set, who thought more of themselves than do all the
Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and Seymours, put together. It had early
been the ambition of Richard Avenel to be admitted into this sublime
coterie; and, strange to say, he had partially succeeded. He was never
more happy than when he was asked to their card-parties, and never more
unhappy than when he was actually there. Various circumstances combined
to raise Mr. Avenel into this elevated society. First, he was unmarried,
still very handsome, and in that society there was a large proportion of
unwedded females. Secondly, he was the only rich trader in Screwstown
who kept a good cook, and professed to give dinners, and the half-pay
captains and colonels swallowed the host for the sake of the venison.
Thirdly, and principally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting
members, and "idem nolle idem velle de republica, ea firma amicitia est;"
that is, congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crockery together
better than the best diamond cement. The sturdy Richard Avenel, who
valued himself on American independence, held these ladies and gentlemen
in an awe that was truly Brahminical. Whether it was that, in England,
all notions, even of liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally,
socially, with that fine and subtle element of aristocracy which, like
the press, is the air we breathe; or whether Richard imagined that he
really became magnetically imbued with the virtues of these silver
pennies and gold seven-shilling pieces, distinct from the vulgar coinage
in popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must be told,--Richard
Avenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great longing to marry out of
this society; but he had not yet seen any one sufficiently high-born and
high-bred to satisfy his aspirations. In the meanwhile, he had convinced
himself that his way would be smooth could he offer to make his ultimate
choice "My Lady;" and he felt that it would be a proud hour in his life
when he could walk before stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound of "Sir
Richard." Still, however disappointed at the ill-success of his bluff
diplomacy with Mr. Egerton, and however yet cherishing the most
vindictive resentment against that individual, he did not, as many would
have done, throw up his political convictions out of personal spite. He
reserved his private grudge for some special occasion, and continued
still to support the Administration, and to hate one of the ministers.
But, duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in just
counterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he had
effected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood;" he had done
as much for the town as he had for his fields. His energy, his quick
comprehension of public utility, backed by his wealth and bold, bullying,
imperious character, had sped the work of civilization as if with the
celerity and force of a steam-engine.
If the town were so well paved and so well lighted, if half-a-dozen
squalid lanes had been transformed into a stately street, if half the
town no longer depended on tanks for their water, if the poor-rates were
reduced one-third, praise to the brisk new blood which Richard Avenel had
infused into vestry and corporation. And his example itself was so
contagious!
"There was not a plate-glass window in the town when I came into it,"
said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High Street!" He took the
credit to himself, and justly; for though his own business did not
require windows of plate-glass, he had awakened the spirit of enterprise
which adorns a whole city.
Mr. Avenel did not present Leonard to his friends for more than a
fortnight. He allowed him to wear off his rust. He then gave a grand
dinner, at which his nephew was formally introduced, and, to his great
wrath and disappointment, never opened his lips. How could he, poor
youth, when Miss Clarina Mowbray only talked upon high life, till proud
Colonel Pompley went in state through the history of the Siege of
Seringapatam?
