CHAPTER XI.
Learmont in London.—The Endeavour to Drown Thought.—Life in 1742.—All is not Gold that Glitters.
Many spacious mansions which adorned the old city of Westminster at the date of our story have long since been swept from the ground to give place to more modern structures, and where the stately home of the noble or wealthy commoner reared its lofty walls are now to be seen but lines of streets, and the busy hum of commerce has superseded the stately aristocratic silence which used to reign undisturbed in many parts of the ancient district.
In a mansion of princely splendour, which has long since been pulled down to build some approaches to Westminster Bridge, dwelt the head of the house of Learmont, whenever business or inclination called him to the metropolis. In that house, however, as yet, the present Squire of Learmont had never resided. He had resided in deep seclusion ever since he had been acknowledged as the head of his house. A small part of his history was well known, but there were darker portions which the public eye might in vain attempt to fathom. He was a younger brother of the house he now represented, but his senior, from deep distress at the loss of a young and lovely wife in the first year of his marriage, had resolved by travelling in foreign countries, to endeavour to forget his irreparable loss, leaving the present squire in undisputed authority over his domains and extensive property. Then shortly came news of the decease, at Rome, of the elder brother. The present squire entered on his own account into undisputed possession of the vast accumulated property, for the relatives of the family were very few and very distant. This was all that was really known of the history of Squire Learmont, and his sudden determination, after nearly fourteen years of seclusion, to visit London, and launch out into a style of expensive living which, although it was well known he could afford, yet astonished everybody, were the themes of very general gossip. The old mansion had been hastily put in order for his reception. The complement of servants was greatly increased; an immense sum was spent in costly liveries and interior adornments; expectation was on the utmost stretch, and when Learmont did arrive and stalked into his ancient house, he created a scarcely less sensation than as if he had been some petty monarch.
No one liked the dark penetrating eye that scowled around, as if suspicious of everything and everybody, but there was no absolute stain upon his character; moreover he was immensely rich, and reported, of course, to be a great deal richer than he really was, so that when it became known that he intended to give a series of entertainments, unequalled in effect and magnificence by any commoner, numbers of old friends of the family sprung up from all quarters, and had his spacious halls been ten times as spacious he would have found no difficulty in filling them with glittering throngs whenever he chose.
Certainly Learmont seemed to be at the height of his ambition. The possessor of a princely revenue which had been allowed to accumulate, first by his elder brother, who was a man of frugal habits, for several years, and then by himself, for a number of years more, until he found himself possessed of a sum of money in actual cash, which had the worthy associates, Britton and Gray, but fancied to be a third of its real amount, would materially have assisted them in putting a high price upon their services whatever they were.
On the evening of his arrival, Learmont sat alone and silent for a considerable time in the magnificent library of his mansion; then, when he could no longer look upon the gorgeous hangings and superb decorations of the apartment, in consequence of the rapidly darkening sky, he rung a small silver hand-bell which was immediately answered by a page, attired in crimson and gold livery, who waited respectfully for orders.
“Bid my steward,” said Learmont, “with my chamberlain and the officers of the several departments of my household, attend me with lights. I will walk through the house.”
The page-bowed and retired.
“Yes,” muttered Learmont, when he was again alone, “I will sate my eyes with gazing upon the glorious magnificence I have wanted for so long; I will see the glitter and the beauty of what I have so dearly purchased. Attended by those who are taught to watch the slightest indication of my pleasure, I will traverse the stately and gorgeous mansion, which years since I used to wildly dream might once be mine, and smile when I awoke to think of the extreme improbability of the vision.”
The door was now thrown open and the same page who had before attended upon Learmont, respectfully announced that his commands had been obeyed, and that his servants were in waiting to escort him over his mansion.
He rose from his seat and strode with a haughty air to the door, “Lead the way,” he cried, “I’ll follow.”
The servants bowed, and while some preceded him, conveying large wax lights, others again followed, so that a full glare of light was thrown upon the path of the proud man, who had purged his very soul for the purpose of procuring such purchased and empty homage.
Saloon after saloon was traversed, and in each Learmont paused and ordered the chandeliers and clustering lamps to be lighted, in order that he might judge of the effect by night of the gorgeous decorations of those noble apartments. Everything rich or rare that money could produce was there congregated. The walls were hung with the most superb tapestry; the ceilings were freshly and vigorously painted by artists of celebrity, and the highly polished oaken floors shone like mirrors, reflecting all the brilliancy and lustre of both roof and walls.
The heart of Learmont swelled with pride and triumph as he glanced round upon all this luxury and refinement, and whispered to himself “it is mine—all mine.”
“Lead on,” was his only cry as room after room was lighted and examined.
Now the mansion had been nearly traversed, and the chandeliers and lamps being kept lighted, the whole house shone and glittered with unparalleled brilliancy. There was but one other state-apartment which Learmont had not visited, and that was a spacious ball-room, upon which an enormous sum had been lavished. He wished, he hoped to be greatly struck by the splendour of that noble room, and he sent the domestics on before to light its numerous lustres, in order that he might judge of its first effect upon the eye as any one entered it.
The steward of the household returned to say that all was ready, and preceding his master with a long white wand in his hand, tipped with gold, he led the way to the ball-room.
“Perfect!” was the exclamation of Learmont, when he stood in the centre of that hall. To attempt a description of it would be in vain. It was one gorgeous glitter; all that mirrors, gilding, hangings, painting, lights and flowers could do to render it a scene of enchantment was done.
Learmont’s colour deepened with pride as he looked around him and could see nothing that he would have altered. All was as he wished, and he felt conscious that such another apartment was not to be found in London.
“This is the broad path to honour and distinction,” he muttered to himself. “If you would be regarded among men as little short of a divinity, you have but to throw gold-dust in their eyes, and through that glittering medium they will see you are a very god.”
Now there suddenly burst upon the air from a balcony at the further end of the hall, a strain of exquisite music. The lofty room echoed with the melodious strains, and when the gay and spirit-stirring strains were over the steward advanced with a self-satisfied air, and said, “Sir, those are the musicians you are pleased to order should be engaged to wait upon your pleasure, as part of your household, I thought your worship might be pleased to judge of their skill and the effect of their music in this apartment.”
“’Tis well,” said Learmont, inclining his head. “Bid them play again.”
Obedient to a signal, the musicians again filled the air with joyous sounds, and Learmont stood and listened with delight, forgetting in those moments everything but his own present greatness and wealth.
“Yes,” he said, when the strain ceased, as if pursuing a previous train of thought: “this is the way to forget. Steep the senses in enjoyment, and the conscience will have no room for action; wine, music, the dance, the smile of beauty, all shall contribute to my enjoyment, and life shall be—”
“May it please you, honourable sir, some one desires speech of you,” said a domestic.
“Say I am occupied,” replied Learmont, and he again resumed his glowing meditations. “Nobility,” he muttered, “will crowd to my fêtes, even royalty might borrow new grace and dignity from the halls of Squire Learmont. But that shall not long be my designation. Wealth in England can purchase anything, and titles are easily procured where the price is of little moment. I will be ennobled and—”
“Your pardon, sir,” said the servant, returning, “but; the stranger will not take a refusal.”
“Ha! He will not?”
“An’ it please you, sir, he will not go.”
“Have I not idle knaves enough about me to drive an insolent intruder from my doors?”
“’Tis a rude knave, your worship.”
“Cast him into the street. How dare he say he will see the master of Learmont?”
“It shall be done, sir. To come here talking about an Old Smithy.”
Learmont caught the muttered words of the man as he was hurrying from the hall, and a cry of pain and horror escaped him as he rushed forward, and seizing the terrified servant by the arm, he cried—
“What—what manner of man is he who seeks me with such pertinacity?”
“A rough knave, an’ please you, sir; coarse of speech and appearance.”
“And—and he said—what?”
“He said he brought a message from the Old Smithy!”
A deadly paleness came across Learmont’s face, as he said in a husky whisper, “Show him into a private room and tell him I will be with him soon. Begone, knave, nor stand gaping there.”
The terrified servant darted from the hall, and Learmont turning to the throng of domestics who were standing at a respectful distance from him, cried—
“Lead on. To my chamber, and bid yon knave bring me word in what apartment he has placed this—this—visitor.”
The servants hastened to throw the doors wide open for their imperious master to pass out, but his mood was changed. The glow of triumph, and gratified pride no longer lent a glow to his sallow cheek, nor lit up his deep-sunken eyes with brilliancy. There was a load of care and anxiety, almost amounting to agony, upon his face. His contracted brow bespoke deep and anxious thought, and his limbs trembled as he left his hall of light and beauty to seek an interview with the man who, he had always dreaded, would exercise the power he had of stepping between him and his moments of forgetfulness and consequent enjoyment.