Chapter Fifty Seven.
Patron and Protégé.
The ringing of the bell did not cause Mr Swinton to start. It might have done so had he been longer in his new residence. His paper “kites” were still carried about London, with judgments pinned on to them; and he might have supposed that the bearer of one of them was bringing it home to him.
But the short time he had been installed in the McTavish villa, with the fact that a visitor was expected, rendered him comparatively fearless; and his composure was only disturbed by a doubt, as to whether the ringer of the bell was his patron, or only a deputy sent with the promised instructions.
The maid-of-all-work, that day hastily engaged, was despatched to answer the ring. If it was an elderly gentleman, tall and stoutish, she was to show him in at once, and without parley.
On opening the gate, a figure was distinguished outside. It was that of a gentleman. He was enveloped in an ample cloak, with a cap drawn over his ears. This did not prevent the servant from seeing that he was tall and stoutish; while the gleam of the hall-lamp, falling on his face, despite a dyed whisker, showed him to answer the other condition for admittance.
“Mr Swinton lives here?” he asked, before the gate-opener could give him invitation to enter.
“He does, sir. Please to walk in.”
Guided by the girl, the cloaked personage threaded through the lilacs and laurestinas, stepped on to the little piazza, on which Mr McTavish had oft smoked his pipe; and was at length shown into the apartment where Swinton awaited him.
The latter was alone—his wife having retired by instructions.
On the entrance of his visitor, Mr Swinton started up from his seat, and advanced to receive him.
“My lord!” said he, shamming a profound surprise, “is it possible I am honoured by your presence?”
“No honour, sir; no honour whatever.”
“From what your lordship said, I was expecting you to send—”
“I have come instead, Mr Swinton. The instructions I have to give are upon a matter of some importance. I think it better you should have them direct from ‘myself.’ For this reason I present myself, as you see, in propria persona.”
“That’s a lie!” thought Swinton, in reference to the reason.
Of course he kept the thought to himself His reply was:
“Just like what is said of your lordship. By night, as by day, always at work—doing service to the State. Your lordship will pardon me for speaking so freely?”
“Don’t mention it, my dear sir. The business between us requires that we both speak freely.”
“Excuse me for not having asked your lordship to take a seat!”
“I’ll take that,” promptly responded the condescending nobleman, “and a cigar, too, if you’ve got one to spare.”
“Fortunately I have,” said the delighted Swinton. “Here, my lord, are some sold to me for Havanas. I can’t answer for their quality.”
“Try one of mine?”
The patron pulled a cigar-case out of the pocket of his coat. The cloak and cap had been left behind him in the hall.
The protégé accepted it with a profusion of thanks.
Both sat down, and commenced smoking.
Swinton, thinking he had talked enough, waited for the great man to continue the conversation.
He did so.
“I see you’ve succeeded in taking the house,” was the somewhat pointless remark.
“I am in it, my lord,” was the equally pointless reply.
More to the purpose was the explanation that followed:
“I regret to inform your lordship that it has cost a considerable sum.”
“How much?”
“I had to take it for a whole year—at a rent of two hundred pounds.”
“Pooh! never mind that. It’s for the service of the State. In such matters we are obliged to make liberal disbursement. And now, my dear sir, let me explain to you why it has been taken, and for what purpose you have been placed in it.”
Swinton settled down into an attitude of obsequious attention.
His patron proceeded:
“Directly opposite lives a man, whose name is already known to you.”
Without the name being mentioned, the listener nodded assent. He knew it was Kossuth.
“You will observe, ere long, that this man has many visitors.”
“I have noticed that already, my lord. All day they have been coming and going.”
“Just so. And among them are men of note; many who have played an important part in the politics of Europe. Now, sir; it is deemed convenient, for the cause of order, that the movements of these men should be known; and for this it is necessary that a watch be kept upon them. From Sir Robert Cottrell’s recommendation, we’ve chosen you for this delicate duty. If I mistake not, sir, you will know how to perform it?”
“My lord, I make promise to do my best.”
“So much then for the general purpose. And now to enter a little more into details.”
Swinton resumed his listening attitude.
“You will make yourself acquainted with the personal appearance of all who enter the opposite house; endeavour to ascertain who they are; and report on their goings and comings—taking note of the hour. For this purpose you will require two assistants; whom I authorise you to engage. One of them may appear to act as your servant; the other, appropriately dressed, should visit you as an intimate acquaintance. If you could find one who has access to the camp of the enemy, it would be of infinite importance. There are some of these refugees in the habit of visiting your neighbour, who may not be altogether his friends. You understand me?”
“I do, your lordship.”
“I see, Mr Swinton, you are the man we want. And now for a last word. Though you are to take note of the movements of Kossuth’s guests, still more must you keep your eye upon himself. Should he go out, either you or your friend must follow and find where he goes to. Take a cab if necessary; and on any such occasion report directly and without losing time. Make your report to my private secretary; who will always be found at my residence in Park Lane. This will be sufficient for the present. When you are in need of funds, let my secretary know. He has orders to attend to the supply department. Any further instructions I shall communicate to you myself. I may have to come here frequently; so you had better instruct your servant about admitting me.”
“My lord, would you accept of a key? Excuse me for asking. It would save your lordship from the disagreeable necessity of waiting outside the gate, and perhaps being recognised by the passers, or those opposite?”
Without showing it, Swinton’s patron was charmed with the proposal. The key might in time become useful, for other purposes than to escape recognition by either “the passers or those opposite.” He signified his consent to accept it.
“I see you are clever, Mr Swinton,” he said, with a peculiar, almost sardonic smile. “As you say, a key will be convenient. And now, I need scarce point out to you the necessity of discretion in all that you do. I perceive that your windows are furnished with movable Venetians. That is well, and will be suitable to your purpose. Fortunately your own personal appearance corresponds very well to such an establishment as this—a very snug affair it is—and your good lady—ah! by the way, we are treating her very impolitely. I owe her an apology for keeping you so long away from her. I hope you will make it for me, Mr Swinton. Tell her that I have detained you on business of importance.”
“My lord, she will not believe it, unless I tell her whom I’ve had the honour of receiving. May I take that liberty?”
“Oh! certainly—certainly. Were it not for the hour, I should have asked you to introduce me. Of course, it is too late to intrude upon a lady.”
“There’s no hour too late for an introduction to your lordship. I know the poor child would be delighted.”
“Well, Mr Swinton, if it’s not interfering with your domestic arrangements, I, too, would be delighted. All hours are alike to me.”
“My wife is upstairs. May I ask her to come down?”
“Nay, Mr Swinton; may I ask you to bring her down?”
“Such condescension, my lord! It is a pleasure to obey you.”
With this speech, half aside, Swinton stepped out of the room; and commenced ascending the stairway.
He was not gone long. Fan was found upon the first landing, ready to receive the summons.
He returned almost too soon for his sexagenarian visitor, who had placed himself in front of the mantel mirror, and was endeavouring with dyed locks to conceal the bald spot upon his crown!
The introduction was followed by Mr Swinton’s guest forgetting all about the lateness of the hour, and resuming his seat. Then succeeded a triangular conversation, obsequious on two rides, slightly patronising on the third; becoming less so, as the speeches were continued; and then there was an invitation extended to the noble guest to accept of some refreshment, on the plea of his long detention—a courtesy he did not decline.
And the Abigail was despatched to the nearest confectionery, and brought back sausage rolls and sandwiches, with a Melton Mowbray pie; and these were placed upon the table, alongside a decanter of sherry; of which his lordship partook with as much amiable freedom as if he had been a jolly guardsman!
And it ended in his becoming still more amiable; and talking to Swinton as to an old bosom friend; and squeezing the hand of Swinton’s wife, as he stood in the doorway repeatedly bidding her “good-night”—a bit of by-play that should have made Swinton jealous, had the hall-lamp been burning bright enough for him to see. He only guessed it, and was not jealous!
“She’s a delicious creature, that!” soliloquised the titled roué, as he proceeded to the Park Road, where a carriage, drawn up under the shadow of the trees, had been all the while waiting for him. “And a trump to boot! I can tell that by the touch of her taper fingers.”
“She’s a trump and a treasure!” was the almost simultaneous reflection of Swinton, with the same woman in his thoughts—his own wife!
He made it, after closing the door upon his departing guest; and then, as he sat gulping another glass of sherry, and smoking another cigar, he repeated it with the continuation:
“Yes; Fan’s the correct card to play. What a stupid I’ve been not to think of this before! Hang it! it’s not yet too late. I’ve still got hold of the hand; and this night, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a game begun that’ll give me all I want in this world—that’s Julia Girdwood.”
The serious tone in which the last three words were spoken told he had not yet resigned his aspirations after the American heiress.