His very first care, on waking, was to resume the manuscript, and see how far the impression first made might be corroborated by afterthought. It was while reading, that the post had just arrived, bringing, among other letters, one in Phillis's hand, which was, though brief, significant:—
Sir,—There is no time to be lost. The K.'s are here every
day, and Lord C——— spends every morning here till three
or four O'C.
Mr. Meek has written to ask for Mr. C.'s interest in the
borough; what answer given, not known. Mr. C. would seem to
be again pressed for money. He was here twice yesterday. The
rumor is that Mr. C. will marry Miss O. K. immediately.
Pearse overheard Mr. K. warning Mr. C. against Mr. Linton as
a very dangerous intimate. Ld. C. F. said, when sitting here
yesterday, “I have known Master Tom some years, and never
knew the man he did not help to ruin with whom he had any
influence.” Mr. C. said something about being on his guard,
and “suspecting;” but the exact words were not heard. Lord
K. and Lady breakfasted with Mr. C. to-day, and stayed till
two. Lady K. swept down with her dress a Sevres jar in the
boudoir; heard Mr. C. say that he would not give the
fragments for the most precious vase in the Tuileries. Lord
K. asked what he said, and her Ladyship replied that Mr.
C.'s vase was unhappily the fellow of one in the Tuileries,
and looked confused at the accident. Mr. Linton is warned to
lose no time, as Mr. C. is hourly falling deeper into other
influences, and every day something occurs to injure Mr. L's
interest. Honored sir, in duty yours,
P.
N.B.—The yacht came into harbor from Cowes last night.
The same day which brought this secret despatch saw one from Linton to Cashel, saying, that by the aid of four hundred workmen in various crafts, unceasing toil, and unwearied zeal, Tubbermore would be ready to receive his guests by the following Wednesday. A steamer, hired specially, had brought over from London nearly everything which constitutes the internal arrangement of a house; and as money had been spent without control, difficulties melted away into mere momentary embarrassments,—impossibilities, there were none. The letter contained a long list of commissions for Cashel to execute, given, however, with no other object than to occupy his time for the remaining few days in town as much as possible. This written and sent off, Linton addressed himself to his task of preparation with an energy few could surpass, and while the trades-people were stimulated by increased pay to greater efforts, and the work was carried on through the night by torchlight; the whole demesne swarmed with laborers by whom roads were cut, paths gravelled, fences levelled, flower-plots devised; even the garden—that labyrinth of giant weeds—was reduced to order, till in the hourly changing aspect of the place it was hard not to recognize the wand of enchantment It was, indeed, like magic to see how fountains sprang up, and threw their sprayey showers over the new-planted shrubs; new paths led away into dense groves of trees; windows, so late half walled up, now opened upon smooth, shaven turf, or disclosed a reach of swelling landscape; and chambers, that a few days back were the gloomy abode of the bat and the night-owl, became of a sudden cheerful and lightsome.
Stuccoed ceilings, mirror-panelled windows, gilded cornices, and carved architraves—all of which would imply time and long labor—were there at once and on the moment, for the good fairy who did these things knows not failure,—the banker's check-book. From the great hall to the uppermost chamber the aspect of all bespoke comfort. The elegances of life, Linton well knew, are like all other refinements,—not capable of being “improvised,” but the daily comforts are. The meaner objects which make up the sum of hourly want,—the lazy ottoman, the downy-pillowed fauteuils, the little squabs that sit in windows to provoke flirtations and inspire confidences; the tempting little writing-tables that suggest pen and ink; the billiard-table, opening on the flower-garden, so redolent of sweet odors that you feel exonerated for the shame of an in-door occupation; the pianos and guitars and harps scattered about in various places, as though to be ever ready to the touch; the books and prints and portfolios that give excuse to the lounging mood, and text for that indolent chitchat so pleasant of a morning,—all these, and a thousand other things, seen through the long perspective of a handsome suite of rooms, do make up that sum, for which our own dear epithet, “comfort,” has no foreign equivalent.
We have been often compelled, in this veracious history, to reflect with harshness on certain traits of Mr. Linton's morality. Let us make him the small amende in our power to say, that in his present functions he was unsurpassable; and here, for the moment, we leave him.
CHAPTER XXVI. BAD GENERALSHIP
“They alle agrede to disagree,
A moste united Familie!”
Great was the excitement and bustle in the Kennyfeck family on the arrival of a brief note from Roland Cashel, setting forth that the house at Tubbermore was at length in a state to receive his guests, who were invited for the following Wednesday.
Although this visit had rarely been alluded to in Cashel's presence, it was a very frequent topic of the family in secret committee, and many were the fears inspired by long postponement that the event would never come off. Each, indeed, looked forward to it with very different feelings. Independent of all more purely personal views, Mrs. Kennyfeck speculated on the immense increase of importance she should obtain socially, in the fact of being domesticated in the same house with a commander of the forces and his lady, not to speak of secretaries, aides-de-camp, and Heaven knows what other functionaries. The young ladies had prospective visions of another order; and poor Kennyfeck fancied himself a kind of agricultural Metternich, who was about, at the mere suggestion of his will, to lay down new territorial limits on the estate, and cut and carve the boundaries at his pleasure.