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Sevenoaks by J. G. Holland

J >> J. G. Holland >> Sevenoaks




"I remembered your weakness, you see," said Talbot.

"Toll, you're a jewel," said Mr. Belcher, drawing out one of the
fragrant rolls and lighting it.

"Now, before we go a step," said Talbot, "you must agree to come to my
house to-morrow night to dinner, and meet some of my friends. When you
come to New York, you'll want to know somebody."

"Toll, I tell you you're a jewel."

"And you'll come?"

"Well, you know I'm not rigged exactly for that sort of thing, and,
faith, I'm not up to it, but I suppose all a man has to do is to put on
a stiff upper lip, and take it as it comes."

"I'll risk you anywhere."

"All right! I'll be there."

"Six o'clock, sharp;--and now let's go and find a broker. I know the
best one in the city, and I'll show you the inside of more fine houses
before night than you have ever seen."

Talbot took the proprietor's arm and led him to a carriage in waiting.
Then he took him to Pine street, and introduced him, in the most
deferential manner, to the broker who held half of New York at his
disposal, and knew the city as he knew his alphabet.

The broker took the pair of house-hunters to a private room, and
unfolded a map of the city before them. On this he traced, with a
well-kept finger-nail, a series of lines,--like those fanciful
isothermal definitions that embrace the regions of perennial summer on
the range of the Northern Pacific Railroad,--within which social
respectability made its home. Within certain avenues and certain
streets, he explained that it was a respectable thing to live. Outside
of these arbitrary boundaries, nobody who made any pretense to
respectability should buy a house. The remainder of the city, was for
the vulgar--craftsmen, petty shopkeepers, salaried men, and the
shabby-genteel. He insisted that a wealthy man, making an entrance upon
New York life, should be careful to locate himself somewhere upon the
charmed territory which he defined. He felt in duty bound to say this to
Mr. Belcher, as he was a stranger; and Mr. Belcher was, of course,
grateful for the information.

Then he armed Mr. Talbot, as Mr. Belcher's city friend and helper, with
a bundle of permits, with which they set off upon their quest.

They visited a dozen houses in the course of the afternoon, carefully
chosen in their succession by Mr. Talbot, who was as sure of Mr.
Belcher's tastes as he was of his own. One street was too quiet, one was
too dark; one house was too small, and one was too tame; one house had
no stable, another had too small a stable. At last, they came out upon
Fifth avenue, and drove up to a double front, with a stable almost as
ample and as richly appointed as the house itself. It had been built,
and occupied for a year or two, by an exploded millionaire, and was an
elephant upon the hands of his creditors. Robert Belcher was happy at
once. The marvelous mirrors, the plate glass, the gilded cornices, the
grand staircase, the glittering chandeliers, the evidences of lavish
expenditure in every fixture, and in all the finish, excited him like
wine.

"Now you talk!" said he to the smiling factor; and as he went to the
window, and saw the life of the street, rolling by in costly carriages,
or sweeping the sidewalks with shining silks and mellow velvets, he felt
that he was at home. Here he could see and be seen. Here his splendors
could be advertised. Here he could find an expression for his wealth, by
the side of which his establishment at Sevenoaks seemed too mean to be
thought of without humiliation and disgust. Here was a house that
gratified his sensuous nature through and through, and appealed
irresistibly to his egregious vanity. He did not know that the grand and
gaudy establishment bore the name of "Palgrave's Folly," and, probably,
it would have made no difference with him if he had. It suited him, and
would, in his hands, become Belcher's Glory.

The sum demanded for the place, though very large, did not cover its
original cost, and in this fact Mr. Belcher took great comfort. To enjoy
fifty thousand dollars, which somebody else had made, was a charming
consideration with him, and one that did much to reconcile him to an
expenditure far beyond his original purpose.

When he had finished his examination of the house, he returned to his
hotel, as business hours were past, and he could make no further headway
that day in his negotiations. The more he thought of the house, the more
uneasy he became. Somebody might have seen him looking at it, and so
reached the broker first, and snatched it from his grasp. He did not
know that it had been in the market for two years, waiting for just such
a man as himself.

Talbot was fully aware of the state of Mr. Belcher's mind, and knew that
if he did not reach him early the next morning, the proprietor would
arrive at the broker's before him. Accordingly, when Mr. Belcher
finished his breakfast that morning, he found his factor waiting for
him, with the information that the broker would not be in his office for
an hour and a-half, and that there was time to look further, if further
search were desirable. He hoped that Mr. Belcher would not be in a
hurry, or take any step that he would ultimately regret. Mr. Belcher
assured him that he knew what he wanted when he saw it, and had no fears
about the matter, except that somebody might anticipate him.

"You have determined, then, to buy the house at the price?" said Talbot.

"Yes; I shall just shut my eyes and swallow the whole thing."

"Would you like to get it cheaper?"

"Of course!"

"Then, perhaps you had better leave the talking to me," said Talbot.
"These fellows all have a price that they ask, and a smaller one that
they will take."

"That's one of the tricks, eh?"

"Yes."

"Then go ahead."

They had a long talk about business, and then Talbot went out, and,
after an extended interview with the broker, sent a messenger for Mr.
Belcher. When that gentleman came in, he found that Talbot had bought
the house for ten thousand dollars less than the price originally
demanded. Mr. Belcher deposited a handsome sum as a guaranty of his good
faith, and ordered the papers to be made out at once.

After their return to the hotel, Mr. Talbot sat down to a table, and
went through a long calculation.

"It will cost you, Mr. Belcher," said the factor, deliberately, "at
least twenty-five thousand dollars to furnish that house
satisfactorily."

Mr. Belcher gave a long whistle.

"At least twenty-five thousand dollars, and I doubt whether you get off
for less than thirty thousand."

"Well, I'm in for it, and I'm going through," said Mr. Belcher.

"Very well," responded Talbot, "now let's go to the best furnisher we
can find. I happen to know the man who is at the top of the style, and I
suppose the best thing--as you and I don't know much about the
matter--is to let him have his own way, and hold him responsible for the
results."

"All right," said Belcher; "show me the man."

They found the arbiter of style in his counting-room. Mr. Talbot
approached him first, and held a long private conversation with him. Mr.
Belcher, in his self-complacency, waited, fancying that Talbot was
representing his own importance and the desirableness of so rare a
customer, and endeavoring to secure reasonable prices on a large bill.
In reality, he was arranging to get a commission out of the job for
himself.

If it be objected to Mr. Talbot's mode of giving assistance to his
country friends, that it savored of mercenariness, amounting to
villainy, it is to be said, on his behalf, that he was simply practicing
the morals that Mr. Belcher had taught him. Mr. Belcher had not failed
to debauch or debase the moral standard of every man over whom he had
any direct influence. If Talbot had practiced his little game upon any
other man, Mr. Belcher would have patted his shoulder and told him he
was a "jewel." So much of Mr. Belcher's wealth had been won by sharp and
more than doubtful practices, that that wealth itself stood before the
world as a premium on rascality, and thus became, far and wide, a
demoralizing influence upon the feverishly ambitious and the young.
Besides, Mr. Talbot quieted what little conscience he had in the matter
by the consideration that his commissions were drawn, not from Mr.
Belcher, but from the profits which others would make out of him, and
the further consideration that it was no more than right for him to get
the money back that he had spent, and was spending, for his principal's
benefit.

Mr. Belcher was introduced, and the arbiter of style conversed learnedly
of Tuscan, Pompeiian, Elizabethan, Louis Quatorze, buhl, _marqueterie_,
&.c., &c., till the head of the proprietor, to whom all these words were
strangers, and all his talk Greek, was thrown into a hopeless muddle.

Mr. Belcher listened to him as long as he could do so with patience, and
then brought him to a conclusion by a slap upon his knee.

"Come, now!" said he, "you understand your business, and I understand
mine. If you were to take up guns and gutta-percha, I could probably
talk your head off, but I don't know anything about these things. What I
want is something right. Do the whole thing up brown. Do you understand
that?"

The arbiter of style smiled pityingly, and admitted that he comprehended
his customer.

It was at last arranged that the latter should make a study of the
house, and furnish it according to his best ability, within a specified
sum of expenditure and a specified period of time; and then the
proprietor took his leave.

Mr. Belcher had accomplished a large amount of business within two days,
but he had worked according to his habit. The dinner party remained, and
this was the most difficult business that he had ever undertaken, yet he
had a strong desire to see how it was done. He learned quickly what he
undertook, and he had already "discounted," to use his own word, a
certain amount of mortification connected with the affair.




CHAPTER IX.

MRS. TALBOT GIVES HER LITTLE DINNER PARTY, AND MR. BELCHER MAKES AN
EXCEEDINGLY PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE.


Mrs. Talbot had a very dear friend. She had been her dear friend ever
since the two had roomed together at boarding-school. Sometimes she had
questioned whether in reality Mrs. Helen Dillingham was her dear friend,
or whether the particular friendship was all on the other side; but Mrs.
Dillingham had somehow so manipulated the relation as always to appear
to be the favored party. When, therefore, the dinner was determined
upon, Mrs. Dillingham's card of invitation was the first one addressed.
She was a widow and alone. She complemented Mr. Belcher, who was also
alone.

Exactly the position Mrs. Dillingham occupied in society, it would be
hard to define. Everybody invited her, and yet everybody, without any
definite reason, considered her a little "off color." She was beautiful,
she was accomplished, she talked wonderfully well, she was _au fait_ in
art, literature, society. She was superficially religious, and she
formed the theater of the struggle of a black angel and a white one,
neither of whom ever won a complete victory, or held whatever advantage
he gained for any considerable length of time. Nothing could be finer
than Mrs. Dillingham in her fine moods; nothing coarser when the black
angel was enjoying one of his victories, and the white angel had sat
down to breathe. It was the impression given in these latter moments
that fixed upon her the suspicion that she was not quite what she ought
to be. The flowers bloomed where she walked, but there was dust on them.
The cup she handed to her friends was pure to the eye, but it had a
muddy taste. She was a whole woman in sympathy, power, beauty, and
sensibility, and yet one felt that somewhere within she harbored a
devil--a refined devil in its play, a gross one when it had the woman at
unresisting advantage.

Next came the Schoonmakers, an elderly gentleman and his wife, who dined
out a great deal, and lived on the ancient respectability of their
family. They talked much about "the old New Yorkers," and of the inroads
and devastations of the parvenu. They were thoroughly posted on old
family estates and mansions, the intermarriages of the Dutch
aristocracy, and the subject of heraldry. Mr. Schoonmaker made a hobby
of old Bibles, and Mrs. Schoonmaker of old lace. The two hobbies
combined gave a mingled air of erudition and gentility to the pair that
was quite impressive, while their unquestionably good descent was a
source of social capital to all of humbler origin who were fortunate
enough to draw them to their tables.

Next came the Tunbridges. Mr. Tunbridge was the president of a bank, and
Mrs. Tunbridge was the president of Mr. Tunbridge--a large, billowy
woman, who "brought him his money," according to the speech of the town.
Mr. Tunbridge had managed his trust with great skill, and was glad at
any time, and at any social sacrifice, to be brought into contact with
men who carried large deposit accounts.

Next in order were Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish. Mr. Cavendish was a lawyer--a
hook-nosed, hawk-eyed man, who knew a little more about everything than
anybody else did, and was celebrated in the city for successfully
managing the most intractable cases, and securing the most princely
fees. If a rich criminal were brought into straits before the law, he
always sent for Mr. Cavendish. If the unprincipled managers of a great
corporation wished to ascertain just how closely before the wind they
could sail without being swamped, they consulted Mr. Cavendish. He was
everywhere accounted a great lawyer by those who estimated acuteness to
be above astuteness, strategy better than an open and fair fight, and
success more to be desired than justice.

It would weary the reader to go through with a description of Mrs.
Talbot's dinner party in advance. They were such people as Mr. and Mrs.
Talbot naturally drew around them. The minister was invited, partly as a
matter of course, and partly to occupy Mr. Schoonmaker on the subject of
Bibles. The doctor was invited because Mrs. Talbot was fond of him, and
because he always took "such an interest in the family."

When Mr. Belcher arrived at Talbot's beautiful but quiet house, the
guests had all assembled, and, clothing their faces with that veneer of
smile which hungry people who are about to dine at another man's expense
feel compelled to wear in the presence of their host, they were chatting
over the news of the day.

It is probable that the great city was never the scene of a personal
introduction that gave more quiet amusement to an assemblage of guests
than that of the presentation of Mr. Belcher. That gentleman's first
impression as he entered the room was that Talbot had invited a company
of clergymen to meet him. His look of surprise as he took a survey of
the assembly was that of a knave who found himself for the first time in
good company; but as he looked from the gentlemen to the ladies, in
their gay costumes and display of costly jewelry, he concluded that they
could not be the wives of clergymen. The quiet self-possession of the
group, and the consciousness that he was not _en regle_ in the matter of
dress, oppressed him; but he was bold, and he knew that they knew that
he was worth a million of dollars.

The "stiff upper lip" was placed at its stiffest in the midst of his
florid expanse of face, as, standing still, in the center of the room,
he greeted one after another to whom he was presented, in a way
peculiarly his own.

He had never been in the habit of lifting his hat, in courtesy to man or
woman. Even the touching its brim with his fingers had degenerated into
a motion that began with a flourish toward it, and ended with a suave
extension of his palm toward the object of his obeisance. On this
occasion he quite forgot that he had left his hat in the hall, and so,
assuming that it still crowned his head, he went through with eight or
ten hand flourishes that changed the dignified and self-contained
assembly into a merry company of men and women, who would not have been
willing to tell Mr. Belcher what they were laughing at.

The last person to whom he was introduced was Mrs. Dillingham, the lady
who stood nearest to him--so near that the hand flourish seemed absurd
even to him, and half died in the impulse to make it. Mrs. Dillingham,
in her black and her magnificent diamonds, went down almost upon the
floor in the demonstration of her admiring and reverential courtesy, and
pronounced the name of Mr. Belcher with a musical distinctness of
enunciation that arrested and charmed the ears of all who heard it. It
seemed as if every letter were swimming in a vehicle compounded of
respect, veneration, and affection. The consonants flowed shining and
smooth like gold-fish through a globe of crystal illuminated by the sun.
The tone in which she spoke the name seemed to rob it of all vulgar
associations, and to inaugurate it as the key-note of a fine social
symphony.

Mr. Belcher was charmed, and placed by it at his ease. It wrought upon
him and upon the company the effect which she designed. She was
determined he should not only show at his best, but that he should be
conscious of the favor she had won for him.

Before dinner was announced, Mr. Talbot made a little speech to his
guests, ostensibly to give them the good news that Mr. Belcher had
purchased the mansion, built and formerly occupied by Mr. Palgrave, but
really to explain that he had caught him in town on business, and taken
him at the disadvantage of distance from his evening dress, though, of
course, he did not say it in such and so many words. The speech was
unnecessary. Mrs. Dillingham had told the whole story in her own
unapproachable way.

When dinner was announced Mr. Belcher was requested to lead Mrs. Talbot
to her seat, and was himself placed between his hostess and Mrs.
Dillingham. Mrs. Talbot was a stately, beautiful woman, and bore off her
elegant toilet like a queen. In her walk into the dining-room, her
shapely arm rested upon the proprietor's, and her brilliant eyes looked
into his with an expression that flattered to its utmost all the fool
there was in him. There was a little rivalry between the "dear friends;"
but the unrestricted widow was more than a match for the circumspect and
guarded wife, and Mr. Belcher was delighted to find himself seated side
by side with the former.

He had not talked five minutes with Mrs. Dillingham before he knew her.
The exquisite varnish that covered her person and her manners not only
revealed, but made beautiful, the gnarled and stained wood beneath.
Underneath the polish he saw the element that allied her with himself.
There was no subject upon which she could not lead or accompany him with
brilliant talk, yet he felt that there was a coarse under-current of
sympathy by which he could lead her, or she could lead him--where?

The courtly manners of the table, the orderly courses that came and went
as if the domestic administration were some automatic machine, and the
exquisite appointments of the board, all exercised a powerful moral
influence upon him; and though they did not wholly suppress him, they
toned him down, so that he really talked well. He had a fund of small
wit and drollery that was sufficient, at least, for a single dinner;
and, as it was quaint and fresh, the guests were not only amused, but
pleased. In the first place, much could be forgiven to the man who owned
Palgrave's Folly. No small consideration was due to one who, in a quiet
country town, had accumulated a million dollars. A person who had the
power to reward attention with grand dinners and splendid receptions was
certainly not a person to be treated lightly.

Mr. Tunbridge undertook to talk finance with him, but retired under the
laugh raised by Mr. Belcher's statement that he had been so busy making
money that he had had no time to consider questions of finance. Mr.
Schoonmaker and the minister were deep in Bibles, and on referring some
question to Mr. Belcher concerning "The Breeches Bible," received in
reply the statement that he had never arrived any nearer a Breeches
Bible than a pocket handkerchief with the Lord's Prayer on it. Mr.
Cavendish simply sat and criticised the rest. He had never seen anybody
yet who knew anything about finance. The Chamber of Commerce was a set
of old women, the Secretary of the Treasury was an ass, and the Chairman
of the Committee of Ways and Means was a person he should be unwilling
to take as an office-boy. As for him, he never could see the fun of old
Bibles. If he wanted a Bible he would get a new one.

Each man had his shot, until the conversation fell from the general to
the particular, and at last Mr. Belcher found himself engaged in the
most delightful conversation of his life with the facile woman at his
side. He could make no approach to her from any quarter without being
promptly met. She was quite as much at home, and quite as graceful, in
bandying badinage as in expatiating upon the loveliness of country life
and the ritual of her church.

Mr. Talbot did not urge wine upon his principal, for he saw that he was
excited and off his guard; and when, at length, the banquet came to its
conclusion, the proprietor declined to remain with the gentlemen and the
supplementary wine and cigars, but took coffee in the drawing-room with
the ladies. Mrs. Dillingham's eye was on Mrs. Talbot, and when she saw
her start toward them from her seat, she took Mr. Belcher's arm for a
tour among the artistic treasures of the house.

"My dear Kate," said Mrs. Dillingham, "give me the privilege of showing
Mr. Belcher some of your beautiful things."

"Oh, certainly," responded Mrs. Talbot, her face flushing, "and don't
forget yourself, my child, among the rest."

Mrs. Dillingham pressed Mr. Belcher's arm, an action which said: "Oh,
the jealous creature!"

They went from painting to painting, and sculpture to sculpture, and
then, over a cabinet of bric-a-brac, she quietly led the conversation to
Mr. Belcher's prospective occupation of the Palgrave mansion. She had
nothing in the world to do. She should be so happy to assist poor Mrs.
Belcher in the adjustment of her housekeeping. It would be a real
pleasure to her to arrange the furniture, and do anything to help that
quiet country lady in inaugurating the splendors of city life. She knew
all the caterers, all the confectioners, all the modistes, all the city
ways, and all the people worth knowing. She was willing to become, for
Mrs. Belcher's sake, city-directory, commissionaire, adviser, director,
everything. She would take it as a great kindness if she could be
permitted to make herself useful.

All this was honey to the proprietor. How Mrs. Dillingham would shine in
his splendid mansion! How she would illuminate his landau! How she would
save his quiet wife, not to say himself, from the _gaucheries_ of which
both would be guilty until the ways of the polite world could be
learned! How delightful it would be to have a sympathetic friend whose
intelligent and considerate advice would be always ready!

When the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, and disturbed the
confidential _tete-a-tete_ of these new friends, Mrs. Dillingham
declared it was time to go, and Mr. Belcher insisted on seeing her home
in his own carriage.

The dinner party broke up with universal hand-shakings. Mr. Belcher was
congratulated on his magnificent purchase and prospects. They would all
be happy to make Mrs. Belcher's acquaintance, and she really must lose
no time in letting them know when she would be ready to receive
visitors.

Mr. Belcher saw Mrs. Dillingham home. He held her pretty hands at
parting, as if he were an affectionate older brother who was about to
sail on a voyage around the world. At last he hurriedly relinquished her
to the man-servant who had answered her summons, then ran down the steps
and drove to his hotel.

Mounting to his rooms, he lit every burner in his parlor, and then
surveyed himself in the mirror.

"Where did she find it, old boy? Eh? Where did she find it? Was it the
figure? Was it the face? Hang the swallow tails! Must you, sir, come to
such a humiliation? How are the mighty fallen! The lion of Sevenoaks in
the skin of an ass! But it must be. Ah! Mrs. Belcher--Mrs. Belcher--Mrs.
Belcher! You are good, but you are lumpy. You were pretty once, but you
are no Mrs. Dillingham. By the gods! Wouldn't she swim around my house
like a queen! Far in azure depths of space, I behold a star! Its light
shines for me. It doesn't? It must not? Who says that? Did you address
that remark to me, sir? By the way, how do you think you got along? Did
you make a fool of yourself, or did you make a fool of somebody? Honors
are easy. Let Robert Belcher alone! Is Toll making money a little too
fast? What do you think? Perhaps you will settle that question by and
by. You will keep him while you can use him. Then Toll, my boy, you can
drift. In the meantime, splendor! and in the meantime let Sevenoaks
howl, and learn to let Robert Belcher alone."

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