Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ they were married; the world – at least the Leamington section of that large body – criticising the match precisely as it struck the interests and prejudices of the class they belonged to.

      Fathers and mothers agreed in thinking that Colonel Delmar was a shrewd old soldier, and had made an “excellent hit.” Young ladies pronounced Liddy – for a girl who had been out eight years – decidedly lucky. Lounging men at club doors looked knowingly at each other as they joked together in half sentences, “No affair of mine; but I did not think Broughton would have been caught so easily.” “Yes, by Jove!” cried another, with a jockey-like style of dress, “he ‘d not have made so great a mistake on the ‘Oaks’ as to run an aged nag for a two-year old!”

      “I wonder he never heard of that Russian fellow!” said a third.

      “Oh, yes!” sighed out a dandy, with an affected drawl; “poor dear Liddy did indeed catch a ‘Tartar ‘!”

      Remarks such as these were the pleasant sallies the event provoked; but so it is in higher and greater things in life! At the launch of a line-of-battle ship, the veriest vagrant in Tags fancies he can predict for her defeat and shipwreck!

      The Broughtons were now the great people of the London season, at least to a certain “fast” set, who loved dinners at the Clarendon, high play, and other concomitant pleasures. Her equipages were the most perfect; her diamonds the most splendid; while his dinners were as much reputed by one class, as her toilet by another.

      Loans at ruinous interest; sales of property for a tithe of its value; bills renewed at a rate that would have swamped Rothschild; purchases made at prices proportionate to the risk of non-payment; reckless waste everywhere; robbing solicitors, cheating tradesmen, and dishonest servants! But why swell the list, or take trouble to show how the ruin came? If one bad leak will cause a shipwreck, how is the craft to mount the waves with every plank riven asunder?

      If among the patriarchs who lend at usury, Broughton’s credit was beginning to ebb, in the clubs at the West End, in the betting-ring, at Crockford’s, and at Tattersall’s, he was in all the splendor of his former fame. Anderson would trust him with half his stable. Howell and James would send him the epergne they had designed for a czar. And so he lived. With rocks and breakers ahead, he only “carried on” the faster and the freer.

      Not that he knew, indeed, the extent, or anything approaching the extent, to which his fortune was wrecked. All that he could surmise on the subject was founded on the increased difficulty he found in raising money, – a circumstance his pliant solicitor invariably explained by that happy phrase, the “tightness of the money market.” This completely satisfied Sir Dudley, who, far from attributing it to his own almost exhausted resources, laid all the blame upon some trickery of foreign statesmen, some confounded disturbance in Ireland, something that the Foreign Secretary had done, or would not do; and that thus the money folk would not trust a guinea out of their fingers. In fact, it was quite clear that to political intrigue and cabinet scheming all Sir Dudley’s difficulties might fairly be traced!

      It was just at this time that the Count Radchoffsky arrived once more in London in charge of a special mission, no longer the mere secretary of embassy, driving about in his quiet cab, but an envoy extraordinary, with cordons and crosses innumerable. He was exactly the kind of man for Broughton’s “set,” so that he soon made his acquaintance, and was presented by him to Lady Broughton as a most agreeable fellow, and something very distinguished in his own country.

      She received him admirably: remembered to have met him, she thought, at Lord Edenbury’s but he corrected her by saying it was at the Duke of Clifton’s, – a difference of testimony at which Broughton laughed heartily, saying, in his usual rough way, “Well, it is pretty clear you didn’t make much impression on each other.”

      The Russian noble was a stranger to the turf. In the details of arranging the approaching race, in apportioning the weights and ages and distances, Broughton passed his whole mornings for a month, sorely puzzled at times by the apathy of his Northern friend, who actually never obtruded an opinion, or expressed a wish for information on the subject.

      Sir Dudley’s book was a very heavy one too. What “he stood to win” was a profound secret; but knowing men said that if he lost, it would be such a “squeeze” as had not been known at Newmarket since the Duke of York’s day.

      Such an event, however, seemed not to enter into his own calculations; and so confident was he of success that he could not help sharing his good fortune with his friend Radchoffsky, and giving him something in his own book. The count professed himself everlastingly grateful, but confessed that he knew nothing of racing matters, and that, above all, his Majesty the Emperor would be excessively annoyed if a representative of his in any way interfered with the race; in fact, the honor of the Czar would be tarnished by such a proceeding. Against such reasonings there could be no opposition; and Broughton only took to himself all the benefits he had destined for his friend.

      At last the eventful day came; and although Sir Dudley had arranged that Lady Broughton should accompany him to the course, she was taken with some kind of nervous attack that prevented her leaving her bed. Her husband was provoked at this ill-timed illness, for he was still vain of her appearance in public; but knowing that he could do nothing for hysterics, he sent for Doctor Barham, and then with all speed he started for the race.

      Among the friends who were to go along with him, the count had promised to make one; but despatches – that admirable excuse of diplomatists, from the great secretary to the humblest unpaid attaché – despatches had just arrived; and if he could manage to get through his business early enough, “he’d certainly follow.”

      Scarcely had Sir Dudley reached the ground when a carriage drove up to the stand, and a gentleman descended in all haste. It was Mr. Taperton, his solicitor, – his trusty man of loans and discounts for many a day, “Eh, Tappy!” cried Broughton, “come to sport a fifty on the filly?”

      “Walk a little this way, Sir Dudley,” said he, gravely; and his voice soon convinced the hearer that something serious was in the wind.

      “What’s the matter, man? You look as if Cardinal was dead lame.”

      “Sir Dudley, you must start from this at once. Holdsworth has taken proceedings on the bills; Lord Corthern has foreclosed; the whole body of the creditors are up; and you ‘ll be arrested before you leave the field!”

      If the threat had conveyed the ignominious penalty of felony, Broughton could not have looked more indignant. “Arrested! You don’t mean that we cannot raise enough to pay these rascals?”

      “Your outstanding bills are above twenty thousand, sir.”

      “And if they be; do you tell me that with my estate – ”

      “My dear Sir Dudley, how much of it is unencumbered? What single portion, save the few hundreds a year of Lady Broughton’s jointure, is not sunk under mortgage? But this is no time for discussion; get into the chaise with me; we ‘ll reach London in time for the mail; to-morrow you can be in Boulogne, and then we shall have time at least for an arrangement.”

      “The race is just coming off! how can I leave? I’m a steward; besides, I have a tremendous book. Do you know how many thousands I stand to win here?”

      “To lose, you mean,” said the solicitor. “You ‘re sold!” The words were whispered so low as to be almost inaudible; but Broughton actually staggered as he heard them.

      “Sold! how? what? Impossible, man! Who could sell me?”

      “Only one man, perhaps, but he has done it! Is it СКАЧАТЬ