Kitabı oku: «Lord Kilgobbin», sayfa 19

CHAPTER XXXIV

AT TEA-TIME

The family at Kilgobbin Castle were seated at tea when Dick Kearney’s telegram arrived. It bore the address, ‘Lord Kilgobbin,’ and ran thus: ‘Walpole wishes to speak with you, and will come down with me on Friday; his stay cannot be beyond one day. – RICHARD KEARNEY.’

‘What can he want with me?’ cried Kearney, as he tossed over the despatch to his daughter. ‘If he wants to talk over the election, I could tell him per post that I think it a folly and an absurdity. Indeed, if he is not coming to propose for either my niece or my daughter, he might spare himself the journey.’

‘Who is to say that such is not his intention, papa?’ said Kate merrily. ‘Old Catty had a dream about a piebald horse and a haystack on fire, and something about a creel of duck eggs, and I trust that every educated person knows what they mean.’

‘I do not,’ cried Nina boldly.

‘Marriage, my dear. One is marriage by special license, with a bishop or a dean to tie the knot; another is a runaway match. I forget what the eggs signify.’

‘An unbroken engagement,’ interposed Donogan gravely, ‘so long as none of them are smashed.’

‘On the whole, then, it is very promising tidings,’ said Kate.

‘It may be easy to be more promising than the election,’ said the old man.

‘I’m not flattered, uncle, to hear that I am easier to win than a seat in Parliament.’

‘That does not imply you are not worth a great deal more,’ said Kearney, with an air of gallantry. ‘I know if I was a young fellow which I’d strive most for. Eh, Mr. Daniel? I see you agree with me.’

Donogan’s face, slightly flushed before, became now crimson as he sipped his tea in confusion, unable to utter a word.

‘And so,’ resumed Kearney, ‘he’ll only give us a day to make up our minds! It’s lucky, girls, that you have the telegram there to tell you what’s coming.’

‘It would have been more piquant, papa, if he had made his message say, “I propose for Nina. Reply by wire.”’

‘Or, “May I marry your daughter?” chimed in Nina quickly.

‘There it is, now,’ broke in Kearney, laughing, ‘you’re fighting for him already! Take my word for it, Mr. Daniel, there’s no so sure way to get a girl for a wife, as to make her believe there’s another only waiting to be asked. It’s the threat of the opposition coach on the road keeps down the fares.’

‘Papa is all wrong,’ said Kate. ‘There is no such conceivable pleasure as saying No to a man that another woman is ready to accept. It is about the most refined sort of self-flattery imaginable.’

‘Not to say that men are utterly ignorant of that freemasonry among women which gives us all an interest in the man who marries one of us,’ said Nina. ‘It is only your confirmed old bachelor that we all agree in detesting.’

‘‘Faith, I give you up altogether. You’re a puzzle clean beyond me,’ said Kearney, with a sigh.

‘I think it is Balzac tells us,’ said Donogan, ‘that women and politics are the only two exciting pursuits in life, for you never can tell where either of them will lead you.’

‘And who is Balzac?’ asked Kearney.

‘Oh, uncle, don’t let me hear you ask who is the greatest novelist that ever lived.’

‘‘Faith, my dear, except Tristram Shandy and Tom Jones, and maybe Robinson Crusoe– if that be a novel – my experience goes a short way. When I am not reading what’s useful – as in the Farmer’s Chronicle or Purcell’s “Rotation of Crops” – I like the “Accidents” in the newspapers, where they give you the name of the gentleman that was smashed in the train, and tell you how his wife was within ten days of her third confinement; how it was only last week he got a step as a clerk in Somerset House. Haven’t you more materials for a sensation novel there than any of your three-volume fellows will give you?’

‘The times we are living in give most of us excitement enough,’ said Donogan. ‘The man who wants to gamble for life itself need not be balked now.’

‘You mean that a man can take a shot at an emperor?’ said Kearney inquiringly.

‘No, not that exactly; though there are stakes of that kind some men would not shrink from. What are called “arms of precision” have had a great influence on modern politics. When there’s no time for a plebiscite, there’s always time for a pistol.’

‘Bad morality, Mr. Daniel,’ said Kearney gravely.

‘I suspect we do not fairly measure what Mr. Daniel says,’ broke in Kate. ‘He may mean to indicate a revolution, and not justify it.’

‘I mean both!’ said Donogan. ‘I mean that the mere permission to live under a bad government is too high a price to pay for life at all. I’d rather go “down into the streets,” as they call it, and have it out, than I’d drudge on, dogged by policemen, and sent to gaol on suspicion.’

‘He is right,’ cried Nina. ‘If I were a man, I’d think as he does.’

‘Then I’m very glad you’re not,’ said Kearney; ‘though, for the matter of rebellion, I believe you would be a more dangerous Fenian as you are. Am I right, Mr. Daniel?’

‘I am disposed to say you are, sir,’ was his mild reply.

‘Ain’t we important people this evening!’ cried Kearney, as the servant entered with another telegram. ‘This is for you, Mr. Daniel. I hope we’re to hear that the Cabinet wants you in Downing Street.’

‘I’d rather it did not,’ said he, with a very peculiar smile, which did not escape Kate’s keen glance across the table, as he said, ‘May I read my despatch?’

‘By all means,’ said Kearney; while, to leave him more undisturbed, he turned to Nina, with some quizzical remark about her turn for the telegraph coming next. ‘What news would you wish it should bring you, Nina?’ asked he.

‘I scarcely know. I have so many things to wish for, I should be puzzled which to place first.’

‘Should you like to be Queen of Greece?’ asked Kate.

‘First tell me if there is to be a King, and who is he?’

‘Maybe it’s Mr. Daniel there, for I see he has gone off in a great hurry to say he accepts the crown.’

‘What should you ask for, Kate,’ cried Nina, ‘if Fortune were civil enough to give you a chance?’

‘Two days’ rain for my turnips,’ said Kate quickly. ‘I don’t remember wishing for anything so much in all my life.’

‘Your turnips!’ cried Nina contemptuously.

‘Why not? If you were a queen, would you not have to think of those who depended on you for support and protection? And how should I forget my poor heifers and my calves – calves of very tender years some of them – and all with as great desire to fatten themselves as any of us have to do what will as probably lead to our destruction?’

‘You’re not going to have the rain, anyhow,’ said Kearney; ‘and you’ll not be sorry, Nina, for you wanted a fine day to finish your sketch of Croghan Castle.’

‘Oh! by the way, has old Bob recovered from his lameness yet, to be fit to be driven?’

‘Ask Kitty there; she can tell you, perhaps.’

‘Well, I don’t think I’d harness him yet. The smith has pinched him in the off fore-foot, and he goes tender still.’

‘So do I when I go afoot, for I hate it,’ cried Nina; ‘and I want a day in the open air, and I want to finish my old Castle of Croghan – and last of all,’ whispered she in Kate’s ear, ‘I want to show my distinguished friend Mr. Walpole that the prospect of a visit from him does not induce me to keep the house. So that, from all the wants put together, I shall take an early breakfast, and start to-morrow for Cruhan – is not that the name of the little village in the bog?’

‘That’s Miss Betty’s own townland – though I don’t know she’s much the richer of her tenants,’ said Kearney, laughing. ‘The oldest inhabitants never remember a rent-day.’

‘What a happy set of people!’

‘Just the reverse. You never saw misery till you saw them. There is not a cabin fit for a human being, nor is there one creature in the place with enough rags to cover him.’

‘They were very civil as I drove through. I remember how a little basket had fallen out, and a girl followed me ten miles of the road to restore it,’ said Nina.

‘That they would; and if it were a purse of gold they ‘d have done the same,’ cried Kate.

‘Won’t you say that they’d shoot you for half a crown, though?’ said Kearney, ‘and that the worst “Whiteboys” of Ireland come out of the same village?’

‘I do like a people so unlike all the rest of the world,’ cried Nina; ‘whose motives none can guess at, none forecast. I’ll go there to-morrow.’

These words were said as Daniel had just re-entered the room, and he stopped and asked, ‘Where to?’

‘To a Whiteboy village called Cruhan, some ten miles off, close to an old castle I have been sketching.’

‘Do you mean to go there to-morrow?’ asked he, half-carelessly; but not waiting for her answer, and as if fully preoccupied, he turned and left the room.

CHAPTER XXXV

A DRIVE AT SUNRISE

The little basket-carriage in which Nina made her excursions, and which courtesy called a phaeton, would scarcely have been taken as a model at Long Acre. A massive old wicker-cradle constituted the body, which, from a slight inequality in the wheels, had got an uncomfortable ‘lurch to port,’ while the rumble was supplied by a narrow shelf, on which her foot-page sat dos à dos to herself – a position not rendered more dignified by his invariable habit of playing pitch-and-toss with himself, as a means of distraction in travel.

Except Bob, the sturdy little pony in the shafts, nothing could be less schooled or disciplined than Larry himself. At sight of a party at marbles or hopscotch, he was sure to desert his post, trusting to short cuts and speed to catch up his mistress later on.

As for Bob, a tuft of clover or fresh grass on the roadside were temptations to the full as great to him, and no amount of whipping could induce him to continue his road leaving these dainties untasted. As in Mr. Gill’s time, he had carried that important personage, he had contracted the habit of stopping at every cabin by the way, giving to each halt the amount of time he believed the colloquy should have occupied, and then, without any admonition, resuming his journey. In fact, as an index to the refractory tenants on the estate, his mode of progression, with its interruptions, might have been employed, and the sturdy fashion in which he would ‘draw up’ at certain doors might be taken as the forerunner of an ejectment.

The blessed change by which the county saw the beast now driven by a beautiful young lady, instead of bestrode by an inimical bailiff, added to a popularity which Ireland in her poorest and darkest hour always accords to beauty; and they, indeed, who trace points of resemblance between two distant peoples, have not failed to remark that the Irish, like the Italians, invariably refer all female loveliness to that type of surpassing excellence, the Madonna.

Nina had too much of the South in her blood not to like the heartfelt, outspoken admiration which greeted her as she went; and the ‘God bless you – but you are a lovely crayture!’ delighted, while it amused her in the way the qualification was expressed.

It was soon after sunrise on this Friday morning that she drove down the approach, and made her way across the bog towards Cruhan. Though pretending to her uncle to be only eager to finish her sketch of Croghan Castle, her journey was really prompted by very different considerations. By Dick’s telegram she learned that Walpole was to arrive that day at Kilgobbin, and as his stay could not be prolonged beyond the evening, she secretly determined she would absent herself so much as she could from home – only returning to a late dinner – and thus show her distinguished friend how cheaply she held the occasion of his visit, and what value she attached to the pleasure of seeing him at the castle.

She knew Walpole thoroughly – she understood the working of such a nature to perfection, and she could calculate to a nicety the mortification, and even anger, such a man would experience at being thus slighted. ‘These men,’ thought she, ‘only feel for what is done to them before the world: it is the insult that is passed upon them in public, the soufflet that is given in the street, that alone can wound them to the quick.’ A woman may grow tired of their attentions, become capricious and change, she may be piqued by jealousy, or, what is worse, by indifference; but, while she makes no open manifestation of these, they can be borne: the really insupportable thing is, that a woman should be able to exhibit a man as a creature that had no possible concern or interest for her – one might come or go, or stay on, utterly unregarded or uncared for. To have played this game during the long hours of a long day was a burden she did not fancy to encounter, whereas to fill the part for the short space of a dinner, and an hour or so in the drawing-room, she looked forward to rather as an exciting amusement.

‘He has had a day to throw away,’ said she to herself, ‘and he will give it to the Greek girl. I almost hear him as he says it. How one learns to know these men in every nook and crevice of their natures, and how by never relaxing a hold on the one clue of their vanity, one can trace every emotion of their lives.’

In her old life of Rome these small jealousies, these petty passions of spite, defiance, and wounded sensibility, filled a considerable space of her existence. Her position in society, dependent as she was, exposed her to small mortifications: the cold semi-contemptuous notice of women who saw she was prettier than themselves, and the half-swaggering carelessness of the men, who felt that a bit of flirtation with the Titian Girl was as irresponsible a thing as might be.

‘But here,’ thought she, ‘I am the niece of a man of recognised station; I am treated in his family with a more than ordinary deference and respect – his very daughter would cede the place of honour to me, and my will is never questioned. It is time to teach this pretentious fine gentleman that our positions are not what they once were. If I were a man, I should never cease till I had fastened a quarrel on him; and being a woman, I could give my love to the man who would avenge me. Avenge me of what? a mere slight, a mood of impertinent forgetfulness – nothing more – as if anything could be more to a woman’s heart! A downright wrong can be forgiven, an absolute injury pardoned – one is raised to self-esteem by such an act of forgiveness; but there is no elevation in submitting patiently to a slight. It is simply the confession that the liberty taken with you was justifiable – was even natural.’

These were the sum of her thoughts as she went, ever recurring to the point how Walpole would feel offended by her absence, and how such a mark of her indifference would pique his vanity, even to insult.

Then she pictured to her mind how this fine gentleman would feel the boredom of that dreary day. True, it would be but a day; but these men were not tolerant of the people who made time pass heavily with them, and they revenged their own ennui on all around them. How he would snub the old man for the son’s pretensions, and sneer at the young man for his disproportioned ambition; and last of all, how he would mystify poor Kate, till she never knew whether he cared to fatten calves and turkeys, or was simply drawing her on to little details, which he was to dramatise one day in an after-dinner story.

She thought of the closed pianoforte, and her music on the top – the songs he loved best; she had actually left Mendelssohn there to be seen – a very bait to awaken his passion. She thought she actually saw the fretful impatience with which he threw the music aside and walked to the window to hide his anger.

‘This excursion of Mademoiselle Nina was then a sudden thought, you tell me; only planned last night? And is the country considered safe enough for a young lady to go off in this fashion. Is it secure – is it decent? I know he will ask, “Is it decent?” Kate will not feel – she will not see the impertinence with which he will assure her that she herself may be privileged to do these things; that her “Irishry” was itself a safeguard, but Dick will notice the sneer. Oh, if he would but resent it! How little hope there is of that. These young Irishmen get so overlaid by the English in early life, they never resist their dominance: they accept everything in a sort of natural submission. I wonder does the rebel sentiment make them any bolder?’ And then she bethought her of some of those national songs Mr. Daniel had been teaching her, and which seemed to have such an overwhelming influence over his passionate nature. She had even seen the tears in his eyes, and twice he could not speak to her with emotion. What a triumph it would have been to have made the high-bred Mr. Walpole feel in this wise. Possibly at the moment, the vulgar Fenian seemed the finer fellow. Scarcely had the thought struck her, than there, about fifty yards in advance, and walking at a tremendous pace, was the very man himself.

‘Is not that Mr. Daniel, Larry?’ asked she quickly.

But Larry had already struck off on a short cut across the bog, and was miles away.

Yes, it could be none other than Mr. Daniel. The coat thrown back, the loose-stepping stride, and the occasional flourish of the stick as he went, all proclaimed the man. The noise of the wheels on the hard road made him turn his head; and now, seeing who it was, he stood uncovered till she drove up beside him.

‘Who would have thought to see you here at this hour?’ said he, saluting her with deep respect.

‘No one is more surprised at it than myself,’ said she, laughing; ‘but I have a partly-done sketch of an old castle, and I thought in this fine autumn weather I should like to throw in the colour. And besides, there are now and then with me unsocial moments when I fancy I like to be alone. Do you know what these are?’

‘Do I know? – too well.’

‘These motives then, not to think of others, led me to plan this excursion; and now will you be as candid, and say what is your project?’

‘I am bound for a little village called Cruhan: a very poor, unenticing spot; but I want to see the people there, and hear what they say of these rumours of new laws about the land.’

‘And can they tell you anything that would be likely to interest you?’

‘Yes, their very mistakes would convey their hopes; and hopes have come to mean a great deal in Ireland.’

‘Our roads are then the same. I am on my way to Croghan Castle.’

‘Croghan is but a mile from my village of Cruhan,’ said he.

‘I am aware of that, and it was in your village of Cruhan, as you call it, I meant to stable my pony till I had finished my sketch; but my gentle page, Larry, I see, has deserted me; I don’t know if I shall find him again.’

‘Will you let me be your groom? I shall be at the village almost as soon as yourself, and I’ll look after your pony.’

‘Do you think you could manage to seat yourself on that shelf at the back?’

‘It is a great temptation you offer me, if I were not ashamed to be a burden.’

‘Not to me, certainly; and as for the pony, I scarcely think he’ll mind it.’

‘At all events, I shall walk the hills.’

‘I believe there are none. If I remember aright, it is all through a level bog.’

‘You were at tea last night when a certain telegram came?’

‘To be sure I was. I was there, too, when one came for you, and saw you leave the room immediately after.’

‘In evident confusion?’ added he, smiling.

‘Yes, I should say, in evident confusion. At least, you looked like one who had got some very unexpected tidings.’

‘So it was. There is the message.’ And he drew from his pocket a slip of paper, with the words,’ Walpole is coming for a day. Take care to be out of the way till he is gone.’

‘Which means that he is no friend of yours.’

‘He is neither friend nor enemy. I never saw him; but he is the private secretary, and, I believe, the nephew of the Viceroy, and would find it very strange company to be domiciled with a rebel.’

‘And you are a rebel?’

‘At your service, Mademoiselle Kostalergi.’

‘And a Fenian, and head-centre?’

‘A Fenian and a head-centre.’

‘And probably ought to be in prison?’

‘I have been already, and as far as the sentence of English law goes, should be still there.’

‘How delighted I am to know that. I mean, what a thrilling sensation it is to be driving along with a man so dangerous, that the whole country would be up and in pursuit of him at a mere word.’

‘That is true. I believe I should be worth a few hundred pounds to any one who would capture me. I suspect it is the only way I could turn to valuable account.’

‘What if I were to drive you into Moate and give you up?’

‘You might. I’ll not run away.’

‘I should go straight to the Podestà, or whatever he is, and say, “Here is the notorious Daniel Donogan, the rebel you are all afraid of.’”

‘How came you by my name?’ asked he curtly.

‘By accident. I overheard Dick telling it to his sister. It dropped from him unawares, and I was on the terrace and caught the words.’

‘I am in your hands completely,’ said he, in the same calm voice; ‘but I repeat my words: I’ll not run away.’

‘That is, because you trust to my honour.’

‘It is exactly so – because I trust to your honour.’

‘But how if I were to have strong convictions in opposition to all you were doing – how if I were to believe that all you intended was a gross wrong and a fearful cruelty?’

‘Still you would not betray me. You would say, “This man is an enthusiast – he imagines scores of impossible things – but, at least, he is not a self-seeker – a fool possibly, but not a knave. It would be hard to hang him.”’

‘So it would. I have just thought that.’

‘And then you might reason thus: “How will it serve the other cause to send one poor wretch to the scaffold, where there are so many just as deserving of it?”’

‘And are there many?’

‘I should say close on two millions at home here, and some hundred thousand in America.’

‘And if you be as strong as you say, what craven creatures you must be not to assert your own convictions.’

‘So we are – I’ll not deny it – craven creatures; but remember this, mademoiselle, we are not all like-minded. Some of us would be satisfied with small concessions, some ask for more, some demand all; and as the Government higgles with some, and hangs the others, they mystify us all, and end by confounding us.’

‘That is to say, you are terrified.’

‘Well, if you like that word better, I’ll not quarrel about it.’

‘I wonder how men as irresolute ever turn to rebellion. When our people set out for Crete, they went in another spirit to meet the enemy.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that. The boldest fellows in that exploit were the liberated felons: they fought with desperation, for they had left the hangman behind.’

‘How dare you defame a great people!’ cried she angrily.

‘I was with them, mademoiselle. I saw them and fought amongst them; and to prove it, I will speak modern Greek with you, if you like it.’

‘Oh! do,’ said she. ‘Let me hear those noble sounds again, though I shall be sadly at a loss to answer you. I have been years and years away from Athens.’

‘I know that. I know your story from one who loved to talk of you, all unworthy as he was of such a theme.’

‘And who was this?’

‘Atlee – Joe Atlee, whom you saw here some months ago.’

‘I remember him,’ said she thoughtfully.

‘He was here, if I mistake not, with that other friend of yours you have so strangely escaped from to-day.’

‘Mr. Walpole?’

‘Yes, Mr. Walpole; to meet whom would not have involved you, at least, in any contrariety.’

‘Is this a question, sir? Am I to suppose your curiosity asks an answer here?’

‘I am not so bold; but I own my suspicions have mastered my discretion, and, seeing you here this morning, I did think you did not care to meet him.’

‘Well, sir, you were right. I am not sure that my reasons for avoiding him were exactly as strong as yours, but they sufficed for me.’

There was something so like reproof in the way these words were uttered that Donogan had not courage to speak for some time after. At last he said, ‘In one thing, your Greeks have an immense advantage over us here. In your popular songs you could employ your own language, and deal with your own wrongs in the accents that became them. We had to take the tongue of the conqueror, which was as little suited to our traditions as to our feelings, and travestied both. Only fancy the Greek vaunting his triumphs or bewailing his defeats in Turkish!’

‘What do you know of Mr. Walpole?’ asked she abruptly.

‘Very little beyond the fact that he is an agent of the Government, who believes that he understands the Irish people.’

‘Which you are disposed to doubt?’

‘I only know that I am an Irishman, and I do not understand them. An organ, however, is not less an organ that it has many “stops.”’

‘I am not sure Cecil Walpole does not read you aright. He thinks that you have a love of intrigue and plot, but without the conspirator element that Southern people possess; and that your native courage grows impatient at the delays of mere knavery, and always betrays you.’

‘That distinction was never his– that was your own.’

‘So it was; but he adopted it when he heard it.’

‘That is the way the rising politician is educated,’ cried Donogan. ‘It is out of these petty thefts he makes all his capital, and the poor people never suspect how small a creature can be their millionaire.’

‘Is not that our village yonder, where I see the smoke?’

‘Yes; and there on the stile sits your little groom awaiting you. I shall get down here.’

‘Stay where you are, sir. It is by your blunder, not by your presence, that you might compromise me.’ And this time her voice caught a tone of sharp severity that suppressed reply.