Kitabı oku: «Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II)», sayfa 20

CHAPTER XXIII. LINTON VISITS HIS ESTATE

 
Let’s see the field, and mark it well,
For, here, will be the battle.
 

Ottocar.

“Does this path lead to the house, friend?” said a gentleman whose dress bespoke recent travel, to the haggard, discontented figure of a man who, seated on a stone beside a low and broken wicket, was lazily filling his pipe, and occasionally throwing stealthy glances at the stranger. A. short nod of the head was the reply. “You belong to the place, I suppose?”

“Maybe I do; and what then?”

“Simply that, as I am desirous of going thither, I should be glad of your showing me the way.”

“Troth, an’ there’s little to see when you get there,” rejoined the other, sarcastically. “What are you by trade, if it’s not displeasin’ to ye?”

“That’s the very question I was about to ask you,” said Linton, for it was himself; “you appear to have a very easy mode of life, whatever it be, since you are so indifferent about earning half-a-crown.”

Tom Keane arose from his seat, and made an awkward attempt at saluting, as he said, —

“‘Tis the dusk o’the evening prevented me seeing yer honer, or I wouldn’t be so bowld. This is the way to the Hall sure enough.”

“This place has been greatly neglected of late,” said Linton, as they walked along side by side, and endeavoring, by a tone of familiarity, to set his companion at ease.

“Troth, it is neglected, and always was as long as I remember. I was reared in it, and I never knew it other; thistles and docks as big as your leg, everywhere, and the grass choked up with moss.”

“How came it to be so completely left to ruin?”

“Anan!” muttered he, as if not well comprehending the question, but, in reality, a mere device employed to give him more time to scan the stranger, and guess at his probable object.

“I was asking,” said Linton, “how it happened that a fine old place like this was suffered to go to wreck and ruin?”

“Faix, it’s ould enough, anyhow,” said the other, with a coarse laugh.

“And large too.”

“Yer honer was here afore?” said Tom, stealthily glancing at him under his brows. “I ‘m thinking I remember yer honer’s faytures. You would n’t be the gentleman that came down with Mr. Duffy?”

“No; this is my first visit to these parts; now, where does this little road lead? It seems to be better cared for than the rest, and the gate, too, is neatly kept.”

“That goes down to the cottage, sir – Tubber-beg, as they call it. Yer honer isn’t Mr. Cashel himself?” said Tom, reverentially taking off his tattered hat, and attempting an air of courtesy, which sat marvellously ill upon him.

“I have not that good luck, my friend.”

“‘T is good luck ye may call it,” sighed Tom; “a good luck that does n’t fall to many; but, maybe, ye don’t want it; maybe yer honer – ”

“And who lives in the cottage of Tubber-beg?” said Linton, interrupting.

“One Corrigan, sir; an old man and his granddaughter.”

“Good kind of people, are they?”

“Ayeh! there’s worse, and there ‘s betther! They ‘re as proud as Lucifer, and poor as naygurs.”

“And this is the Hall itself?” exclaimed Linton, as he stopped directly in front of the old dilapidated building, whose deformities were only exaggerated by the patchy effect of a faint moonlight.

“Ay, there it is,” grinned Tom, “and no beauty either; and ugly as it looks without, it’s worse within! There ‘a cracks in the walls ye could put your hand through, and the windows is rotten, where they stand.”

“It is not very tempting, certainly, as a residence,” said Linton, smiling.

“Ah, but if ye heerd the rats, the way they do be racin’ and huntin’ each other at night, and the wind bellowsin’ down the chimbleys, such screechin’ and yellin’ as it keeps, and then the slates rattlin’, till ye’d think the ould roof was comin’ off altogether, – be my soul, there’s many a man would n’t take the property and sleep a night in that house.”

“One would do a great deal, notwithstanding, for a fine estate like this,” said Linton, dryly.

There was something, either in the words or the accent, that touched Tom Keane’s sympathy for the speaker; some strange suspicion perhaps, that he was one whose fortune, like his own, was not beyond the casualties and chances of life, and it was with a species of coarse friendship that he said, “Ah, if we had it between us, we ‘d do well.”

“Right well; no need to ask for better,” said Linton, with a heartiness of assent that made the other perfectly at ease. “I’m curious to have a look at the inside of the place; I suppose there is no hindrance?”

“None in life! I live below, and, faix, there’s no living anywhere else, for most of the stairs is burned, and, as I towld ye, the rats has upstairs all to themselves. Nancy, give us a light,” cried he, passing into the dark and spacious hall, “I’m going to show a gentleman the curiosities. I ax you honer’s pardon, the place is n’t so clean as it might be.”

Linton gave one peep into the long and gloomy chamber, where the whole family were huddled together in all the wretchedness and disorder of a cabin, and at once drew back.

“The cows is on the other side,” said the man, “and, beyond, there’s four rooms was never plastered; and there, where you see the straw, that’s the billiard-room, and inside of it again, there’s a place for play-actin’, and, more by token, there’s a quare thing there.”

“What’s that?” asked Linton, whose curiosity was excited by the remark.

“Come, and I ‘ll show yer honer.”

So saying, he led on through a narrow corridor, and, passing through two or three dilapidated, ruined chambers, they entered a large and spacious apartment, whose sloping floor at once showed Linton that they were standing on the stage of a theatre.

Tom Keane held up the flickering light, that the other might see the torn and tattered remnants of the decorations, and the fragments of scenes, as they flapped to and fro. “It’s a dhroll place, anyhow,” said he, “and there’s scarce a bit of it hasn’t a trap-door, or some other contrivance of the like; but here’s one stranger than all; this is what I towld yer honer about.” He walked, as he spoke, to the back wall of the building, where, on the surface of the plaster, a rude scene, representing a wood, was painted, at one side of which a massive pile of rock, overgrown with creepers, stood. “Now, ye ‘d never guess what was there,” said Tom, holding the candle in different situations to exhibit the scene; “and, indeed, I found it by chance myself; see this,” – and he pressed a small but scarcely perceptible knob of brass in the wall, and at once, what appeared to be the surface of the rock, slid back, discovering a dark space behind. “Come on, now, after me,” continued he. Linton followed, and they ascended a narrow stair constructed in the substance of the wall, and barely sufficient to admit one person.

Arriving at the top, after a few seconds’ delay, Tom opened a small door, and they stood in a large and well-proportioned room, where some worm-eaten bed-furniture yet remained. The door had been once, as a small, fragment of glass showed, the frame of a large mirror, and must have been quite beyond the reach of ordinary powers of detection.

“That was a cunning way to steal down among the play acthers,” said Keane, grinning, while Linton, with the greatest attention, remarked the position of the door and its secret fastening.

“I suppose no one but yourself knows of this stair?” said Linton.

“Sorra one, sir, except, maybe, some of the smugglers that used to come here long ago from the mouth of the Shannon. This was one of their hiding-places.”

“Well, if this old mansion comes ever to be inhabited, one might have rare fun by means of that passage; so be sure, you keep the secret well. Let that be a padlock on your lips.” And, so saying, he took a sovereign from his purse and gave it to him. “Your name is – ”

“Tom, yer honer – Tom Keane; and, by this and by that, I’m ready to do yer honer’s bidding from this hour out – ”

“Well, we shall be good friends, I see,” interrupted Linton; “you may, perhaps, be useful to me, and I can also be able to serve you. Now, which is the regular entrance to this chamber?”

“There, sir; it’s the last door as ye see in the long passage. Them is all bedrooms alone there, but it’s not safe to walk down, for the floor is rotten.”

Linton noted down in a memory far from defective the circumstances of the chamber, and then followed his guide through the remainder of the house, which in every quarter presented the same picture of ruin and decay.

“The bit of candle is near out,” said Tom, “but sure there is n’t much more to be seen; there’s rooms there was never opened, and more on the other side, the same. The place is as big as a barrack, and here we are once more on the grand stair.”

For once, the name was not ill applied, as, constructed of Portland stone, and railed with massive banisters of iron, it presented features of solidity and endurance, in marked contrast to the other portions of the edifice. Linton cast one more glance around the gloomy entrance, and sallied forth into the free air. “I ‘ll see you to-morrow, Tom,” said he, “and we’ll have some talk together. Good night.”

“Good night, and good luck to yer honer; but won’t you let me see your honer out of the grounds, – as far as the big gate, at least?”

“Thanks; I know the road perfectly already, and I rather like a lonely stroll of a fine night like this.”

Tom, accordingly, reiterated his good wishes, and Linton was suffered to pursue his way unaccompanied. Increasing his speed as he arrived at a turn of the road, he took the path which led off the main approach, and led down by the river-side to the cottage of Tubber-beg. There was a feeling of strong interest which prompted him to see this cottage, which now he might call his own; and as he went, he regarded the little clumps of ornamental planting, the well-kept walks, the neat palings, the quaint benches beneath the trees, with very different feelings from those he had bestowed on the last-visited scene. Nor was he insensible to the landscape beauty which certain vistas opened, and, seen even by the faint light of a new moon, were still rich promises of picturesque situation.

Suddenly, and without any anticipation, he found himself on turning a little copse of evergreens, in front of the cottage, and almost beneath the shadow of its deep porch. Whatever his previous feelings of self-interest in every detail around, they were speedily routed by the scene before him.

In a large and well furnished drawing-room, where a single lamp was shining, sat an old man in an easy-chair, his features, his attitude, and his whole bearing indicating the traces of recent illness. Beside him, on a low stool almost at his feet, was a young girl of singular beauty, – the plastic grace of her figure, the easy motion of the head, as from time to time she raised it to throw upwards a look of affectionate reverence, and the long, loose masses of her hair, which, accidentally unfastened, fell on either shoulder, making rather one of those ideals which a Raphael can conceive than a mere creature of every-day existence. Although late autumn, the windows lay open to the ground, for, as yet, no touch of coming winter had visited this secluded and favored spot. In the still quiet of the night, her voice, for she alone spoke, could be heard; at first, the mere murmur of the accents reached Linton’s ears, but even from them he could gather the tone of cheering and encouragement in which she spoke. At length he heard her say, in a voice of almost tremulous enthusiasm, “It was so like you, dear papa, not to tell this Mr. Cashel that you had yourself a claim, and, as many think, a rightful one, to this same estate, and thus not trouble the stream of his munificence.”

“Nay, child, it had been as impolitic as unworthy to do so,” said the old man; “he who stoops to receive a favor should detract nothing from the generous sentiment of the granter.”

“For my part, I would tell him,” said she, eagerly, “that his noble conduct has forever barred my prosecuting such a claim, and that if, to-morrow, the fairest proofs of my right should reach me, I’d throw them in the fire.”

“To get credit for such self-sacrifice, Mary, one must be independent of all hypothesis; one must do, and not merely promise. Now, it would be hard to expect Mr. Cashel to feel the same conviction I do, that this confiscation was repealed by letters under the hand of Majesty itself. The Brownes, through whom Cashel inherits, were the stewards of my ancestors, entrusted with all their secret affairs, and cognizant of all their family matters. From the humble position of dependents, they suddenly sprang into wealth and fortune, and ended by purchasing the very estate they once lived on as day-laborers, – sold as it was, like all confiscated estates, for a mere fraction of its value.”

“Oh, base ingratitude!”

“Worse still; it is said, and with great reason to believe it true, that Hammond Browne, who was sent over to London by my great grandfather to negotiate with the Government, actually received the free pardon and the release of the confiscation, but concealed and made away with both, and, to prevent my grandfather being driven to further pursuit, gave him the lease of this cottage on the low terms we continue to hold it.”

A low, faint cough from the old man warned his granddaughter of the dangers of the night air, and she arose and closed the windows. They still continued their conversation, but Linton, unable to hear more, returned to his inn, deeply reflecting over the strange disclosures he had overheard.

CHAPTER XXIV. BREAKFAST WITH MR. CORRIGAN

How cold is treachery.

Play.

“Who can Mr. Linton be, my dear?” said old Mr. Corrigan, as he sat at breakfast the next day, and pondered oyer the card which, with a polite request for an interview, the servant had just delivered. “I cannot remember the name, if I ever heard it before; but should we not invite him to join us at breakfast?”

“Where is he, Simon?” asked Miss Leicester.

“At the door, miss, and a very nice-looking gentleman as ever I saw.”

“Say that I have been ill, Simon, and cannot walk to the door, and beg he’ll be kind enough to come in to breakfast.”

With a manner where ease and deference were admirably blended, Linton entered the room, and apologizing for his intrusion, said, “I have come down here, sir, on a little business matter for my friend Roland Cashel, and I could not think of returning to town without making the acquaintance of one for whom my friend has already conceived the strongest feeling of interest and regard. It will be the first question I shall hear when I get back, ‘Well, what of Mr. Corrigan, and how is he?’”

While making this speech, which he delivered in a tone of perfect frankness, he seemed never to have noticed the presence of Miss Leicester, who had retired a little as he entered the room, and now, on being introduced to her, made his acknowledgments with a grave courtesy.

“And so our young landlord is thinking of taking up his residence amongst us?” said Corrigan, as Linton assumed his place at the breakfast-table.

“For a few weeks he purposes to do so, but I question greatly if the tranquil pleasures and homely duties of a country life will continue long to attract him; he is very young, and the world so new to him, that he will scarcely settle down anywhere, or to anything, for some time to come.”

“Experience is a capital thing, no doubt, Mr. Linton; but I ‘d rather trust the generous impulses of a good-hearted youth in a country like this, long neglected by its gentry. Let him once take an interest in the place and the people, and I’ll vouch for the rest. Is he a sportsman?”

“He was, when in Mexico; but buffalo and antelope hunting are very different from what this country offers.”

“Does he read? – is he studious?” said Mary.

“Not even a newspaper, Miss Leicester. He is a fine, high-spirited, dashing fellow, and if good-nature and honorable intentions could compensate for defective education and training, he would be perfect.”

“They’ll go very far, depend on it, Mr. Linton. In these days, a man of wealth can buy almost anything. Good sense, judgment, skill, are all in the market; but a generous nature and a warm heart are God’s gifts, and can neither be grafted nor transplanted.”

“You’ll like him, I’m certain, Mr. Corrigan.”

“I know I shall. I have reason for the anticipation; Tiernay told me the handsome words he used when according me a favor – and here comes the doctor himself.” And as he spoke, Dr. Tiernay entered the room, his flushed face and hurried breathing bespeaking a hasty walk. “Good-morrow, Tiernay. Mr. Linton, let me present our doctor; not the least among our local advantages, as you can tell your friend Mr. Cashel.”

“We’ve met before, sir,” said Tiernay, scanning, with a steady gaze, the countenance which, wreathed in smiles, seemed to invite rather than dread recognition.

“I am happy to be remembered, Dr. Tiernay,” said Linton, “although I fancy our meeting was too brief for much acquaintance; but we’ll know each other better, I trust, hereafter.”

“No need, sir,” whispered Tiernay, as he passed close to his side; “I believe we read each other perfectly already.”

Linton smiled, and bowed, as though accepting the speech in some complimentary sense, and turned toward Miss Leicester, who was busily arranging some dried plants in a volume.

“These are not specimens of this neighborhood?” said Linton, taking up some heaths which are seldom found save in Alpine regions.

“Yes, sir,” interrupted Tiernay, “you ‘ll be surprised to find here productions which would not seem native to these wilds.”

“If you take an interest in such things,” said old Corrigan, “you can’t have a better guide than my granddaughter and Tiernay; they know every crag and glen for twenty miles round; all I bargain for is, don’t be late back for dinner. You ‘ll give us your company, I hope, sir, at six?”

Linton assented, with a cordial pleasure that delighted his inviter; and Mary, so happy to see the gratified expression of her grandfather’s face, looked gratefully at the stranger for his polite compliance.

“A word with you, sir,” whispered Tiernay in Linton’s ear; and he passed out into the little flower-garden, saying, as he went, “I ‘ll show Mr. Linton the grounds, Miss Mary, and you shall not have to neglect your household cares.”

Linton followed him without speaking, nor was a word interchanged between them till they had left the cottage a considerable distance behind them. “Well, sir,” said Linton, coming to a halt, and speaking in a voice of cold and steadfast purpose, “how far do you propose that I am to bear you company?”

“Only till we are beyond the danger of being overheard,” said Tiernay, turning round. “Here will do perfectly. You will doubtless say, sir, that in asking you for an explanation of why I see you in this cottage, that I am exceeding the bounds of what right and duty alone impose.”

“You anticipate me precisely,” said Linton, sarcastically, “and to save you the embarrassment of so obviously impertinent a proceeding, I beg to say that I shall neither afford you the slightest satisfaction on this or any other subject of inquiry. Now, sir, what next?”

“Do you forget the occasion of our first meeting?” said the doctor, who actually was abashed beneath the practised effrontery of his adversary.

“Not in the least, sir. You permitted yourself on that occasion to take a liberty, which from your age and other circumstances I consented to pass unnoticed. I shall not always vouch for the same patient endurance on my part; and so pray be cautious how you provoke it.”

“It was at that meeting,” said the doctor, with passionate earnestness, “that I heard you endeavor to dissuade your friend from a favorable consideration of that man’s claim, whose hospitality you now accept of. It was with an insolent sneer at Mr. Cashers simplicity – ”

“Pray stop, sir; not too far, I beseech you. The whole affair, into which by some extraordinary self-delusion you consider yourself privileged to obtrude, is very simple. This cottage and the grounds appertaining to it are mine. This old gentleman, for whom I entertain the highest respect, is my tenant. The legal proof of what I say, I promise to submit to you within the week; and it was to rescue Mr. Cashel from the inconsistency of pledging himself to what was beyond his powers of performance, that I interfered. Your very ill-advised zeal prevented this; and rather than increase the awkwardness of a painful situation, I endured a very unprovoked and impertinent remark. Now, sir, you have the full explanation of my conduct, and my opinion of yours; and I see no reason to continue the interview.” So saying, Linton touched his hat and turned back towards the cottage.