Kitabı oku: «The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)», sayfa 16

 
‘A man without a heart or head,
Who seldom thought, who never read,
A witty word who never said,
One at whose board none ever fed,
Such is the Colonel M – g – b – d.’
 

He could n’t call him a coward, though; for when they went out – which they did – Massingbred’s manner on the ground was admirable.”

“Will that do?” said Froode, showing a few lines he had hastily jotted down.

“I can’t read a word of it, but of course it will,” said he; “and then, sir,” added he, addressing Magennis, “the sooner we place ourselves at your disposal the better.”

Froode whispered something in Repton’ ear, and by his manner seemed as if remonstrating with him, when the other said aloud, —

“We ‘re in Ireland, Major; and, what’s more, we ‘re in Galway, as Macleweed said once to a prisoner, ‘With a Yorkshire jury, sir, I ‘d hang you. Your sentence now is to pay five marks to the King, and find bail for your good behavior.’ You see what virtue there is in locality.”

“There’s a neat spot about two miles off, on the road to Maum,” said Magennis to the Major. “We could ride slowly forward, and you might keep us in view.”

“In what direction did you say?”

“Take the second turn out of the market-place till you pass the baker’s shop, then to the left, and straight on afterwards. You can’t miss it.”

“Stop a moment, sir,” said Froode to Magennis, as he moved towards the door; “one word, if you please. It is distinctly understood that I have been overruled in this business, – that, in fact, I have submitted – ”

“Your point has been reserved,” said Repton, laughing, while he led him away; and Magennis at the same moment took his departure.

It was, indeed, with no slight feeling of triumph that thia gentleman now hastened back to the Martin Arms. Never did a great diplomatist experience more pride in the conclusion of some crowning act of negotiation than did he in the accomplishment of this affair.

“There ‘s many a man,” said he to himself, “who ‘d have accepted an apology here. There’s many a man might have let himself be embarrassed by the circumstances; for, certainly, the taking hold of the bridle was an awkward fact, and if the Major was a cute fellow he ‘d have made a stand upon it. I must say that the Counsellor showed no backwardness; he comes of that fine old stock we used to have before the Union.”

And with this profound reflection he entered the room where Massingbred sat awaiting him.

“It’s all settled. We’re to meet at the Priest’s Gap within an hour,” said Magennis, with the air of a man who had acquitted himself cleverly. “And though I say it that should n’t, if you were in other hands this morning you would n’t have got your shot.”

“I always relied implicitly upon your skill!” said Massingbred, humoring his vanity.

“Have you anything to arrange, – a letter or so to write; for I’ll step down to Dr. Hearkins to tell him to follow us?”

Massingbred made no reply as the other left the room. Once more alone, he began to think gravely over his present situation. Nor could all his habitual levity steel him against the conviction that five minutes of common-sense talk might arrange a dispute which now promised a serious ending. “However,” thought he, “we are not in the land where such differences admit of amicable solution, and there’s no help for it.”

A sharp tap at the door startled him from these musings, and before he could well reply to it Daniel Nelligan entered the room, and advanced towards him with an air of mingled ease and constraint.

“I hope you ‘ll forgive me, Mr. Massingbred,” he began. “I feel certain that you will at some future day, at least, for what I ‘m going to do.” Here he stopped and drew a long breath, as if not knowing in what terms to continue. Massingbred handed him a chair, and took one in front of him without speaking.

“I know what brought you here to-day; I am aware of it all.”

He paused, and waited for the other to speak; but Massingbred sat without offering a word, and evidently relying on his own social tact to confound and embarrass his visitor.

“I know, sir, that you are likely to regard my interference as impertinent,” resumed Nelligan; “but I trust that the friend of my son, Joe – ”

“I must set you right upon one point, at least, Mr. Nelligan,” said Massingbred, with an easy smile. “If you be only as accurate in your knowledge of my affairs as you are with respect to my private friendships, this visit has certainly proceeded from some misconception. Your son and I were friends once upon a time. We are so no longer!”

“I never heard of this. I never knew you had quarrelled!”

“We have not, sir. We have not even met. The discourtesy he has shown me since my arrival here – his avoidance of me, too marked to be explained away – is an offence. The only misfortune is that it is one which can be practised with impunity.”

“My son asks for none such,” said Dan, fiercely. “And if your observation is meant for an insult – ” He stopped suddenly, as if checked by something within, and then said, but in a voice full and measured, “I’m magistrate of this town, sir, and I come here upon information that has reached me of your intentions to commit a breach of the peace.”

“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” began Massingbred, in his most seductive of manners, – but the other had already witnessed the rupture of the only tie which bound them, the supposed friendship between Joe and Massingbred, and cared nothing for all the blandishments he could bestow, – “my dear Mr. Nelligan, you cannot, surely, suppose that a mere stranger as I am in your county – scarcely ten days here – should have been unfortunate enough to have incurred the animosity of any one.”

“I hold here a statement, sir,” said Nelligan, sternly, “which, if you please to pledge your honor to be incorrect – ”

“And this is Galway!” exclaimed Massingbred, – “this glorious land of chivalrous sentiment of which we poor Englishmen have been hearing to satiety! The Paradise of Point of Honor, then, turns out a very commonplace locality, after all!”

“I ‘m proud to say that our county has another reputation than its old one; not but – ” and he added the words in some temper – “there are a few left would like to teach you that its character was not acquired for nothing.”

“Well, well!” sighed Jack, as he closed his eyes, and appeared as if indulging in a revery, “of all the mockeries I have lived to see unmasked, this is the worst and meanest.”

“I have not come here to listen to this, sir,” said Nelli-gan, haughtily, as he arose. “I waited upon you, intending to accept your solemn pledge, by word of honor, to commit no act hostile to the public peace. Now, sir, I shall call upon you to give me the legal guarantee for this security, – good and sufficient bail, and that within an hour!”

“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” replied Massingbred, with all the quiet ease of an unruffled temper, “I have not a single friend here, except yourself, upon whom I could call in such an emergency. I am utterly unknown in these parts; my very name unheard of before my arrival. If I did by any unhappy circumstance find myself in such an involvement as you speak of, I solemnly assure you my first thought would be to address myself to Mr. Nelligan.”

The easy impertinence of this speech would have been perfectly successful a short time previous, when Nelligan yet believed in the close friendship with his son. It came now, however, too late, and the old man listened to it with something bordering on anger.

“Good and sufficient bail, sir, – yourself and two others,” repeated he, slowly, and moving towards the door.

“One word, I pray,” said Jack, rising, and speaking with more earnestness and apparently with more sincerity. “I do not ask you any details as to the circumstances you impute to me, but perhaps you would, as a favor, tell me how this information has reached you?”

“I will not, sir,” was the abrupt reply.

“I am sure no friend of mine could have – ”

“It is no use, Mr. Massingbred; all your address will avail you nothing. You shall not cross-examine me!”

“You must, however, see, sir,” said Massingbred, “that unknown and unfriended as I am here, bail is out of the question.”

“The Bench will hear anything you desire to say on that subject,” said Nelligan, coldly. “Good-morning to you.”

And with these words he left the room, and descended into the street.

The passionate warmth which Massingbred had so successfully controlled in the presence of his visitor burst forth the first moment he found himself alone. He inveighed against the country, the people, their habits, and all belonging to them; cursed his own fate at being ever thrown into such companionship; and wound up by resolving to submit to any terms by which he might quit Galway forever, and forget, for the rest of his days, that he had ever entered it. While he was yet fuming in this fashion, the waiter entered and presented him with a very dirty-looking note, fastened by two wafers, and inscribed “Most private.” Massingbred opened it and read, —

“My dear Mr. M., – We ‘re found out – I believe by Hosey Lynch, where I dropped a bullet-mould this morning when he was shaving me. At all events, we ‘re blown, and as I am under £250 recognizances to keep the peace for three years, I ‘m off to the mountains till this passes over. I ‘m sure, from what I saw of the Counsellor, that he ‘ll keep himself open to a proposal elsewhere. Meanwhile, there’s nothing for it but to give your bail and satisfy the blackguards – bad luck to them – that spoiled the sport! You can go back to the house when all’s over, and I ‘ll return as soon as it is safe for

“Your sincere friend,

“T. M.”

Scarcely had he finished reading this epistle, when Major Froode presented himself in his chamber, the door of which the waiter was yet holding ajar. Having introduced himself, he briefly informed Massingbred of his position as Mr. Repton’s friend, and as briefly stated that the Counsellor had been obliged to pledge himself against any hostile intentions, – a step which, he foresaw, would also be required of him. “For this reason I have come,” continued he, “to say that any assistance I can be of to you is frankly at your service. I have learned that you are a stranger here, and not likely to have many acquaintances.”

“If they would be satisfied with my word,” began Jack.

“Of course they will, and shall,” interrupted Froode; “and now, what is there in the way of amende my friend can make, for what he is prepared to confess was a mere accident?”

“The acknowledgment is ample. I ask for nothing beyond it,” said Massingbred. “I am not quite certain but that my own conduct might require a little explanation; but as your friend’s vigor put matters beyond negotiation at the time, we ‘ll not go back upon bygones.”

“And now, sir,” burst in Repton, who had waited outside the door, – “and now, sir, I beg you to accept the humblest apology I can tender for what has happened. I ‘m not as safe on my saddle as I used to be forty years ago; and when the nag reared and threatened to fall back upon me, I am ashamed to own that I neither saw nor cared what I struck at. I ‘d have said all this to you, Mr. Massingbred, after your fire, had we been permitted to go the ground; and although there is some additional humiliation in saying it here, I richly deserve all the pain it gives me, for my want of temper. Will you give me your hand?”

“With sincere pleasure,” said Jack, shaking him warmly and cordially with both his own.

“There ‘s but one thing more to be done,” said Repton. “These borough magistrates, vulgar dogs as they are, will want you to give a bail bond. Take no notice of them, but just drive out with me to Cro’ Martin, and we ‘ll settle it all there.”

“I am not acquainted with Mr. Martin.”

“But you shall be. He ‘ll be charmed to know you, and the place is worth seeing. Come, you mustn’t leave the West with only its barbarism in your memory. You must carry away some other recollections.”

The new turn affairs had just taken was by no means distasteful to Massingbred. It promised another scene in that drama of life he loved to fashion for himself, with new scenery, new actors, and new incidents. “The Counsellor,” too, struck his fancy. There was a raciness in the old man’s manner, a genial cordiality, united with such palpable acuteness, that he promised himself much pleasure in his society; and so he accepted the proposal with all willingness, and pledged to hold himself ready for his friend within an hour.

Repton and the Major had but just left the room, when the former re-entered it hurriedly, and said, “By the way, I must leave you to your own guidance to find your road to Cro’ Martin, for there’s a young lady below stairs has a lien upon me. You shall be presented to her when you come out, and I promise you it will repay the journey.”

“This must be the Mary Martin I ‘ve been hearing of,” thought Massingbred, when again alone; “and so the morning’s work will probably turn out better than I had anticipated.”

CHAPTER XVII. A COUNTRY-HOUSE

When Massingbred arrived at Cro’ Martin, he found Repton at the door awaiting him. “I find,” said he, “there is little need of introducing you here. Your father was an old acquaintance of Martin’s; they sat together for years in Parliament, and Lady Dorothea was related to your family. But here he comes.” And Martin approached, with his hand extended in cordial welcome. No one ever knew better how to do the honors of his house, nor could throw more graceful courtesy into the first steps of acquaintanceship. Massingbred, too, was well calculated to appreciate this gift. He had a most intense esteem for “manner,” and enjoyed even the necessity it imposed upon himself of exertion to please. With sincere satisfaction was it that he accepted an invitation to pass some days there, and at once despatched a servant to Magennis’s house for his trunks.

The adventure of the morning was alluded to but once, and then in a jocular strain, as an incident of no moment whatever; and Massingbred retired to his room to dress for dinner, wondering within himself if he should find the other members of the family as much to his liking as the worthy host had been.

A dinner-party was a rare event at Cro’ Martin. The isolation in which they lived was rarely broken by a visitor; and when, by rare accident, some solitary stranger did present himself with a letter of introduction, his stay was merely of a few hours. Now, however, the company included, in addition to the family, Repton, Massingbred, and Nelligan, besides Miss Henderson, who was on that day to appear at dinner. The quondam college friends had not met; neither had Miss Martin ever seen her governess; so that there was no small degree of anticipation as to how such elements would harmonize and agree.

When Massingbred entered the drawing-room, he found Miss Henderson there alone; and at once believing she could be no other than Miss Martin, he proceeded to introduce himself in the best manner he could. Her reception was perfect in ease and self-possession, and they soon found themselves engaged in a lively discussion as to the scenery, the people and their habits, of which they both appeared to have a very similar appreciation. Lady Dorothea next made her appearance; and, advancing towards Massingbred, welcomed him with what, for her, was the extreme of cordiality. “Your mother was a Caradoc, Mr. Massingbred, and the Caradocs are all of our family; so let me claim relationship at once.”

With all the pretensions of a very fine lady, Lady Dorothea knew how to unite very agreeable qualities, not the less successful in her captivations, that she never exercised them without a real desire to please; so that Massingbred soon saw how in the wilds of dreary Connemara there existed a little oasis of polish and civilization that would have done honor to the most splendid society of London or Paris.

Nor was Massingbred himself less pleasing to her. It was so long, so many, many years since she had met with one fresh from that great world which alone she valued!

Correspondence had kept her to a certain extent informed upon the changes and vicissitudes of society, – the births, deaths, marriages, separations, quarrels, and other disasters of those dear friends for whose griefs absence and time offer so many consolations! But then, the actual appearance, the coup d’oil of that world could only be imparted by an observer, imbued with all the spirit that gives observation its peculiar piquancy. This she found in him; and so agreeably exercised was it, that she actually heard dinner announced without attending, and only as she arose from her seat was reminded to present him to Miss Martin, by the brief phrase, “My niece, Mr. Massingbred;” while she took his arm, with a glance at Mr. Repton, that plainly said, “You are deposed.”

The passage to the dinner-room lay through three spacious and splendid rooms, which now were brilliantly lighted up, and lined with servants in rich liveries, – a degree of state Massingbred was not a little pleased at; partly suspecting that it was intended to do himself honor. As they moved slowly through the last of these, the door suddenly opened, and young Nelligan entered. He had returned late from a long ride, and heard nothing whatever of Massing-bred’s arrival. With an exclamation of “Jack – Massingbred!” he bounded forward. But the other showed no recognition of him; and directing Lady Dorothea’s attention to the richness of a picture-frame, passed calmly on into the dinner-room.

“You must bring up the rear alone, Nelligan,” said Martin, who had given his arm to Miss Henderson; and Joe followed, almost overwhelmed with mingled shame and amazement.

For an instant the possibility of mistake assuaged his sense of mortification; but no sooner did he find himself at table, and directly opposite to Massingbred, than he perceived there was no ground whatever for this consolation. It was, indeed, Massingbred, just as he had seen him the first day in the Commons Hall at dinner, and when his cold, supercilious manner had struck him so disagreeably.

What a terrible vengeance for all the superiority Nelligan had displayed over him in the Examination Hall was Massingbred’s present success; for success it was. With all that consummate readiness the habit of society imparts, Jack could talk well on a great variety of topics, and possessed, besides, that especial tact to make others so far participators in his observations that they felt a partnership in the agreeability. Lady Dorothea was perfectly charmed with him; it was the triumph, as it were, of one of her own set. His anecdotes – not very pointed or curious in themselves – had the marked characteristic of always referring to distinguished individuals; so that what was deficient in wit was more than compensated by the rank of the actors. Martin enjoyed his conversation with all his own complacent ease, and felt delighted with one who could play all the game without an adversary. Mary was pleased and astonished together – the pleasure being even less than the amazement – at all he seemed to know of life and the world, and how intimately one so young seemed to have mixed in society. As for Repton, he relished the other’s powers with the true zest of a pleasant talker; they were of different styles, and no disagreeable rivalry marred the appreciation.

Amidst all these silent or spoken testimonies sat poor Nelligan, overwhelmed with shame. Massingbred had refused to recognize him; and it was left to his own gloomy thoughts to search out the reason. At first Joe avoided meeting the other’s look; he dreaded he knew not what of impertinence or insult, to which the time and place could offer no reparation; but gradually he grew to perceive that Massingbred’s cold eye met his own without a spark of meaning; nor was there in voice, manner, or bearing, a single evidence of constraint or awkwardness to be detected.

Miss Henderson alone seemed to listen to him with easy indifference; and more than once, when Jack put forth his most showy pretensions, he was secretly mortified to see how little impression he had made on the dark beauty with the haughty smile. This was exactly the kind of defiance that Massingbred never declined, and he determined within himself to attempt the conquest. As the party returned to the drawing-room, he asked Lady Dorothea to present him more formally to the young lady whose acquaintance he had dared to obtrude upon before dinner; but she coldly said, —

“Oh, it’s no matter; she’s only the governess.” An explanation she deemed quite sufficient to subdue any rising feeling of interest regarding her.

“And the gentleman who sat next her at dinner?” asked he.

“A neighbor, – that is, the son of one of our borough people. I have not introduced him to you; for, of course, you are not likely to meet again. As you were remarking, awhile ago, society in England is gradually undergoing that change which in France was accomplished in a year or two.”

“With the aid of the guillotine and the ‘lanterne,’” said Jack, smiling.

“Just so; they used sharp remedies for a quick cure. But I own to you that I have not yet reconciled myself, nor do I see how I shall ever reconcile myself, to intimacy with a class not only whose habits and instincts, but whose very natures are adverse to our own. That young man now, for instance, they speak of him as quite a college wonder. I’m ashamed to say I don’t know wherein his great successes lie; but they tell me that he has distanced every competitor of his day, and stands alone in his preeminence, and yet we saw him to-day not venturing on a remark, nor even hazarding an opinion on the topics we talked of, and silent where he ought to have been heard with advantage.”

“Is he bashful?” said Jack, with a lazy drawl.

“I don’t think it’s that; at least, not altogether.”

“Supercilious, perhaps?”

“Oh! certainly not,” replied she, hastily. “The company in which he found himself is the best answer to that. He could not presume – ”

“It was, then, downright fear,” broke in Massingbred; “the terror that even clever men cannot even shake off when thrown amongst a class they’re unused to.”

“And very naturally so. I’m sure he must be puzzled to imagine why he is here. Indeed, we have only known him a few days back. It was one of Mr. Martin’s sudden caprices to ask him to Cro’ Martin. He fancied he ought to conciliate – I believe that’s the phrase in vogue – the borough people, and this young man’s father is the chief of them.” And now Lady Dorothea turned from the topic as one unworthy of further thought, and entered upon the more congenial theme of her own high relatives and connections in England. It was strange enough that Massing-bred’s remote alliance with her family was sufficient to induce an intimacy and familiarity with him which years of mere acquaintanceship could not have effected. That his grand-aunt had been a Conway, and his great-grandfather’s half-brother was married to a Jernyngham, were all a species of freemasonry by which he was admitted at once to the privilege of confidential discussion.

It was no small mortification to Massingbred to spend his evening in these genealogical researches; he had seen the two young girls move off into an adjoining room, from which at times the sound of a piano, and of voices singing, issued, and was half mad with impatience to be along with them. However, it was a penalty must be exacted, and he thought that the toll once paid he had secured himself against all demands for the future.

Not caring to participate in the many intricacies of those family discussions wherein the degrees of relationship of individuals seem to form the sole points of interest, we shall betake ourselves to the little blue drawing-room, where, seated at the piano together, the two young girls talked, while their fingers strayed along the notes as though affording a species of involuntary accompaniment to their words. Nelligan, it is true, was present; but, unnoticed by either, he sat apart in a distant corner, deep in his own brooding thoughts.

Mary had only made Miss Henderson’s acquaintance on that evening, but already they were intimate. It was, indeed, no common boon for her to obtain companionship with one of her own age, and who, with the dreaded characteristics of a governess, was in reality a very charming and attractive person. Miss Henderson sang with all the cultivated knowledge of a musician; and, while she spoke of foreign countries where she had travelled, lapsed at times into little snatches of melody, as it were, illustrative of what she spoke. The delight Mary experienced in listening was unbounded; and if at moments a sad sense of her own neglected education shot through her mind, it was forgotten the next instant in her generous admiration.

“And how are you, who have seen this bright and brilliant world you speak of,” said Mary, “to sit quietly down in this unbroken solitude, where all the interests are of the humblest and more ordinary kind?”

“You forget that I saw all these things, as it were, on sufferance,” replied she. “I was not born to them, nor could ever hope for more than a passing glance at splendors wherein I was not to share. And as for the quiet monotony here, an evening such as this, companionship like yours, are just as much above my expectations.”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Mary, eagerly. “You were as surely destined for a salon as I was for the rude adventures of my own wayward life. You don’t know what a strange existence it is.”

“I have heard, however!” said the other, calmly.

“Tell me – do tell me – what you have been told of me, and don’t be afraid of wounding my vanity; for, I pledge you my word, I do think of myself with almost all the humility that I ought.”

“I have heard you spoken of in the cabins of the poor as their only friend, their comforter, and their hope; the laborer knows you as his succor, – one by whose kind intervention he earns his daily bread; their children love you as their own chosen protector.”

“But it’s not of these things I ‘m speaking,” said Mary, rapidly. “Do they not call me self-willed, passionate, sometimes imperious?”

“Yes; and capricious at times!” said the other, slowly.

Mary colored, and her voice faltered as she said, —

“There they were unjust. The impracticable tempers I have to deal with – the untutored minds and undisciplined natures – often lead me into seeming contradictions.”

“Like the present, perhaps,” said Miss Henderson.

“How! the present?” said Mary.

“That, while claiming the merit of humility, you at once enter upon a self-defence.”

“Well, perhaps I am capricious!” said Mary, smiling.

“And haughty?” asked the other, slowly.

“I believe so!” said Mary, with a degree of dignity that seemed to display the sentiment while confessing to it.

“I have never heard a heavier accusation against Miss Martin than these,” said she, “and I have lived with those who rarely scruple how to criticise their betters.”

Mary was silent and thoughtful; she knew not how to interpret the mingled praise and censure she had just listened to.

“But tell me rather of yourself,” said Mary, as though willing to turn the topic of conversation. “I should like to hear your story.”

“At thirteen years of age – I believe even a year later – I was the playfellow of the young gentleman you see yonder,” said Kate Henderson, “but who, to-night, seems incapable of remembering anything or anybody.”

“Of Mr. Nelligan?” repeated Mary. And Joseph started as he heard his name, looked up, and again relapsed into revery.

“I ‘m not sure that we were not in love. I almost confess that I was, when my father sent me away to France to be educated. I was very sad – very, very sad – at being taken away from home and thrown amongst strangers, with none of whom I could even interchange a word; and I used to sit and cry for hours by myself, and write sorrowful love-letters to ‘dearest Joseph,’ and then imagine the answers to them; sometimes I actually wrote them, and would suffer agonies of anguish before I dared to break the seal and learn the contents. Meanwhile I was acquiring a knowledge of French, and knew a little of music, and used to sing in our choir at chapel, and learned to believe the world was somewhat larger than I had hitherto thought it, and that St. Gudule was finer than the mean little church at Oughterard; and worse still – for it was worse – that the sous-lieutenants and cadets of the Military College had a much more dashing, daring look about them than ‘poor Joseph;’ for so I now called him to myself, and gave up the correspondence soon after.

“Remember, Miss Martin, that I was but a child at this time – at least, I was little more than fourteen – but in another year I was a woman, in all the consciousness of certain attractions, clever enough to know that I could read and detect the weak points in others, and weak enough to fancy that I could always take advantage of them. This incessant spirit of casuistry, this passion for investigating the temper of those about you, and making a study of their natures for purposes of your own, is the essence of a convent life; you have really little else to do, and your whole bent is to ascertain why Sister Agnes blushes, or why Beatrice fainted twice at the Angelus. The minute anatomy of emotions is a very dangerous topic. At this very moment I cannot free myself from the old habit; and as I see young Mr. Nelligan there sitting with his head in his hand, so deep in thought as not to notice us, I begin to examine why is it he is thus, and on what is he now brooding?”

“And can you guess?” asked Mary, half eagerly.

“I could be certain, if I were but to ask him a question or two.”

“Pray do then, if only to convince me of your skill.”

“But I must be alone, and that is scarcely possible, – scarcely becoming.”

“Let us contrive some way, – think of something.”

“It is too late now; he is about to leave the room,” said Kate, cautiously. “How pale he looks, and how anxious his eye has become! I thought at first there was some constraint at meeting me here; he feared, perhaps – but no, that would be unworthy of him.”