Kitabı oku: «The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)», sayfa 24

CHAPTER XXV. COUNTRY AUCTION

With feelings akin to those with which the populace of a revolted city invade the once sacred edifice of the deposed Prince, the whole town and neighborhood of Oughterard now poured into the demesne of Cro’ Martin, wandered through the grounds, explored the gardens, and filled the house. An immense advertisement in the local papers had announced a general sale of horses and carriages, farming stock, and agricultural implements; cattle of choice breeding, sheep of fabulous facilities for fat, and cows of every imaginable productiveness, were there, with draft-horses like dwarf elephants, and bulls that would have puzzled a matador.

The haughty state in which the Martins habitually lived, the wide distance by which they separated themselves from the neighborhood around, had imparted to Cro’ Martin a kind of dreamy splendor in the country, exalting even its well-merited claims to admiration. Some had seen the grounds, a few had by rare accident visited the gardens, but the house and the stables were still unexplored territories, of whose magnificence each spoke without a fear of contradiction.

Country neighborhoods are rarely rich in events, and of these, few can rival a great auction. It is not alone in the interests of barter and gain thus suggested, but in the thousand new channels for thought thus suddenly opened, – the altered fortunes of him whose effects have come to the hammer; his death, or his banishment, – both so much alike. The visitor wanders amidst objects which have occupied years in collection, – some the results of considerable research and difficulty, some the long-coveted acquisitions of half a lifetime, and some – we have known such – the fond gifts of friendship. There they are now side by side in the catalogue, their private histories no more suspected than those of them who lie grass-covered in the churchyard. You admire that highly bred hunter in all the beauty of his symmetry and his strength, but you never think of the “little Shelty” in the next stable with shaggy mane and flowing tail; and yet it was on him the young heir used to ride; he was the cherished animal of all the stud, led in beside the breakfast-table to be caressed and petted, fed with sugar from fair fingers, and patted by hands a Prince might have knelt to kiss! His rider now sleeps beneath the marble slab in the old aisle, and they who once brightened in smiles at the sound of his tiny trot would burst into tears did they behold that pony!

So, amidst the triumphs of color and design that grace the walls, you have no eyes for a little sketch in water-color, – a mill, a shealing beside a glassy brook, a few trees, and a moss-clad rock; and yet that little drawing reveals a sad story. It is all that remains of her who went abroad to die. You throw yourself in listless lassitude upon a couch; it was the work of one who beguiled over it the last hours of a broken heart! You turn your steps to the conservatory, but never notice the little flower-garden, whose narrow walks, designed for tiny feet, need not the little spade to tell of the child-gardener who tilled it.

Ay, this selling-off is a sad process! It bespeaks the disruption of a home; the scattering of those who once sat around the same hearth, with all the dear familiar things about them!

It was a bright spring morning – one of those breezy, cloud-flitting days, with flashes of gay sunlight alternating with broad shadows, and giving in the tamest landscape every effect the painter’s art could summon – that a long procession, consisting of all imaginable vehicles, with many on horseback intermixed, wound their way beneath the grand entrance and through the park of Cro’ Martin. Such an opportunity of gratifying long pent-up curiosity had never before offered; since, even when death itself visited the mansion, the habits of exclusion were not relaxed, but the Martins went to their graves in the solemn state of their households alone, and were buried in a little chapel within the grounds, the faint tolling of the bell alone announcing to the world without that one of a proud house had departed.

The pace of the carriages was slow as they moved along, their occupants preferring to linger in a scene from which they had been hitherto excluded, struck by the unexpected beauty of the spot, and wondering at all the devices by which it was adorned. A few – a very few – had seen the place in boyhood, and were puzzling themselves to recall this and that memory; but all agreed in pronouncing that the demesne was far finer, the timber better grown, and the fields more highly cultivated than anything they had ever before seen.

“I call this the finest place in Ireland, Dan!” said Captain Bodkin, as he rode beside Nelligan’s car, halting every now and then to look around him. “There’s everything can make a demesne beautiful, – wood, water, and mountain!”

“And, better than all, a fine system of farming,” broke in Nelligan. “That’s the best field of ‘swedes’ I ever beheld!”

“And to think that a man would leave this to go live abroad in a dirty town in France!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch, from the opposite side of the car. “That’s perverseness indeed!”

“Them there is all Swiss cows!” said Mr. Clinch, in an humble tone.

“Not one of them, Clinch! they’re Alderneys. The Swiss farm, as they call it, is all on the other side, with the ornamented cottage.”

“Dear! dear! there was no end to their waste and extravagance!” muttered Mrs. Nelligan.

“Wait till you see the house, ma’am, and you ‘ll say so, indeed,” said the Captain.

“I don’t think we ‘re likely!” observed Nelligan, dryly.

“Why so?”

“Just that Scanlan told Father Mather the auction would be held in the stables; for as there was none of the furniture to be sold, the house would n’t be opened.”

“That’s a great disappointment!” exclaimed Bodkin. A sentiment fully concurred in by the ladies, who both declared that they’d never have, come so far only to look at pigs and “shorthorns.”

“Maybe we ‘ll get a peep at the gardens,” said Bodkin, endeavoring to console them.

“And the sow!” broke in Peter Hayes, who had joined the party some time before. “They tell me she’s a beauty. She’s Lord Somebody’s breed, and beats the world for fat!”

“Here’s Scanlan now, and he ‘ll tell us everything,” said Bodkin. But the sporting attorney, mounted on a splendid little horse, in top condition, passed them at speed, the few words he uttered being lost as he dashed by.

“What was it he said?” cried Bodkin.

“I didn’t catch the words,” replied Nelligan; “and I suppose it was no great loss.”

“He’s an impudent upstart!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch.

“I think he said something about a breakfast,” meekly interposed Mr. Clinch.

“And of course he said nothing of the kind,” retorted his spouse. “You never happened to be right in your life!”

“Faix! I made sure of mine before I started,” said old Hayes, “I ate a cowld goose!”

“Well, to be sure, they could n’t be expected to entertain all that’s coming!” said Mrs. Nelligan, who now began a mental calculation of the numbers on the road.

“There will be a thousand people here to-day,” said Bodkin.

“Five times that,” said Nelligan. “I know it by the number of small bills that I gave cash for the last week. There’s not a farmer in the county does n’t expect to bring back with him a prize beast of one kind or other.”

“I’ll buy that sow if she goes ‘reasonable,’” said Peter Hayes, whose whole thoughts seemed centred on the animal in question.

“What do they mean to do when they sell off the stock?” asked the Captain.

“I hear that the place will be let,” said Nelligan, in a half whisper, “if they can find a tenant for it. Henderson told Father Mather that, come what might, her Ladyship would never come back here.”

“Faix! the only one of them worth a groat was Miss Mary, and I suppose they did n’t leave her the means to do much now.”

“‘Tis she must have the heavy heart to-day,” sighed Mrs. Nelligan.

“And it is only fair and reasonable she should have her share of troubles, like the rest of us,” replied Mrs. Clinch. “When Clinch was removed from Macroon, we had to sell off every stick and stone we had; and as the neighbors knew we must go, we didn’t get five shillings in the pound by the sale.”

“That’s mighty grand, – that is really a fine place!” exclaimed Bodkin, as by a sudden turn of the road they came directly in front of the house; and the whole party sat in silent admiration of the magnificent edifice before them.

“It is a royal palace, – no less,” said Nelligan, at last; “and that’s exactly what no country gentleman wants. Sure we know well there’s no fortune equal to such a residence. To keep up that house, as it ought to be, a man should have thirty thousand a year.”

“Give me fifteen, Dan, and you’ll see if I don’t make it comfortable,”, said Bodkin.

“What’s this barrier here, – can’t we go any further?” exclaimed Nelligan, as he perceived a strong paling across the avenue.

“We ‘re to go round by the stables, it seems,” said Bodkin; “the hall entrance is not to be invaded by such vulgar visitors. This is our road, here.”

“Well, if I ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Clinch, whose feelings really overpowered utterance.

“I don’t see any great hardship in this after all, ma’am,” said Nelligan; “for we know if the family were at home we couldn’t even be here. Drive on, Tim.”

A short circuit through a very thickly wooded tract brought them at length to a large and massive gateway, over which the Martins’ arms were sculptured in stone; passing through which they entered a great courtyard, three sides of which were occupied by stables, the fourth presenting a range of coach-houses filled with carriages of every description.

A large tent was erected in the midst of the court for the convenience of the sale, in front of which were pens for the cattle, and a space railed off, wherein the horses were to be viewed and examined.

“This is all mighty well arranged,” said Bodkin, as he gave his horse to a groom, who, in the undress livery of Cro’ Martin, came respectfully to his aid as he got down.

“The sale will begin in about an hour, sir,” said the man, in answer to a question. “Mr. Scanlan is now in the house with Mr. Gibbs, the auctioneer.”

Vast crowds of people of every class, from the small squire to the Oughterard shopkeeper and country farmer, now came pouring in, all eager in their curiosity, but somehow all subdued into a kind of reverence for a spot from which they had been so rigidly excluded, and the very aspect of which so far transcended expectations. Everything, indeed, was an object of wonderment. The ornamental tanks for watering the horses, supplied by beautifully designed fountains; the sculptured medallions along the walls, emblematizing the chase or the road; the bright mahogany partitions of the stalls, even to the little channels lined with shining copper, all demanded notice and comment; and many were the wise reflections uttered with regard to those who thus squandered away their wealth. The sight of the cattle, however, which occupied this luxurious abode, went far to disarm this criticism, since certainly none ever seemed more worthy of the state and splendor that surrounded them. For these the admiration was hearty and sincere, and the farmers went along the stalls amazed and wonderstruck at the size and symmetry of the noble animals that filled them.

“To be sold at Tattersall’s, sir, on the 4th of next month,” said a groom, whose English accent imparted an almost sneer to the supposition that such a stud should meet purchasers in Ireland. “They ‘re all advertised in ‘Bell’s Life.’”

“What becomes of the hounds?” asked Bodkin.

“Lord Cromore takes them, sir; they’re to hunt in Dorsetshire.”

“And the sow?” asked old Hayes, with eagerness; “she isn’t to go to England, is she?”

“Can’t say, sir. We don’t look arter no sows here,” replied the fellow, as he turned away in evident disgust at his questioner.

A certain stir and bustle in the court without gave token that the sale was about to begin; and Scanlan’s voice, in its most authoritative tone, was heard issuing orders and directions on all sides, while servants went hither and thither distributing catalogues, and securing accommodation for the visitors with a degree of deference and attention most remarkable.

“I suppose we’re to pass the day in the stables or the cowhouses, ma’am?” said Mrs. Clinch, as with a look of indignation she gazed at the range of seats now being hastily occupied by a miscellaneous company.

“If we could only get into the gardens,” said Mrs. Nelligan, timidly. “I’m sure if I saw Barnes he’d let us in.” And she slipped rapidly from her friend’s arm, and hastily crossing the court, went in search of her only acquaintance in the household. “Did you see Barnes? Where could I find Barnes?” asked she of almost every one she met. And following the complicated directions she received, she wandered onward, through a kitchen-garden, and into a small nursery beyond it. Bewildered as she receded beyond the sounds of the multitude, she turned into a little path which, traversing a shrubbery, opened upon a beautifully cultivated “parterre,” whose close-shaven sward and flowery beds flanked a long range of windows opening to the ground, and which, to her no small horror, she perceived to form one wing of the mansion. While in her distraction to think what course was best to take, she saw a groom standing at the head of a small pony, harnessed to a diminutive carriage, and hastily approached him. Before, however, she had attained within speaking distance, the man motioned to her, by a gesture, to retire. Her embarrassment gave her, if not courage, something of resolution, and she advanced.

“Go back!” cried he, in a smothered voice; “there ‘s no one admitted here.”

“But I ‘ve lost my way. I was looking for Barnes – ”

“He’s not here. Go back, I say,” reiterated the man, in the same stealthy voice.

But poor Mrs. Nelligan, came on, confusion rendering her indifferent to all reproof, and in spite of gestures and admonitions to retire, steadily advanced towards the door. As she passed one of the open windows, her glance caught something within; she stopped suddenly, and, in seeming shame at her intrusion, turned to go back. A muttered malediction from the servant increased her terror, and she uttered a faint cry. In an instant the object at which she had been gazing arose, and Mary Martin, her face traced with recent tears, started up and approached her. Mrs. Nelligan felt a sense of sickly faintness come over her, and had to grasp the window for support.

“Oh, my dear young lady!” she muttered, “I did n’t mean to do this – I strayed here by accident – I didn’t know where I was going – ”

“My dear Mrs. Nelligan, there is no need of these excuses,” said Mary, taking her hand cordially, and leading her to a seat. “It is a great pleasure to me to see a friendly face, and I am grateful for the chance that sent you here.”

Mrs. Nelligan, once relieved of her first embarrassment, poured forth with volubility the explanation of her presence; and Mary heard her to the end with patient politeness.

“And you were going away somewhere,” resumed she, “when I stopped you. I see your pony-chaise there at the door waiting for you, and you’re off to the quarries or Kilkieran, I ‘ll be bound; or maybe it’s only going away you are, to be out of this for a day or two. God knows, I don’t wonder at it! It is a trying scene for you, and a great shock to your feelings, to see the place dismantled, and everything sold off!”

“It is sad enough,” said Mary, smiling through her tears.

“Not to say that you’re left here all alone, just as if you were n’t one of the family at all; that ‘s what I think most of. And where were you going, dear?”

“I was going to pass a few days at the cottage, – the Swiss cottage. Catty Broon, my old nurse, has gone over there to get it in readiness for me, and I shall probably stay there till all this confusion be over.”

“To be sure, dear. What’s more natural than that you’d like to spare your feelings, seeing all carried away just as if it was bankrupts you were. Indeed, Dan said to me the things wouldn’t bring more than at a sheriff’s sale, because of the hurry you were in to sell them off.”

“My uncle’s orders were positive on that subject,” said Mary, calmly.

“Yes, dear, of course he knows best,” said she, with a shake of the head not exactly corroborating her own speech. “And how are you to live here by yourself, dear?” resumed she; “sure you ‘ll die of the loneliness!”

“I don’t think so: I shall have plenty to occupy me, – more, indeed, than I shall be equal to.”

“Ay, in the daytime; but the long evenings – think of the long evenings, dear! God knows, I find them very often dreary enough, even though I have a home and Dan.”

“I ‘m not afraid of the long evenings, my dear Mrs. Nelligan. It is the only time I can spare for reading; they will be my hours of recreation and amusement.”

“Well, well, I hope so, with all my heart,” said she, doubtingly. “You know yourself best, and maybe you’d be happier that way, than if you had somebody to talk to and keep you company.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Mary, smiling. “I never implied that a visit from some kind friend – Mrs. Nelligan, for instance – would not be a very pleasant event in my solitude.”

“To come and see you, – to come to Cro’ Martin!” exclaimed Mrs. Nelligan, as though trying to reconcile her mind to the bare possibility of such a circumstance.

“If you would not think it too far, or too much trouble – ”

“Oh dear, oh dear, but it’s too much honor it would be; and Dan – no matter what he ‘d say to the contrary – would feel it so, in his own heart. Sure I know well how he felt about Joe being asked here to dinner; and he ‘d never have taken a part against your uncle in the election if it was n’t that he thought Joe was slighted some way – ”

“But nothing of the kind ever occurred. Mr..Joseph Nelligan met from us all the respect that his character and his talents entitled him to.”

“Don’t get warm about it, or I ‘ll forget everything that’s in my head!” exclaimed Mrs. Nelligan, in terror at the eagerness of Mary’s manner. “Maybe it was Joe’s fault – maybe it was young Massingbred’s – maybe it was – ”

“But what was it?” cried Mary. “What was alleged? What was laid to our charge?”

“There, now, I don’t remember anything; you frightened me so that it’s gone clean out of my mind.”

“My dear friend,” said Mary, caressingly, “I never meant to alarm you; and let us talk of something else. You say that you ‘ll come to see me sometimes; is it a promise?”

“Indeed it is, my dear, whenever Dan gives me the car and horse – ”

“But I ‘ll drive in for you, and bring you safely back again. You ‘ve only to say when you ‘ll spend the day with me; and there’s so much to show you here that you ‘d like to see. The gardens are really handsome, and the hothouses. And Catty will show us her dairy, and I am very proud of my lambs.”

“It is all like a dream to me, – just like a dream,” said Mrs. Nelligan, closing her eyes, and folding her arms, “to think that I ‘m sitting here, at Cro’ Martin, talking to Miss Mary just as if I were her equal.”

“My dear, dear friend, it shall be a reality whenever you like to make it so; and you’ll tell me all the news of Oughterard, – all about every one there; for I know them, at least by name, and will be charmed to hear about them.”

“Mr. Scanlan wants an answer, miss, immediately,” said a servant, presenting Mary with a few lines written in pencil.

She opened the paper and read the following: “Nelligan offers seventy pounds for the two black horses. Is he to have them? Sir Peter shows an incipient spavin on the off leg, and I think he ‘d be well sold.”

“Tell Mr. Scanlan I ‘ll send him an answer by and by,” said she, dismissing the servant. Then ringing the bell, she whispered a few words to the man who answered it. “I have just sent a message to tell Mr. Nelligan I wish to speak to him,” said she, resuming her place on the sofa. “It is a mere business matter,” added she, seeing that Mrs. Nelligan waited for some explanation. “And now, when have you heard from your son? Is he learning to spare himself anything of those great efforts he imposes upon his faculties?”

This was to touch the most sensitive chord in all her heart; and so she burst forth into a description of Joseph’s daily life of toil and study; his labors, his self-denial, his solitary, joyless existence, all calling up, in turn, her praises and her sympathy.

“And I,” cried she, “am always saying, what is it all for? – what’s the use of it? – who is to be the better of it? Sure there ‘s only himself to get whatever his father leaves behind him; and a pretty penny it is! Not that you would think so; but for the like of us, and in our station, it’s a snug fortune. He ‘ll have upwards of two thousand a year, so that there ‘s no need to be slaving like a Turk.”

“Your son’s ambitions take, very probably, a higher range than mere money-making,” said Mary. “He has a good right to suppose that his abilities may win him the highest of rewards! But here’s Mr. Nelligan.” And she advanced courteously to meet him at the door.

Flushed and heated by the scene he had just quitted, and evidently embarrassed by the situation in which he stood, Nelligan bowed repeatedly in reply to Miss Martin’s greeting, starting with amazement as he perceived Mrs. Nelligan, who maintained an air of unbroken dignity on the sofa.

“Well you may stare, Dan!” said she. “I ‘m sure you never expected to see me here!”

“It was a most agreeable surprise for me, at least,” said Mary, motioning to a seat; then, turning to Nelligan, added, “This little note was the occasion of my asking you to step over here. Will you please to read it?”

“How handsome, how candid, Miss Martin!” said Nelligan, as he restored it, after perusing it. “Ah, my dear young lady, why would n’t your family deal always with us in this fashion and in everything? I beg your forgiveness, but I forgot myself. I ‘ll stick to my offer, miss, – I wouldn’t take fifty pounds for my bargain!”

“This, of course, is in confidence between us, sir,” said Mary, as she tore up the note and threw the fragments on the ground.

“I wish I knew how to acknowledge this, Miss Martin; I wish I could show how sensible one in my station could be of generosity from one in yours.”

“You remind me very opportunely that I have a favor to ask, Mr. Nelligan. It is this: My kind friend here, Mrs. Nelligan, has just promised to take pity on my solitude, and occasionally to come and see me. Will you kindly strengthen her in this benevolent intention, and aid her to turn her steps very often towards Cro’ Martin?”

Nelligan’s face grew deeply red, and an expression of the greatest embarrassment settled down on his features; and it was with much difficulty, and in a voice laboring for utterance, that he said, —

“I don’t see how this can be. Your friends would not approve, – your family, I mean, Miss Martin, – would, very naturally, resent the thought of such an intimacy! They look upon me as an enemy, – an open and declared enemy, – and so I am, where politics is concerned; but – ” He hesitated, and after a struggle went on: “No matter, it is war between us, and must be till one crushes the other. What I mean is this, young lady: that to encourage such acquaintanceship as you speak of would look like an undue condescension on your part, or something even worse on ours.”

“I ‘ll not listen to such subtleties!” cried Mary, hastily. “Neither you nor I, my dear Mrs. Nelligan, care for party triumphs or defeats. There are a thousand themes wherein our hearts can feel alike; and these we ‘ll discuss together. We’re of the same country; have passed our lives amidst the same scenes, the same events, and the same people, and it will be hard if we cannot as easily discover topics for mutual esteem, as subjects of difference and disagreement.”

“But will it not be hinted, Miss Martin, that we took the opportunity of your solitude here to impose an acquaintanceship which had been impossible under other circumstances?”

“If you are too proud, sir, to know me, – lest an ungenerous sneer should damage your self-esteem – ”

“Indeed, indeed we’re not,” broke in Mrs. Nelligan. “You don’t know Dan at all. He would n’t exchange the honor of sitting there, opposite you, to be High Sheriff.”

A servant fortunately presented himself at this awkward moment with a whispered message for Miss Martin; to which she replied aloud, —

“Of course. Tell Mr. Scanlan it is my wish, —my orders,” added she, more firmly. “The house is open to any one who desires to see it. And now, before I go, Mr. Nelligan, tell me that I have convinced you, – tell me that my reasons have prevailed, and that you acknowledge we ought to be friends.” And as she said the last words, she held out her hand to him with a grace so perfect, and an air of such winning fascination, that old Nelligan could only stammer out, —

“It shall be how you please. I never bargained to dispute against such odds as this. We are, indeed, your friends; dispose of us how you like.” And, so saying, he conducted her to the little carriage, and, assisting her to her seat, took his leave with all the respect he could have shown a queen.

“It’s more than a prejudice, after all,” muttered he, as he looked after her as she drove away. “There’s something deeper and stronger in it than that, or else a few words spoken by a young girl could n’t so suddenly rout all the sentiments of a lifetime! Ay, ay,” added he, still to himself, “we may pull them down; we may humble them; but we ‘ll never fill their places!”

“And we ‘re to see the house, it seems!” exclaimed Mrs. Nelligan, gathering her shawl around her.

“I don’t care to look at it till she herself is here!” said old Nelligan, taking his wife’s arm, and leading her away across the lawn, and in the direction of the stables. There was that in his moody preoccupation which did not encourage her to venture on a word, and so she went along at his side in silence.

“You’re to have the black horses, Mr. Nelligan,” said Scanlan, overtaking him. Nelligan nodded. “You ‘ve got a cheap pair of nags, and as good as gold,” continued he. A dry half-smile was all the reply. “Mr. Martin bred them himself,” Scanlan went on, “and no price would have bought them three weeks ago; but everything is going for a song to-day! I don’t know how I ‘ll muster courage to tell them the results of the sale!”

“You ‘ll have courage for more than that,” said Nelligan. And although only a chance shot, it fell into a magazine; for Scanlan grew crimson, and then pale, and seemed ready to faint.

Nelligan stared with amazement at the effect his few words had produced, and then passed on; while the attorney muttered between his teeth, “Can he suspect me? Is it possible that I have betrayed myself?”

No, Maurice Scanlan. Be of good cheer, your secret is safe. No one has as much as the very barest suspicion that the pettifogging practitioner aspires to the hand of Mary Martin; nor even in the darkest dreams of that house’s downfall has such a humiliation obtruded itself anywhere!