Kitabı oku: «My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3», sayfa 4

Terence the Judas-the betrayer of the innocent-the snarer of the unwary! Terence, her cousin, whose jocund visage she admitted to be rather dear to her. If he proved so base a scoundrel, in whom then might an earnest soul place trust? Was his perfidy a fall, or original sin? She remembered how she had read wise thoughts in books, wherein sages had explained that our nature is unstable, liable to trip-that none can resist temptation if clothed in the fittest garb. Is not the prayer which should be oftenest on our lips, 'Lead us not, O God, into temptation?' Women are perverse, choosing always the left one, when they ought to take the right turning; and with the perversity of women Doreen chose at once to accept the most distasteful phase of the situation. She took it for granted that Terence was in the wrong, instead of more prudently suspending her judgment till his return from France.

The feet of her cousin were cloven. He wore a tail and smelt of brimstone. She stood still beside a paling as she thought of him, and shook it in a rage with both her hands, while a vague feeling of uneasiness came over her in that she should care so much that Terence should prove the Judas. Yet was she not quite justified in her dismay? Was it not natural that her faith in truth and goodness should be thrown out of gear by such low calculating turpitude? Clutching the gnarled paling, the unhappy lady bowed her face on it and burst into sobs which shook her to the centre.

Five hundred guineas! That was the sharpest of the many thongs which smote her. She had declined to look at the sordid motive-it was so very mean and vile. But now it clamoured with open palms at the gates of her brain, and shouted deafeningly. Vulgar money troubles are at the bottom of everything that's base! What a pity that there should be such a thing as money! Five hundred guineas! How small-how miserable a sum! He was always in debt, she knew: to such easy-going creatures as he always seemed to be, debt was a state of nature. But could he have sunk so low as this? Was he capable, for five hundred guineas, of suddenly assuming a noble love of motherland, which was a farce-of laying a gin for the feet of persons who had never injured him-nay, whom he reckoned among his dearest friends? For the wretched price of five hundred guineas, could he look her-his cousin, almost his sister-in the face, and endeavour to steal her heart, that he might stick it on a pole for the amusement of fellow-traitors? Traitor! Arch-traitor-wretch! Tears having come to her relief, Doreen sat on the grass and wept, and felt like the wounded beast within the covert.

Piecing scraps together, with the key which my lady had furnished, many cloudy matters became clear. My lady was proud and prejudiced, but her pride revolted against treachery. If not, why had she suddenly warned her niece to see that her correspondence was not tampered with? Who should tamper with it? Not Jug, or Biddy, or Phil. They were children of the soil, who knew not treachery. How could my lady know of any tampering of theirs? No! It was against Terence-the son whom my lady loved not-whose unworthy proceedings filled her aristocratic soul with repugnance-that she had warned her niece. Lord Clare knew the very wording of Theobald's last letter-through whom? Through Terence, of course-for five hundred guineas-alas! alas!

All of a sudden a new idea struck Doreen, and she sat up, her cheeks blanched and tear-stained. The traitor had worked well for the degrading pittance. He had succeeded in hoodwinking the society as well as herself. He was now at Brest, with every secret in his possession-every detail-every aspiration-cut and dried-in cold black and white-and she it was who had despatched him. The Emmetts, Russell, Bond, were doomed men. Their young lives were unconsciously sacrificed by her. There was no end to the blood for which she would be answerable. The cycle of her frenzied thoughts came back to the point at which she started. She had been trifling like some innocent child with burning brands which had scorched her. Not herself alone. Her life was her own, for better or for worse. When she should be called to appear before the throne to account for her deeds, she would be asked, 'Why broke you your father's heart for a chimera? why did you lead Emmett, Russell, Bond, by your wiles to the scaffold? Who were you to set yourself up as a teacher? To lure honest men, like a siren, to destruction? What could her faltering answer be? I meant well. I acted for the best. I was presumptuous. I am sorry… Can regret undo the injuries which are due to our presumption? No. The wretched Doreen was crushed by an overwhelming sense of her own littleness and failure. There was nothing for it but to kneel down and cry, 'I have sinned;' to clasp her sorrow and take it to the north, there to hold vigils of unfruitful repentance, whilst praying humbly to be released from earth. The wilds of Glas-aitch-é should be her covert. Into it she would creep like a stricken doe. If the White Pilgrim would obey her summons, with what gratitude she would cling to his filmy raiment! If he refused to hearken to her pleading-why then she must, kneeling on the stones, endure unto the end with such meekness as a vengeful heaven might vouchsafe to her.

The wild paroxysm past, she got up and returned with trailing feet towards the Abbey. Her limbs were aching from contact with dank herbage: her brogues and stockings soiled with clinging mud. A drizzling veil was settling on the earth, which looked, as far as ken might reach, dun-toned and colourless. Raising dazed eyes, she beheld a slim figure moving with rapid strides, and recognised young Robert from afar.

What could he be doing? Was he also crushed in spirit, as weary of the world as she; wandering in search of peace? or on one of his many missions of private charity?

He had been to the Abbey in quest of her; was told by a garden-lad that she had passed through the wooden postern, and had tracked her wanderings from hut to hut.

'They are going too far!' he said abruptly, with bent brows, as he turned to walk back with her. 'Already the squireens are abroad, imitating their fellows in the north. Dublin's in a ferment. It needs but the coming of the French to settle the affair at a blow. Every magistrate has received orders to raise twenty men to preserve the peace in place of the militia, should these be ordered to the coast. But they overreach themselves. Decent people are so furious at the tactics of Lord Clare, that even the militia are dying to turn against the Government. Cassidy says so, who should know, seeing that he keeps up a friendship with the Castle. I speak to-night at the Debating Club. Look at these notes,' he added, smiling. '"Recipe to make a Rebel! Take one loyal subject uninfluenced by pension; burn his house over his head; murder his wife and babes before his eyes; march away with such plunder as you choose to save from the flames-" But what is the matter? You look ill!'

'I am leaving Dublin almost at once,' Doreen said, 'and am glad of it. If there is one power which has the gift of withering up the soul, it is treachery! I am sick of the world. Go to your brother. Tell him the cause is lost. One who held all their secrets has betrayed them-for five hundred guineas; that is their value in his eyes.'

Here the girl broke into wild laughter-she who never laughed; and Robert looked at her in surprise, with a sense of coldness, creeping. Then, with a hectic spot upon each cheek, she eased her breast with words; recounted all she knew, and much more which was conjecture, though in her perturbed state she was not aware of it. Explained that they were all dupes of Terence's false bonhomie-that he had coldly and deliberately played a part; had, as it were, eaten their bread and salt, and then stabbed them in the back. In the midst of the hideous recital, her voice choked in a great gulp, and clasping her hot face with her hands, she burst into a flood of tears.

Ardent young Robert was shocked, but not convinced. Terence! whom every one loved for his bright eyes, through which shone forth an honest soul. To whom Robert and fellow-undergraduates looked up as to a preux chevalier in the matter of grouse-shooting and the beguiling of the wily trout. He could not believe such a thing, and would not. Lord Clare was capable of any amount of lying. His ways were so tortuous that they were difficult to follow. His spies were legion, who ferreted out everything. No doubt Phil and Biddy had been watched; they had billed and cooed too loudly as they had handed the pikes over the wall. Terence was unduly heedless about money; his friends frequently declared that he didn't know its value. It was absolutely out of the question that he should suddenly be tempted to do so crafty and mean a thing. As for the delegates of the society being betrayed and their secrets known, there was nothing new in that. Had they not, months ago, been arrested at his own chambers, their papers seized, themselves arbitrarily imprisoned, and afterwards as arbitrarily released? He could not fathom the tactics of the executive, the youth was forced to confess, for their movements seemed planned to circumvent each other. The rank and file were being captured by dozens and hanged, while the commanders and organisers of the scheme were permitted to remain at large.

It was not unpleasing to Doreen to hear her cousin defended; but she shook her head.

'If the French were to come now,' she said, 'they might set things right; but then they must come in force; and Terence, having gone to Brest, would probably clinch the irresolution of Hoche, and effectually decide him not to come at all. Verily, the world and its affairs were vexation of spirit; conspiracy a disheartening game; Ireland an accursed land, foredoomed to eternal misery.'

By the wooden postern which gave access to the rosary, stood a group of peasants, who humbly bowed to Miss Wolfe, then returned to the dirge of lamentation which her appearance had interrupted.

'Jug Coyle, what is the matter?' Doreen inquired; for she recognised in a heaving heap before her the shattered remains of that lady.

'Whisht! acushla!' a man whispered. 'Let her tears flow. Sure she's burned out of house and home. Her cabin's desthroyed. The sodgers-bad luck to 'em! – have taken her bit of bacon and the dhrop of potteen the quality used to loike, and thin they began to turn up the pratey-garden, and Biddy gave a yelp and wanted to run to the Little House, but the blagyards gagged her mouth with an ould rag, and tuk her away screeching.'

'The "Irish Slave" destroyed?' inquired Robert.

'Yes, your honour,' replied the man, lowering his voice as he glanced around. 'But they didn't find much. Phil, Masther Terence's man, came down from the Abbey to give the office, and most of the pike-heads were tossed over the wall, till we can put 'em back to-night. Wake up, Jug, and spake with the lady. Sure the shock has druv the collough crazy. When the thatch was all ablaze we went up to Madam Gillin, who always has the kind word and bit and sup; but she said she could do nothing, and bade us come to you.'

'To me!' echoed Doreen, bitterly. 'Am I not too a Catholic, and helpless?'

'But it's your father's the great gintleman,' urged the fellow coaxingly, as he twisted his corbeen between his horny hands. 'If ye'd spake the word, acushla-'

'My father!' Doreen groaned, breaking abruptly through the knot of suppliants. 'What can he do? He is sending me away. I'll pray to God for you; but He has been deaf this long while.'

CHAPTER IV.
WE PIPED UNTO YOU

So the "Irish Slave" was destroyed by fire, and its hapless occupant, finding that no redress might be obtained through, Miss Wolfe, crawled to the Little House, where she was taken in by its kind mistress, who in her turn received, a few minutes later, a visit from Major Sirr. He pointed out with deferential politeness to the good-humoured dame that, as a Catholic possessing property, it was scarcely wise to harbour traitors, whereat the stout lady broke into her hearty laugh and invited him to lunch.

'Is it me, meejor, that causes the Secret Council to shiver in their shoes,' she asked, 'with a Protestant daughter to go bail for me, and meeself, all but the fine airs, an aristocrat? Not but what Ollam Fodlah, mee ancestor, was better than the best of the stuck-up crathers! I'm a "no-party woman," as all the world knows, just as the buckramed bag-o'-bones at the Abbey foreninst us is a "no-popery woman." Let my ould collough be; she was my nurse, and won't trouble any one for long. Come in. Ye shall taste a gulp of my fine claret just to show there's no spite betune us-the very same, on my word of honour, as Justice Carleton and Judge Clonmel have such a tooth for.'

And Major Sirr pledged his hostess in his best manner, with a smirk on his thin features and a worldly twinkle glimmering from under his bushy brows, and departed presently to report at the Castle that Madam Gillin was a staunch loyalist who had miraculously escaped the taint which poisoned most ladies of her creed.

When he had departed, the good lady's face lost its dimples and grew long.

'That wicked fellow will bring them all to the gallows,' she muttered to herself, frowning at some one she saw in her mind's eye who was not Major Sirr. 'And my lips are sealed! It's a fearsome thing to have to watch what's going on, and not dare speak a word of warning. If he only didn't know that I take Norah to the mass! Yet I'm bound to do my best for the child's soul, though my lord would have her brought up a Protestant. Sure Father Daly said I must bring the pet to chapel for her soul's sake as well as mine.'

Then Madam Gillin, who was dividing the sheep from the goats in the matter of faded frippery in an untidy cupboard, resigned herself to unwonted meditation, with lines of gravity about her mouth which seldom rested there, as she recalled the day some time since, when he whom she had looked upon as friend unveiled himself to her in drunken frenzy as a viper; when she had stared into his big jolly face with an expression that had sobered him, while he explained that for the future she must do as she was bidden, or else all sorts of penalties would swoop upon her for tampering with the religion of a Protestant. On that occasion he fairly terrified her, and she kept the secret as to his being a viper in disguise, though it sickened her to think of it o' nights. She recalled the scene now for the thousandth time, and shuddered; and her best frock slipped out of her hands on the dirty floor while she contemplated that genial pleasant boon companion as she and only a few others knew him. Norah found her standing absently among crumpled gauzes when she returned from a jaunt to Dublin, and rallied her mother on her looks, with a smacking kiss like a whip-crack.

'Have ye heard a banshee, mamma?' she asked. 'See! I've done all the commissions. Feathers a foot long, lovely flowers for our skirts, and gloves to cover the elbow. I met Shane upon the road, and we went together; but I could not wheedle him into coming to the ball, though I did my best. He said the grand ladies frightened him-bored him more likely. He's mighty timid for a Blaster. It's a wonder he's not afraid of me.'

As the girl surveyed herself archly in the glass, she perceived why her lover feared her not. Indeed there was little of the grand style about the colleen. A rosy cheek; a liquid merry eye; a large ripe mouth, and an impudent upturned nose. No classical belle was poor Norah-only a healthy, comely wench-just such an one as would be likely to enchain a man with no loftier aspirations than Glandore's.

Though mamma was inclined to be glum, her daughter was in the highest spirits; for before her was the delicious prospect of the ball (such gaieties were becoming rarer and more rare), and she was quite convinced, from what Shane had said, that that spiteful cat the countess had lied when conversing at Crow Street with Lady Camden. It was true, certainly, that he was going away for a few weeks. It appeared that he had duties to perform, and she liked him too well to stand in the way of his duties. But as to that sinful, deceitful, odious story about bringing home a bride, the notion was quite too foolish. He had sworn as much with entrancing kisses, and was she not delighted to believe him? Why, there would be only two ladies of the party, he averred. Did his little goose suppose that he could lead his own mother to the altar? As for Doreen, the idea was quite as preposterous. Her frigid ways and tiresome national wrongs were not to his taste at all. Therefore Miss Norah was quite content, though she had just bidden her lover farewell. She would see him no more for several months, perhaps; for, to avoid attending a ball where objectionable fine ladies would congregate, my lord had settled to ride as avant courier to Drogheda, to superintend the preparations at the inn where my lady and the household were to sojourn.

Though the volcano was heaving in portentous fashion, society seemed of one mind as to dancing jigs upon it to the last. Upon formal proclamation of martial law, the yeomanry had thrown off all disguise. The squireens were ruffianly through ignorance, their betters through self-interest, for it was easy to detect which way the wind was blowing. The chancellor was plainly for harsh measures. 'I will make these Irish as tame as cats,' he was heard incautiously to say. It was to be a war of class against class, in which both parties were artistically goaded by dark suspicions and deftly-spread falsehoods. Internecine strife is always remarkable for a display of the vilest passions. It seems as if the flow of gall is the more bitter from the difficulty of first pumping it to the surface. Major Sirr and his gang took to prowling in the night-houses-to making evening raids on taverns-a species of political crimping which was fruitful of brilliant hawls. Lists were even despatched to the Staghouse by Mr. Secretary Cooke that the town-major's lambs might study them, and 'pencil off such as they deemed dangerous to the country.' Bands of armed squireens sallied out in the mad frolics begot by drink, to 'give their opinion' to the disaffected, and the result was such a succession of night-brawls that Lord Clare was sorry and hurt.

'What are we to do with these depraved turbulent creatures?' he plaintively inquired of the cabinet. And one and all-Arthur Wolfe even reluctantly consenting-admitted that stringent measures were imperative, or anarchy would surely supervene. So an order went forth that none should appear in Dublin streets after eight o'clock p.m., unless armed with a special permit to do so. The theatres were closed. The city was in a state of siege, as though really Hoche were at its gates.

But this was too dull for my lords and my ladies, who were not given to reading books, and had no intention that annoyance should fall upon themselves. They met for cards at one another's houses, their sedans protected by retinues of servants; but this was a poor pastime to folks who were accustomed to the public dances of Fishamble Street-the sumptuous entertainments at the Castle. They grumbled that this premature alarm was ridiculous. The French were not in Ireland, though the 'Shan van Vocht' was wont lyrically to declare at all hours of the day that they were on the sea. As for the United Irishmen, they were a 'Bugaboo.' With the troops which had been sent over any attempted rising could be frustrated at once; but they would not be so stupid as to rise-the tongues of these foul-mouthed patriots were more killing than their swords. My Lord Clare must be losing his nerve, he was not severe enough. They-the lords, urged by their ladies-would see that a proper spirit of terror was instilled into the scum, so that even if called on by their chiefs to rise, they would sit like beaten hounds-their tails between their legs. Lord Clare looked at Lord Camden from under his beetling penthouse. Lord Camden looked at Lord Clare and hummed, and hawed, and shuffled. For the unfortunate gentleman who represented majesty, though he lived as much as he could, like some Japanese monarch behind screens, could not hide himself so well but that unpleasant speeches reached his ears. He had consented tacitly to make a Guy Fawkes of himself, and permit the bearers of the pageant to explode malodorous squibs under his nose; but when the evil savours choked him he winced in tribulation. He grew to hate his tormentor well-nigh as much as the people did, which was no little. But Lord Clare's day of triumph seemed in nowise on the wane-everything went as he wished it to go. His ruthless bearing had made him a despot in the imbecile senate. His colleagues, forgetting their rank, their country, and their dignity, yielded to the spell of his dictation as a fascinated bird drops before the snake. The letters of congratulation which he received from Pitt and others were accumulating within his escritoire. So soon as he should have tamed the tiger-Irish, how great would his reward be! He saw in the distance a vision no longer dim. An English peerage. A position in the English House of Lords, where great statesmen should listen to his periods-where Nestors should encourage his ambition. There seemed no end to the gorgeous vista. Why not some day assume the place of Pitt himself, who, though young, was (at least the world said so) eaten up by debauchery and excess? And what was there which stood 'twixt himself and this glorious prospect? His own country, its interests, its safety, its political existence-nothing more! Pooh! Time works wonders. Things were going well. If those idiots would only fall upon the swords which were held out to them, there was no knowing what might not be accomplished. The Hibernian lords and gentlemen were in a fair way of exhibiting themselves to the odium of the world. Having danced their infernal dance at the bidding of those who clutched the purse-strings, they would make a sorry figure when the latter spurned them in disgust. What would they do then? Only sink lower still, and become more abject, till the pit of degradation should know no deeper depth. That was the way to work on them! To hold out threats that pensions would not be paid unless certain dirty work was done. To declare then that it was much too dirty-that by disobeying instructions they had forfeited the right to sit in the presence of decent people; that, having gone so far, all sense of respect must be abandoned; that, honour being lost, nothing was left to them but money; that with their own guilty hands they must cut the throat of their legislature, and drown remorse so long as the blood-money should last. This was to be the crowning edifice of my Lord Clare's scheme; and Mr. Pitt laughed a sardonic laugh as he tied a wet towel round his throbbing temples. He had got very drunk and lost at whist, had the gay young British premier; but the excellence of this conceit caused him to grin, despite his headache.

'This Irishman,' he laughed, 'talks monstrous fine about the low ebb to which the Irish lords have sunk-forgetting that his own place is lower still than theirs; but he does his burrowing with rare ability.'

So Lord Clare worked and wormed with consummate diplomacy and tact, while those who employed him despised their tool in increasing ratio with his success; and Lord Camden's seat of thorns became daily more galling, and the silly mice gambolled with a recklessness which compelled pity-and old Father Time hurried on, afraid to look behind him.

My lords and my ladies, finding Dublin very dull, began to vent their spleen. The chancellor therefore saw that he must break the ice, which had been freezing up too rapidly. He announced, accordingly, that the Castle festivities would not be postponed, as had been intended. The grand ball, usually given on Christmas Eve, would take place a week later instead-no other change would result from the threatening state of affairs. Gentlemen, however, were requested to wear their swords; for all sorts of rumours were abroad, which the executive sincerely hoped were merely the invention of the enemy. How any enemy could be so heartless as to plot and conspire against so angelic an executive, etc., etc., as usual.

That the great ball was really to take place, was hailed with universal delight. Everybody knows St. Patrick's hall-its magnificent proportions, the suite of state-rooms to which it leads; the splendid staircases, balconies, lobbies; ideal spots for flirtation-or conspiracy. All parties, patriotic and the reverse, rejoiced at prospect of this fête, for several reasons.

Sirr and his Battalion of Testimony were becoming so ubiquitous-informers had a way of turning up so unexpectedly-that it grew daily more difficult to hit on a place of meeting secure from their spying presence. Of course only gentlemen and ladies 'to the backbone' could expect to gain admittance to Castle dinners and concerts; but with the St. Patrick balls it was otherwise. These assemblies bore so official a character that respectable citizens of all denominations were certain of receiving an invitation. Lord Clare, aware of this, had made his calculations. The United Irishmen were sure to be there in force; it would not be his fault if they did not flounder into a hole.

It was for this ball on New Year's Eve that Norah Gillin had gone forth to purchase ribbons and plumes. It was for this ball that my Lady Glandore had waited-after which she and Miss Wolfe were to start for Donegal, changing their gala-dresses at the first stage upon the road.

Sara, who burned to see Robert and hear how his red-hot speech at the debating society had been received, importuned her father with unusual eagerness to take her to this ball. Was his little primrose becoming worldly? he inquired, with a gloomy smile. No, no! Twinkling feet should go with light hearts. Whose hearts might be light at this awful crisis? His girl must stop at home and say her prayers for Erin, and he would soothe himself and her by strains on the violoncello. That instrument was constantly in his hand now, whenever he was at home; and folks trembled as they passed by at night, for sure such dreadful sounds must come from the damned in agony!

Mr. Curran was exceeding sick at heart. His friend Wolfe upbraided him constantly for too openly opposing Government; whilst, on the other hand, anonymous letters arrived by dozens, abusing him for lukewarmness in the cause. He shook his head at the latter, muttering, as he tossed them into the fire, 'Blind fools! Mine is the waiting game. Ye'll be glad enough by-and-by that I stood neutral!'

But on the morning of the 29th a report came to the lawyer's ears which filled him with amazement. He put aside his beloved violoncello, and trotted to Dublin to see Emmett, Russell, Bond. The report was true, he found. Vainly he argued and protested-vowed that to save them from their madness he must go and tell Lord Clare. No! He would not betray them, but would go and intercede. The chancellor was not at home to him, though he saw him come from behind a curtain; so, retiring disconsolately to the Priory, he bade Sara fetch out her gewgaws, as he must even take her to the Castle after all.

St. Patrick's hall was crowded when he and his child entered it-she in a white muslin dress, with a single frilling round its short skirt, a scarf of soft green about her neck, for the night was bitter, and the dancing-room beset by draughts. It was a gay assemblage, for General Lake (who had arrived recently) and all his staff were present in glittering English uniforms, which were not to be outdone in splendour by the officers of Irish militia. Even Mr. Curran's unmartial figure was buckramed in gold and scarlet, for was not he too an officer of the Lawyer's corps, which forbade its members to wear mufti?

The national love of parade showed strongly in the martial costume which the sons of Erin donned. Sumptuous embroidery was scattered with a lavish hand over cuffs, high collars, padded breasts, and tight-fitting pantaloons; while some regiments, whose colonels boasted of picturesque proclivities, were grand in the matter of shoulder-knots and becoming scarves around the waist. The effect was enhanced by contrast, for metal ornaments were little used at that day to adorn the dresses of the fair, who with towering ostrich feathers, silken fillets, lofty wreaths of flowers, could afford to resign to their lords and masters the glories of gold and silver. Variety of texture, too, heightened the fine effect; for whilst men were swathed quite stiff in gold-laced coats and voluminous cravats, young ladies wore as little as possible, and that of thinnest gauze or crape, and their mammas the scantiest quantity of shot or patterned silk.

The scene was the more animated for the strangeness of its component parts. Irish patriotic belles were putting forth all their attractions to pump young English exquisites-aides-de-camp to Lake or Abercromby-to entrap them into unguarded statements, which might convey useful information to their brothers. General Lake himself was literally besieged by beauty, who lavished before that vain person the fascination of neat ankles, the flash of diamond eyes, the charms of pouting bosoms-in order to wring from him, in spite of caution, some hint of the intentions of the military. This was a game open to both parties. Aides-de-camp were instructed to ensnare their partners as to the plans of the United Irishmen; to discover, if possible, under the mask of innocent flirtation, who the acting delegates were, what were their views, their capacities, their characters; but it must be admitted that the weak sex generally had the best of it, for hot-headed youth is apt to be distracted by externals, and the costume of the period was characterised by peculiarities which were calculated to mislead young men.