Kitabı oku: «My Lords of Strogue. Volume 3 of 3», sayfa 9

CHAPTER VII.
SUSPENSE

Doreen was a fine subject, truly, for matrimonial scheming! Sara, faithful little nurse, hovered round her bed while she battled with delirium-spoke words of encouragement to Lord Kilwarden, who watched his daughter's state with grief. What was the use of all his trimming-his cautious steering-his dallying with Apollyon, if she for whose sake alone he desired wealth and titles was beyond caring for the treasures of this life? But the fond father's prayers were answered. Her splendid constitution soon brought her back to health-she was not one of those who die broken-hearted; but it was soon manifest to all who watched her that she, like Terence, looked on her life as done. She spent her time in watching the boats on Dublin Bay-aware, in hazy fashion, of Sara's prattle. She asked after Tom Emmett and the others, as one might after old friends who are crippled for life-who are labouring under some incurable malady. Terence spent many moments of placid enjoyment, conversing with his cousin in the little bedroom which overlooked the rosary; but neither ever spoke a word of love. The brief interval of freedom was speeding quick away. The works at Fort George were progressing rapidly. A very few weeks and the prisoners would depart, to begin a new existence in a howling wilderness. She told him her plans, with such details as he might ponder over in his solitude, promising to carry them out to the letter as a sacred duty, in order that he might calculate with certainty what she was doing at such and such an hour. The notion of taking the veil was in a calmer moment given up. What need to take the veil? What difference could a vow make to one whose heart was dead? Her vigorous energy must find scope; in tending others she would forget herself. She would, thanks to Lord Kilwarden's savings, play the Lady Bountiful in Dublin, for the benefit of the sufferers from the Reign of Terror. Scarce a family of the lower class but the yeomanry had left their brand on it. Fatherless children-widowed wives-cried out from the Vale of Tears. Sure, those who were taken-who had been shot down like dogs or had perished under torture in the Riding-school-were better off than they, if their end was to be starvation in a gutter! Lord Kilwarden murmured that it should be as she wished. She should return and live with him in town, and do with his money as she listed. The subject of the union interested Doreen deeply. She could talk of it without rancour as a thing that was inevitable. Her life was done because that of Mother Erin was over, and of her faithful sons. So she discussed the prospects of the union as she would have discussed a funeral. Kilwarden and his child were not agreed upon the subject. Her father, after serious deliberation, was in favour of the measure, and thus expressed himself, while Curran, pretending to be buried in a book, sniffed and hemmed.

'Events,' he said, 'have clearly shown how unstable is our nature. Only twenty years ago we showed a serried front, and were as one in the cause of freedom; but a little wedge was inserted-and see! To what an end we've come! For we have come to an end-there is no use discussing that. The one drop of satisfaction which is given to us in the goblet of gall is that an assembly will vanish into space which has reached the lowest depth of human degeneracy. Its members-as all Europe knows-consider the station they hold as a portion of private property, not as a public trust. The scorn of Lord Cornwallis is not undeserved.'

To this Curran objected with vehemence: 'My good friend! is that a reason why your union should answer? You cannot glue two pieces of board together unless the joint be clean. You cannot unite two men indissolubly, unless the cement be virtue. How then two countries, between which rolls a sea of blood more wide than the Atlantic?'

But Arthur Lord Kilwarden had followed events with a keen scrutiny, and none were more appalled than he at the way the senate had jigged to my Lord Clare's piping. 'Whichever way,' he affirmed sadly, 'you look at the proceedings of your parliament, the sight is equally distressing. If the English parliament could be convinced that our interests are really bound up with theirs, they would come to look on us in time as part and parcel of themselves, instead of treating us like savages. Indeed, the Irish Lords and Commons are showing clearly that the English estimate of them is the right one. Practically their birthright is disposed of. It is merely a matter of terms.

Then Curran murmured doleful things about the extinction of the Irish name and the days of the Round Towers, and the parties, as usual, agreed to differ.

There was one side of the matter which was gratifying to Doreen, namely, the conduct of her own people. The Viceroy was undisguisedly in favour of inserting in this Union Bill a clause for the abrogation of the penal statutes; but, as might have been expected, the King dashed his pen through it. The Catholics emancipated indeed? Fiddle-de-dee! Never, while that large-minded monarch should survive. His stupidity produced a hitch. Then the Catholic lords came forward-there were but seven-and begged that state interests should be consulted before that of their own faith. The effect produced was good, for the dignity of the situation lay not with stupid George. Although they seemed to be sacrificing themselves unduly, yet they scored one in the eyes of Europe, and public opinion decided that their attitude of noble neutrality would reap its reward ere long. Doreen was glad of this, although for her part she would wish to struggle against union to the last. If it must take place, it must; but she agreed with Terence that eternal obloquy would be the portion of those who were responsible for the end. It was with dissatisfaction, then, that she listened to his tidings about Shane. It was by an accident, due to the involuntary influence of his younger brother, that he escaped degradation at the first voting? This was terrible news! The duty of the younger man was plainly written, she pointed out with a spark of her old animation. Before withdrawing to consummate his martyrdom, he must speak earnestly, seriously, to the misguided earl-implore him on his knees, if need were, not to disgrace the name which had descended unsullied from Sir Amorey. 'If you show him,' she said, 'the chasm into which he is about to fall, his better instincts will drag him back. Neither his vanity nor avarice must be played on by the chancellor for the furtherance of that wicked end.

Terence replied that not only had he no influence over his brother, but that the latter might be goaded by his interference into doing precisely that which they all deprecated, out of spite. It would be better to trust to Providence. 'How can I bid him not disgrace the family?' he concluded, gently smiling. 'Would he not retort that I have done worse than he can do, by placing my neck within the halter?'

There was something in this, certainly, Doreen admitted. But it was not a moment for petty vanity-it was a time for general humiliation. Terence must humble himself to bear meekly the taunts of Lord Glandore, content in that he was doing his duty. In the solitude of Fort George it would be a comforting episode to dwell upon-instead of brooding always over Erin's death-throes.

One evening, at this point of the discussion, which was renewed again and again before Terence could make up his mind to risk a storm, blonde Sara, who, sitting hard by, was wont to listen to pros and cons which dazed her in respectful silence, laid down her needle, and startled the disputants by saying, 'Are you quite sure that she is in her death-throes?'

Doreen patted her arm as you might that of a precocious child, and said, with her moonlit smile, 'Have you a doubt, dear Sara?'

'I have no opinion,' responded the simple maid; 'but Robert does not think so, and he knows.'

The curiosity of her listeners was aroused. The ardent young enthusiast was about to return, in spite of Curran's wishes to the contrary, to take a last look at Tom ere he sailed away. What were these opinions of his that imparted so grandmotherly an air to the gentle Primrose?

'I've had another letter,' quoth the sapient maiden. 'He doesn't agree with you at all. Hark. He says: "Notwithstanding the darkness of our prospect, I seem to see a light. We must rise to the level of the situation, as our fathers did in '82. We are unworthy of the name of nation if by combination we cannot frustrate the Sassanagh's designs. Other and better men have pioneered the way; be mine the bright result: there shall be no union. The more I see of the English, the more I detest them. In coffee-houses they elbow me to the wall. If I were a red Indian they could not treat me and my country with greater disdain!"'

The idea that her Robert was not appreciated imbued the maid with such indignation as sat in comical fashion on her sweet, soft features. The hearts of both those who looked at her yearned towards this fragile flower. They had been strong and sturdy, yet were they utterly undone. Was this girl to pass, too, under the yoke? Doreen, in a gush of compassion, seized her slight figure in her arms and strained it to her breast, murmuring, as she did so, 'No, child; oh no, no! Not you too! Surely the pyre is piled high enough; the smoke of it blackens the heavens. The land is drenched; it can drink no more. Write to him, my dearest, and adjure him not to hope. Write and forbid his coming.'

Both Terence and Doreen were painfully aware that the element of sedition was dormant, not conquered. They were convinced, too, that the struggle was useless-were ready to bow to the consummation of Lord Clare's strategy, provided that they might stand aloof from among the traitors. If it were useless, why renew the struggle? Why help to bring upon the land again the horrors of the Hurry? Both Terence and Doreen saw through the cloak of Robert's mysterious words, though Sara apparently did not. Yet surely he could not be so utterly distracted as to intend again to raise the standard of revolt? The whole aspect of the case was changed since '98. Napoleon was too much bent on Continental laurels to allow France to think of Ireland. Money was scarce; merchants cautious; the people cowed. The Presbyterians were irritated by the Wexford massacre; the Catholics indignant at the supposed desertion of the northerners. A pretty time to think of flying to arms! No; Robert could not be so mad. But what did he mean, then? Was his combination to be a bloodless contest, such as was brought to a successful issue by the Volunteers? Combination, forsooth! It was not possible for Irishmen ever to combine for more than a few minutes together. Sara evidently had no notion that her Robert could imply a resort to arms, or she would not be purring in this kittenish fashion. As it was, she shook off the embrace of her dear friend, and was very angry in that she showed anxiety to keep Robert away, now that all danger to his sacred head, was past. She waxed exceeding wroth, begging to know why Doreen presumed to question Robert's wisdom; then, scalded by her own tears, she drooped into the arms of the older girl, registering a desire to be dead-a petition with which Heaven has been wearied by natives of Ireland time out of mind.

'I will see to her,' Doreen whispered. 'Now, do you go down, to please me, Terence. You will never regret having done your best to turn Glandore. If you succeed, what blessed visions will paint the walls of your prison-cell! Go and speak seriously to Shane, for all our sakes.'

Terence pressed his cousin's hand and promised. If it was his fate to languish through a long life on the cold crags of Moray Firth, that placid air of calm, the light of those solemn eyes, should soothe him to the last upon his pilgrimage. He was greedily laying up a store of precious memories. The time was growing very short. Orders must come very soon for that final parting. Whate'er befel, he promised himself to follow to the end his guiding star. Heaven would inspire him with words which should save his brother from himself. Doreen was right, as she always was. He strolled leisurely across to the stable-yard to inquire whether my lord had returned from hunting.

CHAPTER VIII.
EAVESDROPPING

The Eumenides galloped in full cry after my lady. Their quarry was run down, scrambled up and staggered on again-was near the end of the run now. When Shane, apple of his mother's eye, gave the last unconscious stab, she bore it without wincing, and sat up and attempted a wintry smile, as he had bidden her. The goblet which, through her strength of character, she had been able to push aside during many years, was held at her lips by a ruthless hand, and must be drained. There was no help for it. She must go and grovel before the hated Gillin, and pray her in mercy to remove the obnoxious Norah. There was nothing else for it. Schemes had miscarried, plots had fallen through. What a sorry spectacle is a harried mortal in the death-grip of the hags of Até!

Even a year's absence at Glas-aitch-é had not blurred the memory of Norah in the heart of the young prodigal. Gillin still beguiled him to the Little House-the knavish, cruel woman! What steadiness of purpose she had shown all through her relentless course! And now she was waiting in her den with cool assurance to consummate her fiendish work. What a terrible thing to have to bow down and implore mercy from this common, vulgar wretch! Would she even now, with her rival at her feet, be merciful? Or would she, with the inherent ungenerosity of a low nature, spurn and deride the victim? Be that as it might, the ordeal must be assayed. It was no use to shake the fist at serene heaven in the impotence of rage. That would in nowise mend matters, and was silly besides. My lady resolved at last to take her cup and drink the draught, since there was no avoiding it. For several days she waited, hoping against hope for a means of escape. None came. She accepted the position, put on her hood, and sallied forth on the self-same afternoon upon which Terence decided to speak out to Shane.

Madam Gillin, in her amazement, swept down the jam-pots which she was stowing in a cupboard when Norah tore breathless up the stairs to announce that a leedy was coming up the walk who was no other than the Countess of Glandore.

'Holy Mother!' she ejaculated. The moment was come then-at last! and the two were to speak out, face to face. It could only be on one subject-an unpleasant interview. What could induce the countess now to strike her colours, and come of her own accord, who for years had declined to acknowledge her neighbour's existence? The haughty countess must be hard pressed indeed to humble herself in this wise. Peeping through shutter-chinks, she beheld the stately figure of my lady-as straight as an arrow, shrouded in a silken wrapper, moving slowly towards her door, and screamed out orders to Jug to get out her best gown instantly, and place some wine on the parlour table.

My lady was kept waiting for fully half an hour, while the mistress of the Little House was arranging her war-paint, during which time she had leisure to glance round the adornments of the chamber-bright, big, showy, glowing and rubicund, blatant with varnished newness-so different from the cobwebbed dignity of the black oak and tapestry at the Abbey. The ceiling was painted in the Italian style, with clouds on cerulean ether like bits of cotton-wool. The floor was thickly carpeted, the windows heavily curtained-for the judges, when they came to carouse with their gay hostess, liked what was snug and cosy. Over the chimney-piece were two portraits, side by side, at which my lady frowned-the late Lord Glandore and Norah. The woman was evidently shameless, to place my lord's portrait so en evidence. This long delay was, no doubt, a premeditated insult. The original of the second portrait, conscious that it was rude of her mamma to be so long in dressing, skimmed down the stairs and banged open the door to make a good-humoured apology, but closed it quickly and retreated-the aspect of the old lady was so forbidding as she stood upright in the centre of the floor, with thin nose pinched and bent brows scowling. If the squireens of Letterkenny had been frightened by the gorgon's stony face when she strove to be gracious, how much more awful did she appear now, when grilling on the coals of humiliation.

By-and-by, with a prodigious rattle, Madam Gillin swam in and curtseyed. If there was to be a passage of arms, she was determined not to be taken at a disadvantage. Fortune had denied her the grand air which goes with blue blood and coronets, but she was resolved to make up for the want of it by a display of external magnificence. Though warm and moist with the exertion of plunging into grandeur at so short a notice, she looked mighty fine in her best red satin, made very tight and short, with a Roman emperor in cameo grinning on the high waistband, and another nodding from her hair. The ruddy tint of her mature charms vied with the ruby of the satin and the redness of the turban, and came by no means badly out of the conflict.

When arrayed in the garments of ceremony, Madam Gillin, despite the stoutness of her figure, could be extremely dignified. With a second curtsey and a sweep round of the left foot, she bade the visitor welcome to her poor home, and pointed a mittened forefinger at a chair.

'It's honoured that I am entirely, by your leedyship's condescension,' she said, wagging the turban affably. 'Might I offer some sherry-wine, or would your leedyship prefer clart? or a dhrop of prime poteen? The judges, bless you, prefer clart. Sure, Jug'll bring a cake in a jiffy, for drink's bad on an empty stomach.'

The countess responded by a freezing bow. How hard it was to begin! Yet, having come, she must needs speak out. This ungenerous foe was exaggerating her own defects with intention, in order to make the task more difficult; was pretending to believe that her neighbour had 'dropped in' by a friendly impulse, just to scrape a tardy acquaintance over a glass of wine. The next words of the enemy showed that it was so.

'Your leedyship's sons are quite old cronies here,' she remarked. 'They often honour my tipple, and find it good; faith, it's the same as their dear papa used to like, poor fellow!' Here she nodded solemnly at the portrait, lest my lady should not have noticed it. 'And fine boys they are, though the eldest is a bit skittish. Your leedyship has reason to be proud of them-specially the younger.'

It was as the countess expected. The woman was brutal and pitiless and devoid of shame. Each word, each movement, was an outrage, a barb hurled with studied purpose. Nothing could come of an interview begun upon these lines; it would be better to cut it short, ere self-control was lost. My lady had not moved from her position on the centre of the floor, not choosing to notice the invitation to be seated. Gathering her wrapper close, with a haughty movement of white fingers, she said abruptly, as she turned to go:

'Woman! I have lowered myself in order to conjure you to consider what you do. You have harmed me, Mrs. Gillin, as much as you could ever since I first set eyes on you, although I never did you hurt. You robbed me of my husband, and flaunted your prize all over Dublin, and I bore my cross without a word, because one may not touch pitch without being one's self defiled. You encouraged my second son in his folly; pushed him down the incline till you nearly brought him to the gallows; and now you are determined, if you can, to bring young Glandore to ruin. You are a devil-not a woman! Hate me, if you will, for I would prefer your hatred to your friendship; but surely you cannot hate him, or you would not hang his portrait there. Even if he did you any wrong, of which I am ignorant, forbear to wreak vengeance on his children. I never understood your motives. What can you gain by compassing all this mischief?'

'Whom did yon say I wished to bring to ruin?' sneered the scarlet lady, unabashed.

The pale face of the countess flushed crimson, and she proceeded as if the words stuck in her throat:

'This hideous marriage must be prevented; you know why as well as I do. Think of the wreck to which you would bring these innocent lives. Remember, at least, that the girl is your own child, poor thing. Feel pity for her, if you can summon none for the other.'

'I have as much pity for my child as you for yours!' Madam Gillin retorted, with meaning. 'When his neck was in danger, you never stirred a finger-nail.'

My lady stopped at the door to make one more effort.

'You have deliberately brought those two together, though I have strained every nerve to keep them apart. Dare you stand by and see them married?'

'If the childer like each other, faix, it's not me as'll spoil the fun!' returned her tormentor.

My lady groaned and made as if she would speak again, but Mrs. Gillin's fat back was turned; she was improving the position of the cameos, by means of a mirror on the wall.

Lady Glandore adjusted her hood on her white hair, and moved swiftly, with bowed head, away from the Little House; while Madam Gillin, detaching her gorgeous turban, turned quickly round with a grin, so soon as she was fairly gone, and watched her from behind a shutter. The good lady was troubled in her mind, and stood staring down the walk, as the grin faded, long after the muffled figure had departed. At length she clapped the errant comb into its place upon her head, and murmured:

'I'm a devil, not a woman, am I? Sure that cap fits best on your own pate. Rather than speak out, you'd let that lad be whipped off to Fort George, would you? Just as you would have let him be hanged-mother without a heart! It's Lucifer's pride ye have, every ha'porth of it. Well, my lips have been closed long enough.' Then, nodding to the picture over the chimney-piece, she added aloud: 'Have I kept my word with ye? Ye wished it all set right, bad man, when Satan pinched ye. Who was it that was always bidding ye to see to it yourself, and ye wouldn't? And her pride is as great as yours. Never fear; it shall be set right by me; for I like the boy for himself as well as for my oath. Before the sun's set I'll go to Ely Place and tell my Lord Clare something that'll astonish him.'

'Tell him what, mamma?' asked Norah, who was dying to learn what had taken place.

'Never mind, child!' grunted madam, as she squeezed the impudent young lady's peachen cheek. 'What d'ye think that stiff old bag-o'-bones said just now? That I didn't love my girl; and that I'd do her wanton harm.'

'She lied!' retorted prompt Norah.

'Faith, ye're right!' agreed her mother, with a smacking kiss. 'Order round the shay, and come and help me to take off my toggery.'

My lady sped rapidly away. The ordeal-short and sharp-more bitter even than she dreamed-was over; the draught was swallowed-in vain. Gillin's taunts had shrivelled her soul like branding-irons. It behoved her to arrange her features before returning to the Abbey, lest some one should detect the troubled aspect of the chatelaine and make guesses at its cause, which might possibly come near the truth. As courage failed and resolution waned, her secret struggled the harder to come forth. With the self-consciousness of guilt she seemed to feel it emblazoned on her forehead, where all who ran might read.

Instead of returning by the grand drive which was but at the distance of a stone's-throw, she followed the main road, skirted the wall that bounded her rival's grounds, and re-entered Strogue from the back, by the wooden postern which gave access to the rosary.

The thrusts of the full-blown champion in red satin were few; but they went home, and smarted still. My lady's ears tingled yet as she walked between the tall beech hedges. We are conscious often of doing wrong, but decline to look upon our fault, and coax ourselves to disbelieve in its existence by persistently turning our attention to more pleasing objects. But when another individual, whose human voice we can't shut out, brays forth the story of the sin with trumpet clearness, we seem to wake up as to a new appreciation of its enormity, which comes like a fresh revelation of turpitude. Thus was it with my lady in this instance. She was well aware that her treatment of Terence, from the beginning, was below the level of just solicitude; that latterly, though his position as a traitor awaiting punishment had weighed her down, yet she had acquiesced, with a weakness which was itself a fault, in the prejudged sentence, and had been prepared to hear that the scrag-boy's work was done without attempting personally to move in the matter. Conscience whispered once or twice that by virtue of her rank she ought to force admittance to the Castle. Nay! that she ought to have hurried long ago to London, and have wrested her boy's life from the King's clemency; have dogged his Majesty to Weymouth; have stormed him in retirement; and have even tossed the sprats that he was frying into the flames if he took refuge in his wonted obstinacy. In a hazy way she knew all this full well. She knew, indistinctly, that the scrag-boy had become to her warped soul a harbinger of peace; and afraid of seeing too much on the glass which conscience held, had shut her eyes and breathed on it till the Present should become Past, and thereby irretrievable. But Gillin's words could not be shut out after so simple a fashion. She had hinted a few moments since, with scathing irony, that even if she sacrificed her own child in cold blood on the altar of Nemesis, her conduct would be no worse than my lady's had been to her second son. And my lady's conscience echoed the speech with loud applause. She looked now straight into her own heart, and was appalled at what she saw there; she hearkened to the upbraidings of the monitor, and admitted that his reproaches were deserved-that even the travail of an embittered life was not an atonement sufficient for its crime.

It is an awful moment when a nature built on pride begins to crumble. The crash follows swiftly on the warning. Extremes tumble together; the loftier the edifice the more complete its collapse. The upbraidings of the monitor-harsh, unrelenting, awfully distinct-dinned in my lady's ears as she paced with muffled head between the hedges of the rosary. Presently she heard a murmur. No! That was not conscience. Those were human voices-the voices of her sons-arguing in a high key. Great heavens! they were quarrelling.

With a stealthy step, holding her mantle in close folds lest its rustle should betray the presence of an eavesdropper, she stole along under the lofty hedge.

Shane was in his hunting-suit. He was surrounded by his hounds. They sniffed about and rolled on the damp grass, making their toilet in dog fashion, to clean their muddy backs. Eblana and Aileach sat on their hams gazing at their master with wistful heads poised on one side. Shane stood facing his mother, who marked that the muscles of his face were twitching, while his limbs shook with passion. Terence had his back to her-a tall, quiet figure, distinct against a faded sky which was faint with the glare of a departed sun. His broad, square shoulders stood out distinctly from a light background of misty hedge, of blotted, translucent pink, and pale yellow, and blue-green, across which streamed a troop of darkling phantoms-crows cawing off to roost.

Shane's hunting-whip sawed the air, as he passed it from one nervous hand to the other. He was always so ready with his whip. It seemed as much as he could do to withhold its sinuous thong from off his brother. Terence was speaking. My lady held her breath to listen.

'I speak to you as from the grave,' he said. 'My life is done. A week or two at most, and my place will be vacant-my shadow will darken the threshold of my ancestors no more. Take care, my brother! When you look on my empty seat let the sad memory of me be precious on your hearth, untarnished by regret. You are the head of the house. Do not forget the responsibilities to which you are born. Look at the tapestry in the drawing-room, and follow the example of your fathers. Do your duty by them; be without fear and without reproach. Do not earn for yourself among the family pictures an empty frame from which posterity shall have wrenched the portrait.'

'Peace! I will not bear your prosing!' hissed the young earl. 'You are no better than a felon. You've wrecked yourself through your own folly, and now would inflict your broken-backed morality on me. I told you once you were no better than a "half-mounted." Ye're not so good. As for your insolent advice, that for it! I'll tell you this much, to set your mind at rest. I've made it up with my Lord Cornwallis by explaining that the mistake was due to you. I've pledged my own vote to Government, and all the influence that I can bring to bear. Two of the boroughs I hold will be disfranchised, in return for which I am to have money down.'

'Oh, remember!' broke in Terence. 'That it's blood-money, which carries a curse with it. That it will come out of Irish coffers. By a refinement of barbarity it is Erin who will have to pay the ruffians who will slay her!'

'Pooh!' retorted Shane, with a finger-snap. 'Whatever your worship's views may be, I will vote for union-there! Not that it can signify to yon one way or t'other, so soon as you have been carted off to Scotland.'

'Then after this,' returned Terence, with hot reproach, 'you should quarter an auctioneer's hammer with the arms of old Sir Amorey; since, like a superannuated chest of drawers, you are to be knocked down to the lowest bidder!'

My lady could endure the spectacle no longer of her two sons threatening each other in the gloaming with swollen veins, face close to face. With a ghostly sigh which startled the disputants she hurried towards the house. The brothers searched but found no one, and cast uneasy glances at each other. What was it? Could it be the banshee-messenger of ill?