Tales and Novels Volume VI Part 18

resumed Mr. Burke, "that I really am not acquainted with the state of his lords.h.i.+p's affairs in general. I know only what belongs to the estate under my own management. The princ.i.p.al part of his lords.h.i.+p's property, the Clonbrony estate, is under another agent, Mr.

Garraghty."

"Garraghty!" repeated Lord Colambre; "what sort of a person is he? But I may take it for granted, that it cannot fall to the lot of one and the same absentee to have two such agents as Mr. Burke."

Mr. Burke bowed, and seemed pleased with the compliment, which he knew he deserved--but not a word did he say of Mr. Garraghty; and Lord Colambre, afraid of betraying himself by some other indiscreet question, changed the conversation.

The next night the post brought a letter to Mr. Burke, from Lord Clonbrony, which he gave to his wife as soon as he had read it, saying, "See the reward of all my services!"

Mrs. Burke glanced her eye over the letter, and being extremely fond of her husband, and sensible of his deserving far different treatment, burst into indignant exclamations--"See the reward of all your services, indeed!--What an unreasonable, ungrateful man!--So, this is the thanks for all you have done for Lord Clonbrony!"

"He does not know what I have done, my dear. He never has seen what I have done."

"More shame for him!"

"He never, I suppose, looks over his accounts, or understands them."

"More shame for him!"

"He listens to foolish reports, or misrepresentations, perhaps. He is at a distance, and cannot find out the truth."

"More shame for him!"

"Take it quietly, my dear; we have the comfort of a good conscience.

The agency may be taken from me by this lord; but the sense of having done my duty, no lord or man upon earth can give or take away."

"Such a letter!" said Mrs. Burke, taking it up again. "Not even the civility to write with his own hand!--only his signature to the scrawl--looks as if it was written by a drunken man, does not it, Mr.

Evans?" said she, showing the letter to Lord Colambre, who immediately recognized the writing of Sir Terence O'Fay.

"It does not look like the hand of a gentleman, indeed," said Lord Colambre.

"It has Lord Clonbrony's own signature, let it be what it will," said Mr. Burke, looking closely at it; "Lord Clonbrony's own writing the signature is, I am clear of that."

Lord Clonbrony's son was clear of it, also; but he took care not to give any opinion on that point.

"Oh, pray read it, sir, read it," said Mrs. Burke; "read it, pray; a gentleman may write a bad hand, but no _gentleman_ could write such a letter as that to Mr. Burke--pray read it, sir; you who have seen something of what he has done for the town of Colambre, and what he has made of the tenantry and the estate of Lord Clonbrony."

Lord Colambre read, and was convinced that his father had never written or read the letter, but had signed it, trusting to Sir Terence O'Fay's having expressed his sentiments properly.

"SIR,

"As I have no farther occasion for your services, you will take notice, that I hereby request you will forthwith hand over, on or before the 1st of November next, your accounts, with the balance due of the _hanging-gale_ (which, I understand, is more than ought to be at this season) to Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., College-green, Dublin, who, in future, will act as agent, and shall get, by post, immediately, a power of attorney for the same, ent.i.tling him to receive and manage the Colambre, as well as the Clonbrony estate, for,

"Sir, your obedient humble servant,

"CLONBRONY.

"_Grosvenor-square_."

Though misrepresentation, caprice, or interest, might have induced Lord Clonbrony to desire to change his agent, yet Lord Colambre knew that his father never could have announced his wishes in such a style; and, as he returned the letter to Mrs. Burke, he repeated, he was convinced that it was impossible that any n.o.bleman could have written such a letter; that it must have been written by some inferior person; and that his lords.h.i.+p had signed it without reading it.

"My dear, I'm sorry you showed that letter to Mr. Evans," said Mr.

Burke; "I don't like to expose Lord Clonbrony; he is a well-meaning gentleman, misled by ignorant or designing people; at all events, it is not for us to expose him."

"He has exposed himself," said Mrs. Burke; "and the world should know it."

"He was very kind to me when I was a young man," said Mr. Burke; "we must not forget that now, because we are angry, my love."

"Why, no, my love, to be sure we should not; but who could have recollected it just at this minute but yourself? And now, sir,"

turning to Lord Colambre, "you see what kind of a man this is: now is it not difficult for me to bear patiently to see him ill-treated?"

"Not only difficult, but impossible, I should think, madam," said Lord Colambre; "I know even I, who am a stranger, cannot help feeling for both of you, as you must see I do."

"But half the world, who don't know him," continued Mrs. Burke, "when they hear that Lord Clonbrony's agency is taken from him, will think perhaps that he is to blame."

"No, madam," said Lord Colambre, "that you need not fear; Mr. Burke may safely trust to his character: from what I have within these two days seen and heard, I am convinced that such is the respect he has deserved and acquired, that no blame can touch him."

"Sir, I thank you," said Mrs. Burke, the tears coming into her eyes: "you can judge--you do him justice; but there are so many who don't know him, and who will decide without knowing any of the facts."

"That, my dear, happens about every thing to every body," said Mr.

Burke; "but we must have patience; time sets all judgments right, sooner or later."

"But the sooner the better," said Mrs. Burke. "Mr. Evans, I hope you will be so kind, if ever you hear this business talked of--"

"Mr. Evans lives in Wales, my dear."

"But he is travelling through Ireland, my dear, and he said he should return to Dublin, and, you know, there he certainly will hear it talked of; and I hope he will do me the favour to state what he has seen and knows to be the truth."

"Be a.s.sured that I will do Mr. Burke justice--as far as it is in my power," said Lord Colambre, restraining himself much, that he might not say more than became his a.s.sumed character. He took leave of this worthy family that night, and, early the next morning, departed.

"Ah!" thought he, as he drove away from this well-regulated and flouris.h.i.+ng place, "how happy I might be, settled here with such a wife as--her of whom I must think no more."

He pursued his way to Clonbrony, his father's other estate, which was at a considerable distance from Colambre: he was resolved to know what kind of agent Mr. Nicholas Garraghty might be, who was to supersede Mr. Burke, and, by power of attorney, to be immediately ent.i.tled to receive and manage the Colambre as well as the Clonbrony estate.

CHAPTER X.

Towards the evening of the second day's journey, the driver of Lord Colambre's hackney chaise stopped, and jumping off the wooden bar, on which he had been seated, exclaimed, "We're come to the bad step, now.

The bad road's beginning upon us, please your honour."

"Bad road! that is very uncommon in this country. I never saw such fine roads as you have in Ireland."

"That's true; and G.o.d bless your honour, that's sensible of that same, for it's not what all the foreign quality I drive have the manners to notice. G.o.d bless your honour! I heard you're a Welshman, but whether or no, I am sure you are a jantleman, any way, Welsh or other."

Notwithstanding the shabby great coat, the shrewd postilion perceived, by our hero's language, that he was a gentleman. After much dragging at the horses' heads, and pus.h.i.+ng and lifting, the carriage was got over what the postilion said was the worst part of the _bad step_; but as the road "was not yet to say good," he continued walking beside the carriage.

"It's only bad just hereabouts, and that by accident," said he, "on account of there being no jantleman resident in it, nor near; but only a bit of an under-agent, a great little rogue, who gets his own turn out of the roads, and every thing else in life. I, Larry Brady, that am telling your honour, have a good right to know; for myself, and my father, and my brother, Pat Brady, the wheelwright, had once a farm under him; but was ruined, horse and foot, all along with him, and cast out, and my brother forced to fly the country, and is now working in some coachmaker's yard, in London; banished he is!--and here am I, forced to be what I am--and now that I'm reduced to drive a hack, the agent's a curse to me still, with these bad roads, killing my horses and wheels--and a shame to the country, which I think more of--Bad luck to him!"