The Kellys and the O'Kellys Part 16

"By all means. Don't leave Grey Abbey without seeing and making your peace with Miss Wyndham. That'll be easy with you, because it's your _metier_. I own that with myself it would be the most difficult part of the morning's work. But don't ask to see her as a favour. When you've done with the lord (and don't let your conference be very long)--when you've done with the lord, tell him you'll say a word to the lady; and, whatever may have been his pre-determination, you'll find that, if you're cool, he'll be bothered, and he won't know how to refuse; and if he doesn't prevent you, I'm sure Miss Wyndham won't."

"And if he asks about these wretched horses of mine?"

"Don't let him talk more about your affairs than you can help; but, if he presses you--and he won't if you play your game well--tell him that you're quite aware your income won't allow you to keep up an establishment at the Curragh after you're married."

"But about Brien Boru, and the Derby?"

"Brien Boru! You might as well talk to him about your was.h.i.+ng-bills!

Don't go into particulars--stick to generals. He'll never ask you those questions unless he sees you s.h.i.+ver and shake like a half-whipped school-boy."

After a great deal of confabulation, in which Dot Blake often repeated his opinion of Lord Ballindine's folly in not rejoicing at an opportunity of breaking off the match, it was determined that Frank should ride over the next morning, and do exactly what his friend proposed. If, however, one might judge from his apparent dread of the interview with Lord Cashel, there was but little chance of his conducting it with the coolness or a.s.surance insisted on by Dot. The probability was, that when the time did come, he would, as Blake said, s.h.i.+ver and shake like a half-whipped school-boy.

"And what will you do when you're married, Frank?" said Blake; "for I'm beginning to think the symptoms are strong, and you'll hardly get out of it now."

"Do! why, I suppose I'll do much the same as others--have two children, and live happy ever afterwards."

"I dare say you're right about the two children, only you might say two dozen; but as to the living happy, that's more problematical. What do you mean to eat and drink?"

"Eggs--potatoes and bacon--b.u.t.termilk, and potheen [21]. It's odd if I can't get plenty of them in Mayo, if I've nothing better."

[FOOTNOTE 21: pootheen--illegal (untaxed) whiskey, "moons.h.i.+ne"]

"I suppose you will, Frank; but bacon won't go down well after venison; and a course of claret is a bad preparative for potheen punch. You're not the man to live, with a family, on a small income, and what the d----l you'll do I don't know. You'll fortify Kelly's Court--that'll be the first step."

"Is it against the Repealers?"

"Faith, no; you'll join them, of course: but against the sub-sheriff, and his officers--an army much more likely to crown their enterprises with success."

"You seem to forget, Dot, that, after all, I'm marrying a girl with quite as large a fortune as I had any right to expect."

"The limit to your expectations was only in your own modesty; the less you had a right--in the common parlance--to expect, the more you wanted, and the more you ought to have looked for. Say that Miss Wyndham's fortune clears a thousand a year of your property, you would never be able to get along on what you'd have. No; I'll tell you what you'll do. You'll shut up Kelly's Court, raise the rents, take a moderate house in London; and Lord Cashel, when his party are in, will get you made a court stick of, and you'll lead just such a life as your grandfather. If it's not very glorious, at any rate it's a useful kind of life. I hope Miss Wyndham will like it. You'll have to christen your children Ernest and Albert, and that sort of thing; that's the worst of it; and you'll never be let to sit down, and that's a bore.

But you've strong legs. It would never do for me. I could never stand out a long tragedy in Drury Lane, with my neck in a stiff white choker, and my toes screwed into tight dress boots. I'd sooner be a porter myself, for he can go to bed when the day's over."

"You're very witty, Dot; but you know I'm the last man in Ireland, not excepting yourself, to put up with that kind of thing. Whatever I may have to live on, I shall live in my own country, and on my own property."

"Very well; if you won't be a gold stick, there's the other alternative: fortify Kelly's Court, and prepare for the sheriff's officers. Of the two, there's certainly more fun in it; and you can go out with the harriers on a Sunday afternoon, and live like a 'ra'al O'Kelly of the ould times';--only the punch'll kill you in about ten years."

"Go on, Dot, go on. You want to provoke me, but you won't. I wonder whether you'd bear it as well, if I told you you'd die a broken-down black-leg, without a friend or a s.h.i.+lling to bless you."

"I don't think I should, because I should know that you were threatening me with a fate which my conduct and line of life would not warrant any one in expecting."

"Upon my word, then, I think there's quite as much chance of that as there is of my getting shut up by bailiffs in Kelly's Court, and dying drunk. I'll bet you fifty pounds I've a better account at my bankers than you have in ten years."

"Faith, I'll not take it. It'll be hard work getting fifty pounds out of you, then! In the meantime, come and play a game of billiards before dinner."

To this Lord Ballindine consented, and they adjourned to the billiard-room; but, before they commenced playing, Blake declared that if the names of Lord Cashel or Miss Wyndham were mentioned again that evening, he should retreat to his own room, and spend the hours by himself; so, for the rest of that day, Lord Ballindine was again driven back upon Brien Boru and the Derby for conversation, as Dot was too close about his own stable to talk much of his own horses and their performances, except when he was doing so with an eye to business.

XI. THE EARL OF CASHEL

About two o'clock on the following morning, Lord Ballindine set off for Grey Abbey, on horseback, dressed with something more than ordinary care, and with a considerable palpitation about his heart. He hardly knew, himself, what or whom he feared, but he knew that he was afraid of something. He had a cold, sinking sensation within him, and he felt absolutely certain that he should be signally defeated in his present mission. He had plenty of what is usually called courage; had his friend recommended him instantly to call out Lord Kilcullen and shoot him, and afterwards any number of other young men who might express a thought in opposition to his claim on Miss Wyndham's hand, he would have set about it with the greatest readiness and apt.i.tude; but he knew he could not baffle the appalling solemnity of Lord Cashel, in his own study. Frank was not so very weak a man as he would appear to be when in the society of Blake. He unfortunately allowed Blake to think for him in many things, and he found a convenience in having some one to tell him what to do; but he was, in most respects, a better, and in some, even a wiser man than his friend. He often felt that the kind of life he was leading--contracting debts which he could not pay, and spending his time in pursuits which were not really congenial to him, was unsatisfactory and discreditable: and it was this very feeling, and the inability to defend that which he knew to be wrong and foolish, which made him so certain that he would not be able successfully to persist in his claim to Miss Wyndham's hand in opposition to the trite and well-weighed objections, which he knew her guardian would put forward. He consoled himself, however, with thinking that, at any rate, they could not prevent his seeing her; and he was quite sanguine as to her forgiveness, if he but got a fair opportunity of asking it. And when that was obtained, why should the care for any one? f.a.n.n.y would be of age, and her own mistress, in a few days, and all the solemn earls in England, and Ireland too, could not then prevent her marrying whom and when she liked.

He thought a great deal on all his friend had said to his future poverty; but then, his ideas and Blake's were very different about life. Blake's idea of happiness was, the concentrating of every thing into a focus for his own enjoyment; whereas he, Frank, had only had recourse to dissipation and extravagance, because he had nothing to make home pleasant to him. If he once had f.a.n.n.y Wyndham installed as Lady Ballindine, at Kelly's Court, he was sure he could do his duty as a country gentleman, and live on his income, be it what it might, not only without grumbling, but without wis.h.i.+ng for anything more. He was fond of his country, his name, and his countrymen: he was fully convinced of his folly in buying race-horses, and in allowing himself to be dragged on the turf: he would sell Brien Boru, and the other two Irish chieftains, for what they would fetch, and show f.a.n.n.y and her guardian that he was in earnest in his intention of reforming. Blake might laugh at him if he liked; but he would not stay to be laughed at. He felt that Handicap Lodge was no place for him; and besides, why should he bear Dot's disagreeable sarcasms? It was not the part of a real friend to say such cutting things as he continually did. After all, Lord Cashel would be a safer friend, or, at any rate, adviser; and, instead of trying to defeat him by coolness or insolence, he would at once tell him of all his intentions, explain to him exactly how matters stood, and prove his good resolutions by offering to take whatever steps the earl might recommend about the horses. This final determination made him easier in this mind, and, as he entered the gates of Grey Abbey Park, he was tolerably comfortable, trusting to his own good resolutions, and the effect which he felt certain the expression of them must have on Lord Cashel.

Grey Abbey is one of the largest but by no means one of the most picturesque demesnes in Ireland. It is situated in the county of Kildare, about two miles from the little town of Kilcullen, in a flat, uninteresting, and not very fertile country. The park itself is extensive and tolerably well wooded, but it wants water and undulation, and is deficient of any object of attraction, except that of size and not very magnificent timber. I suppose, years ago, there was an Abbey here, or near the spot, but there is now no vestige of it remaining. In a corner of the demesne there are standing the remains of one of those strong, square, ugly castles, which, two centuries since, were the real habitations of the landed proprietors of the country, and many of which have been inhabited even to a much later date. They now afford the strongest record of the apparently miserable state of life which even the favoured of the land then endured, and of the numberless domestic comforts which years and skill have given us, apt as we are to look back with fond regret to the happy, by-gone days of past periods.

This old castle, now used as a cow-shed, is the only record of antiquity at Grey Abbey; and yet the ancient family of the Greys have lived there for centuries. The first of them who possessed property in Ireland, obtained in the reign of Henry II, grants of immense tracts of land, stretching through Wicklow, Kildare, and the Queen's and King's Counties; and, although his descendants have been unable to retain, through the various successive convulsions which have taken place in the interior of Ireland since that time, anything like an eighth of what the family once pretended to claim, the Earl of Cashel, their present representative, has enough left to enable him to consider himself a very great man.

The present mansion, built on the site of that in which the family had lived till about seventy years since, is, like the grounds, large, commodious, and uninteresting. It is built of stone, which appears as if it had been plastered over, is three stories high, and the windows are all of the same size, and at regular intervals. The body of the house looks like a huge, square, Dutch old lady, and the two wings might be taken for her two equally fat, square, Dutch daughters.

Inside, the furniture is good, strong, and plain. There are plenty of drawing-rooms, sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, and offices; a small gallery of very indifferent paintings, and a kitchen, with an excellent kitchen-range, and patent boilers of every shape.

Considering the nature of the attractions, it is somewhat strange that Lord Cashel should have considered it necessary to make it generally known that the park might be seen any day between the hours of nine and six, and the house, on Tuesdays and Fridays between the hours of eleven and four. Yet such is the case, and the strangeness of this proceeding on his part is a good deal diminished by the fact that persons, either induced by Lord Cashel's good nature, or thinking that any big house must be worth seeing, very frequently pay half-a-crown to the housekeeper for the privilege of being dragged through every room in the mansion.

There is a bed there, in which the Regent slept when in Ireland, and a room which was tenanted by Lord Normanby, when Lord Lieutenant. There is, moreover, a satin counterpane, which was made by the lord's aunt, and a snuff-box which was given to the lord's grandfather by Frederick the Great. These are the lions of the place, and the gratification experienced by those who see them is, no doubt, great; but I doubt if it equals the annoyance and misery to which they are subjected in being obliged to pa.s.s one unopened door--that of the private room of Lady Selina, the only daughter of the earl at present unmarried.

It contains only a bed, and the usual instruments of a lady's toilet; but Lady Selina does not choose to have it shown, and it has become invested, in the eyes of the visitors, with no ordinary mystery. Many a pet.i.tionary whisper is addressed to the housekeeper on the subject, but in vain; and, consequently, the public too often leave Grey Abbey dissatisfied.

As Lord Ballindine rode through the gates, and up the long approach to the house, he was so satisfied of the wisdom of his own final resolution, and of the successful termination of his emba.s.sy under such circ.u.mstances, that he felt relieved of the uncomfortable sensation of fear which had oppressed him; and it was only when the six-foot high, powdered servant told him, with a very solemn face, that the earl was alone in the book-room--the odious room he hated so much--that he began again to feel a little misgiving. However, there was nothing left for him now, so he gave up his horse to the groom, and followed the sober-faced servant into the book-room.

Lord Cashel was a man about sixty-three, with considerable external dignity of appearance, though without any personal advantage, either in face, figure, or manner. He had been an earl, with a large income, for thirty years; and in that time he had learned to look collected, even when his ideas were confused; to keep his eye steady, and to make a few words go a long way. He had never been intemperate, and was, therefore, strong and hale for his years,--he had not done many glaringly foolish things, and, therefore, had a character for wisdom and judgment. He had run away with no man's wife, and, since his marriage, had seduced no man's daughter; he was, therefore, considered a moral man. He was not so deeply in debt as to have his affairs known to every one; and hence was thought prudent. And, as he lived in his own house, with his own wife, paid his servants and labourers their wages regularly, and nodded in church for two hours every Sunday, he was thought a good man. Such were his virtues; and by these negative qualities--this _vis inertiae_, he had acquired, and maintained, a considerable influence in the country.

When Lord Ballindine's name was announced, he slowly rose, and, just touching the tip of Frank's fingers, by way of shaking hands with him, hoped he had the pleasure of seeing him well.

The viscount hoped the same of the earl--and of the ladies. This included the countess and Lady Selina, as well as f.a.n.n.y, and was, therefore, not a particular question; but, having hoped this, and the earl remaining silent, he got confused, turned red, hummed and hawed a little, sat down, and then, endeavouring to drown his confusion in volubility, began talking quickly about his anxiety to make final arrangements concerning matters, which, of course, he had most deeply at heart; and, at last, ran himself fairly aground, from not knowing whether, under the present circ.u.mstances, he ought to speak of his affianced to her guardian as "f.a.n.n.y", or "Miss Wyndham".

When he had quite done, and was dead silent, and had paused sufficiently long to a.s.sure the earl that he was going to say nothing further just at present, the great man commenced his answer.

"This is a painful subject, my lord--most peculiarly painful at the present time; but, surely, after all that has pa.s.sed--but especially after what has _not_ pa.s.sed"--Lord Cashel thought this was a dead hit--"you cannot consider your engagement with Miss Wyndham to be still in force?"

"Good gracious!--and why not, my lord? I am ready to do anything her friends--in fact I came solely, this morning, to consult yourself, about--I'm sure f.a.n.n.y herself can't conceive the engagement to be broken off. Of course, if Miss Wyndham wishes it--but I can't believe--I can't believe--if it's about the horses, Lord Cashel, upon my word, I'm ready to sell them to-day."

This was not very dignified in poor Frank, and to tell the truth, he was completely bothered. Lord Cashel looked so more than ordinarily glum; had he been going to put on a black cap and pa.s.s sentence of death, or disinherit his eldest son, he could not have looked more stern or more important. Frank's lack of dignity added to his, and made him feel immeasurably superior to any little difficulty which another person might have felt in making the communication he was going to make. He was really quite in a solemn good humour. Lord Ballindine's confusion was so flattering.

"I can a.s.sure you, my lord, Miss Wyndham calls for no such sacrifice, nor do I. There was a time when, as her guardian, I ventured to hint--and I own I was taking a liberty, a fruitless liberty, in doing so--that I thought your remaining on the turf was hardly prudent.

But I can a.s.sure you, with all kindly feeling--with no approach to animosity--that I will not offend in a similar way again. I hear, by mere rumour, that you have extended your operations to the other kingdom. I hope I have not been the means of inducing you to do so; but, advice, if not complied with, often gives a bias in an opposite direction. With regard to Miss Wyndham, I must express--and I really had thought it was unnecessary to do so, though it was certainly my intention, as it was Miss Wyndham's wish, that I should have written to you formally on the subject--but your own conduct--excuse me, Lord Ballindine--your own evident indifference, and continued, I fear I must call it, dissipation--and your, as I considered, unfortunate selection of acquaintance, combined with the necessary diminution of that attachment which I presume Miss Wyndham once felt for you--necessary, inasmuch as it was, as far as I understand, never of a sufficiently ardent nature to outlive the slights--indeed, my lord, I don't wish to offend you, or hurt your feelings--but, I must say, the slights which it encountered--." Here the earl felt that his sentence was a little confused, but the viscount looked more so; and, therefore, not at all abashed by the want of a finish to his original proposition, he continued glibly enough:

"In short, in considering all the features of the case, I thought the proposed marriage a most imprudent one; and, on questioning Miss Wyndham as to her feelings, I was, I must own, gratified to learn that she agreed with me; indeed, she conceived that your conduct gave ample proof, my lord, of your readiness to be absolved from your engagement; pardon me a moment, my lord--as I said before, I still deemed it inc.u.mbent on me, and on my ward, that I, as her guardian, should give you an absolute and written explanation of her feelings:--that would have been done yesterday, and this most unpleasant meeting would have been spared to both of us, but for the unexpected--Did you hear of the occurrence which has happened in Miss Wyndham's family, my lord?"

"Occurrence? No, Lord Cashel; I did not hear of any especial occurrence."

There had been a peculiarly solemn air about Lord Cashel during the whole of the interview, which deepened into quite funereal gloom as he asked the last question; but he was so uniformly solemn, that this had not struck Lord Ballindine. Besides, an appearance of solemnity agreed so well with Lord Cashel's cast of features and tone of voice, that a visage more lengthened, and a speech somewhat slower than usual, served only to show him off as so much the more clearly identified by his own characteristics. Thus a man who always wears a green coat does not become remarkable by a new green coat; he is only so much the more than ever, the man in the green coat.

Lord Ballindine, therefore, answered the question without the appearance of that surprise which Lord Cashel expected he would feel, if he had really not yet heard of the occurrence about to be related to him. The earl, therefore, made up his mind, as indeed he had nearly done before, that Frank knew well what was going to be told him, though it suited his purpose to conceal his knowledge. He could not, however, give his young brother n.o.bleman the lie; and he was, therefore, constrained to tell his tale, as if to one to whom it was unknown. He was determined, however, though he could not speak out plainly, to let Frank see that he was not deceived by his hypocrisy, and that he, Lord Cashel, was well aware, not only that the event about to be told had been known at Handicap Lodge, but that the viscount's present visit to Grey Abbey had arisen out of that knowledge.

Lord Ballindine, up to this moment, was perfectly ignorant of this event, and it is only doing justice to him to say that, had he heard of it, it would at least have induced him to postpone his visit for some time. Lord Cashel paused for a few moments, looking at Frank in a most diplomatic manner, and then proceeded to unfold his budget.