A faint smile, so faint that it conveyed no expression to her eyes, was Lady Kilgoff’s acknowledgment of these last words.
“Have you finished, sir?” said she, as, after a pause of some seconds, he stood still.
“Not yet, madam,” replied he, dryly.
“In that case, sir, would it not be as well to tell the man who is lingering yonder to leave this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire to have a witness to your words.”
Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he now perceived that the man must have been in the conservatory during the entire interview. Hastening round to where he stood, his fears were at once dispelled; for it was the Italian sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his accomplishments, was now assisting the gardener among the plants.
“It is of no consequence, madam,” said he, returning; “the man is an Italian, who understands nothing of English.”
“You are always fortunate, Mr. Linton,” said she, with a deep emphasis on the pronoun.
“I have ceased to boast of my good luck for many a day.”
“Having, doubtless, so many other qualities to be proud of,” said she, with a malicious sparkle of her dark eyes.
“The question is now, madam, of one far more interesting than me.”
“Can that be possible, sir? Is any one’s welfare of such moment to his friends – to the world at large – as the high-minded, the honorable, the open-hearted Mr. Linton, who condescends, for the sake of a warning to his young friends, to turn gambler and ruin them; while he has the daring courage to single out a poor unprotected woman, without one who could rightly defend her, and, under the miserable mask of interest, to insult her?”
“Is it thus you read my conduct, madam?” said he, with an air at once sad and reproachful.
“Not altogether, Mr. Linton. Besides the ineffable pleasure of giving pain, I perceive that you are acquitting a debt, – the debt of hate you owe me; because – But I cannot descend to occupy the same level with you in this business. My reply to you is a very short one. Your insult to me must go unpunished; for, as you well know, I have not one to resent it. You have, however, introduced another name in this discussion; to that gentleman I will reveal all that you have said this day. The consequences may be what they will, I care not; I never provoked them. You best know, sir, how the reckoning will fare with you.”
Linton grew pale, almost lividly so, while he bit his lip till the very blood came; then, suddenly recovering himself, he said: “I am not aware of having mentioned a name. I think your Ladyship must have been mistaken; but” – and here he laughed slightly – “you will scarce succeed in sowing discord between me and my old friend, Lord Charles Frobisher.”
“Lord Charles Frobisher!” echoed she, almost stunned with the effrontery.
“You seem surprised, madam. I trust your Ladyship meant no other.” The insolence of his manner, as he said this, left her unable for some minutes to reply, and when she did speak, it was with evident effort.
“I trust now, sir, that we have spoken for the last time together. I own – and it is, indeed, humiliation enough to own it – your words have deeply insulted me. I cannot deny you the satisfaction of knowing this; and yet, with all these things before me, I do not hate – I only despise you.”
So saying, she moved towards the door; but Linton stepped forward, and said: “One instant, madam. You seem to forget that we are pledged to walk through the rooms; our amiable friends are doubtless looking for us.”
“I will ask Mr. Cashel to be my chaperon another time,” said she, carelessly, and, drawing her shawl around her, passed out, leaving Linton alone in the conservatory.
“Ay, by St Paul! the work goes bravely on,” cried he, as soon as she had disappeared. “If she ruin not him and herself to boot, now, I am sore mistaken. The game is full of interest, and, if I had not so much in hand, would delight me.”
With this brief soliloquy, he turned to where the Italian was standing, pruning an orange-tree.
“Have you learned any English yet, Giovanni?”
A slight but significant gesture of one finger gave the negative.
“No matter, your own soft vowels are in more request here. The dress I told you of is now come, – my servant will give it to you; so, be ready with your guitar, if the ladies wish for it, this evening.”
Giovanni bowed respectfully, and went on with his work, and soon after Linton strolled into the garden to muse over the late scene.
Had any one been there to mark the signs of triumphant elation on his features, they would have seen the man in all the sincerity of his bold, bad heart. His success was perfect. Knowing well the proud nature of the young, high-spirited woman, thoroughly acquainted with her impatient temper and haughty character, he rightly foresaw that to tell her she had become the subject of a calumny was to rouse her pride to confront it openly. To whisper that the world would not admit of this or that, was to make her brave that world, or sink under the effort.
To sting her to such resistance was his wily game, and who knew better how to play it? The insinuated sneers at the class to which she had once belonged, as one not “patented” to assume the vices of their betters, was a deep and most telling hit; and he saw, when they separated, that her mind was made up, at any cost and every risk, to live down the slander by utter contempt of it Linton asked for no more. “Let her,” said he to himself, “but enter the lists with the world for an adversary! I ‘ll give her all the benefits of the best motives, – as much purity of heart, and so forth, as she cares for; but, ‘I ‘ll name the winner,’ after all.”
Too true. The worthy people who fancy that an innate honesty of purpose can compensate for all the breaches of conventional use, are like the volunteers of an army who refuse to wear its uniform, and are as often picked down by their allies as by their enemies.
CHAPTER III. A PARTIAL RECOVERY AND A RELAPSE
Such a concourse ne’er was seen
Of coaches, noddies, cars, and jingles,
“Chars-a-bancs,” to hold sixteen,
And “sulkies,” meant to carry singles.
The Pic-nic: A Lay.
It is an old remark that nothing is so stupid as love-letters; and, pretty much in the same spirit, we may affirm that there are few duller topics than festivities. The scenes in which the actor is most interested are, out of compensation, perhaps, those least worthy to record; the very inability of description to render them is disheartening too. One must eternally resort to the effects produced, as evidences of the cause, just as, when we would characterize a climate, we find ourselves obliged to fall back upon the vegetable productions, the fruits and flowers of the seasons, to convey even anything of what we desire. So is it Pleasure has its own atmosphere, – we may breathe, but hardly chronicle it.
These prosings of ours have reference to the gayeties of Tubbermore, which certainly were all that a merry party and an unbounded expenditure could compass. The style of living was princely in its splendor; luxuries fetched from every land, – the rarest wines of every country, the most exquisite flowers, – all that taste can suggest, and gold can buy, were there; and while the order of each day was maintained with undiminished splendor, every little fancy of the guests was studied with a watchful politeness that marks the highest delicacy of hospitality.
If a bachelor’s house be wanting in the gracefulness which is the charm of a family reception, there is a freedom, a degree of liberty in all the movements of the guests, which some would accept as a fair compromise; for, while the men assume a full equality With their host, the ladies are supreme in all such establishments. Roland Cashel was, indeed, not the man to dislike this kind of democracy; it spared him trouble; it inflicted no tiresome routine of attentions; he was free as the others to follow the bent of his humor, and he asked for no more.
It was without one particle of vulgar pride of wealth that he delighted in the pleasure he saw around him; it was the mere buoyancy of a high-spirited nature. The cost no more entered into his calculations in a personal than a pecuniary sense. A consciousness that he was the source of all that splendid festivity, – that his will was the motive-power of all that complex machinery of pleasure, – increased, but did not constitute, his enjoyment. To see his guests happy, in the various modes they preferred, was his great delight, and, for once, he felt inclined to think that wealth had great privileges.
The display of all which gratified him most was that which usually took place each day after luncheon; when the great space before the house was thronged with equipages of various kinds and degrees, with saddle-horses and mounted grooms, and amid all the bustle of discussing where to, and with whom, the party issued forth to spend the hours before dinner.
A looker-on would have been amused to watch all the little devices in request, to join this party, to avoid that, to secure a seat in a certain carriage, or to escape from some other; Linton’s chief amusement being to thwart as many of these plans as he could, and while he packed a sleepy Chief Justice into the same barouche with the gay Kennyfeck girls, to commit Lady Janet to the care of some dashing dragoon, who did not dare decline the wife of a “Commander of the Forces.”
Cashel always joined the party on horseback, so long as Lady Kilgoff kept the house, which she did for the first week of her stay; but when she announced her intention of driving out, he offered his services to accompany her. By the merest accident it chanced that the very day she fixed on for her first excursion was that on which Cashel had determined to try a new and most splendid equipage which had just arrived; it was a phaeton, built in all the costly splendor of the “Regency of the Duke of Orleans,” – one of those gorgeous toys which even a voluptuous age gazed at with wonder. Two jet-black Arabians, of perfect symmetry, drew it, the whole forming a most beautiful equipage.
Exclamations of astonishment and admiration broke from the whole party as the carriage drove up to the door, where all were now standing.
“Whose can it be? Where did it come from? What a magnificent phaeton! Mr. Cashel, pray tell us all about it. Do, Mr. Linton, give us its history.”
“It has none as yet, my dear Mrs. White; that it may have, one of these days, is quite possible.”
Lady Janet heard the speech, and nodded significantly in assent.
“Mr. Linton, you are coming with us, a’n’t you?” said a lady’s voice from a britzska close by.
“I really don’t know how the arrangement is; Cashel said something about my driving Lady Kilgoff.”
Lady Kilgoff pressed her lips close, and gathered her mantle together as if by some sudden impulse of temper, but never spoke a word. At the same instant Cashel made his appearance from the house.
“Are you to drive me, Mr. Cashel?” said she, calmly.
“If you will honor me so far,” replied he, bowing.
“I fancied you said something to me about being her Ladyship’s charioteer,” said Linton.
“You must have been dreaming, man,” cried Cashel, laughing.
“Will you allow my Lady to choose?” rejoined Linton, jokingly, while he stole at her a look of insolent malice.
Cashel stood uncertain what to say or do in the emergency, when, with a firm and determined voice, Lady Kilgoff said, —
“I must own I have no confidence in Mr. Linton’s guidance.”
“There, Tom,” said Cashel, gayly, “I ‘m glad your vanity came in for that.”
“I have only to hope that you are in safer conduct, my Lady,” said Linton; and he bowed with uncovered head, and then stood gazing after the swift carriage as it hastened down the avenue.
“Is it all true about these Kennyfeck girls having so much tin’?” said Captain Jennings, as he stroked down his moustache complacently.
“They say five-and-twenty thousand each,” said Linton, “and I rather credit the rumor.”
“Eh, aw! one might do worse,” yawned the hussar, languidly; “I wish they hadn’t that confounded accent!” And so he moved off to join the party on horseback.
“You are coming with me, Jemima,” said Mr. Downie Meek to his daughter. “I want to pay a visit to those works at Killaloe, we have so much committee talk in the House on inland navigation. Oh, dear! it is very tiresome.”
“Charley says I ‘m to go with him, pa; he ‘s about to try Smasher as a leader, and wants me, if anything goes wrong.”
“Oh, dear! quite impossible.”
“Yes, yes, Jim, I insist,” said Frobisher, in a half-whisper; “never mind the governor.”
“Here comes the drag, pa. Oh, how beautiful it looks! There they go, all together; and Smasher, how neatly he carries himself! I say, Charley, he has no fancy for that splinter-bar so near him, – it touches his near hock every instant; would n’t it be better to let his trace a hole looser?”
“So it would,” said Frobisher; “but get up and hold the ribbons till I have got my gloves on. I say, Linton, keep Downie in chat one moment, until we ‘re off.”
This kindly office was, however, anticipated by Lady Janet MacFarline, who, in her brief transit from the door to the carriage, always contrived to drop each of the twenty things she loaded herself with at starting, and thus to press into the service as many of the bystanders as possible, who followed, one with a muff, another with a smelling-bottle, a third with a book, a fourth with her knitting, and so on; while Flint brought up the rear with more air-cushions and hot-water apparatus than ever were seen before for the accommodation of two persons. In fact, if the atmosphere of our dear island, instead of being the mere innocent thing of fog it is, had been surcharged with all the pestilential vapors of the mistral and the typhoon together, she could not have armed herself with stronger precautions against it; while even Sir Andrew, with the constitution of a Russian bear, was compelled to wear blue spectacles in sunshine, and a respirator when it lowered, – leaving him, as he said, to the “domnable alternative o’ being blind or dumb.”
“I maun say,” muttered he, behind his barrier of mouth plate, “that Mesther Cashel has his ain notions aboot amusin’ his company when he leaves ane o’ his guests to drive aboot wi’ his ain wife. Ech, sir, it is a pleasure I need na hae come so far to enjoy.”
“Where’s Sir Harvey Upton, Sir Andrew?” said my Lady, tartly; “he has never been near me to-day. I hope he ‘s not making a fool of himself with those Kennyfeck minxes.”
“I dinna ken, and I dinna care,” growled Sir Andrew; and then to himself, he added, “An’ if he be, it’s aye better fooling wi’ young lassies than doited auld women!”
“A place for you, Mr. Linton!” said Mrs. White, as she seated herself in a low drosky, where her companion, Mr. Howie, sat, surrounded with all the details for a sketching-excursion.
“Thanks, but I have nothing so agreeable in prospect.”
“Why, what are you about to do?”
“Alas! I must set out on a canvassing expedition, to court the sweet voices of my interesting constituency. You know that I am a candidate for the borough.”
“That must be very disagreeable.”
“It is, but I could not get off; Cashel is incurably lazy, and I never know how to say ‘no.’”
“Well, good-bye, and all fortune to you,” said she; and they drove away.
Mr. Kennyfeck and the Chief Justice, mounted on what are called sure-footed ponies, and a few others, still lingered about the door, but Linton took no notice of them, but at once re-entered the house.
For some time previous he had remarked that Lord Kilgoff seemed, as it were, struggling to emerge from the mist that had shrouded his faculties; his perceptions each day grew quicker and clearer, and even when silent, Linton observed that a shrewd expression of the eye would betoken a degree of apprehension few would have given him credit for. With the keenness of a close observer, too, Linton perceived that he more than once made use of his favorite expression, “It appears to me,” and slight as the remark might seem, there is no more certain evidence of the return to thought and reason than the resumption of any habitual mode of expression.
Resolved to profit by this gleam of coming intelligence, by showing the old peer an attention he knew would be acceptable, Linton sent up a message to ask “If his Lordship would like a visit from him?” A most cordial acceptance was returned; and, a few moments after, Linton entered the room where he sat, with all that delicate caution so becoming a sick chamber.
Motioning his visitor to sit down, by a slight gesture of the finger, while he made a faint effort to smile, in return for the other’s salutation, the old man sat, propped up by pillows, and enveloped in shawls, pale, sad, and careworn.
“I was hesitating for two entire days, my Lord,” said Linton, lowering his voice to suit the character of the occasion, “whether I might propose to come and sit an hour with you, and I have only to beg that you will not permit me to trespass a moment longer than you feel disposed to endure me.”
“Very kind of you – most considerate, sir,” said the old peer, bowing with an air of haughty courtesy.
“You seem to gain strength every day, my Lord,” resumed Linton, who well knew there was nothing like a personal topic to awaken a sick man’s interest.
“There is something here,” said the old man, slowly, as he placed the tip of his finger on the centre of his forehead.
“Mere debility, nervous debility, my Lord. You are paying the heavy debt an overworked intellect must always acquit; but rest and repose will soon restore you.”
“Yes, sir,” muttered the other, with a weak smile, as though, without fathoming the sentiment, he felt that something agreeable to his feelings had been spoken.
“I have been impatient for your recovery, my Lord, I will confess to you, on personal grounds; I feel now how much I have been indebted to your Lordship’s counsel and advice all through life, by the very incertitude that tracks me. In fact, I can resolve on nothing, determine nothing, without your sanction.”
The old man nodded assentingly; the assurance had his most sincere conviction.
“It would seem, my Lord, that I must – whether I will or no – stand for this borough, here; there is no alternative, for you are aware that Cashel is quite unfit for public business. Each day he exhibits more and more of those qualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart than intellectual training or culture. His waywardness and eccentricity might seriously damage his own party, – could he even be taught that he had one, – and become terrible weapons in the hands of the enemy. I was speaking of Cashel, my Lord,” said Linton, as it were answering the look of inquiry in the old man’s face.
“I hate him, sir,” said the old peer, with a bitterness of voice and look that well suited the words.
“I really cannot wonder at it,” said Linton, with a deep sigh; “such duplicity is too shocking – far too shocking – to contemplate.”
“Eh! what? What did you say, sir?” cried the old man, impatiently.
“I was remarking, my Lord, that I have no confidence in his sincerity; that he strikes me as capable of playing a double part.”
A look of disappointment succeeded to the excited expression of the old man’s face; he had evidently expected some revelation, and now his features became clouded and gloomy.
“We may be unjust, my Lord,” said Linton; “it may be a prejudice on our part: others would seem to have a different estimate of that gentleman. Meek thinks highly of him.”
“Who, sir? I didn’t hear you,” asked he, snappishly.
“Meek, – Downie Meek, my Lord.”
“Pshaw!” said the old man, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye that made Linton fear the mind behind it was clearer than he suspected.
“I know, my Lord,” said he, hastily, “that you always held the worthy secretary cheap; but you weighed him in a balance too nice for the majority of people – ”
“What does that old woman say? Tell me her opinion of Cashel,” said Lord Kilgoff, rallying into something like his accustomed manner. “You know whom I mean!” cried he, impatient at Linton’s delay in answering. “The old woman one sees everywhere, – she married that Scotch sergeant – ”
“Lady Janet MacFarline – ”
“Exactly, sir.”
“She thinks precisely with your Lordship.”
“I’m sure of it; I told my Lady so,” muttered he to himself.
Linton caught the words with eagerness, and his dark eyes kindled; for at last were they nearing the territory he wanted to occupy.
“Lady Kilgoff,” said he, slowly, “does not need any aid to appreciate him; she reads him thoroughly, the heartless, selfish, unprincipled spendthrift that he is.”
“She does not, sir,” rejoined the old man, with a loud voice, and a stroke of his cane upon the floor that echoed through the room; “you never were more mistaken in your life. His insufferable puppyism, his reckless effrontery, his underbred familiarity, are precisely the very qualities she is pleased with, – ‘They are so different,’ as she says, ‘from the tiresome routine of fashionable manners.’”
“Unquestionably they are, my Lord,” said Linton, with a smile.
“Exactly, sir; they differ as do her Ladyship’s own habits from those of every lady in the peerage. I told her so; I begged to set her right on that subject, at least.”
“Your Lordship’s refinement is a most severe standard,” said Linton, bowing low.
“It should be an example, sir, as well as a chastisement. Indeed, I believe few would have failed to profit by it.” The air of insolent pride in which he spoke seemed for an instant to have brought back the wonted look to his features, and he sat up, with his lips compressed, and his chin pro-traded, as in his days of yore.
“I would entreat your Lordship to remember,” said Linton, “how few have studied in the same school you have; how few have enjoyed the intimacy of ‘the most perfect gentleman of all Europe;’ and of that small circle, who is there could have derived the same advantage from the privilege?”
“Your remark is very Just, sir. I owe much – very much – to his Royal Highness.”
The tone of humility in which he said this was a high treat to the sardonic spirit of his listener.
“And what a penance to you must be a visit in such a house as this!” said Linton, with a sigh.
“True, sir; but who induced me to make it? Answer me that.”
Linton started with amazement, for he was very far from supposing that his Lordship’s memory was clear enough to retain the events of an interview that occurred some months before.
“I never anticipated that it would cost you so dearly, my Lord,” said he, cautiously, and prepared to give his words any turn events might warrant. For once, however, the ingenuity was wasted; Lord Kilgoff, wearied and exhausted by the increased effort of his intellect, had fallen back in his chair, and, with drooping lips and fallen jaw, sat the very picture of helpless fatuity.
“So, then,” said Linton, as on tiptoe he stole noiselessly away, “if your memory was inopportune, it was, at least, very short-lived. And now, adieu, my Lord, till we want you for another act of the drama.”