Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II). Lever Charles James
too, – always rising at the same hour. His man says, he ‘s like the clock. To be sure,” added he, after a pause, “his manner is changed of late.”
“How do you mean?” asked Cashel, hurriedly.
“He seems anxious, sir, – uneasy, as one might say.”
“I have not perceived it.”
“His man says – ”
“What care I for that?” said Cashel, impatiently. “It is not to pry into Mr. Linton’s habits that I am here, it is to assure myself that no accident has happened to him, and that if he stand in need of my assistance, I shall not be neglecting him. Tell two of the grooms to take horses and ride down to Killaloe and Dunkeeran, and ask at the inns there if he has been seen. Let them make inquiry, too, along the road.” With these directions, hastily given, he returned to the drawing-room, his mind far more interested in the event than he knew how to account for.
“No tidings of Tom?” said Lord Charles Frobisher, lounging carelessly in a well-cushioned chair.
Cashel made a sign in the negative.
“Well, it’s always a satisfaction to his friends to know that he ‘ll not come to harm,” said he, with an ambiguous smile.
“The country is much disturbed at this moment,” said the Chief Justice; “the calendar was a very heavy one last assize. I trust no marauding party may have laid hold of him.”
“Ah, yes, that would be very sad indeed,” sighed Meek; “mistaking him for a spy.”
“No great blunder, after all,” said Lady Janet, almost loud enough for other ears than her next neighbor’s.
“If the night were moonlight,” said Miss Meek, as she opened a shutter and peeped out into the darkness, “I ‘d say he was trying those fences we have laid out for the hurdle-race.”
“By Jove, Jim, that is a shrewd thought!” said Lord Charles, forgetting that he was addressing her by a familiar sobriquet he never used before company.
“You have a bet with him, Charley?” said Upton.
“Yes, we have all manner of bets on the race, and I ‘ll have one with you, if you like it, – an even fifty that Tom turns up ‘all right and no accident,’ after this bolt.”
“Ah, my Lord, you ‘re in the secret, then!” said Aunt Fanny, whose experiences of sporting transactions, derived from “the West,” induced her to suspect that a wager contained a trap-fall.
A very cool stare was the only acknowledgment he deigned to return to this speech, while Mrs. Kennyfeck looked unutterable reproaches at her unhappy relative.
“I call the present company to witness,” said Sir Harvey Upton, “that if Tom has to come to an untimely end, he has bequeathed to me his brown cob pony, Batter.”
“I protest against the gift,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “Mr. Linton told me, if he were killed in the steeplechase on Tuesday next, I should have Batter.”
“That was a special reservation, Miss Kennyfeck,” said the Chief Justice; “so that if his death did not occur in the manner specified, the deed or gift became null and void.”
“I only know,” said Miss Meek, “that Mr. Linton said, as we came back from the hurdle-field, – ‘Remember, Batter is yours if – if – ‘” She hesitated and grew red, and then stopped speaking, in evident shame and confusion.
“If what? Tell us the condition; you are bound to be candid,” said several voices together.
“I’ll tell you but I’ll not tell any one else,” said the young girl, turning to Lady Kilgoff; and at the same instant she whispered in her ear, “if I were to be married to Mr. Cashel.”
“Well,” said her Ladyship, laughing, “and was the bribe sufficient?”
“I should think not!” replied she, with a scornful toss of the head, as she walked back to her seat.
“I winna say,” said Sir Andrew, “but I ha’ a bit claim mysel to that bonnie snuff-box he ca’d a Louis-Quatorze; if ye mind, leddies, I asked him to mak’ me a present o’ it, and he replied, ‘In my weell, Sir Andrew; I’ll leave it ye in my weell.’”
“I foresee there will be abundance of litigation,” said the Chief Justice, “for the claims are both numerous and conflicting.”
“You ‘ll not be troubled with the next of kin, I believe,” said Lady Janet, in her most spiteful of voices.
“I say, my Lord Chief Justice,” said Frobisher, “let me have a travelling opinion from you, on a legal point. Wouldn’t Linton’s heirs, or representatives, or whatever they ‘re called, be bound to ‘book up’ if Ramekin is beaten in the handicap?”
“The law expressly declares such transactions without its pale, my Lord,” said the judge, rebukingly.
“Well, I can only say,” interrupted Upton, “that when we were in cantonments at Sickmabund, Jack Faris ‘of ours’ had a heavy stake in a game of piquet with the major, and just as he was going to count his point, he gave a tremendous yell, and jumped up from the table. It was a cobra capella had bitten him in the calf of the leg. Everything was done for him at once, but all in vain; he swelled up to the size of four, and died in about two hours. It was rather hard on old Cox, the major, who had two hundred pounds on it, and a capital hand; and so he made a representation to the mess, showing that he had seven cards to his point, with a quint in hearts; that, taking in the ace of clubs, he should count a quatorze, and, therefore, unquestionably win the game. The thing was clear as day, and so they awarded him the stakes. Cox behaved very handsomely, too; for he said, ‘If Faris’s widow likes to play the game out, I ‘ll give her the opportunity when we get back to England, and back myself, two to one.’”
“The Chevalier Bayard himself could not have done more,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with admirable gravity.
“I must say,” resumed the dragoon, “we thought it handsome, for old Cox was always hard up for money.”
“And what is to become of our theatricals, if Mr. Linton should have been so ill-natured as to drown himself?” said Mrs. White, in a most disconsolate tone; for she had already made terrible havoc in her wardrobe to accomplish a Turkish costume.
“Such a disappointment as it will be,” sighed Olivia Kennyfeck, who had speculated on a last effort upon Cashel in a Mexican dress, where, certes, superfluity should not be the fault.
“You can always make some compensation for the disappointment,” said Lady Kilgoff, “by a fancy ball.”
“Oh, delightful! the very thing!” exclaimed several together. “When shall it be, Mr. Cashel?”
“I am entirely at your orders,” said he, bowing courteously.
“Shall we say Tuesday, then?”
“Not Tuesday; we have the race on that morning,” said Frobisher; “and some of us, at least, will be too tired for a ball afterwards.”
“Well, Wednesday, – is Wednesday open?”
“Wednesday was fixed for a boat excursion to Holy Island,” said Cashel.
“You can’t have Thursday, then,” exclaimed Lady Janet; “that is the only evening we ever have our rubber. I’ll not give you Thursday.”
“Friday we are to have some people at dinner,” said Cashel; “and Saturday was to have been some piece of electioneering festivity for Linton’s constituents.”
“What matter now?” said Mrs. White; “perhaps the poor dear man is in a better place. A very sad thought,” sighed she; “but such things are happening every day.”
“Ah, yes, very sad,” responded Meek, who never failed to perform echo to any one’s lamentation.
“Ah, indeed!” chimed in Aunt Fanny, “cut off like a daisy.” And she wiped her eyes and looked solemn, for she