Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II). Lever Charles James
drawled he. “Lady Janet knows it all.”
Mrs. White did not neglect the suggestion, but at once repaired to that part of the room where Lady Janet was sitting, surrounded by a select circle, eagerly discussing the very question she had asked to be informed upon.
“I had it from Verthinia,” said Mrs. Malone, with her peculiar, thick enunciation, “Lady Kilgoff’s maid. She said that not a day passes without some such scene between the mother and daughters. Mrs. Kennyfeck had, it seems, forbithen Cashel to call there in her abthence.”
“I must most respectfully interrupt you, madam,” said a large old lady, with blond false hair, and a great deal of rouge, “but the affair was quite different. Miss Olivia, that is the second girl, was detected by her aunt, Miss O’Hara, packing up for an elopement.”
“Fudge!” said Lady Janet; “she’d have helped her, if that were the case! I believe the true version of the matter is yet to come out. My woman, Stubbs, saw the apothecary coming downstairs, after bleeding Livy, and called him into her room; not, indeed, to speak of this matter” – here Lady Janet caused her voice to be heard by Sir Andrew, who sat, in moody sulk, right opposite – “it was to ask, if there should not be two pods of capsicum in every pint of dandelion tea.”
“There may be twa horns o’ the de’il in it,” ejaculated Sir Andrew, “but I ‘ll na pit it to my mouth agen. I hae a throat like the fiery furnace that roasted the three chaps in the Bible.”
“It suits your tongue all the better,” muttered Lady Janet, and turned round to the others. “Stubbs, as I was saying, called the man in, and after some conversation about the dandelion, asked, in a cursory way, you know, ‘How the lady was, upstairs?’ He shook his head, and said nothing.
“‘It will not be tedious, I hope?’ said Stubbs.
“‘These are most uncertain cases,’ said he; ‘sometimes they last a day, sometimes eight or nine.’
“‘I think you ‘re very mysterious, doctor,’ said Stubbs.
“He muttered something about honor, and, seizing his hat went off, as Stubbs says, ‘as if he was shot!’”
“Honor!” cried one of the hearers.
“Honor!” ejaculated another, with an expression of pure horror.
“Did n’t he say, madam,” said the blond old lady, “that it wasn’t his branch of the profession?”
“Oh! oh!” broke in the company together, while the younger ladies held up their fans and giggled behind them.
“I ‘m thorry for the poor mother!” sighed Mrs. Malone, who had seven daughters, each uglier than the other.
“I pity the elder girl,” said Lady Janet; “she had a far better tone about her than the rest.”
“And that dear, kind old creature, the aunt. It is said that but for her care this would have happened long ago,” said Mrs. Malone.
“She was, to my thinking, the best of them,” echoed the blond lady; “so discreet, so quiet, and so unobtrusive.”
“What could come of their pretension?” said a colonel’s widow, with a very large nose and a very small pension; “they attempted a style of living quite unsuited to them! The house always full of young men, too.”
“You would n’t have had them invite old ones, madam,” said Lady Janet, with the air of rebuke the wife of a commander-in-chief can assume to the colonel’s relict.
“It’s a very sad affair, indeed,” summed up Mrs. White, who, if she had n’t quarrelled with Mr. Howie, would have given him the whole narrative for the “Satanist.”
“What a house to be sure! There’s Lady Kilgoff on one side – ”
“What of her, my Lady?” said the blonde.
“You did n’t hear of Lord Kilgoff overtaking her to-day in the wood with Sir Harvey Upton? – hush! or he ‘ll hear us. The poor old man – you know his state of mind – snatched the whip from the coachman, and struck Sir Harvey across the face. They say there’s a great welt over the cheek!”
Mrs. White immediately arose, and, under pretence of looking for a book, made a circuit of the room in that part where Sir Harvey Upton was lounging, with his head on his hand.
“Quite true,” said she, returning to the party. “It is so painful, he can’t keep his hand from the spot.”
“Has any one discovered who the strange-looking man was that was received by Mr. Cashel this morning in his own study?” asked the blonde. “My maid said he was for all the world like a sheriff’s officer. It seems, too, he was very violent in his language; and but for Mr. Kennyfeck, he would not have left the house.”
“Too true, I fear, ma’am,” said Mrs. Malone; “my husband, the Thief,” – this was Mrs. Malone’s mode of abbreviating and pronouncing the words Chief Justice, – “told me it was impothible for Mr. Cashel to continue his extravaganth much longer.”
“It’s shameful – it’s disgraceful,” said Lady Janet; “the kitchen is a scene of waste and recklessness, such as no fortune could stand.”
“Indeed, so the ‘Thief’ said,” resumed Mrs. Malone; “he said that robbery went on, on every thide, and that Mr. Phillith, I think his name is, was the worst of all.”
“Your husband was quite correct, ma’am,” said Lady Janet; “no one should know it better.” And then she whispered in her neighbor’s ear, “If the adage be true, ‘Set a thief to catch a thief.’”
The party intrusted with this could not restrain her laughter, and for a space, a species of distrust seemed to pervade the circle.
We are certain that no apology will be required, if we ask of our reader to quit this amiable society, – although seated at a comfortable fire, in the very easiest of chairs, with the softest carpet beneath his feet, – and accompany Roland Cashel, who now, with hasty step, trod the little path that led to Tubber-beg Cottage.
However inhospitable the confession, we are bound to acknowledge Cashel was growing marvellously weary of his character as a host. The hundred little contrarieties which daily arose, and which he knew not how to smooth down or conciliate, made him appear, in his own estimation at least, deficient in worldly tact, and left him open to the belief that others would judge him even less mercifully. The unbridled freedom of his household, besides, stimulated all the selfishness of those who, in a better arranged establishment, had kept “watch and ward” over their egotism; and thus, instead of presenting the features of a society where the elements of agreeability were not deficient, they resembled rather the company in a packet-ship, each bent upon securing his own comfort, and only intent how to make his neighbor subsidiary to himself.
Prosperity, too, was teaching him one of its least gracious lessons, – “Distrust.” The mean and selfish natures by which he was surrounded were gradually unfolding themselves to his view, and he was ever on the verge of that dangerous frontier where scepticism holds sway. One conclusion – and it was not the least wise – he formed was, that he was ill suited to such companionship, and that he had been happier, far happier, on some humble fortune, than as the rich proprietor of a great estate.
It was while thus ruminating, Cashel found himself at the little space which intervened between one front of the cottage and the lake, and was struck by the rapid movement of lights that glanced from window to window, appearing and disappearing at every instant.
The dread that the old man was taken seriously ill at once came over him, and he hastened forward in eager anxiety to learn the tidings. Then, suddenly checking himself, he felt reluctant, almost stranger that he was, to obtrude at such a moment. Fearing to advance, and unwilling to retire, he stood uncertain and hesitating.
As he remained thus, the door of the drawing-room that opened upon the lawn was flung wide, and Tiernay passed hastily out, saying in a loud and excited voice, “I will have my own way. I ‘ll see Cashel at once.” And with these words he