Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II). Lever Charles James
remark, into the very heart of the demesne, this is Tubberbeg, the farm in question, – not only encroaching upon your limits, but actually cutting you off from the river, – at least, your access is limited to a very circuitous road, and which opens upon a very shallow part of the stream.”
“And who or what is this tenant?” asked Cashel.
“His name is Corrigan, a gentleman by birth, but of a very limited fortune; he is now an old man, upwards of seventy, I understand.”
“And how came it that he ever obtained possession of a tract so circumstanced, marring, as you most justly observe, the whole character of the demesne?”
“That would be a long story, sir; enough, if I mention that his ancestors were the ancient owners of the entire estate, which was lost by an act of confiscation in the year forty-five. Some extenuating circumstances, however, induced the Government to confer upon a younger branch of the family a lease of this small tract called Tubberbeg, to distinguish it from Tubbermore, the larger portion; and this lease it is whose expiration, in a few years, induces the present query.”
“Has Mr. Corrigan children?”
“No; his only child, a daughter, is dead, but a granddaughter lives now with the old man.”
“Then what is it he asks? Is it a renewal of the lease, on the former terms?”
“Why, not precisely. I believe he would be willing to-pay more.”
“That’s not what I mean,” replied Cashel, reddening; “I ask, what terms as to time, he seeks for. Would it content him to have the land for his own life?”
“Mr. Kennyfeck, you are really very culpable to leave Mr. Cashel to the decision of matters of this kind, – matters in which his kindliness of heart and inexperience will always betray him into a forgetfulness of his own interest. What has Mr. Cashel to think about this old creature’s ancestors, who were rebels, it appears, or his daughter, or his granddaughter? Here is a simple question of a farm, which actually makes the demesne worthless, and which, by a singular piece of good fortune, is in Mr. Cashel’s power to secure.”
“This is a very correct view, doubtless,” said her meek husband, submissively, “but we should also remember – ”
“We have nothing to remember,” interrupted Mrs. Kenny-feck, stoutly; “nothing, save his interests, who, as I have observed, is of too generous a nature to be trusted with such matters.”
“Is there no other farm, – have we nothing on the property he ‘d like as well as this?” asked Cashel.
“I fear not. The attachment to a place inhabited for centuries by his ancestry – ”
“By his fiddlestick!” struck in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “two and sixpence an acre difference would be all the necessary compensation. Mr. Kennyfeck, how can you trifle in this manner, when you know how it will injure the demesne!”
“Oh, ruin it utterly!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck.
“It completely cuts off the beautiful river and those dear islands,” said Olivia.
“So it does,” said Cashel, musing.
“I wonder are they wooded? I declare I believe they are. Papa, are these little scrubby things meant to represent trees?”
“Oaks and chestnut-trees,” responded Mr. Kennyfeck, gravely.
“Oh, how I should love a cottage on that island, – a real Swiss cottage, with its carved galleries and deep-eaved roof. Who owns these delicious islands?”
“Mr. Cashel, my dear,” said papa, still bent on examining the map.
“Do I, indeed!” cried Roland, in an ecstasy. “Then you shall have your wish, Miss Kenny feck. I promise you the prettiest Swiss cottage that your own taste can devise.”
“Oh, dear, oh, pray forgive me!”
“Oh, Mr. Roland Cashel, don’t think of such a thing! Olivia was merely speaking at random. How silly, child, you are to talk that way!”
“Really, mamma, I had not the slightest suspicion – I would n’t for the world have said anything if I thought – ”
“Of course not, dear; but pray be guarded. Indeed, I own I never did hear you make a lapse of the kind before. But you see, Mr. Cashel, you have really made us forget that we were strangers but yesterday, and you are paying the penalty of your own exceeding kindness. Forget, then, I beseech you, this first transgression.”
“I shall assuredly keep my promise, madam,” said Cashel, proudly; “and I have only to hope Miss Kennyfeck will not offend me by declining so very humble a present. Now, sir, for our worthy friend Mr. Corrigan.”
“Too fast, a great deal to fast, love,” whispered the elder sister in the ear of the younger, and who, to the credit of her tact and ingenuity be it spoken, only gave the most heavenly smile in reply.
“I really am puzzled, sir, what advice to give,” said the attorney, musing.
“I have no difficulties of this sentimental kind,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a glance of profound depreciation towards her husband; “and I beg Mr. Cashel to remember that the opportunity now offered will possibly never occur again. If the old man is to retain his farm, of course Mr. Cashel would not think of building a new mansion, which must be ill-circumstanced; from what I can hear of the present house, it is equally certain that he would not reside in that.”
“Is it so very bad?” asked Cashel, smiling.
“It was ill-planned originally, added to in, if possible, worse taste, and then suffered to fall into ruin. It is now something more than eighty years since it saw any other inhabitant than a caretaker.”
“Well, the picture is certainly not seductive. I rather opine that the best thing we can do is to throw this old rumbling concern down, at all events; and now once more, – what shall we do with Mr. Corrigan?”
“I should advise you not giving any reply before you visit the property yourself. All business matters will be completed here, I trust, by Saturday. What, then, if we go over on Monday to Tubbermore?”
“Agreed. I have a kind of anxiety to look at the place, – indeed, a mere glance would decide me if I ever care to return to it again.”
“Then, I perceive, our counsel is of no avail here,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, rising, with a very ill-concealed chagrin.
“Nay, madam, don’t say so. You never got so far as to give it,” cried Cashel.
“Oh, yes, you forget that I said it would be absurd to hesitate about resuming possession.”
“Unquestionably,” echoed Miss Kennyfeck. “It is merely to indulge an old man’s caprice at the cost of your own comfort and convenience.”
“But he may cling to the spot, sister dear,” said Olivia, in an accent only loud enough to be audible by Cashel.
“You are right,” said Roland, in her ear, with a look that spoke his approval far more eloquently.
Although Miss Kennyfeck had heard nothing that passed, her quickness detected the looks of intelligence that were so speedily interchanged, and as she left the room she took occasion to whisper, “Do take advice, dear; there is no keeping up a pace like that.”
CHAPTER IX. AN EXCITING ADVENTURE
“Bravo, Toro.”
As it chanced that many of Mr. Kennyfeck’s clients were Western gentlemen, whose tastes have an unequivocal tendency to all matters relating to horse-flesh, his stable was not less choicely furnished than his cellar; for, besides being always able to command the shrewdest judgments when he decided to make a purchase, many an outstanding balance of long duration, many a debt significantly pencilled “doubtful” or “bad,” in his note-book, was cleared off by some tall, sinewy steeplechaser from Galway, or some redoubted performer with the “Blazers.”
So well known was this fact