Czytaj książkę: «Lord Kilgobbin», strona 27

CHAPTER L

CROSS-PURPOSES

Whether Walpole found some peculiar difficulty in committing his intentions to writing, or whether the press of business which usually occupied his mornings served as an excuse, or whether he was satisfied with the progress of his suit by his personal assiduities, is not easy to say; but his attentions to Mademoiselle Kostalergi had now assumed the form which prudent mothers are wont to call ‘serious,’ and had already passed into that stage where small jealousies begin, and little episodes of anger and discontent are admitted as symptoms of the complaint.

In fact, he had got to think himself privileged to remonstrate against this, and to dictate that – a state, be it observed, which, whatever its effect upon the ‘lady of his love,’ makes a man particularly odious to the people around him, and he is singularly fortunate if it make him not ridiculous also.

The docile or submissive was not the remarkable element in Nina’s nature. She usually resisted advice, and resented anything like dictation from any quarter. Indeed, they who knew her best saw that, however open to casual influences, a direct show of guidance was sure to call up all her spirit of opposition. It was, then, a matter of actual astonishment to all to perceive not only how quietly and patiently she accepted Walpole’s comments and suggestions, but how implicitly she seemed to obey them.

All the little harmless freedoms of manner with Dick Kearney and O’Shea were now completely given up. No more was there between them that interchange of light persiflage which, presupposing some subject of common interest, is in itself a ground of intimacy.

She ceased to sing the songs that were their favourites. Her walks in the garden after breakfast, where her ready wit and genial pleasantry used to bring her a perfect troop of followers, were abandoned. The little projects of daily pleasure, hitherto her especial province, were changed for a calm subdued demeanour which, though devoid of all depression, wore the impress of a certain thoughtfulness and seriousness.

No man was less observant than old Kearney, and yet even he saw the change at last, and asked Kate what it might mean. ‘She is not ill, I hope,’ said he, ‘or is our humdrum life too wearisome to her?’

‘I do not suspect either,’ said Kate slowly. ‘I rather believe that as Mr. Walpole has paid her certain attentions, she has made the changes in her manner in deference to some wishes of his.’

‘He wants her to be more English, perhaps,’ said he sarcastically.

‘Perhaps so.’

‘Well, she is not born one of us, but she is like us all the same, and I’ll be sorely grieved if she’ll give up her light-heartedness and her pleasantry to win that Cockney.’

‘I think she has won the Cockney already, sir.’

A long low whistle was his reply. At last he said, ‘I suppose it’s a very grand conquest, and what the world calls “an elegant match”; but may I never see Easter, if I wouldn’t rather she’d marry a fine dashing young fellow over six feet high, like O’Shea there, than one of your gold-chain-and-locket young gentlemen who smile where they ought to laugh, and pick their way through life as a man crosses a stream on stepping-stones.’

‘Maybe she does not like Mr. O’Shea, sir.’

‘And do you think she likes the other man? or is it anything else than one of those mercenary attachments that you young ladies understand better, far better, than the most worldly-minded father or mother of us all?’

‘Mr. Walpole has not, I believe, any fortune, sir. There is nothing very dazzling in his position or his prospects.’

‘No. Not amongst his own set, nor with his own people – he is small enough there, I grant you; but when he come down to ours, Kitty, we think him a grandee of Spain; and if he was married into the family, we’d get off all his noble relations by heart, and soon start talking of our aunt, Lady Such-a-one, and Lord Somebody else, that was our first-cousin, till our neighbours would nearly die out of pure spite. Sitting down in one’s poverty, and thinking over one’s grand relations, is for all the world like Paddy eating his potatoes, and pointing at the red-herring – even the look of what he dare not taste flavours his meal.’

‘At least, sir, you have found an excuse for our conduct.’

‘Because we are all snobs, Kitty; because there is not a bit of honesty or manliness in our nature; and because our women, that need not be bargaining or borrowing – neither pawnbrokers nor usurers – are just as vulgar-minded as ourselves; and now that we have given twenty millions to get rid of slavery, like to show how they can keep it up in the old country, just out of defiance.’

‘If you disapprove of Mr. Walpole, sir, I believe it is full time you should say so.’

‘I neither approve nor disapprove of him. I don’t well know whether I have any right to do either – I mean so far as to influence her choice. He belongs to a sort of men I know as little about as I do of the Choctaw Indians. They have lives and notions and ways all unlike ours. The world is so civil to them that it prepares everything to their taste. If they want to shoot, the birds are cooped up in a cover, and only let fly when they’re ready. When they fish, the salmon are kept prepared to be caught; and if they make love, the young lady is just as ready to rise to the fly, and as willing to be bagged as either. Thank God, my darling, with all our barbarism, we have not come to that in Ireland.’

‘Here comes Mr. Walpole now, sir; and if I read his face aright, he has something of importance to say to you.’ Kate had barely time to leave the room as Walpole came forward with an open telegram and a mass of papers in his hand.

‘May I have a few moments of conversation with you?’ said he; and in the tone of his words, and a certain gravity in his manner, Kearney thought he could perceive what the communication portended.

‘I am at your orders,’ said Kearney, and he placed a chair for the other.

‘An incident has befallen my life here, Mr. Kearney, which, I grieve to say, may not only colour the whole of my future career, but not impossibly prove the barrier to my pursuit of public life.’

Kearney stared at him as he finished speaking, and the two men sat fixedly gazing on each other.

‘It is, I hasten to own, the one unpleasant, the one, the only one, disastrous event of a visit full of the happiest memories of my life. Of your generous and graceful hospitality, I cannot say half what I desire – ’

‘Say nothing about my hospitality,’ said Kearney, whose irritation as to what the other called a disaster left him no place for any other sentiment; ‘but just tell me why you count this a misfortune.’

‘I call a misfortune, sir, what may not only depose me from my office and my station, but withdraw entirely from me the favour and protection of my uncle, Lord Danesbury.’

‘Then why the devil do you do it?’ cried Kearney angrily.

‘Why do I do what, sir? I am not aware of any action of mine you should question with such energy.’

‘I mean, if it only tends to ruin your prospects and disgust your family, why do you persist, sir? I was going to say more, and ask with what face you presume to come and tell these things to me?’

‘I am really unable to understand you, sir.’

‘Mayhap, we are both of us in the same predicament,’ cried Kearney, as he wiped his brow in proof of his confusion.

‘Had you accorded me a very little patience, I might, perhaps, have explained myself.’

Not trusting himself with a word, Kearney nodded, and the other went on: ‘The post this morning brought me, among other things, these two newspapers, with penmarks in the margin to direct my attention. This is the Lily of Londonderry, a wild Orange print; this the Banner of Ulster, a journal of the same complexion. Here is what the Lily says: “Our county member, Sir Jonas Gettering, is now in a position to call the attention of Parliament to a document which will distinctly show how Her Majesty’s Ministers are not only in close correspondence with the leaders of Fenianism, but that Irish rebellion receives its support and comfort from the present Cabinet. Grave as this charge is, and momentous as would be the consequences of such an allegation if unfounded, we repeat that such a document is in existence, and that we who write these lines have held it in our hands and have perused it.”

‘The Banner copies the paragraph, and adds, “We give all the publicity in our power to a statement which, from our personal knowledge, we can declare to be true. If the disclosures which a debate on this subject must inevitably lead to will not convince Englishmen that Ireland is now governed by a party whose falsehood and subtlety not even Machiavelli himself could justify, we are free to declare we are ready to join the Nationalists to-morrow, and to cry out for a Parliament in College Green, in preference to a Holy Inquisition at Westminster.”’

‘That fellow has blood in him,’ cried Kearney, with enthusiasm, ‘and I go a long way with him.’

‘That may be, sir, and I am sorry to hear it,’ said Walpole coldly; ‘but what I am concerned to tell you is, that the document or memorandum here alluded to was among my papers, and abstracted from them since I have been here.’

‘So that there was actually such a paper?’ broke in Kearney.

‘There was a paper which the malevolence of a party journalist could convert to the support of such a charge. What concerns me more immediately is, that it has been stolen from my despatch-box.’

‘Are you certain of that?’

‘I believe I can prove it. The only day in which I was busied with these papers, I carried them down to the library, and with my own hands I brought them back to my room and placed them under lock and key at once. The box bears no trace of having been broken, so that the only solution is a key. Perhaps my own key may have been used to open it, for the document is gone.’

‘This is a bad business,’ said Kearney sorrowfully.

‘It is ruin to me,’ cried Walpole, with passion. ‘Here is a despatch from Lord Danesbury, commanding me immediately to go over to him in Wales, and I can guess easily what has occasioned the order.’

‘I’ll send for a force of Dublin detectives. I’ll write to the chief of the police. I’ll not rest till I have every one in the house examined on oath,’ cried Kearney. ‘What was it like? Was it a despatch – was it in an envelope?’

‘It was a mere memorandum – a piece of post-paper, and headed, “Draught of instruction touching D.D. Forward to chief constable of police at Letterkenny. October 9th.”’

‘But you had no direct correspondence with Donogan?’

‘I believe, sir, I need not assure you I had not. The malevolence of party has alone the merit of such an imputation. For reasons of state, we desired to observe a certain course towards the man, and Orange malignity is pleased to misrepresent and calumniate us.’

‘And can’t you say so in Parliament?’

‘So we will, sir, and the nation will believe us. Meanwhile, see the mischief that the miserable slander will reflect upon our administration here, and remember that the people who could alone contradict the story are those very Fenians who will benefit by its being believed.’

‘Do your suspicions point to any one in particular? Do you believe that Curtis – ?’

‘I had it in my hand the day after he left.’

‘Was any one aware of its existence here but yourself?’

‘None – wait, I am wrong. Your niece saw it. She was in the library one day. I was engaged in writing, and as we grew to talk over the country, I chanced to show her the despatch.’

‘Let us ask her if she remembers whether any servant was about at the time, or happened to enter the room.’

‘I can myself answer that question. I know there was not.’

‘Let us call her down and see what she remembers,’ said Kearney.

‘I’d rather not, sir. A mere question in such a case would be offensive, and I would not risk the chance. What I would most wish is, to place my despatch-box, with the key, in your keeping, for the purposes of the inquiry, for I must start in half an hour. I have sent for post-horses to Moate, and ordered a special train to town. I shall, I hope, catch the eight o’clock boat for Holyhead, and be with his lordship before this time to-morrow. If I do not see the ladies, for I believe they are out walking, will you make my excuses and my adieux? my confusion and discomfiture will, I feel sure, plead for me. It would not be, perhaps, too much to ask for any information that a police inquiry might elicit; and if either of the young ladies would vouchsafe me a line to say what, if anything, has been discovered, I should feel deeply gratified.’

‘I’ll look to that. You shall be informed.’

‘There was another question that I much desired to speak of,’ and here he hesitated and faltered; ‘but perhaps, on every score, it is as well I should defer it till my return to Ireland.’

‘You know best, whatever it is,’ said the old man dryly.

‘Yes, I think so. I am sure of it. ‘A hurried shake-hands followed, and he was gone.

It is but right to add that a glance at the moment through the window had shown him the wearer of a muslin dress turning into the copse outside the garden, and Walpole dashed down the stairs and hurried in the direction he saw Nina take, with all the speed he could.

‘Get my luggage on the carriage, and have everything ready,’ said he, as the horses were drawn up at the door. ‘I shall return in a moment.’

CHAPTER LI

AWAKENINGS

When Walpole hurried into the beech alley which he had seen Nina take, and followed her in all haste, he did not stop to question himself why he did so. Indeed, if prudence were to be consulted, there was every reason in the world why he should rather have left his leave-takings to the care of Mr. Kearney than assume the charge of them himself; but if young gentlemen who fall in love were only to be logical or ‘consequent,’ the tender passion would soon lose some of the contingencies which give it much of its charm, and people who follow such occupations as mine would discover that they had lost one of the principal employments of their lifetime.

As he went along, however, he bethought him that as it was to say good-bye he now followed her, it behoved him to blend his leave-taking with that pledge of a speedy return, which, like the effects of light in landscape, bring out the various tints in the richest colouring, and mark more distinctly all that is in shadow. ‘I shall at least see,’ muttered he to himself, ‘how far my presence here serves to brighten her daily life, and what amount of gloom my absence will suggest.’ Cecil Walpole was one of a class – and I hasten to say it is a class – who, if not very lavish of their own affections, or accustomed to draw largely on their own emotions, are very fond of being loved themselves, and not only are they convinced that as there can be nothing more natural or reasonable than to love them, it is still a highly commendable feature in the person who carries that love to the extent of a small idolatry, and makes it the business of a life. To worship the men of this order constitutes in their eyes a species of intellectual superiority for which they are grateful, and this same gratitude represents to themselves all of love their natures are capable of feeling.

He knew thoroughly that Nina was not alone the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, that the fascinations of her manner, and her grace of movement and gesture, exercised a sway that was almost magic; that in quickness to apprehend and readiness to reply, she scarcely had an equal; and that whether she smiled, or looked pensive, or listened, or spoke, there was an absorbing charm about her that made one forget all else around her, and unable to see any but her; and yet, with all this consciousness, he recognised no trait about her so thoroughly attractive as that she admired him.

Let me not be misunderstood. This same sentiment can be at times something very different from a mere egotism – not that I mean to say it was such in the present case. Cecil Walpole fully represented the order he belonged to, and was a most well-looking, well-dressed, and well-bred young gentleman, only suggesting the reflection that, to live amongst such a class pure and undiluted, would be little better than a life passed in the midst of French communism.

I have said that, after his fashion, he was ‘in love’ with her, and so, after his fashion, he wanted to say that he was going away, and to tell her not to be utterly disconsolate till he came back again. ‘I can imagine,’ thought he, ‘how I made her life here, how, in developing the features that attract me, I made her a very different creature to herself.’

It was not at all unpleasant to him to think that the people who should surround her were so unlike himself. ‘The barbarians,’ as he courteously called them to himself, ‘will be very hard to endure. Nor am I very sorry for it, only she must catch nothing of their traits in accommodating herself to their habits. On that I must strongly insist. Whether it be by singing their silly ballads – that four-note melody they call “Irish music,” or through mere imitation, she has already caught a slight accent of the country. She must get rid of this. She will have to divest herself of all her “Kilgobbinries” ere I present her to my friends in town.’ Apart from these disparagements, she could, as he expressed it, ‘hold her own,’ and people take a very narrow view of the social dealings of the world, who fail to see how much occasion a woman has for the exercise of tact and temper and discretion and ready-wittedness and generosity in all the well-bred intercourse of life. Just as Walpole had arrived at that stage of reflection to recognise that she was exactly the woman to suit him and push his fortunes with the world, he reached a part of the wood where a little space had been cleared, and a few rustic seats scattered about to make a halting-place. The sound of voices caught his ear, and he stopped, and now, looking stealthily through the brushwood, he saw Gorman O’Shea as he lay in a lounging attitude on a bench and smoked his cigar, while Nina Kostalergi was busily engaged in pinning up the skirt of her dress in a festoon fashion, which, to Cecil’s ideas at least, displayed more of a marvellously pretty instep and ankle than he thought strictly warranted. Puzzling as this seemed, the first words she spoke gave the explanation.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, most valiant soldier, that you are going to teach me the “Czardasz.” I learned it years ago from Tassilo Esterhazy; but I asked you to come here to set me right about that half-minuet step that begins it. I believe I have got into the habit of doing the man’s part, for I used to be Pauline Esterhazy’s partner after Tassilo went away.’

‘You had a precious dancing-master in Tassilo,’ growled out O’Shea. ‘The greatest scamp in the Austrian army.’

‘I know nothing of the moralities of the Austrian army, but the count was a perfect gentleman, and a special friend of mine.’

‘I am sorry for it,’ was the gruff rejoinder.

‘You have nothing to grieve for, sir. You have no vested interest to be imperilled by anything that I do.’

‘Let us not quarrel, at all events,’ said he, as he arose with some alacrity and flung away his cigar; and Walpole turned away, as little pleased with what he had heard as dissatisfied with himself for having listened. ‘And we call these things accidents,’ muttered he; ‘but I believe Fortune means more generously by us when she crosses our path in this wise. I almost wish I had gone a step farther, and stood before them. At least it would have finished this episode, and without a word. As it is, a mere phrase will do it – the simple question as to what progress she makes in dancing will show I know all. But do I know all?’ Thus speculating and ruminating, he went his way till he reached the carriage, and drove off at speed, for the first time in his life, really and deeply in love!

He made his journey safely, and arrived at Holyhead by daybreak. He had meant to go over deliberately all that he should say to the Viceroy, when questioned, as he expected to be, on the condition of Ireland. It was an old story, and with very few variations to enliven it.

How was it that, with all his Irish intelligence well arranged in his mind – the agrarian crime, the ineffective police, the timid juries, the insolence of the popular press, and the arrogant demands of the priesthood – how was it that, ready to state all these obstacles to right government, and prepared to show that it was only by ‘out-jockeying’ the parties, he could hope to win in Ireland still, that Greek girl, and what he called her perfidy, would occupy a most disproportionate share of his thoughts, and a larger place in his heart also? The simple truth is, that though up to this Walpole found immense pleasure in his flirtation with Nina Kostalergi, yet his feeling for her now was nearer love than anything he had experienced before. The bare suspicion that a woman could jilt him, or the possible thought that a rival could be found to supplant him, gave, by the very pain it occasioned, such an interest to the episode, that he could scarcely think of anything else. That the most effectual way to deal with the Greek was to renew his old relations with his cousin Lady Maude was clear enough. ‘At least I shall seem to be the traitor,’ thought he, ‘and she shall not glory in the thought of having deceived me.’ While he was still revolving these thoughts, he arrived at the castle, and learned as he crossed the door that his lordship was impatient to see him.

Lord Danesbury had never been a fluent speaker in public, while in private life a natural indolence of disposition, improved, so to say, by an Eastern life, had made him so sparing of his words, that at times when he was ill or indisposed he could never be said to converse at all, and his talk consisted of very short sentences strung loosely together, and not unfrequently so ill-connected as to show that an unexpressed thought very often intervened between the uttered fragments. Except to men who, like Walpole, knew him intimately, he was all but unintelligible. The private secretary, however, understood how to fill up the blanks in any discourse, and so follow out indications which, to less practised eyes, left no footmarks behind them.

His Excellency, slowly recovering from a sharp attack of gout, was propped by pillows, and smoking a long Turkish pipe, as Cecil entered the room and saluted him. ‘Come at last,’ was his lordship’s greeting. ‘Ought to have been here weeks ago. Read that.’ And he pushed towards him a Times, with a mark on the margin: ‘To ask the Secretary for Ireland whether the statement made by certain newspapers in the North of a correspondence between the Castle authorities and the Fenian leader was true, and whether such correspondence could be laid on the table of the House?’

‘Read it out,’ cried the Viceroy, as Walpole conned over the paragraph somewhat slowly to himself.

‘I think, my lord, when you have heard a few words of explanation from me, you will see that this charge has not the gravity these newspaper-people would like to attach to it.’

‘Can’t be explained – nothing could justify – infernal blunder – and must go.’

‘Pray, my lord, vouchsafe me even five minutes.’

‘See it all – balderdash – explain nothing – Cardinal more offended than the rest – and here, read.’ And he pushed a letter towards him, dated Downing Street, and marked private. ‘The idiot you left behind you has been betrayed into writing to the rebels and making conditions with them. To disown him now is not enough.’

‘Really, my lord, I don’t see why I should submit to the indignity of reading more of this.’

His Excellency crushed the letter in his hand, and puffed very vigorously at his pipe, which was nearly extinguished. ‘Must go,’ said he at last, as a fresh volume of smoke rolled forth.

‘That I can believe – that I can understand, my lord. When you tell me you cease to endorse my pledges, I feel I am a bankrupt in your esteem.’

‘Others smashed in the same insolvency – inconceivable blunder – where was Cartwright? – what was Holmes about? No one in Dublin to keep you out of this cursed folly?’

‘Until your lordship’s patience will permit me to say a few words, I cannot hope to justify my conduct.’

‘No justifying – no explaining – no! regular smash and complete disgrace. Must go.’

‘I am quite ready to go. Your Excellency has no need to recall me to the necessity.’

‘Knew it all – and against my will, too – said so from the first – thing I never liked – nor see my way in. Must go – must go.’

‘I presume, my lord, I may leave you now. I want a bath and a cup of coffee.’

‘Answer that!’ was the gruff reply, as he tossed across the table a few lines signed, ‘Bertie Spencer, Private Secretary.’

‘“I am directed to request that Mr. Walpole will enable the Right Honourable Mr. Annihough to give the flattest denial to the inclosed.”’

‘That must be done at once,’ said the Viceroy, as the other ceased to read the note.

‘It is impossible, my lord; I cannot deny my own handwriting.’

‘Annihough will find some road out of it,’ muttered the other. ‘You were a fool, and mistook your instructions, or the constable was a fool and required a misdirection, or the Fenian was a fool, which he would have been if he gave the pledge you asked for. Must go, all the same.’

‘But I am quite ready to go, my lord,’ rejoined Walpole angrily. ‘There is no need to insist so often on that point.’

‘Who talks – who thinks of you, sir?’ cried the other, with an irritated manner. ‘I speak of myself. It is I must resign – no great sacrifice, perhaps, after all; stupid office, false position, impracticable people. Make them all Papists to-morrow, and ask to be Hindus. They’ve got the land, and not content if they can’t shoot the landlords!’

‘If you think, my lord, that by any personal explanation of mine, I could enable the Minister to make his answer in the House more plausible – ’

‘Leave the plausibility to himself, sir,’ and then he added, half aloud, ‘he’ll be unintelligible enough without you. There, go, and get some breakfast – come back afterwards, and I’ll dictate my letter of resignation. Maude has had a letter from Atlee. Shrewd fellow, Atlee – done the thing well.’

As Walpole was near the door, his Excellency said, ‘You can have Guatemala, if they have not given it away. It will get you out of Europe, which is the first thing, and with the yellow fever it may do more.’

‘I am profoundly grateful, my lord,’ said he, bowing low.

‘Maude, of course, would not go, so it ends that.’

‘I am deeply touched by the interest your lordship vouchsafes to my concerns.’

‘Try and live five years, and you’ll have a retiring allowance. The last fellow did, but was eaten by a crocodile out bathing.’ And with this he resumed his Times, and turned away, while Walpole hastened off to his room, in a frame of mind very far from comfortable or reassuring.