Parson Kelly

by Andrew Lang

  CHAPTER I

  THE PARSON EXPRESSES IRREPROACHABLE SENTIMENTS AT THE MAZARIN PALACE

  "What mighty quarrels rise from trivial things!"

  So wrote Mr. Alexander Pope, whom Nicholas Wogan remembers as abookish boy in the little Catholic colony of Windsor Forest. The linemight serve as a motto for the story which Mr. Wogan (now a one-armedretired colonel of Dillon's Irish Brigade in French Service) is aboutto tell. The beginnings of our whole mischancy business were trivialin themselves, and in all appearance unrelated to the future. Theywere nothing more important than the purchase of a couple of smallstrong-boxes and the placing of Parson Kelly's patrimony in Mr. Law'scompany of the West. Both of these events happened upon the same day.

  It was early in February of the year 1719, and the streets of Pariswere deep in snow. Wogan, then plotting for King James's cause, rodeinto Paris from St. Omer at ten o'clock of the forenoon, and justabout the same hour Parson Kelly, plotting too in his way, drovethrough the Orleans gate.

  A few hours later the two men met in the Marais, or rather NicholasWogan saw the skirts of Kelly's coat vanishing into an ironmonger'sshop, and ran in after him. Kelly was standing by the counter with alady on either side of him, as was the dear man's wont; though theirneighbourhood on this occasion was the merest accident, for the Parsonknew neither of them.

  'Sure it's my little friend the lace merchant,' said Wogan, andclapped his hand pretty hard on the small of his friend's back, whomhe had not seen for a twelvemonth and more. Kelly stumbled a trifle,maybe, and no doubt he coughed and spluttered. One of the ladiesdropped her purse and shuddered into a corner.

  '_Quelle bete sauvage!_' murmured the second with one indignant eyeupon Nicholas Wogan, and the other swimming with pity for Mr. Kelly.

  'Madame,' said Wogan, picking up the purse and restoring it with hismost elegant bow, 'it was pure affection.'

  'No doubt,' said Kelly, as he rubbed his shoulder; 'but, Nick, did younever hear of the bear that smashed his master's skull in theendeavour to stroke off a fly that had settled on his nose? That waspure affection too.'

  He turned back to the counter, on which the shopman was setting out anumber of small strong-boxes, and began to examine them.

  'Well, you must e'en blame yourself, George,' said Nick, 'for the meresight of you brings the smell of the peat to my nostrils and lendsvigour to my hand.'

  This he said with all sincerity, for the pair had been friends incounty Kildare long before Kelly went to Dublin University, and tookdeacon's orders, and was kicked out of the pulpit for preachingJacobitism in his homilies. As boys they had raced bare-legged overthe heather, and spent many an afternoon in fighting over again thatsiege of Rathcoffey Castle which an earlier Nicholas Wogan had held sostoutly for King Charles. The recollection of those days always playedupon Wogan's foolish heartstrings with a touch soft as a woman'sfingers, and very likely it now set George Kelly's twanging to thesame tune; for at Wogan's words he turned himself about with a facesuddenly illumined.

  'Here, Nick, lay your hand there,' said he and stretched out his hand.'You will be long in Paris?'

  'No more than a night. And you?'

  'Just the same time.'

  He turned again to the counter, and busied himself with his boxes insomething of a hurry, as though he would avoid further questioning.Wogan blew a low whistle.

  Maybe we are on the same business, eh?' he asked. 'The King'sbusiness?'

  'Whisht, man,' whispered Kelly quickly, and he glanced about the shop.'Have you no sense at all?'

  The shop was empty at the moment, and there was no reason that Wogancould see for his immoderate secrecy. But the Parson was much like therest of the happy-go-lucky conspirators who were intriguing todislodge the Elector from the English throne--cautious by fits andmoods, and the more often when there was the less need. But let ascheme get ripe for completion, and sure they imagined it completedalready, and at once there would be letters left about here, for allthe world to read, and a wink and a sly word there, so that it waslittle short of a miracle when a plot was launched before it had beendiscovered by those it was launched against. Not that you are toattribute to Mr. Wogan any superior measure of reticence. On thecontrary, it is very probable that it was precisely Mr. Wogan's tonguewhich George Kelly distrusted, and if so, small blame to him. At anyrate, he pursed up his lips and stiffened his back. Consequence turnedhim into a ramrod, and with a voice pitched towards the shopman:

  'I am still in the muslin trade,' said he, meaning that he collectedmoney for the Cause. 'I shall cross to England to-morrow.'

  'Indeed and will you now?' said Wogan, who was perhaps a littlecontraried by his friend's reserve. 'Then I'll ask you to explain whatthese pretty boxes have to do with the muslin trade?'

  'They are to carry my samples in,' replied Kelly readily enough; andthen, as if to put Wogan's questions aside, 'Are you for England,too?'

  'No,' said Wogan, imitating Mr. Kelly's importance; 'I am going tovisit my Aunt Anne at Cadiz; so make the most of that, my littlefriend.'

  Wogan was no great dab at the cyphers and the jargon of the plots, buthe knew that the Duke of Ormond, being then in Spain, figured in thecorrespondence as my Aunt Anne. It was now Kelly's turn to whistle,and that he did, and then laughed besides.

  'I might have guessed,' said he, 'for there's a likely prospect ofbroken heads at all events, and to that magnet you were never betterthan a steel filing.'

  'Whisht, man,' exclaimed Wogan, frowning and wagging his headpreposterously. 'Is it yourself that's the one person in the world topractise mysteries? Broken heads, indeed!' and he shrugged hisshoulder as though he had a far greater business on hand. Kelly'scuriosity rose to the bait, and he put a question or two which Woganwaived aside. The Parson indeed had hit the truth. Wogan had nobusiness whatsoever except the mere fighting, but since the Parson wasfor practising so much dignified secrecy, Wogan would do no less.

  To carry the joke a step further, he turned to the counter, even asKelly had done, and examined the despatch-boxes. He would buy one, toconvince Kelly that he, too, was trusted with secret papers. The boxeswere as like to one another as peas, but Wogan discovered a greatdissimilitude of defects.

  'There's not one of them fit to keep a mouldy cheese in,' said he,tapping and sounding them with his knuckles, 'let alone--' and then hecaught himself up with a glance at Kelly. 'However, this perhaps mayserve--but wait a little.' He felt in his pockets and by chancediscovered a piece of string. This string he drew out and carefullymeasured the despatch-box, depth and width and length. Then he put thetip of his thumb between his teeth and bit it in deep thought. 'Well,and it must serve, since there's no better; but for heaven's sake, myman, clap a stouter lock on it! I could smash this with my fist. Agood stout lock; and send it--wait a moment!' He glanced towards Kellyand turned back to the shopman. 'I'll just write down where you are tosend it to.'

  To Kelly's more complete mystification he scribbled a name and anaddress on a sheet of paper, and folded it up with an infinity ofprecautions.

  'Send it there, key and all, by nine o'clock tomorrow morning.'

  The name was Mr. Kelly's, the address the inn at which Mr. Kelly wasin the habit of putting up. Wogan bought the box merely to gull Kellyinto the belief that he, also, was a Royal messenger. Then he paid forthe box, and forthwith forgot all about it over a bottle of wine.Kelly, for his part, held his despatch-box in his hand.

  'Nick, I have business,' said he as soon as the bottle was empty, 'andit appears you have too. Shall we meet to-night? Mr. Law expects me atthe Mazarin Palace.'

  'Faith, then I'll make bold to intrude upon him,' said Nicholas, who,though Mr. Law kept open house for those who favoured the White Rose,was but a rare visitor to the Mazarin Palace, holding the financier inso much awe that no amount of affability could extinguish it.

  However, that night he went, and so learned in greater particular thesecret of the Parson's
journey. It was nine o'clock at night whenWogan turned the corner of the Rue Vivienne and saw the windows of theMazarin Palace blazing out upon the snow. A little crowd shivered andgaped beneath them, making, poor devils! a vicarious supper off thenoise of Mr. Law's entertainment. And it was a noisy party that Mr.Law entertained. Before he was half-way down the street Wogan couldhear the peal of women's laughter and a snatch of a song, and afterthat maybe a sound of breaking glass, as though a tumbler had beenedged off the table by an elbow. He was shown up the great staircaseto a room on the first floor.

  'Monsieur Nicholas de Wogan,' said the footman, throwing open thedoor. Wogan stepped into the company of the pretty arch conspiratorswho were then mismanaging the Chevalier's affairs. However, with theirmismanagement Wogan is not here concerned, for this is not a story ofKings and Queens and high politics but of the private fortunes ofParson Kelly. Olive Trant was playing backgammon in a corner with Mr.Law. Madame de Mezieres, who was seldom absent when politics weretowards, graced the table and conversed with Lady Cecilia Law. Andright in front of Mr. Wogan stood that madcap her sister, FannyOglethorpe, with her sleeves tucked back to her elbows, lookinggloriously jolly and handsome. She was engaged in mincing chickens ina china bowl which was stewing over a little lamp on the table, for,said she, Mr. Law had aspersed the English cooks, and she was mindedto make him eat his word and her chicken that very night for supper.She had Parson Kelly helping her upon the one side, and a young Frenchgentleman whom Wogan did not know upon the other; and the three ofthem were stirring in the bowl with a clatter of their wooden spoons.

  'Here's Mr. Wogan,' cried Fanny Oglethorpe, and as Wogan held out hishand she clapped her hot spoon into it. 'M. de Bellegarde, you mustknow Mr. Wogan. He has the broadest back of any man that ever I wasacquainted with. You must do more than know him. You must love him, asI do, for the broadness of his back.'

  M. de Bellegarde looked not over-pleased with the civility of hergreeting, and bowed to Wogan with an affectation of ceremony. Mr. Lawcame forward with an affable word. Olive Trant added another, andMadame de Mezieres asked eagerly what brought him to Paris.

  'He is on his way to join the Duke of Ormond at Cadiz,' cried Kelly;'and,' said this man deceived, 'he carries the most importantmessages. Bow to him, ladies! Gentlemen, your hands to your hearts,and your knees to the ground! It's no longer a soldier of fortune thatyou see before you, but a diplomatist, an ambassador: His Excellency,the Chevalier Wogan;' and with that he ducked and bowed, shaking hishead and gesticulating with his hands, as though he were somedandified court chamberlain. All the Parson's diplomacy had beenplainly warmed out of him in his present company. Mr. Law began tolaugh, but Fanny Oglethorpe dropped her spoon and looked at Wogan.

  'The Duke of Ormond?' said she, lowering her voice.

  'Indeed? and you carry messages?' said Miss Olive Trant, upsetting thebackgammon board.

  'Of what kind?' exclaimed Madame de Mezieres; and then, in an instant,their pretty heads were clustered about the table, and their mouthswhispering questions, advice, and precautions, all in a breath. 'It'sat Bristol you are to land?' 'The Earl Marischal is for Scotland?''You carry 5,000 barrels, Mr. Wogan?' meaning thereby stands of arms.And, 'You may speak with all confidence,' Miss Oglethorpe urged, witha glance this way and that over her shoulders. 'There are none buthonest people here. M. de Bellegarde,' and she looked towards theFrench spark, blushing very prettily, 'is my good friend.'

  Mr. Wogan bowed.

  'It was not that I doubted M. de Bellegarde,' he replied. 'But 'faith,ladies, I have learnt more of the prospects of the expedition fromyour questions than ever I knew before. I was told for a certain thingthat heads would be broken, and, to be sure, I was content with theinformation.'

  At that Mr. Law laughed. Kelly asked, 'What of the despatch-box,then?' The ladies pouted their resentment; and Mr. Wogan, for thefirst and last time in his life, wore the reputation of a diplomatist.'A close man,' said M. de Bellegarde, pursing his lips in approval.

  'But sped on an unlikely venture,' added Mr. Law, getting back to hisbackgammon. 'Oh, I know,' he continued, as the voices rose againsthim, 'you have grumblings enough in England to fill a folio, and soyou think the whole country will hurry to the waterside to welcomeyou, before you have set half your foot on shore. But, when all issaid, the country's prosperous. Your opportunity will come with itsmisfortunes.'

  But Madame de Mezieres would hear nothing of such forebodings; andOlive Trant, catching up a glass, swung it above her head.

  'May the Oak flourish!' she cried.

  Fanny Oglethorpe sprang from her seat. 'May the White Rose bloom!' sheanswered, giving the counter-word. The pair clinked their glasses.

  'Aye, that's the spirit!' cried the Parson. 'Drink, Nick! God save theKing! Here's a bumper to him!'

  He stood with his face turned upwards, his blue eyes afire. 'Here's tothe King!' he repeated. 'Here's to the Cause! God send that nothingever come between the Cause and me.' He drained his glass as he spoke,and tossed it over his shoulder. There was a tinkling sound, and aflash of sparks, as it were, when the glass splintered against thewall. George Kelly stood for a moment, arrested in his attitude, hiseyes staring into vacancy, as though some strange news had come of asudden knocking at his heart. Then he hitched his shoulders. 'Bah!' hecried, and began to sing in a boisterous voice some such ditty as

  Of all the days that's in the year, The tenth of June's to me most dear, When our White Roses do appear To welcome Jamie the Rover.

  Or it may have been

  Let our great James come over, And baffle Prince Hanover, With hearts and hands in loyal bands, We'll welcome him at Dover.

  It was not the general practice to allow the Parson to sing withoutprotest; for he squeezed less music out of him than any other Irishmancould evoke from a deal board with his bare knuckles. When he sang,and may Heaven forgive the application of the word in thisconjunction, there was ever a sort of mortal duello between his voiceand the tune--very distressing to an audience. But now he sang hissong from beginning to end, and no one interrupted him, or so much asclapped a hand over an ear; and this not out of politeness. But hiswords so rang with a startling fervour; and he stood, with his headthrown back, rigid in the stress of passion. His voice quavered downto silence, but his eyes still kept their fires, his attitude itsfixity. Once or twice he muttered a word beneath his breath, and thena hoarse cry came leaping from his mouth.

  'May nothing ever come between the Cause and me, except it bedeath--except it be death!'

  A momentary silence waited upon the abrupt cessation of his voice:Wogan even held his breath; Miss Oglethorpe did not stir; and duringthat silence, there came a gentle rapping on the door. Kelly lookedtowards it with a start, as though there was his answer; but theknocking was repeated before anyone moved; it seemed as if suspensehad hung its chains upon every limb. It was Mr. Wogan who opened thedoor, and in stalked Destiny in the shape of a lackey. He carried anote, and handed it to George Kelly.

  'The messenger has but this instant brought it,' he said.

  Kelly broke the seal, and unfolded the paper.

  'From General Dillon,' he said; and, reading the note through,'Ladies, will you pardon me? Mr. Law, I have your permission? I havebut this one night in Paris, and General Dillon has news of importancewhich bears upon my journey.'

  With that he took his hat, and got him from the room. Fanny Oglethorpesprang up from her chair.

  'Sure, my chicken will be ruined,' she cried. 'Come, M. deBellegarde,' and the pair fell again to stirring in the bowl, and withsuch indiscriminate vigour that more than once their fingers gotentangled. This Mr. Wogan observed, and was sufficiently indiscreet toutter a sly proposal that he should make a third at the stirring.

  'There is no need for a third,' said Miss Oglethorpe, with severity.'But, on the other hand, I want a couple of pats of butter, and aflagon of water; and I shall b
e greatly obliged if Mr. Wogan willprocure me them.' And what with that and other requests which chancedto come into her head, she kept him busy until the famous supper wasprepared.

  In the midst of that supper back came Mr. Kelly, and plumped himselfdown in his chair, very full of his intelligence. A glass or two ofMr. Law's burgundy served to warm out of his blood all the reservethat was left over from the morning.

  'We are all friends here,' said he, turning to Miss Oglethorpe.'Moreover, I need the advantage of your advice and knowledge. GeneralDillon believes that my Lord Oxford maybe persuaded to undertake themuslin trade in Britain.'

  'Lord Oxford,' exclaimed Miss Oglethorpe, with a start, for Oxford hadlain quiet since he nearly lost his head five years agone. 'He is tocollect the money from our supporters?'

  'It is the opinion that he will, if properly approached.'

  Mr. Law, at the top of the table, shook his head.

  'It is a very forward and definite step for so prudential apolitician,' said he.

  'But a politician laid on a shelf, and pining there,' replied George.'There's the reason for it. He has a hope of power,--_Qui a bu,boira!_ The hope grows real if we succeed.'

  'I would trust him no further than a Norfolk attorney,' returned Mr.Law; 'and that's not an inch from the end of my nose. He will swearthrough a two-inch board to help you, and then turn cat in pan if aWhig but smile at him.'

  'Besides,' added Miss Oglethorpe, and she rested, her chinthoughtfully upon her hands. As she spoke, all the eyes in thatcompany were turned on her. 'Besides,' and then she came to a stop,and flushed a little. 'Lord Oxford,' she continued, 'was my goodfriend when I was in England.' Then she stopped again. Finally shelooked straight into M. de Bellegarde's eyes, and with an admirablebravery: 'Some, without reason, have indeed slandered me with storiesthat he was more than my friend.'

  'None, Madame, who know you, I'll warrant,' said M. de Bellegarde, andgravely lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it.

  'Well, that's a very pretty answer,' said she in some confusion. 'SoMr. Kelly may know,' she went on, 'that I speak with some authorityconcerning my Lord Oxford. It is not he whom I distrust. But he haslately married a young wife.'

  'Ah,' said Mr. Law, and 'Oh!' cried Mr. Wogan, with a shrug of hisshoulders. 'If a lady is to dabble her tender fingers in the pie--'

  'And what of it, Mr. Wogan?' Madame de Mezieres took him up coldly.

  'Yes, Mr. Wogan, what of it?' repeated Olive Trant hotly, 'providedthe lady be loyal.' In an instant Mr. Wogan had the whole nestswarming about his ears, with the exception of Fanny Oglethorpe. Itwas intimated to him that he had a fine preposterous conceit of hissex, and would he be pleased to justify it?

  Madame de Mezieres hinted that the ability to swing a shillelagh andbring it down deftly on an offending sconce did not comprise the wholevirtues of mankind. And if it came to the test of dealing blows, whythere was Joan of Arc, and what had Mr. Wogan to say to her? Mr. Woganturned tail, as he always did when women were in the van of theattack.

  'Ladies,' he said, 'I do not think Joan of Arc so singular after all,since I see four here who I believe from my soul could emulate hernoblest achievements.'

  But Mr. Wogan's gallantry went for very little. The cowardice of itwas apparent for all that he bowed and laid his hand on his heart, andperformed such antics as he thought likely to tickle women into goodhumour.

  'Besides,' put in Lady Cecilia, with a soothing gentleness, 'Mr. Woganshould know that the cause he serves owes, as it is, much to the goodoffices of women.'

  Mr. Wogan had his own opinions upon that point, but he wiped hisforehead and had the discretion to hold his tongue. Meanwhile FannyOglethorpe, who had sat with frowning brows in silence, diverted theonslaught.

  'But it is just the loyalty of Lady Oxford which is in question. LadyOxford is a Whig, of a Whig family. She is even related to Mr.Walpole, the Minister. I think Mr. Kelly will have to tread verywarily at Lord Oxford's house of Brampton Bryan.'

  'For my part,' rejoined Mr. Law, 'I think the Chevalier de St. Georgewould do better to follow the example of Mr. Kelly and my friendshere.'

  'And what is that?' asked Wogan.

  'Why, scrape up all the money he can lay hands on and place it in mycompany of the West.'

  Mr. Wogan was not well pleased to hear of his friend's speculation,and, when they left the house together, took occasion to remonstratewith him.

  'How much have you placed?' he asked.

  'All that I could,' replied George. 'It is little enough--the remnantof my patrimony. Mr. Law lent me a trifle in addition to make up around sum. It is a very kindly man, and well disposed to me. I have nofears, for all the money in France dances to the tune he fiddles.'

  'To his tune, to be sure,' grumbled Wogan; 'but are you equallycertain his tune is yours? Oh, I know. He is a monstrous clever man,not a doubt of it. The computation of figures--it is the devil's owngift, and to my nose it smells damnably of sulphur.'

  Mr. Wogan has good occasion to reflect how Providence fleers at one'sapprehensions when he remembers the sleepless hours during which hetossed upon his bed that night, seeing all the Parson's scanty savingsdrowned beyond redemption in the China seas. For no better chancecould have befallen Kelly than that Wogan's forebodings should havecome true. But the venture succeeded. Fanny Oglethorpe made a fortuneand married M. de Bellegarde. Olive Trant, the richer by 100,000pistoles, became Princess of Auvergne. Do they ever remember thatnight at the Hotel de Mazarin, and how Parson Kelly cried out almostin an agony as though, in the heat of passion, he surmised the future,'May nothing come between the Cause and me'? Well, for one thing themoney came. It placed in his hands a golden key wherewith to unlockthe gates of disaster.