The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXIII. THE COAST IN WINTER

  Although Tate Sullivan had arrived in Coleraine and provided himselfwith a chaise expressly to bring his mistress and her daughter backto "The Corvy,"--from which the sheriff's officers had retired indiscomfiture, on discovering the loss of their warrants,--Lady Eleanor,dreading a renewal of the law proceedings, had determined never toreturn thither.

  From the postilion they learned that a small but not uncomfortablelodging could be had near the little village of Port Ballintray, and tothis spot they now directed their course. The transformation of a littlesummer watering-place into the dismal village of some poor fishermen inwinter, is a sad spectacle; nor was the picture relieved by the presenceof the fragments of a large vessel, which, lately lost with all itscrew, hung on the rocks, thumping and clattering with every motion ofthe waves. By the faint moonlight Lady Eleanor and her daughter couldmark the outlines of figures, as they waded in the tide or clamberedalong the rocks, stripping the last remains of the noble craft, andcontending with each other for the spoils of the dead.

  If the scene itself was a sorrowful one, it was no less painful to theireyes from feeling a terrible similitude between their own fortunes andthat of the wrecked vessel; the gallant ship, meant to float in itspride over the ocean, now a broken and shattered wreck, falling asunderwith each stroke of the sea!

  "How like and yet how unlike!" sighed Lady Eleanor; "if these crushedand shattered timbers have no feeling in the hour of adversity, yet arethey denied the glorious hopefulness that in the saddest moments clingsto humanity. Ours is shipwreck, too, but, taken at its worst, is onlytemporary calamity!"

  Helen pressed her mother's hands with fervor to her lips; perhaps neverhad she loved her with more intensity than at that instant.

  The chaise drew up at the door of a little cabin, built at the foot of,and, as it actually seemed, against a steep rocky cliff of great height.In summer it was regarded as one of the best among the surroundinglodgings, but now it looked dreary enough. A fishing-boat, set up onone end, formed a kind of sheltering porch to the doorway; while spars,masts, and oars were lashed upon the thatch, to serve as a protectionagainst the dreadful gales of winter.

  A childless widow was the only occupant, whose scanty livelihood waseked out by letting lodgings to the summer visitors,--a precarioussubsistence, which in bad seasons, and they were not unfrequent,failed altogether. It was with no small share of wonderment that MarySpellan--or "old Molly," as the village more usually called her--saw acarriage draw up to the cabin door late of a dark night in winter; norwas this feeling unalloyed by a very strong tincture of suspicion, forMolly was an Antrim woman, and had her proportion of the qualities, goodand bad, of the "Black North."

  "They 'll no be makin' a stay on't," said she to the postboy, who,in his capacity of interpreter, had got down to explain to Mollythe requirements of the strangers. "They 'll be here to-day and awato-morrow, I 'm thenkin'," said she, with habitual and native distrust."And what for wull I make a 'hottle'"--no greater indignity could beoffered to the lodging-house keeper than to compare the accommodationin any respect with that of an hotel--"of my wee bit house, takin' outlinen and a' the rest o' it for maybe a day or twa."

  Lady Eleanor, who watched from the window of the chaise the course ofthe negotiations without hearing any part of the colloquy, was impatientat the slow progress events seemed to take, and supposing that thepostboy's demands were made with more regard to their habits than to oldMolly's means of accommodation, called out,--

  "Tell the good woman that we are easily satisfied; and if the cabin bebut clean and quiet--"

  "What's the leddie sayin'?" said Molly, who heard only a stray word, andthat not overpleasing to her.

  "She 's saying it will do very well," said the postboy, conciliatingly,"and 'tis maybe a whole year she 'll stay with you."

  "Ech, dearee me!" sighed Molly, "it's wearisome enough to hae' them a'the summer, without hae'ing them in the winter too. Tell her to comeben, and see if she likes the place." And with this not over-courteousproposal, Molly turned her back, and rolled, rather thau walked, intothe cabin.

  The three little rooms which comprised the whole suite destined forstrangers, were, in all their poverty, scrupulously clean; and Molly,gradually thawed by the evident pretensions of her guests, volunteeredlittle additions to the furniture, as she went along, concluding withthe very characteristic remark,--

  "But ye maun consider, that it's no my habit, or my likin' either, tohae lodgers in the winter; and af ye come, ye maun e'en pay for yourwhistle, like ither folk."

  This was the arrangement that gave Lady Eleanor the least trouble; andthough the terms demanded were in reality exorbitant, they were accededto without hesitation by those who never had had occasion to makesimilar compacts, and believed that the sum was a most reasonable one.

  As is ever the case, the many wants and inconveniences of a restricteddwelling were far more placidly endured by those long habituated toevery luxury than by their followers; and so, while Lady Eleanor andHelen submitted cheerfully to daily privations of one kind or other,Tate lived a life of everlasting complaint and grumbling over the narrowaccommodation of the cabin, continually irritating old Molly by demandsimpossible to comply with, and suggesting the necessity of changesperfectly out of her power to effect. It is but justice to the faithfulold butler to state, that to this line of conduct he was prompted bywhat he deemed due to his mistress and her high station, rather than byany vain hope of ever succeeding, his complaints being less demands forimprovement than after the fashion of those "protests" which dissentientmembers of a legislature think it necessary to make in cases whereopposition is unavailing.

  These half-heard mutterings of Tate were the only interruptions to alife of sad but tranquil monotony. Lady Eleanor and her daughter livedas though in a long dream; the realities around them so invested withsameness and uniformity that days, weeks, and months blended into eachother, and became one commingled mass of time, undivided and unmarked.Of the world without they heard but little; of those dearest to them,absolutely nothing. The very newspapers maintained a silence on thesubject of the expedition under Abercrombie, so that of the Knighthimself they had no tidings whatever. Of Daly they only heard once, atthe end of one of Bicknell's letters, one of those gloomy records of thelaw's delay; that he said, "You will be sorry to learn that Mr. BagenalDaly, having omitted to appear personally or by counsel in a causelately called on here, has been cast in heavy damages, and pronouncedin contempt, neither of which inflictions will probably give him muchuneasiness, if, as report speaks, he has gone to pass the remainder ofhis days in America. Miss Daly speaks of joining him, when she learnsthat he has fixed on any spot of future residence." The only particle ofconsolation extractable from the letter was in a paragraph at the end,which ran thus: "O'Reilly's solicitor has withdrawn all the proceedingslately commenced, and there is an evident desire to avoid furtherlitigation. I hear that for the points now in dispute an arbitrationwill be proposed. Would you feel disposed or free to accept suchan offer, if made? Let me know this, as I should be prepared at allevents."

  Even this half-confession of a claim gave hope to the drooping spiritsof Lady Eleanor, and she lost no time in acquainting Bicknell with heropinion that while they neither could nor would compromise the rightsof their son, for any interests actually their own, and terminatingwith their lives, they would willingly adopt any arrangement that shouldremove the most pressing evils of poverty, and permit them to liveunited for the rest of their days.

  The severe winter of northern Ireland closed in, with all its darkeningskies and furious storms; scattered fragments of wrecked vessels, spars,and ship-gear strewed the rocky coast for miles. The few cottages hereand there were closed and barricaded as if against an enemy, the roofsfastened down by ropes and heavy implements of husbandry, to keep safethe thatch; the boats of the fishermen drawn up on land, grouped roundthe shealings in sad but not unpicturesque confusion. The ever-restlesssea beating like t
hunder upon that iron shore, the dark impending cloudslowering over cliff and precipice, were all that the eye could mark.No cattle were on the hills; the sheep nestling in the little glens andvalleys were almost undistinguishable from the depth of gloom around;not a man was to be seen.

  The little village of Port Ballintray, which a few months beforeabounded in all the sights and sounds of human intercourse, was nowperfectly deserted. Most of the cottages were fastened on the inside;in some the doors, burst open by the storm, showed still moreunquestionably that no dwellers remained; the little gardens, tendedwith such care, were now uprooted and devastated; fallen trellises andruined porches were seen on every side; and even Mrs. Fumbally's, thepride and glory of the place, had not escaped the general wreck, and theflaunting archway, on which, in bright letters, her name was inscribed,hung pensively by one pillar, and waved like a sad pendulum, "countingthe weary minutes over!"

  While nothing could less resemble the signs of habitation than theaspect of matters without, within a fire burned on more than one hearth,and a serving-woman was seen moving from place to place occupied inmaking those arrangements which bespoke the speedy arrival of visitors.

  It was long after nightfall that a travelling carriage and four--a raresight in such a place, even in the palmiest days of summer--drew upat the front of the little garden, and after some delay a very old andfeeble man was lifted out, and carried between two servants into thehouse; he was followed by another, whose firm step and erect figureindicated the prime of life; while after him again came a small man,most carefully protected by coats and comforters against the severity ofthe season. He walked lame, and in the shuddering look he gave around inthe short transit from the carriage to the house-door, showed that suchprospects, however grand and picturesque, had few charms for him.

  A short interval elapsed after the luggage was removed from thecarriage, and then one of the servants mounted the box, the horses'beads were turned, and the conveyance was seen retiring by the road toColeraine.

  The effective force of Mrs. Fum's furniture was never remarkable, indays of gala and parade; it was still less imposing now, when nothingremained save an invalided garrison of deal chairs and tables, a fewcurtainless beds, and a stray chest of drawers or two of the rudestfashion.

  The ample turf fire on the hearth of the chief sitting-room, cheeringand bright as was its aspect, after the dark and rainy scene withoutdoors, could not gladden the air of these few and comfortless movablesinto a look of welcome; and so one of the newly arrived party seemed tofeel, as he threw his glance over the meagre-looking chamber, and in ahalf-complaining, half-inquiring tone, said,--

  "Don't you think, sir, they might have done this a little better? Thesewindows are no defence against the wind or rain, the walls are actuallysoaked with wet; not a bit of carpet, not a chair to sit upon! I 'mgreatly afraid for the old gentleman; if he were to be really ill insuch a place--"

  A heavy fit of coughing from the inner room now seemed to corroboratethe suspicion.

  "We must make the best of it, Nalty," said the other. "Remember, theplan was of your own devising; there was no time for much preparationhere, if even it had been prudent or possible to make it; and as tomy father, I warrant you his constitution is as good as yours or mine;anxiety about this business has preyed upon him; but let your plan onlysucceed, and I warrant him as able to undergo fatigue and privation aseither of us."

  "His cough is very troublesome," interposed Nalty, timidly.

  "About the same I have known it every winter since I was a boy," saidthe other, carelessly. "I say, sir," added he, louder, while he tappedthe door with his knuckles,--"I say, sir, Nalty is afraid you havecaught fresh cold."

  "Tell him his annuity is worth three years' purchase," said the old manfrom within, with a strange unearthly effort at a laugh. "Tell him,if he 'll pay five hundred pounds down, I 'll let him run his own lifeagainst mine in the deed."

  "There, you hear that, Nalty! What say you to the proposal?"

  "Wonderful old man! astonishing!" muttered Nalty, evidently notflattered at the doubts thus suggested as to his own longevity.

  "He doesn't seem to like that, Bob, eh?" called out the old man, withanother cackle.

  "After that age they get a new lease, sir,--actually a new lease oflife," whispered Nalty.

  Mr. O'Reilly--for it was that gentleman, who, accompanied by his fatherand confidential lawyer, formed the party--gave a dry assent to theproposition, and drawing his chair closer to the fire, seemed to occupyhimself with his own thoughts. Meanwhile the old doctor continued tomaintain a low muttering conversation with his servant, until at lengththe sounds were exchanged for a deep snoring respiration, and he slept.

  The appearance of a supper, which, if not very appetizing, was at leastvery welcome, partially restored the drooping spirits of Mr. Nalty, whonow ate and talked with a degree of animation quite different from hisformer mood.

  "The ham is excellent, sir, and the veal very commendable," said he,perceiving that O'Reilly sat with his untouched plate before him, "and aglass of sherry is very grateful after such a journey."

  "A weary journey, indeed," said O'Reilly, sighing: "the roads in thispart of the island would seem seldom travelled, and the inns nevervisited; however, if we succeed, Nalty--"

  "So we shall, sir, I have not the slightest doubt of it; it is perfectlyevident that they have no money to go on. 'The sinews of war' areexpended, all Bicknell's late proceedings indicate a failing exchequer;that late record, for instance, at Westport, should never have been leftto a common jury."

  "All this may be true, and yet we may find them unwilling to adopt acompromise: there is a spirit in this class of men very difficult todeal with."

  "But we have two expedients," interrupted Nalty.

  "Say, rather, a choice between two; you forget that if we try myfather's plan, the other can never be employed."

  "I incline to the other mode of procedure," said Nalty, thoughtfully;"it has an appearance of frankness and candor very likely to influencepeople of this kind; besides, we have such a strong foundation to goupon,--the issue of two trials at bar, both adverse to them, O'Grady'sopinion on the ejectment cases equally opposed to their views. Theexpense of a suit in equity to determine the validity of the entail, andshow how far young Darcy can be a plaintiff: then the cases for a jury;all costly matters, sir! Bicknell knows this well; indeed, if the truthwere out, I suspect Sam is getting frightened about his own costs, hehas sold out of the funds twice to pay fees."

  "Yet the plan is a mere compromise, after all," said O'Reilly; "it issimply saying, relinquish your right, and accept so much money."

  "Not exactly, sir; we deny the right, we totally reject the claim, wemerely say, forego proceedings that are useless, spare yourselves and usthe cost and publicity of legal measures, whose issue never can benefityou, and, in return for your compliance, receive an annuity or a sum, asmay be agreed upon."

  "But how is Lady Eleanor to decide upon a course so important, in theabsence of her husband and her son? Is it likely, is it possible, shewould venture on so bold a step?"

  "I think so; Bicknell half acknowledged that the funds of the suit wereher jointure, and that Darcy, out of delicacy towards her, had left itentirely at her option to continue or abandon the proceedings."

  "Still," said O'Reilly, "a great difficulty remains; for supposing themto accept our terms, that they give up the claim and accept a sumin return, what if at some future day evidence should turn up tosubstantiate their views,--they may not, it is true, break theengagement--though I don't see why they should not--but let us imaginethem to be faithful to the contract,-what will the world say? In whatposition shall we stand when the matter gains publicity?"

  "How can it, sir?" interposed Nalty, quickly; "how is it possible, ifthere be no trial? The evidence, as you call it, is no evidence unlessproduced in court. You know, sir," said the little man, with twinklingeyes and pleased expression, "that a great authority at common law onlydeclined the tes
timony of a ghost because the spirit was n't in courtto be cross-examined. Now all they could bring would be rumor, newspaperallegations and paragraphs, asterisks and blanks."

  "There may come a time when public opinion, thus expounded, will beas stringent as the judgments of the law courts," said O'Reilly,thoughtfully.

  "I am not so certain of that, sir; the license of an unfettered presswill always make its decisions inoperative; it is 'the charteredlibertine' the poet speaks of."

  "But what if, yielding to public impression, it begins to feel that itsweight is in exact proportion to its truth, that well-founded opinions,just judgments, correct anticipations, obtain a higher praise and pricethan scandalous anecdotes and furious attacks? What if that day shouldarrive, Nalty? I am by no means convinced that such an era is distant."

  "Let it come, sir," said the little man, rubbing his hands, "and when itdoes there will be enough employment on its hand without going back onour trangressions; the world will always be wicked enough to keep themoralist at his work of correction. But to return to our immediateobject, I perceive you are inclined to Dr. Hickman's plan."

  "I am so far in its favor," said O'Reilly, "that it solves the presentdifficulty, and prevents all future danger. Should my father succeedin persuading Lady Eleanor to this marriage, the interest of thetwo families is inseparably united. It is very unlikely that anycircumstance, of what nature soever, would induce young Darcy to disputehis sister's claim, or endanger her position in society. This settlementof the question is satisfactory in itself, and shows a good face to theworld, and I confess I am curious to know what peculiar objection youcan see against it."

  "It has but one fault, sir."

  "And that?"

  "Simply, it is impossible."

  "Is it the presumption of a son of mine seeking an alliance withthe daughter of Maurice Darcy that appears so very impossible?" saidHickman, with a hissing utterance of each word, that bespoke a fierceconflict of passion within him.

  "Certainly not, sir," replied Nalty, hastily excusing himself. "I amwell aware which party contributes most to such a compact. Mr. BeechamO'Reilly might look far higher--"

  "Wherein lies the impossibility you speak of, then?" rejoined O'Reilly,sternly.

  "I need scarcely remind _you_, sir," said Nalty, with an air of deephumility, "_you_ that have seen so much more of life than I have, ofwhat inveterate prejudices these old families, as they like to callthemselves, are made up; that, creating a false standard of rank, theyadhere to its distinctions with a tenacity far greater than what theyexhibit towards the real attributes of fortune. They seem to adopt fortheir creed the words of the old song,--

  "The King may make a Baron bold, Or an Earl of any fool, sir, But with all his power, and all his gold He can never make an O'Toole, sir."

  "These are very allowable feelings when sustained by wealth andfortune," said O'Reilly, quietly.

  "I verily believe their influence is greater in adversity," said Nalty;"they seem to have a force of consolation that no misery can rob themof. Besides, in this case--for we should not lose sight of the matterthat concerns us most--we must not forget that they regard your familyin the light of oppressors. I am well aware that you have acted legallyand safely throughout; but still--let us concede something to humanprejudices and passions--is it unreasonable to suppose that they chargeyou and yours with their own downfall?"

  "The more natural our desire to repair the apparent wrong."

  "Very true on _your_ part, but not perhaps the more necessary on theirsto accept the amende."

  "That will very much depend, I think, on the way of its being proffered.Lady Eleanor, cold, haughty, and reserved as she is to the world, hasalways extended a degree of cordiality and kindness towards my father;his age, his infirmities, a seeming simplicity in his character, havehad their influence. I trust greatly to this feeling, and to the effectof a request made by an old man, as if from his death-bed. My father isnot deficient in the tact to make an appeal of this kind very powerful;at all events, his heart is in the scheme, and nothing short of thatwould have induced me to venture on this long and dreary journey atsuch a season. Should he only succeed in gaining an influence over LadyEleanor, through pity or any other motive, we are certain to succeed.The Knight, I feel sure, would not oppose; and as for the young lady, ahandsome young fellow with a large fortune can scarcely be deemed veryobjectionable."

  "How was the proposition met before?" said Nalty, inquiringly; "wastheir refusal conveyed in any expression of delicacy? Was there anyacknowledgment of the compliment intended them?"

  "No, not exactly," said O'Reilly, blushing; for, while he hesitatedabout the danger of misleading his adviser, he could not bear to repeatthe insolent rejection of the offer. "The false position in which thefamilies stood towards each other made a great difficulty; but, morethan all, the influence of Bagenal Daly increased the complexity; nowhe, fortunately for us, is not forthcoming, his debts have driven himabroad, they say."

  "So, then, they merely declined the honor in cold and customary phrase?"said Nalty, carelessly.

  "Something in that way," replied O'Reilly, affecting an equal unconcern;"but we need not discuss the point, it affords no light to guide usregarding the future."

  If Nalty saw plainly that some concealment was practised towards him, heknew his client too well to venture on pushing his inquiries further;so he contented himself with asking when and in what manner O'Reillyproposed to open the siege.

  "To-morrow morning," replied the other; "there's no time to be lost.A few lines from my father to Lady Eleanor will acquaint her with hisarrival in the neighborhood, after a long and fatiguing search for herresidence. We may rely upon him performing his part well; he will alludeto his own breaking health in terms that will not fail to touch her,and ask permission to wait upon her. As for us, Nalty, we must not beforeground figures in the picture. You, if known to be here at all, mustbe supposed to be my father's medical friend. I must be strictly in theshade."

  Nalty gave a grim smile at the notion of his new professional character,and begged O'Reilly to proceed.

  "Our strategy goes no further; such will be the order of battle. We musttrust to my father for the mode he will engage the enemy afterwards, forthe reasons which have led him to take this step,--the approaching closeof a long life, unburdened with any weighty retrospect, save that whichconcerns the Darcy family; for, while affecting to sorrow over theirchanged fortunes, he can attribute their worst evils to bad counselsand rash advice, and insinuate how different had been their lot had theyonly consented to regard us--as they might and ought to have done--inthe light of friends. Hush! who is speaking there?"

  They listened for a second or two, and then came the sound of the oldman's voice, as he talked to himself in his sleep; his accents werelow and complaining, as if he were suffering deeply from some mentalaffliction, and at intervals a heavy sob would break from him.

  "He is ill, sir; the old gentleman is very ill!" said Nalty, in realalarm.

  "Hush!" said O'Reilly, as, with one hand on the door, he motionedsilence with the other.

  "Yes, my Lady," muttered the sleeper, but in a voice every syllable ofwhich was audible, "eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to utterthis last wish and die. It is the last request of one that has alreadyleft the things of this world, and would carry from it nothing but thethought that will track him to the grave!" A burst of grief, too suddenand too natural to admit of a doubt of its sincerity, followed thewords; and O'Reilly was about to enter the room, when a low dry laugharrested his steps, and the old man said,--

  "Ay! Bob Hickman, did n't I tell you that would do? I knew she 'd cry,and I told you, if she cried one tear, the day was ours!"

  There was something so horrible in the baseness of a mind thus revellingin its own duplicity, that even Nalty seemed struck with dread. O'Reillysaw what was passing in the other's mind, and, affecting to laugh atthese "effects of fatigue and exhaustion," half led, half pushed himfrom the r
oom, and said "Good-night."