CHAPTER XIII. "A HOUSEKEEPER'S ROOM"
Cro' Martin was replete with every comfort and luxury. All itsarrangements betokened wealth; not a single appliance of ease orenjoyment but was to be found within its well-ordered walls; and yetthere was one want which seemed to mar all, and infuse a sense of almostdreary coldness over everything, and this was--the absence of a numerousfamily, the assemblage of various ages, which gives to a home itspeculiar interest, embodying the hopes and fears and passions andmotives of manhood, in every stage of existence, making up that littleworld within doors which emblematizes the great one without; but, withthis singular advantage, of its being bound up in one holy sentiment ofmutual love and affection.
This charm is it which gives the whole vitality to home,--this minglingof the temperaments of youth and manhood and deep age, blending hopesof the future with memories of the past, and making of every hearta portion of one human biography, in which many are sharers. To thestranger, who came to see the house and its gorgeous decorations,all seemed suggestive of habitable enjoyment. The vast drawing-roomsappeared as if only waiting for a splendid company; the dark wainscoteddining-room, with its noble fireplace of gigantic dimensions, looked thevery scene where hospitable conviviality might be enacted; the library,calm, quiet, and secluded, seemed a spot wherein a student might havepassed a life long. Even in the views that presented themselves at theseveral windows, there was a certain appropriateness to the character ofthe room, and the same importunate question still arose to one's mind:Who is there to enjoy all this? What words of glad welcome echo throughthis vaulted hall, what happy daughter sings through these gildedchambers, where is the social pleasantry that circles the blazing fireof the ample hearth? Alas! all was sombre, splendid, and dreary. No,we are wrong!--not all! There was one corner of this great house wherecheerfulness was the very type of comfort. It was a small and not loftyroom, whose two windows projected beyond the walls, giving a wide viewover the swelling landscape for miles of space. Here the furniture wasof the most ordinary kind, but scrupulously neat and well kept. Thechairs--there were but four of them--all with arms and deep cushions;the walnut table a perfect mirror of polish; the cloth curtains,that closed the windows and concealed the door, massive andheavy-folded,--all breathed of snugness; while the screen thatsurrounded the fire had other perfections than those of comfortableseclusion, containing a most strange collection of the caricatures ofthe time, and the period before the Union. It is but necessary to addthat this was Mrs. Broon's apartment,--the snug chamber where old Cattyenjoyed herself, after the fatigues and duties of the day. Here nowshe sat at tea, beside a cheerful fire, the hissing kettle on the hobharmonizing pleasantly with the happy purring of an enormous cat, whosat winking at the blaze; and while evidently inconvenienced by theheat, lacking energy to retreat from it. Catty had just obtained thenewspaper,--as the master had gone to dinner,--and was really about toenjoy a comfortable evening. Far from devoid of social qualities, or aliking for companionship, she still lived almost entirely to herself,the other servants being chiefly English, whose habits and ways were allstrange to her, and all whose associations were widely different fromher own. Catty Broon had thus obtained a reputation for unsociabilitywhich she by no means deserved, but to which, it must be owned, shewas totally indifferent. In fact, if _they_ deemed _her_ morose anddisagreeable, _she_, in turn, held _them_ still more cheaply, callingthem a set of lazy devils that "were only in each other's way," and"half of them not worth their salt."
Catty had also survived her generation; all her friends of formeryears had either died or emigrated, and except two or three of thefarm-servants, none of the "ould stock," as she called them, were inexistence. This brief explanation will show that Catty's comparativeisolation was not entirely a matter of choice. If a sense of lonelinessdid now and then cross her mind, she never suffered it to dwell there,but chased away the unpleasant thought by some active duty; or ifthe season of that were over, by the amusing columns of the"Intelligence,"--a journal which realized to Mrs. Broon's conceptionsthe very highest order of literary merit.
Catty did not take much interest in politics; she had a vague, dreamykind of notion that the game of party was a kind of disreputablegambling, and Parliament itself little better than a "Hell," frequentedby very indifferent company. Indeed, she often said it would be "wellfor us if there was no politics, and maybe then, there would be no taxeseither." The news she liked was the price of farming-stock at fairs andmarkets,--what Mr. Hynes got for his "top lot" of hoggets, and what TomHealey paid for the "finest heifers ever seen on the fair-green."These, and the accidents--a deeply interesting column--were her peculiartastes; and her memory was stored with every casualty, by sea, fire, andviolence, that had graced the "Intelligence" for forty years back; intruth they formed the stations of her chronology, and she would referto events as having occurred the same year that Joe Ryan was hanged, or"the very Christmas that Hogan fired at Captain Crossley." An inundationof great extent also figured in these memorabilia, and was constantlyreferred to, by her saying, "This or that happened the year after theFlood," suggesting a rather startling impression as to her longevity.
On the evening we now refer to, the newspaper was more than commonlyadorned with these incidents. Public news having failed, privatecalamities were invoked to supply the place. Catty was, therefore,fortunate. There was something, too, not altogether unpleasant in thewhistling storm that raged without, and the heavy plashing of the rainas it beat upon the window-panes. Without imputing to her, as would bemost unjust, the slightest touch of ill-nature, she felt a heightenedsense of her own snugness as she drew closer to the bright hearth, whileshe read of "a dreadful gale in the Bay of Biscay."
It was just in the most exciting portion of the description that herdoor was rudely opened, and the heavy curtain dashed aside with a daringhand; and Catty, startled by the sudden interruption, called angrilyout,--
"Who's there?--who are ye at all?"
"Can't you guess, Catty?" cried out a pleasant voice. "Don't you knowthat there's only one in this house here who 'd dare to enter in such afashion?"
"Oh, Miss Mary, is it you? And, blessed Virgin, what a state ye 'rein!" cried she, as she gazed at the young girl, who, throwing away herriding-hat, wrung out the rain from her long and silky hair, while shelaughed merrily at old Catty's dismayed countenance.
"Why, where in the world were you--what happened you, darling?" saidCatty, as she assisted her to remove the dripping costume.
"I was at the Wood, Catty, and up to the quarries, and round byCronebawn, and then, seeing a storm gathering, I thought I 'd turnhomeward, but one of Kit Sullivan's children--my little godchild, youknow--detained me to hear him recite some verses he had learned for mybirthday; and, what with one thing and another, it was pitch dark when Ireached the 'New Cut,' and then, to my annoyance, I found the bridge hadjust been carried away--there, Catty, now for a pair of your owncomfortable slippers--and, as I was saying to you, there was no bridge!"
"The bridge gone!" exclaimed Catty, in horror.
"All Tom Healey's fault. I told him that the arch had not span enough,and that the buttresses would never stand the first heavy fall of rainfrom the mountains, and there 's not a vestige of them now!"
"And what did you do?"
"I rode for the Low Meadows, Catty, with all speed. I knew that theriver, not being confined there between narrow banks, and spreading overa wide surface, couldn't be very deep. Nor was it. It never touched thegirths but once, when we got into a hole. But she is such a rare goodbeast, that little Sorrel; she dashed through everything, and I don'tthink I took forty minutes from Kane's Mill to this door, though I neversaw a spot of the road all the while, except when the lightning showedit. There now, like a good old dear, don't wring your hands and say,'Blessed hour!' but just put some more tea in the teapot, and fetch meyour brown loaf!"
"But surely you 'll die of cold!--you 'll be in a fever!"
"Nonsense, Catty; I have been out in rain before this. I
'm more provokedabout that bridge than all else. My excellent aunt will have such alaugh at my engineering skill, when she hears of it. Can't be helped,however. And so there's a dinner-party upstairs, I hear. Fanny told methere were three strangers."
"So I hear. There's a lawyer from Dublin; and a lady from I don't knowwhere; and young Nelligan, old Dan's son. I 'm sure I never thought I 'dsee the day he 'd be eating his dinner at Cro' Martin."
"And why not, Catty? What is there in his manners and conduct thatshould not make him good company for any one here?"
"Is n't he the son of a little huckster in Oughterard? Old Dan, that Iremember without a shoe to his foot?"
"And is it a reproach to him that he has made a fortune by years ofpatient industry and toil?"
"In-dus-try! toil! indeed," said Catty, sneeringly. "How much in-dus-tryor toil there is, weighing out snuff and sugar in a snug shop. Ayeh!he's an old nig-gar, the same Dan. I know him well."
"But that is no reason why you should disparage his son, Catty, who is ayoung gentleman of the highest ability and great promise. I never heardyou speak so ungenerously before."
"Well, well, darling, don't look angry with your ould Catty, anyway. Itisn't for the like of Dan Nelligan, or his son either, you'd be crosswith _me!_"
"Never, Catty, never,--for anybody or anything," said the young girl,taking her hand with both her own. "But you have n't told me who thelady is. How did she arrive, and when?"
"I know nothing of her. Peter came to say that the blue bedroom waswanting to-night, and he wished to torment me into asking who for?--butI wouldn't, just for that same; and so I gave him the keys without aword."
"I wonder if this note, that I found on my dressing-table, will explainanything," said Mary, as she proceeded to break the seal. "Of all theabsurd ways of my Lady aunt, she has not a more ridiculous one than thistrick of writing little notes, instead of speaking. She sees me everyday, and might surely say whatever she wanted to say, without embalmingit in a despatch. This, I perceive, is number four hundred andseventy-six, and I presume she 's correct in the score. Only think,Catty,--four hundred little epistles like this!"
And with these words she carelessly unfolded the letter and began toread it. All her indifference of manner, however, soon gave way to anexpression of considerable eagerness, and she had no sooner finished theepistle than she recommenced and reread it.
"You 'd never guess what tidings this brings me, Catty," said she,laying down the paper, and looking with an expression half sad, halfcomical.
"Maybe I might, then," said Catty, shaking her head knowingly.
"Come, out with your guess, then, old lady, and I promise to venerateyour wisdom ever after if you be right,--that is, if nobody has alreadygiven you a hint on the subject."
"Not one in the world," said Catty, solemnly; "I pledge you my word andfaith I never heard a syllable about it."
"About it! about what?"
"About what's in the letter there," said Catty, stoutly.
"You are therefore quite certain that you know it," said Mary, smiling,"so now let's have your interpretation."
"It 's a proposial," said Catty, with a slight wink.
"A what!"
"A proposial--of marriage, I mean."
But before the words were out, Mary burst into a fit of laughter, sohearty and with such good-will that poor Catty felt perfectly ashamed ofherself.
"My dear Catty," said she, at length, "you must have been reading fairytales this morning; nothing short of such bright literature could havefilled your mind with these imaginings. The object of the note is, Iassure you, of a quite different kind;" and here she ran her eye oncemore over the epistle. "Yes," continued she, "it is written in my dearaunt's own peculiar style, and begins with a 'declaratory clause,' as Ithink Mr. Scanlan would call it, expressive of my lamentably neglectededucation, and then proceeds to the appropriate remedy, by telling methat I am to have a governess!"
"A what!" cried Catty, in angry amazement.
"A governess, Catty,--not a governor, as you suspected."
"Ayeh, ayeh!" cried the old woman, wringing her hands; "what's this for?Don't you know how to govern yourself by this time? And what can theyteach you that you don't understand already?"
"Ah, my dear Catty," said the young girl, sadly, "it is a sad subjectyou would open there,--one that I have wept over many a dreary hour!No one knows--no one even could guess--how deeply I have deplored myilliterate condition. Nor was it," added she, ardently, "till I hadfashioned out a kind of existence of my own--active, useful, andenergetic--that I could bury the thought of my utter want of education.Not even you, Catty, could fathom all the tears this theme has costme, nor with what a sinking of the heart I have thought over my actualunfitness for my station."
"Arrah, don't provoke me! don't drive me mad!" cried the old woman, inreal anger. "There never was one yet as fit for the highest place asyourself; and it is n't me alone that says it, but hundreds of--"
"Hundreds of dear, kind, loving hearts," broke in Mary, "that wouldmeasure my poor capacity by my will to serve them. But no matter, Catty;I 'll not try to undeceive them. They shall think of me with every helptheir own affection may lend them, and I will not love them less for theoverestimate."
As she spoke these words, she buried her face between her hands; butthe quick heaving of her chest showed how deep was her emotion. The oldwoman respected her sorrow too deeply to interrupt her, and for severalminutes not a word was spoken on either side. At last Mary raised herhead, and throwing back the long, loose hair, which in heavy massesshaded her face, said with a firm and resolute voice,--
"I 'd have courage to go to school to-morrow, Catty, and begin as a merechild to learn, if I knew that another was ready to take my place here.But who is to look after these poor people, who are accustomed nowto see me amongst them, on the mountains, in the fields, at theirfiresides?--who gain new spirit for labor when I ride down in the midstof them, and look up, cheered, by seeing me, even from a sick-bed. HerLadyship would say, Mr. Henderson could do all this far better thanmyself."
"Mr. Henderson, indeed!" exclaimed Catty, indignantly; "thesmooth-tongued old rogue!"
"And perhaps he might, in England," resumed Mary; "but not here,Catty,--not here! We care less for benefits than the source from whichthey spring. We Irish cherish the love of motives as well as actions;and, above all, we cherish the links that bind the lowliest in the landwith the highest, and make both better by the union."
She poured out these words with rapid impetuosity, rather talking toherself than addressing her companion; then, suddenly changing her tone,she added,--
"Besides, Catty, _they_ are used to me, and _I_ to _them_. A new faceand a new voice would not bring the same comfort to them."
"Never, never," muttered the old woman to herself.
"And I 'll not desert them."
"That you won't, darling," said the old woman, kissing her handpassionately, while tears swam in her eyes, and trickled down hercheeks.
"There is but one thought, Catty, that makes me at all faint-heartedabout this, and whenever it crosses me I do feel very low anddepressed." She paused, and then murmured the words, "My father!"
"Your father, my darling! What about _him?_"
"It is thinking, Catty, of his return; an event that ought to be--andwould be, too--the very happiest of my life; a day for whose coming Inever sleep without a prayer; and yet, even this bright prospect has itsdark side, when I recall all my own deficiencies, and how different hewill find his daughter from what he had expected her."
"May the blessed saints grant me patience!" cried Catty, breaking in."Isn't it too bad to hear you talking this way? Sure, don't I knowMaster Barry well? Didn't I nurse him, and wasn't I all as one as hisown mother to him, and don't I know that you are his own born image?'Tis himself and no other ye are every minute of the day."
"And even that, Catty," said Mary, smiling, "might fail to satisfyhim. It is something very different indeed he might have i
magined hisdaughter. I'm sure nobody can be more ignorant than I am, of what aperson in my station ought to know. I cannot hide this from myself inmy sad moments. I do not try to do so, but I have always relied uponthe consolation that, to an existence such as mine is like to be, thesedeficiencies do not bring the same sense of shame, the same painfulconsciousness of inferiority, as if I were to mingle with the world ofmy equals. But if he were to come back,--he, who has seen society inevery shape and fashion,--and find me the poor, unlettered, unread,untaught thing I am, unable to follow his very descriptions offar-away lands without confusion and mistake; unable to benefit by hisreflections from very want of previous knowledge,--oh, Catty dearest,what a miserable thing is self-love after all, when it should thusthrust itself into the foreground, where very different affections aloneshould have the place."
"He 'd love you like his own heart," said Catty. "Nobody knows him likeme; and if there was ever one made for him to dote on, it's your ownself."
"Do you indeed think so?" cried Mary, eagerly.
"Do I know it--could I swear it?" said Catty. "He was never much givento study himself, except it was books of travel like 'Robinson Crusoe,'and the like; and then, after reading one of them books he 'd be off fordays together, and we 'd be looking for him over the whole country, andmaybe find him in the middle of Kyle's Wood up a tree; or once, indeed,it was in the island of Lettermullen we got him. He built a mud-house,and was living there with a goat and two rabbits that he reared himself,and if he was n't miserable when they brought him away home! I rememberhis words well,--'Maybe,' says he, 'the time will come that I 'll gowhere you can't come after me;' and ye see that's what he's done, fornobody knows where he wasn't wandering these last eight or nine years."
When Catty got upon this theme she could not be brought to quitit,--nor, indeed, did Mary try,--for though she had heard these storiesof her father's boyish days over and over again, she never wearied ofthem; they had all the fascination of romance for her, with the strongerinterest that grew out of her love for one who, she was told, hadso loved herself. Besides this, she felt in her own heart the samepromptings to a life of action and adventure. All the incidents andaccidents of an eventful existence were the very things to delight her,and one of her happiest daydreams was to fancy herself her father'scompanion in his wanderings by flood and field.
And thus they sat till a late hour of the night talking and listening,old Catty answering each inquiry of the young girl by some anecdote ortrait of him she still persisted in calling "Master Barry," till, in theardor of listening, Mary herself caught up the phrase, and so designatedher own father.
"How unlike my uncle in everything!" exclaimed Mary, as she reflectedover some traits the old woman had just recorded. "And were they notvery fond of each other?"
"That they were: at least I can answer for Master Barry's love; and tobe sure, if having a reason was worth anything, your uncle ought to lovehim more than one man ever did another." Old Catty uttered thesewords with a slow and almost muttering accent; they seemed as if theexpression of a thought delivered involuntarily--almost unconsciously.
Mary was attracted by the unwonted solemnity of her accent, but stillmore by an expression of intense meaning which gathered over the oldwoman's brows and forehead. "Ay, ay," muttered she, still to herself,"there's few brothers would do it. Maybe there's not another living buthimself would have done it."
"And what was it, Catty?" asked Mary, boldly.
"Eh!--what was I saying, darling?" said Catty, rousing herself to fullconsciousness.
"You were telling of my father, and some great proof of affection hegave my uncle."
"To be sure he did," said the old woman, hastily. "They were always fondof each other, as brothers ought to be."
"But this one particular instance of love,--what was it, Catty?"
The old woman started, and looked eagerly around the room, as though toassure herself that they were alone; then, drawing her chair close toMary's, she said, in a low voice: "Don't ask me any more about themthings, darling. 'T is past and gone many a year now, and I 'd rathernever think of it more, for I 've a heavy heart after it."
"So, then, it is a secret, Catty?" said Mary, half proudly.
"A secret, indeed," said Catty, shaking her head mournfully.
"Then you need only to have said so, and I'd not have importuned you totell it; for, to say truth, Catty, I never knew you had any secrets fromme."
"Nor have I another, except this, darling," said Catty; and sheburied her face within her hands. And now both sat in silence for someminutes,--a most painful silence to each. At last Mary arose, and,although evidently trying to overcome it, a feeling of constraint wasmarked in her features.
"You'd never guess how late it is, Catty," said she, trying to changethe current of her thoughts. "You 'd not believe it is past threeo'clock; how pleasantly we must have talked, to forget time in thisway!"
But the old woman made no reply, and it was clear that she had neverheard the words, so deeply was she sunk in her own reflections.
"This poor hat of mine will scarcely do another day's service," saidMary, as she looked at it half laughingly. "Nor is my habit the fresherof its bath in the 'Red River;' and the worst of it is, Catty, I haveoverdrawn my quarter's allowance, and must live on, in rags, tillEaster. I see, old lady, you have no sympathies to waste on me and mycalamities this evening," added she, gayly, "and so I'll just go to bedand, if I can, dream pleasantly."
"Rags, indeed," said Catty. "It's well it becomes you to wear rags!"and her eyes sparkled with indignant passion. "Faith, if it comesto that,"--here she suddenly paused, and a pale hue spread over herfeatures like a qualm of faintish sickness,--"may the Holy Mother giveme help and advice; for sometimes I'm nigh forgetting myself!"
"My dear old Catty," said Mary, fondly, "don't fret about me and myfoolish speech. I only said it in jest. I have everything,--far morethan I want; a thousand times more than I desire. And my excellentaunt never said a truer thing in her life than when she declared that'everybody spoiled me.' Now, good-night." And kissing the old womanaffectionately, Mary gathered up the stray fragments of her riding-gear,and hurried away, her merry voice heard cheerfully as she wended her wayup many a stair and gallery to her own chamber.
If Mary Martin's character had any one quality preeminently remarkable,it was the absence of everything like distrust and suspicion. Franknessand candor itself in all her dealings, she never condescended to imputesecret motives to another; and the very thought of anything like mysterywas absolutely repugant to her nature. For the very first time in herlife, then, she left old Catty Broon with a kind of uneasy, dissatisfiedimpression. There was a secret, and she was somehow or other concernedin it; so much was clear. How could she convince the old woman that norevelation, however disagreeable in itself, could be as torturing as adoubt? "Can there be anything in my position or circumstances here thatI am not aware of? Is there a mystery about me in any way?" The veryimagination of such a thing was agony. In vain she tried to chase awaythe unwelcome thought by singing, as she went, by thinking over plansfor the morrow, by noting down, as she did each night, some strayrecords of the past day; still Catty's agitated face and strange emotionrose before her, and would not suffer her to be at rest.
To a day of great excitement and fatigue now succeeded a sleepless,feverish night, and morning broke on her unrefreshed, and even ill.
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II) Page 15