The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXVII. DARKENING FORTUNES

  The Martins had always lived a life of haughty estrangement from theirneighbors; there were none of exactly their own rank and pretensionswithin miles of them, and they were too proud to acknowledge theacquaintance of a small squirearchy, which was all that the countryaround could boast. Notwithstanding all the isolation of theirexistence, their departure created a great void in the county, and theirabsence was sensibly felt by every class around. The very requirementsof a large fortune suggest a species of life and vitality. The movementof servants, the passing and repassing of carriages, the necessaryintercourse with market and post,--all impart a degree of bustle andmovement, terribly contrasted by the unbroken stillness of a desertedmansion.

  Lady Dorothea had determined that there should be no ambiguity as to thecause of their departure; she had given the most positive orders on thishead to every department of the household. To teach an ungrateful peoplethe sore consequences of their own ingratitude, the lesson should beread in everything: in the little villages thrown out of work, in thesilent quarries, the closed schoolhouses, the model farm converted intograss-land, even to the grand entrance, now built up by a wall of coarsemasonry, the haughty displeasure of the proud mistress revealed itself,all proclaiming the sentiment of a deep, unforgiving vengeance. She hadtortured her ingenuity for details which should indicate her anger; norwas she satisfied if her displeasure should not find its way into everycabin and at every hearth. The small hamlet of Cro' Martin had possesseda dispensary. A hard-working, patient, and skilful man had passed manyyears of life there as the doctor, eking out the poor subsistence ofthat unfavored lot, and supporting a family by a life of dreary toil.From this her Ladyship's subscription--the half of all his salary--wasnow to be withdrawn. She thought "Cloves was grown negligent; it mightbe age,--if so, a younger man would be better; besides, if he couldafford to dress his three daughters in the manner he did, he surelycould not require her thirty pounds per annum." The servants, too,complained that he constantly mistook their complaints. In fact,judgment was recorded against Cloves, and there was none to recommendhim to mercy!

  We have said that there was a little chapel within the bounds of thedemesne; it occupied a corner of a ruin which once had formed Cro'Martin Abbey, and now served for the village church. It was very small,but still large enough for its little congregation. The vicar of thishumble benefice was a very old man, a widower, and childless, thoughonce the father of a numerous family. Dr. Leslie had, some eighteenyears back, been unfortunate enough to incur her Ladyship's displeasure,and was consequently never invited to the castle, nor recognized in anyway, save by the haughty salute that met him as he left the church. Tosave him, however, a long and tedious walk on Sundays, he was permittedto make use of a little private path to the church, which led throughone of the shrubberies adjoining his own house,--a concession of themore consequence as he was too poor to keep a carriage of the humblestkind. This was now ordered to be closed up, the gate removed, and a wallto replace it. "The poor had got the habit of coming that way; it wasnever intended for their use, but they had usurped it. To-morrow ornext day we should hear of its being claimed at law as a public rightof passage. It was better to do the thing in time. In short, it mustbe 'closed.'" By some such reasoning as this Lady Dorothea persuadedherself to this course; and who should gainsay her? Oh, if men wouldemploy but one tenth of all that casuistry by which they minister totheir selfishness, in acts of benevolence and good feeling,--if theywould only use a little sophistry, to induce them to do right,--what aworld this might be!

  Mary Martin knew nothing of these decisions; overwhelmed by the vastchanges on every side, almost crushed beneath the difficulties thatsurrounded her, her first few weeks passed over like a disturbed dream.Groups of idle, unemployed people saluted her in mournful silence as shepassed the roads. Interrupted works, half-executed plans met her eye atevery turn, and at every moment the same words rang in her ears--"HerLadyship's orders"--as the explanation of all.

  Hitherto her life had been one of unceasing exertion and toil; fromearly dawn to late night she had been employed; her fatigues, however,great as they were, had been always allied with power. What she willedshe could execute. Means never failed her, no matter how costly theexperiment, to carry out her plans, and difficulty gave only zest toevery undertaking. There is nothing more captivating than this sense ofuncontrolled ability for action, especially when exercised by one ofa warm and enthusiastic nature. To feel herself the life and spring ofevery enterprise, to know that she suggested and carried out each plan,that her ingenuity devised, and her energy accomplished all the changesaround her, was in itself a great fascination; and now suddenly shewas to awake from all this, and find herself unoccupied and powerless.Willingly, without a regret, could she abdicate from all the pompand splendor of a great household; she saw troops of servants depart,equipage sold, great apartments closed up without a pang! To come downto the small conditions of narrow fortune in her daily life cost hernothing, beyond a smile. It was odd, it was strange; but it was no more!Far otherwise, however, did she feel the circumstances of her impairedpower. That hundreds of workmen were no longer at her bidding, thatwhole families no longer looked up to her for aid and comfort,--thesewere astounding facts, and came upon her with an actual shock.

  "For what am I left here?" cried she, passionately, to Henderson, as hemet each suggestion she made by the one cold word, "Impossible." "Isit to see destitution that I cannot relieve,--witness want that I ampowerless to alleviate? To what end or with what object do I remain?"

  "I canna say, miss," was the dry response.

  "If it be to humiliate me by the spectacle of my own inefficiency, a dayor a week will suffice for that; years could not teach me more."

  Henderson bowed what possibly might mean an acquiescence.

  "I don't speak of the estate," cried she, earnestly; "but what 's tobecome of the people?"

  "Many o' them will emigrate, miss, I've no doubt," said he, "when theysee there 's nothing to bide for."

  "You take it easily, sir. You see little hardships in men having toleave home and country; but I tell you that home may be poor and countrycruel, and yet both very hard to part with."

  "That 's vara true, miss," was the dry response.

  "For anything there is now to be done here, you, sir, are to the full ascompetent as I am. I ask again, To what end am I here?"

  Giving to her question a very different significance from what sheintended, Henderson calmly said, "I thought, miss, it was just yer ainwish, and for no other reason."

  Mary's cheek became crimson, and her eyes flashed with angryindignation; but repressing the passion that was bursting within her,she walked hastily up and down the room in silence. At length, openinga large colored map of the estate which lay on the table, she stoodattentively considering it for some time. "The works at Carrigulone arestopped?" said she, hastily.

  "Yes, miss."

  "And the planting at Kyle's Wood?"

  "Yes, miss."

  "And even the thinning there,--is that stopped?"

  "Yes, miss; the bark is to be sold, and a' the produce of the wood forten years, to a contractor, a certain Mister--"

  "I don't want his name, sir. What of the marble quarries?"

  "My Lady thinks they're nae worth a' they cost, and won't hear o' theirbeing worked again."

  "And is the harbor at Kilkieran to be given up?"

  "Yes, miss, and the Osprey's Nest will be let. I think they 'll mak' aninn or a public o' it."

  "And if the harbor is abandoned, what is to become of the fishermen? Theold quay is useless."

  "Vara true, miss; but there's a company goin' to take the royalties o'the coast the whole way to Belmullet."

  "A Scotch company, Mr. Henderson?" said Mary, with a sly malice in herlook.

  "Yes, miss," said he, coloring slightly. "The house of M'Grotty and Co.is at the head o' it."

  "And are they the same enterprising people who have prop
osed to take thedemesne on lease, provided the gardens be measured in as arable land?"

  "They are, miss; they've signed the rough draught o' the lease thismorning."

  "Indeed!" cried she, growing suddenly pale as death. "Are there anyother changes you can mention to me, since in the few days I have beenill so much has occurred?"

  "There 's nae muckle more to speak o', miss. James M'Grotty--he's theyounger brother--was here yesterday to try and see you about the school.He wants the house for his steward; but if you object, he 'll just takethe doctor's."

  "Why--where is Dr. Cloves to go?"

  "He does na ken exactly, miss. He thinks he 'll try Auckland, or some ofthese new places in New Zealand."

  "But the dispensary must be continued; the people cannot be left withoutmedical advice."

  "Mr. James says he 'll think aboot it when he comes over in summer. He'sa vara spirited young man, and when there's a meetin'-house built in thevillage--"

  "Enough of this, Henderson. Come over here tomorrow, for I 'm not strongenough to hear more to-day, and let Mr. Scanlan know that I wish to seehim this evening."

  And Mary motioned with her hand that he should withdraw. Scarcely wasthe door closed behind him than she burst into a torrent of tears; herlong pent-up agony utterly overpowered her, and she cried with all thevehemence of a child's grief. Her heart once opened to sorrow, by ahundred channels came tributaries to her affliction. Up to that momenther uncle's departure had never seemed a cruelty; now it took all theform of desertion. The bitterness of her forlorn condition had neverstruck her till it came associated with all the sorrows of others. It isnot impossible that wounded self-love entered into her feelings. It isby no means unlikely that the sense of her own impaired importance addedpoignancy to her misery. Who shall anatomize motives, or who shall beskilful enough to trace the springs of one human emotion? There wasassuredly enough outside of and above all personal consideration toennoble her grief and dignify her affliction.

  Her first impulses led her to regard herself as utterly useless; heroccupation gone, and her whole career of duty annihilated. A second anda better resolve whispered to her that she was more than ever needful tothose who without her would be left without a friend. "If I desert them,who is to remain?" asked she. "It is true I am no more able to setin motion the schemes by which their indigence was alleviated. I ampowerless, but not all worthless. I can still be their nurse, theircomforter, their schoolmistress. My very example may teach them howaltered fortune can be borne with fortitude and patience. They shall seeme reduced to a thousand privations, and perhaps even this may bearits lesson." Drying her tears, she began to feel within her some of thecourage she hoped to inspire in others; and anxious not to let old Cattydetect the trace of sorrow in her features, issued forth into the woodfor a walk.

  As the deep shadows thickened around her, she grew calmer and moremeditative. The solemn stillness of the place, the deep, unbrokenquietude, imparted its own soothing influence to her thoughts; and asshe went, her heart beat freer, and her elastic temperament again aroseto cheer and sustain her. To confront the future boldly and well, it wasnecessary that she should utterly forget the past. She could no longerplay the great part to which wealth and high station had raised her;she must now descend to that humbler one,--all whose influence shouldbe derived from acts of kindness and words of comfort, unaided by thegreater benefits she had once dispensed.

  The means placed at her disposal for her own expenditure had beenexceedingly limited. It was her own desire they should be so, and LadyDorothea had made no opposition to her wishes. Beyond this she hadnothing, save a sum of five thousand pounds payable at her uncle'sdeath. By strictest economy--privation, indeed--she thought that shecould save about a hundred pounds a year of this small income; but todo so would require the sale of both her horses, retaining only the ponyand the little carriage, while her dress should be of the very simplestand plainest. In what way she should best employ this sum was to befor after consideration. The first thought was how to effect the savingwithout giving to the act any unnecessary notoriety. She felt that hergreatest difficulty would be old Catty Broon. The venerable housekeeperhad all her life regarded her with an affection that was little short ofworship. It was not alone the winning graces of Mary's manner, nor theattractive charms of her appearance that had so captivated old Catty;but that the young girl, to her eyes, represented the great familywhose name she bore, and represented them so worthily. The title ofthe Princess, by which the Country people knew her, seemed her just andrightful designation. Mary realized to her the proud scion of a proudstock, who had ruled over a territory rather than a mere estate; how,then, could she bear to behold her in all the straits and difficultiesof a reduced condition? There seemed but one way to effect this, whichwas to give her new mode of life the character of a caprice. "I mustmake old Catty believe it is one of my wild and wilful fancies,--asudden whim,--out of which a little time will doubtless rally me. Sheis the last in the world to limit me in the indulgence of a momentarynotion; she will, therefore, concede everything to my humor, patientlyawaiting the time when it shall assume a course the very opposite."

  Some one should, however, be intrusted with her secret,--without someassistance it could not be carried into execution; and who should thatbe? Alas, her choice was a very narrow one. It lay between Scanlan andHenderson. The crafty attorney was not, indeed, much to Mary's liking.His flippant vulgarity and pretension were qualities she could illbrook; but she had known him do kind things. She had seen him on morethan one occasion temper the sharpness of some of her Ladyship's ukases,little suspecting, indeed, how far the possible impression upon herselfwas the motive that so guided him; she had, therefore, no difficulty inpreferring him to the steward, whose very accent and manner were enoughto render him hateful to her. Scanlan, besides, would necessarily havea great deal in his power; he would be able to make many a concession tothe poor people on the estate, retard the cruel progress of the law, orgive them time to provide against its demands. Mary felt that she was ina position to exercise a certain influence over him; and, conscious ofthe goodness of the cause she would promote, never hesitated as to themeans of employing it.

  Who shall say, too, that she had not noticed the deferential admirationby which he always distinguished her? for there is a species of coquetrythat takes pleasure in a conquest where the profits of victory would bethoroughly despised. We are not bold enough to say that such feelingsfound their place in Mary's heart. We must leave its analysis to wiserand more cunning anatomists.

  Straying onwards ever in deep thought, and not remarking whither, shewas suddenly struck by the noise of masonry,--strange sounds in aspot thus lonely and remote; and now walking quickly onward, she foundherself on the path by which the vicar on Sundays approached the church;and here, at a little distance, descried workmen employed in walling upthe little gateway of the passage.

  "By whose orders is this done?" cried Mary, to whose quick intelligencethe act revealed its whole meaning and motive.

  "Mr. Henderson, miss," replied one of the men. "He said we were towork all night at it, if we could n't be sure of getting it done beforeSunday."

  A burst of passionate indignation rose to her lips, but she turned awaywithout a word, and re-entered the wood in silence.

  "Yes," cried she, to herself, "it is, indeed, a new existence is openingbefore me; let me strive so to control my temper, that I may view itcalmly and dispassionately, so that others may not suffer from thechanges in my fortune."

  She no sooner reached the house than she despatched a note to Mr.Scanlan, requesting to see him as early as possible on the followingmorning. This done, she set herself to devise her plans for thefuture,--speculations, it must be owned, to which her own hopefultemperament gave a coloring that a colder spirit and more calculatingmind had never bestowed on them.