Castle Richmond

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVII.

  FATHER BARNEY.

  Mick O'Dwyer's public-house at Kanturk was by no means so pretentiousan establishment as that kept by his brother in South Main Street,Cork, but it was on the whole much less nasty. It was a drinking-shopand a public car office, and such places in Ireland are seldom verynice; but there was no attempt at hotel grandeur, and the littleroom in which the family lived behind the bar was never invaded bycustomers.

  On one evening just at this time--at the time, that is, with which wehave been lately concerned--three persons were sitting in this roomover a cup of tea. There was a gentleman, middle-aged, but none theworse on that account, who has already been introduced in these pagesas Father Bernard M'Carthy. He was the parish priest of Drumbarrow;and as his parish comprised a portion of the town of Kanturk, helived, not exactly in the town, but within a mile of it. His sisterhad married Mr. O'Dwyer of South Main Street, and therefore he wasquite at home in the little back parlour of Mick O'Dwyer's house inKanturk. Indeed Father Bernard was a man who made himself at home inthe houses of most of his parishioners,--and of some who were not hisparishioners.

  His companions on the present occasion were two ladies who seemed tobe emulous in supplying his wants. The younger and more attractiveof the two was also an old friend of ours, being no other thanFanny O'Dwyer from South Main Street. Actuated, doubtless, by someimportant motive she had left her bar at home for one night, havingcome down to Kanturk by her father's car, with the intention ofreturning by it in the morning. She was seated as a guest here on thecorner of the sofa near the fire, but nevertheless she was neithertoo proud nor too strange in her position to administer as best shemight to the comfort of her uncle.

  The other lady was Mistress O'Dwyer, the lady of the mansion. She wasfat, very; by no means fair, and perhaps something over forty. Butnevertheless there were those who thought that she had her charms.A better hand at curing a side of bacon there was not in the countyCork, nor a woman who was more knowing in keeping a house straightand snug over her husband's head. That she had been worth more thana fortune to Mick O'Dwyer was admitted by all in Kanturk; for it wasknown to all that Mick O'Dwyer was not himself a good hand at keepinga house straight and snug.

  "Another cup of tay, Father Bernard," said this lady. "It'll bemore to your liking now than the first, you'll find." Father Barney,perfectly reliant on her word, handed in his cup.

  "And the muffin is quite hot," said Fanny, stooping down to a traywhich stood before the peat fire, holding the muffin dish. "Butperhaps you'd like a morsel of buttered toast; say the word, uncle,and I'll make it in a brace of seconds."

  "In course she will," said Mrs. O'Dwyer: "and happy too, av you'llonly say that you have a fancy, Father Bernard."

  But Father Bernard would not own to any such fancy. The muffin, hesaid, was quite to his liking, and so was the tea; and from themanner in which he disposed of these delicacies, even Mrs. Townsendmight have admitted that this assertion was true, though she waswont to express her belief that nothing but lies could, by anypossibility, fall from his mouth.

  "And they have been staying with you now for some weeks, haven'tthey?" said Father Barney.

  "Off and on," said Fanny.

  "But there's one of them mostly there, isn't he?" added the priest.

  "The two of them is mostly there, just now. Sometimes one goes awayfor a day or two, and sometimes the other."

  "And they have no business which keeps them in Cork?" continued thepriest, who seemed to be very curious on the matter.

  "Well, they do have business, I suppose," said Fanny, "but av soI never sees it." Fanny O'Dwyer had a great respect for her uncle,seeing that he filled an exalted position, and was a connexion ofwhom she could be justly proud; but, though she had now come down toKanturk with the view of having a good talk with her aunt and uncleabout the Molletts, she would only tell as much as she liked to tell,even to the parish priest of Drumbarrow. And we may as well explainhere that Fanny had now permanently made up her mind to reject thesuit of Mr. Abraham Mollett. As she had allowed herself to see moreand more of the little domestic ways of that gentleman, and to becomeintimate with him as a girl should become with the man she intendsto marry, she had gradually learned to think that he hardly came upto her beau ideal of a lover. That he was crafty and false did notperhaps offend her as it should have done. Dear Fanny, excellent andgracious as she was, could herself be crafty on occasions. He dranktoo, but that came in the way of her profession. It is hard, perhaps,for a barmaid to feel much severity against that offence. But inaddition to this Aby was selfish and cruel and insolent, and seldomaltogether good tempered. He was bad to his father, and bad to thosebelow him whom he employed. Old Mollett would give away his sixpenceswith a fairly liberal hand, unless when he was exasperated by drinkand fatigue. But Aby seldom gave away a penny. Fanny had sharp eyes,and soon felt that her English lover was not a man to be loved,though he had two rings, a gold chain, and half a dozen finewaistcoats.

  And then another offence had come to light in which the Molletts wereboth concerned. Since their arrival in South Main Street they hadbeen excellent customers--indeed quite a godsend, in this light, toFanny, who had her own peculiar profit out of such house-customersas they were. They had paid their money like true Britons,--notregularly indeed, for regularity had not been desired, but by a fivepound now, and another in a day or two, just as they were wanted.Nothing indeed could be better than this, for bills so paid areseldom rigidly scrutinized. But of late, within the last week,Fanny's requests for funds had not been so promptly met, and only onthe day before her visit to Kanturk she had been forced to get herfather to take a bill from Mr. Mollett senior for L20 at two months'date. This was a great come-down, as both Fanny and her father felt,and they had begun to think that it might be well to bring theirconnexion with the Molletts to a close. What if an end had come tothe money of these people, and their bills should be dishonoured whendue? It was all very well for a man to have claims against Sir ThomasFitzgerald, but Fanny O'Dwyer had already learnt that nothing goes sofar in this world as ready cash.

  "They do have business, I suppose," said Fanny.

  "It won't be worth much, I'm thinking," said Mrs. O'Dwyer, "when theycan't pay their weekly bills at a house of public entertainment,without flying their names at two months' date."

  Mrs. O'Dwyer hated any such payments herself, and looked on them ascertain signs of immorality. That every man should take his drop ofdrink, consume it noiselessly, and pay for it immediately--that washer idea of propriety in its highest form.

  "And they've been down here three or four times, each of them," saidFather Barney, thinking deeply on the subject.

  "I believe they have," said Fanny. "But of course I don't know muchof where they've been to."

  Father Barney knew very well that his dear niece had been on muchmore intimate terms with her guest than she pretended. The rumourshad reached his ears some time since that the younger of the twostrangers in South Main Street was making himself agreeable to theheiress of the hotel, and he had intended to come down upon her withall the might of an uncle, and, if necessary, with all the authorityof the Church. But now that Fanny had discarded her lover, he wiselyfelt that it would be well for him to know nothing about it. Bothuncles and priests may know too much--very foolishly.

  "I have seen them here myself," said he, "and they have both been upat Castle Richmond."

  "They do say as poor Sir Thomas is in a bad way," said Mrs. O'Dwyer,shaking her head piteously.

  "And yet he sees these men," said Father Barney. "I know thatfor certain. He has seen them, though he will rarely see anybodynow-a-days."

  "Young Mr. Herbert is a-doing most of the business up about theplace," said Mrs. O'Dwyer. "And people do say as how he is going tomake a match of it with Lady Clara Desmond. And it's the lucky girlshe'll be, for he's a nice young fellow entirely."

  "Not half equal to her other Joe, Mr. Owen that is," said Fanny.

  "Well, I don't
know that, my dear. Such a house and property asCastle Richmond is not likely to go a-begging among the young women.And then Mr. Herbert is not so rampageous like as him of Hap House,by all accounts."

  But Father Barney still kept to his subject. "And they are both atyour place at the present moment, eh, Fanny?"

  "They was to dine there, after I left."

  "And the old man said he'd be down here again next Thursday,"continued the priest. "I heard that for certain. I'll tell you whatit is, they're not after any good here. They are Protestants, ain'tthey?"

  "Oh, black Protestants," said Mrs. O'Dwyer. "But you are not takingyour tay, Father Bernard," and she again filled his cup for him.

  "If you'll take my advice, Fanny, you'll give them nothing morewithout seeing their money. They'll come to no good here, I'm sure ofthat. They're afther some mischief with that poor old gentleman atCastle Richmond, and it's my belief the police will have them beforethey've done."

  "Like enough," said Mrs. O'Dwyer.

  "They may have them to-morrow, for what I care," said Fanny, whocould not help feeling that Aby Mollett had at one time been notaltogether left without hope as her suitor.

  "But you wouldn't like anything like that to happen in your father'shouse," said Father Barney.

  "Bringing throuble and disgrace on an honest name," said Mrs.O'Dwyer.

  "There'd be no disgrace as I knows of," said Fanny, stoutly. "Fathermakes his money by the public, and in course he takes in any thatcomes the way with money in their pockets to pay the shot."

  "But these Molletts ain't got the money to pay the shot," said Mrs.O'Dwyer, causticly. "You've about sucked 'em dhry, I'm thinking, andthey owes you more now than you're like to get from 'em."

  "I suppose father 'll have to take that bill up," said Fanny,assenting. And so it was settled down there among them that theMolletts were to have the cold shoulder, and that they should in factbe turned out of the Kanturk Hotel as quickly as this could be done."Better a small loss at first, than a big one at last," said Mrs.O'Dwyer, with much wisdom. "They'll come to mischief down here, assure as my name's M'Carthy," said the priest. "And I'd be sorry yourfather should be mixed up in it."

  And then by degrees the conversation was changed, but not till thetea-things had been taken away, and a square small bottle of veryparticular whisky put on the table in its place. And the sugar alsowas brought, and boiling water in an immense jug, as though FatherBarney were going to make a deep potation indeed, and a lemon in awine glass; and then the priest was invited, with much hospitality,to make himself comfortable. Nor did the luxuries prepared for himend here; but Fanny, the pretty Fan herself, filled a pipe for him,and pretended that she would light it, for such priests are merryenough sometimes, and can joke as well as other men with their prettynieces.

  "But you're not mixing your punch, Father Bernard," said Mrs.O'Dwyer, with a plaintive melancholy voice, "and the wather gettingcowld and all! Faix then, Father Bernard, I'll mix it for ye, soI will." And so she did, and well she knew how. And then she madeanother for herself and her niece, urging that "a thimblefulwould do Fanny all the good in life afther her ride acrass themcowld mountains," and the priest looked on assenting, blowing thecomfortable streams of smoke from his nostrils.

  "And so, Father Bernard, you and Parson Townsend is to meet againto-morrow at Gortnaclough." Whereupon Father Bernard owned that suchwas the case, with a nod, not caring to disturb the pipe which laycomfortably on his lower lip.

  "Well, well; only to think on it," continued Mrs. O'Dwyer. "That thesame room should hould the two of ye." And she lifted up her handsand shook her head.

  "It houlds us both very comfortable, I can assure you, Mrs. O'Dwyer."

  "And he ain't rampageous and highty-tighty? He don't give hisself noairs?"

  "Well, no; nothing in particular. Why should the man be such a foolas that?"

  "Why, in course? But they are such fools, Father Bernard. They doesthink theyselves such grand folks. Now don't they? I'd give a dandyof punch all round to the company just to hear you put him down once;I would. But he isn't upsetting at all, then?"

  "Not the last time we met, he wasn't; and I don't think he intendsit. Things have come to that now that the parsons know where they areand what they have to look to. They're getting a lesson they'll notforget in a hurry. Where are their rent charges to come from--can youtell me that, Mrs. O'Dwyer?"

  Mrs. O'Dwyer could not, but she remarked that pride would always havea fall. "And there's no pride like Protesthant pride," said Fanny."It is so upsetting, I can't abide it." All which tended to show thatshe had quite given up her Protestant lover.

  "And is it getthing worse than iver with the poor crathurs?" saidMrs. O'Dwyer, referring, not to the Protestants, but to the victimsof the famine.

  "Indeed it's getting no betther," said the priest, "and I'm fearingit will be worse before it is over. I haven't married one couple inDrumbarrow since November last."

  "And that's a heavy sign, Father Bernard."

  "The surest sign in the world that they have no money among them atall, at all. And it is bad with thim, Mrs. O'Dwyer,--very bad, verybad indeed."

  "Glory be to God, the poor cratures!" said the soft-hearted lady."It isn't much the like of us have to give away, Father Bernard; Ineedn't be telling you that. But we'll help, you know,--we'll help."

  "And so will father, uncle Bernard. If you're so bad off about hereI know he'll give you a thrifle for the asking." In a short time,however, it came to pass that those in the cities could spare no aidto the country. Indeed it may be a question whether the city povertywas not the harder of the two.

  "God bless you both--you've soft hearts, I know." And Father Barneyput his punch to his lips. "Whatever you can do for me shall not bethrown away. And I'll tell you what, Mrs. O'Dwyer, it does behove usall to put our best foot out now. We will not let them say that thePapists would do nothing for their own poor."

  "'Deed then an' they'll say anything of us, Father Bernard. There'snothing too hot or too heavy for them."

  "At any rate let us not deserve it, Mrs. O'Dwyer. There will be a lotof them at Gortnaclough to-morrow, and I shall tell them that we, onour side, won't be wanting. To give them their due, I must say thatthey are working well. That young Herbert Fitzgerald's a trump,whether he's Protestant or Catholic."

  "An' they do say he's a strong bearing towards the ould religion,"said Mrs. O'Dwyer. "God bless his sweet young face av' he'd come backto us. That's what I say."

  "God bless his face any way, say I," said Father Barney, with a widerphilanthropy. "He is doing his best for the people, and the time hascome now when we must hang together, if it be any way possible." Andwith this the priest finished his pipe, and wishing the ladies goodnight, walked away to his own house.