CHAPTER XXIX.
ILL NEWS FLIES FAST.
A dull, cold, wretched week passed over their heads at CastleRichmond, during which they did nothing but realize the truthof their position; and then came a letter from Mr. Prendergast,addressed to Herbert, in which he stated that such inquiries ashe had hitherto made left no doubt on his mind that the man namedMollett, who had lately made repeated visits at Castle Richmond, washe who had formerly taken the house in Dorsetshire under the name ofTalbot. In his packet Mr. Prendergast sent copies of documents and ofverbal evidence which he had managed to obtain; but with the actualdetails of these it is not necessary that I should trouble those whoare following me in this story. In this letter Mr. Prendergast alsorecommended that some intercourse should be had with Owen Fitzgerald.It was expedient, he said, that all the parties concerned shouldrecognise Owen's position as the heir presumptive to the title andestate; and as he, he said, had found Mr. Fitzgerald of Hap Houseto be forbearing, generous, and high-spirited, he thought that thisintercourse might be conducted without enmity or ill blood. And thenhe suggested that Mr. Somers should see Owen Fitzgerald.
All this Herbert explained to his father gently and withoutcomplaint; but it seemed now as though Sir Thomas had ceased tointerest himself in the matter. Such battle as it had been in hispower to make he had made to save his son's heritage and his wife'sname and happiness, even at the expense of his own conscience. Thatbattle had gone altogether against him, and now there was nothingleft for him but to turn his face to the wall and die. Absoluteruin, through his fault, had come upon him and all that belonged tohim,--ruin that would now be known to the world at large; and it wasbeyond his power to face that world again. In that the glory was gonefrom the house of his son, and of his son's mother, the glory wasgone from his own house. He made no attempt to leave his bed, thoughstrongly recommended so to do by his own family doctor. And then aphysician came down from Dublin, who could only feel, whatever hemight say, how impossible it is to administer to a mind diseased. Themind of that poor man was diseased past all curing in this world, andthere was nothing left for him but to die.
Herbert, of course, answered Clara's letter, but he did not goover to see her during that week, nor indeed for some little timeafterwards. He answered it at considerable length, professinghis ready willingness to give back to Clara her troth, and evenrecommending her, with very strong logic and unanswerable argumentsof worldly sense, to regard their union as unwise and evenimpossible; but nevertheless there protruded through all his senseand all his rhetoric, evidences of love and of a desire for lovereturned, which were much more unanswerable than his arguments, andmuch stronger than his logic. Clara read his letter, not as he wouldhave advised her to read it, but certainly in the manner which bestpleased his heart, and answered it again, declaring that all that hesaid was no avail. He might be false to her if he would. If throughfickleness of heart and purpose he chose to abandon her, she wouldnever complain--never at least aloud. But she would not be false tohim; nor were her inclinations such as to make it likely that sheshould be fickle, even though her affection might be tried by a delayof years. Love with her had been too serious to be thrown aside. Allwhich was rather strong language on the part of a young lady, but wasthought by those other young ladies at Castle Richmond to show thevery essence of becoming young-ladyhood. They pronounced Clara to beperfect in feeling and in judgment, and Herbert could not find it inhis heart to contradict them.
And of all these doings, writings, and resolves, Clara dutifully toldher mother. Poor Lady Desmond was at her wits' end in the matter.She could scold her daughter, but she had no other power of doinganything. Clara had so taken the bit between her teeth that it wasno longer possible to check her with any usual rein. In these daysyoung ladies are seldom deprived by force of paper, pen, and ink; andthe absolute incarceration of such an offender would be still moreunusual. Another countess would have taken her daughter away, eitherto London and a series of balls, or to the South of Italy, or to thefamily castle in the North of Scotland; but poor Lady Desmond had notthe power of other countesses. Now that it was put to the trial, shefound that she had no power, even over her own daughter. "Mamma, itwas your own doing," Clara would say; and the countess would feelthat this alluded not only to her daughter's engagement with Herbertthe disinherited, but also to her non-engagement with Owen the heir.
Under these circumstances Lady Desmond sent for her son. The earl wasstill at Eton, but was now grown to be almost a man--such a man asforward Eton boys are at sixteen--tall, and lathy, and handsome, withsoft incipient whiskers, a bold brow and blushing cheeks, with all aboy's love for frolic still strong within him, but some touch of aman's pride to check it. In her difficulty Lady Desmond sent for theyoung earl, who had now not been home since the previous midsummer,hoping that his young manhood might have some effect in saving hissister from the disgrace of a marriage which would make her sototally bankrupt both in wealth and rank.
Mr. Somers did go once to Hap House, at Herbert's instigation; butvery little came of his visit. He had always disliked Owen, regardinghim as an unthrift, any close connexion with whom could only bringcontamination on the Fitzgerald property; and Owen had returned thefeeling tenfold. His pride had been wounded by what he had consideredto be the agent's insolence, and he had stigmatised Mr. Somers to hisfriends as a self-seeking, mercenary prig. Very little, therefore,came of the visit. Mr. Somers, to give him his due, had attempted todo his best; being anxious, for Herbert's sake, to conciliate Owen;perhaps having--and why not?--some eye to the future agency. But Owenwas hard, and cold, and uncommunicative,--very unlike what he hadbefore been to Mr. Prendergast. But then Mr. Prendergast had neveroffended his pride.
"You may tell my cousin Herbert," he said, with some little specialemphasis on the word cousin, "that I shall be glad to see him, assoon as he feels himself able to meet me. It will be for the good ofus both that we should have some conversation together. Will you tellhim, Mr. Somers, that I shall be happy to go to him, or to see himhere? Perhaps my going to Castle Richmond, during the present illnessof Sir Thomas, may be inconvenient." And this was all that Mr. Somerscould get from him.
In a very short time the whole story became known to everybody roundthe neighbourhood. And what would have been the good of keeping itsecret? There are some secrets,--kept as secrets because they cannotwell be discussed openly,--which may be allowed to leak out with somuch advantage! The day must come, and that apparently at no distanttime, when all the world would know the fate of that Fitzgeraldfamily; when Sir Owen must walk into the hall of Castle Richmond, theundoubted owner of the mansion and demesne. Why then keep it secret?Herbert openly declared his wish to Mr. Somers that there should beno secret in the matter. "There is no disgrace," he said, thinkingof his mother; "nothing to be ashamed of, let the world say what itwill."
Down in the servants' hall the news came to them gradually, whisperedabout from one to another. They hardly understood what it meant,or how it had come to pass; but they did know that their master'smarriage had been no marriage, and that their master's son was noheir. Mrs. Jones said not a word in the matter to any one. Indeed,since that day on which she had been confronted with Mollett, she hadnot associated with the servants at all, but had kept herself closeto her mistress. She understood what it all meant perfectly; and thedepth of the tragedy had so cowed her spirit that she hardly daredto speak of it. Who told the servants,--or who does tell servants ofsuch matters, it is impossible to say; but before Mr. Prendergast hadbeen three days out of the house they all knew that the Mr. Owen ofHap House was to be the future master of Castle Richmond.
"An' a sore day it'll be; a sore day, a sore day," said Richard,seated in an arm-chair by the fire, at the end of the servants' hall,shaking his head despondingly.
"Faix, an' you may say that," said Corney, the footman. "That MistherOwen will go tatthering away to the divil, when the old place comesinto his hans. No fear he'll make it fly."
"Sorrow seize the ould law
yer for coming down here at all at all,"said the cook.
"I never knew no good come of thim dry ould bachelors," said Biddythe housemaid; "specially the Englishers."
"The two of yez are no better nor simpletons," said Richard,magisterially. "'Twarn't he that done it. The likes of him couldn'tdo the likes o' that."
"And what was it as done it?" said Biddy.
"Ax no questions, and may be you'll be tould no lies," repliedRichard.
"In course we all knows it's along of her ladyship's marriage whichwarn't no marriage," said the cook. "May the heavens be her bed whenthe Lord takes her! A betther lady nor a kinder-hearted niver steppedthe floor of a kitchen."
"'Deed an that's thrue for you, cook," said Biddy, with the corner ofher apron up to her eyes. "But tell me, Richard, won't poor Mr.Herbert have nothing?"
"Never you mind about Mr. Herbert," said Richard, who had seen Biddygrow up from a slip of a girl, and therefore was competent to snubher at every word.
"Ah, but I do mind," said the girl. "I minds more about him than erea one of 'em; and av' that Lady Clara won't have em a cause ofthis--"
"Not a step she won't, thin," said Corney. "She'll go back to Mr.Owen. He was her fust love. You'll see else." And so the matter wasdiscussed in the servants' hall at the great house.
But perhaps the greatest surprise, the greatest curiosity, and thegreatest consternation, were felt at the parsonage. The rumourreached Mr. Townsend at one of the Relief Committees;--and Mrs.Townsend from the mouth of one of her servants, during his absence,on the same day; and when Mr. Townsend returned to the parsonage,they met each other with blank faces.
"Oh, Aeneas!" said she, before she could get his greatcoat from offhis shoulders, "have you heard the news?"
"What news?--about Castle Richmond?"
"Yes; about Castle Richmond." And then she knew that he had heard it.
Some glimmering of Lady Fitzgerald's early history had been known toboth of them, as it had been known almost to all in the country; butin late years this history had been so much forgotten, that men hadceased to talk of it, and this calamity therefore came with all theweight of a new misfortune.
"And, Aeneas, who told you of it?" she asked, as they sat togetherover the fire, in their dingy, dirty parlour.
"Well, strange to say, I heard it first from Father Barney."
"Oh, mercy! and is it all about the country in that way?"
"Herbert, you know, has not been at any one of the Committees forthe last ten days, and Mr. Somers for the last week past has beenas silent as death; so much so, that that horrid creature, FatherColumb, would have made a regular set speech the other day atGortnaclough, if I hadn't put him down."
"Dear, dear, dear!" said Mrs. Townsend.
"And I was talking to Father Barney about this, to-day--about Mr.Somers, that is."
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"And then he said, 'I suppose you know what has happened at CastleRichmond?'"
"How on earth had he learned?" asked Mrs. Townsend, jealous that aRoman Catholic priest should have heard such completely Protestantnews before the Protestant parson and his wife.
"Oh, they learn everything--from the servants I suppose."
"Of course, the mean creatures!" said Mrs. Townsend, forgetting,probably, her own little conversation with her own man of all workthat morning. "But go on, Aeneas."
"'What has happened,' said I, 'at Castle Richmond?' 'Oh, you haven'theard,' said he. And I was obliged to own that I had not, though Isaw that it gave him a kind of triumph. 'Why,' said he, 'very badnews has reached them indeed; the worst of news.' And then he told meabout Lady Fitzgerald. To give him his due, I must say that he wasvery sorry--very sorry. 'The poor young fellow!' he said--'The pooryoung fellow!' And I saw that he turned away his face to hide atear."
"Crocodile tears!" said Mrs. Townsend.
"No, they were not," said her reverend lord; "and Father Barney isnot so bad as I once thought him."
"I hope you are not going over too, Aeneas?" And his consort almostcried as such a horrid thought entered her head. In her ideas anyfeeling short of absolute enmity to a servant of the Church of Romewas an abandonment of some portion of the Protestant basis of theChurch of England. "The small end of the wedge," she would callit, when people around her would suggest that the heart of a RomanCatholic priest might possibly not be altogether black and devilish.
"Well, I hope not, my dear," said Mr. Townsend, with a slight touchof sarcasm in his voice. "But, as I was saying, Father Barney told methen that this Mr. Prendergast--"
"Oh, I had known of his being there from the day of his coming."
"This Mr. Prendergast, it seems, knew the whole affair, frombeginning to end."
"But how did he know it, Aeneas?"
"That I can't tell you. He was a friend of Sir Thomas before hismarriage; I know that. And he has told them that it is of no usetheir attempting to keep it secret. He was over at Hap House withOwen Fitzgerald before he went."
"And has Owen Fitzgerald been told?"
"Yes; he has been told--told that he is to be the next heir; soFather Barney says."
Mrs. Townsend wished in her heart that the news could have reachedher through a purer source; but all this, coming though it did fromFather Barney, tallied too completely with what she herself had heardto leave on her mind any doubt of its truth. And then she began tothink of Lady Fitzgerald and her condition, of Herbert and of his,and of the condition of them all, till by degrees her mind passedaway from Father Barney and all his iniquities.
"It is very dreadful," she said, in a low voice.
"Very dreadful, very dreadful. I hardly know how to think of it. AndI fear that Sir Thomas will not live many months to give them eventhe benefit of his life interest."
"And when he dies all will be gone?"
"Everything."
And then tears stood in her eyes also, and in his also after a while.It is very easy for a clergyman in his pulpit to preach eloquentlyupon the vileness of worldly wealth, and the futility of worldlystation; but where will you ever find one, who, when the time ofproof shall come, will give proof that he himself feels what hepreaches? Mr. Townsend was customarily loud and eager upon thissubject, and yet he was now shedding tears because his young friendHerbert was deprived of his inheritance.
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