Castle Richmond

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XLII.

  ANOTHER JOURNEY.

  On the following day he did go back to Ireland, stopping a nightin Dublin on the road, so that his mother might receive his letter,and that his cousin and Somers might receive those written by Mr.Prendergast. He spent one night in Dublin, and then went on, so thathe might arrive at Castle Richmond after dark. In his present mood hedreaded to be seen returning, even by his own people about the place.

  At Buttevant he was met by his own car and by Richard, as he haddesired; but he found that he was utterly frustrated as to thatmethod of seating himself in his vehicle which he had promised tohimself. He was still glum and gloomy enough when the coach stopped,for he had been all alone, thinking over many things--thinking ofhis father's death and his mother's early life--of all that he hadsuffered and might yet have to suffer, and above all things dreadingthe consciousness that men were talking of him and staring at him. Inthis mood he was preparing to leave the coach when he found himselfapproaching near to that Buttevant stage; but he had more to gothrough at present than he expected.

  "There's his honour--Hurrah! God bless his sweet face that's comeamong us agin this day! Hurrah for Sir Herbert, boys! hurrah! Therail ould Fitzgerald 'll be back agin among us, glory be to God andthe Blessed Virgin! Hurrah for Sir Herbert!" and then there was ashout that seemed to be repeated all down the street of Buttevant.

  But that was nothing to what was coming. Herbert, when he first heardthis, retreated for a moment back into the coach. But there waslittle use in that. It was necessary that he should descend, and hadhe not done so he would have been dragged out. He put his foot on thesteps, and then found himself seized in the arms of a man outside,and pressed and embraced as though he had been a baby.

  "Ugh, ugh, ugh!" exclaimed a voice, the owner of which intended tosend forth notes of joy; but so overcome was he by the intensity ofhis own feelings that he was in nowise able to moderate his voiceeither for joy or sorrow. "Ugh, ugh, ugh! Eh! Sir Herbert! but it's Ithat am proud to see yer honour this day,--wid yer ouwn name, wid yerouwn name. Glory be to God; oh dear! oh dear! And I knew the Lord'dniver forgit us that way, and let the warld go intirely wrong likethat. For av you weren't the masther, Sir Herbert, as you are, theLord presarve you to us, divil a masther'd iver be able to hould afoot in Castle Richmond, and that's God's ouwn thruth."

  "And that's thrue for you, Richard," said another, whom Herbert inthe confusion could not recognize, though his voice was familiar tohim. "'Deed and the boys had it all made out. But what matthers nowSir Herbert's back?"

  "And God bless the day and the hour that he came to us!" And thenleaving his master's arm and coat to which he had still stuck, hebegan to busy himself loudly about the travelling gear. "Coachman,where's Sir Herbert's portmantel? Yes; that's Sir Herbert's hat-box.'Deed, an' I ought to know it well. And the black bag; yes, that'llbe Sir Herbert's, to be sure," and so on.

  Nor was this all. The name seemed to run like wildfire through allthe Buttevantians there assembled; and no sound seemed to reach ourhero's name but that of Sir Herbert, Sir Herbert. Everybody took holdof him, and kissed his hand, and pulled his skirts, and stroked hisface. His hat was knocked off, and put on again amid thousands ofblessings. It was nearly dark, and his eyes were dazed by the coachlanterns which were carried about, so that he could hardly see hisfriends; but the one sound which was dinned into his ears was that ofSir Herbert, Sir Herbert.

  Had he thought about it when starting from Dublin early that morninghe would have said that it would have killed him to have heardhimself so greeted in the public street, but as it was he foundthat he got over it very easily. Before he was well seated on hiscar it may be questioned whether he was not so used to his name,that he would have been startled to hear himself designated as Mr.Fitzgerald. For half a minute he had been wretched, and had felta disgust at poor Richard which he thought at the moment would beinsuperable; but when he was on the car, and the poor fellow cameround to tuck the apron in under his feet, he could not help givinghim his hand, and fraternizing with him.

  "And how is my mother, Richard?"

  "'Deed then, Sir Herbert, me lady is surprising--very quiet-like; buther leddyship was always that, and as sweet to them as comes nigh heras flowers in May; but sure that's nathural to her leddyship."

  "And, Richard--"

  "Yes, Sir Herbert."

  "Was Mr. Owen over at Castle Richmond since I left?"

  "Sorrow a foot, Sir Herbert. Nor no one ain't heard on him, nor seenhim. And I will say this on him--"

  "Don't say anything against him, Richard."

  "No, surely not, seeing he is yer honour's far-away cousin, SirHerbert. But what I war going to say warn't agin Mr. Owen at all,at all. For they do say that cart-ropes wouldn't have dragged himto Castle Richmond; and that only yer honour has come back to yerown,--and why not?--there wouldn't have been any masther in CastleRichmond at all, at all. That's what they do say."

  "There's no knowing how it will go yet, Richard."

  "'Deed, an' I know how it 'll go very well, Sir Herbert, and so doesMr. Somers, God bless him! 'Twas only this morning he tould me. An',faix, it's he has the right to be glad."

  "He is a very old friend."

  "So is we all ould frinds, an' we're all glad--out of our skins widgladness, Sir Herbert. 'Deed an' I thought the eend of the warld hadcome when I heerd it, for my head went round and round and round as Istood in the stable, and only for the fork I had a hould of, I'd havebeen down among the crathur's legs."

  And then it struck Herbert that as they were going on he heard thefootsteps of some one running after the car, always at an equaldistance behind them. "Who's that running, Richard?"

  "Sure an' that's just Larry Carson, yer honour's own boy, that mindsyer honour's own nag, Sir Herbert. But, faix, I suppose ye'll behaving a dozen of 'em now."

  "Stop and take him up; you've room there."

  "Room enough, Sir Herbert, an' yer honour's so good. Here, Larry, yerborn fool, Sir Herbert says ye're to get up. He would come over, SirHerbert, just to say he'd been the first to see yer honour."

  "God--bless--yer honour--Sir Herbert," exclaimed the poor fellow, outof breath, as he took his seat. It was his voice that Sir Herberthad recognized among the crowd, angry enough at that moment. But infuture days it was remembered in Larry Carson's favour, that he hadcome over to Castle Richmond to see his master, contented to run thewhole road back to Castle Richmond behind the car. A better fate,however, was his, for he made one in the triumphal entry up theavenue.

  When they got to the lodge it was quite dark--so dark that evenRichard, who was experienced in night-driving, declared that a catcould not see. However, they turned in at the great gates without anyaccident, the accustomed woman coming out to open them.

  "An' is his honour there thin?" said the woman; "and may God blessyou, Sir Herbert, and ye're welcome back to yer own; so ye are!"

  And then a warm large hand was laid upon his leg, and a warm voicesounded greeting in his ear. "Herbert, my boy, how are you? This iswell, is it not?" It was Mr. Somers who had been waiting there forhim at the lodge gate.

  Upon the whole he could not but acknowledge to himself that it waswell. Mr. Somers got up beside him on the car, so that by this timeit was well laden. "And how does my mother take it?" Herbert asked.

  "Very quietly. Your Aunt Letty told me that she had spent most of hertime in prayer since she heard it. But Miss Letty seems to think thaton your account she is very full of joy."

  "And the girls?"

  "Oh! the girls--what girls? Well, they must answer for themselves; Ileft them about half an hour ago, and now you hear their voices inthe porch."

  He did hear the voices in the porch plainly, though he could notdistinguish them, as the horse's feet and the car wheels rattled overthe gravel. But as the car stopped at the door with somewhat of acrash, he heard Emmeline say, "There's Herbert," and then as he gotdown they all retreated in among the lights in the hall.

  "God ble
ss your honour, Sir Herbert. An' it's you that are welcomeback this blessed night to Castle Richmond." Such and such likewere the greetings which met him from twenty different voices ashe essayed to enter the house. Every servant and groom about theplace was there, and some few of the nearest tenants,--of those whohad lived near enough to hear the glad tidings since the morning.A dozen, at any rate, took his hands as he strove to make hisway through them, and though he was never quite sure about it, hebelieved that one or two had kissed him in the dark. At last he foundhimself in the hall, and even then the first person who got hold ofhim was Mrs. Jones.

  "And so you've come back to us after all, Mr. Herbert--Sir HerbertI should say, begging your pardon, sir; and it's all right about mylady. I never thought to be so happy again, never--never--never." Andthen she retreated with her apron up to her eyes, leaving him in thearms of Aunt Letty.

  "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name ofthe Lord. Oh! Herbert, my darling boy. I hope this may be a lessonand a warning to you, so that you may flee from the wrath to come."Aunt Letty, had time been allowed to her, would certainly haveshown that the evil had all come from tampering with papisticalabominations; and that the returning prosperity of the house ofCastle Richmond was due to Protestant energy and truth. But muchtime was not allowed to Aunt Letty, as Herbert hurried on after hissisters.

  As he had advanced they had retreated, and now he heard them inthe drawing-room. He began to be conscious that they were notalone,--that they had some visitor with them, and began to beconscious also who that visitor was. And when he got himself at lastinto the room, sure enough there were three girls there, two runningforward to meet him from the fireplace to which they had retreated,and the other lingering a little in their rear.

  "Oh, Herbert!" and "oh, Herbert!" and then their arms were thrownabout his neck, and their warm kisses were on his cheeks--kisses notunmixed with tears; for of course they began to cry immediately thathe was with them, though their eyes had been dry enough for the twoor three hours before. Their arms were about his neck, and theirkisses on his cheeks, I have said,--meaning thereby the arms andkisses of his sisters, for the third young lady still lingered alittle in the rear.

  "Was it not lucky Clara was here when the news came to us thismorning?" said Mary.

  "Such difficulty as we have had to get her," said Emmeline. "It wasto have been her farewell visit to us; but we will have no morefarewells now; will we, Clara?"

  And now at last he had his arm round her waist, or as near to thatposition as he was destined to get it on the present occasion. Shegave him her hand, and let him hold that fast, and smiled on himthrough her soft tears, and was gracious to him with her sweet wordsand pleasant looks; but she would not come forward and kiss himboldly as she had done when last they had met at Desmond Court.He attempted it now; but he could get his lips no nearer to hersthan her forehead; and when he tried to hold her she slipped awayfrom him, and he continually found himself in the embraces of hissisters,--which was not the same thing at all. "Never mind," he saidto himself; "his day would soon come round."

  "You did not expect to find Clara here, did you?" asked Emmeline.

  "I hardly know what I have expected, or not expected, for the lasttwo days. No, certainly, I had no hope of seeing her to-night."

  "I trust I am not in the way," said Clara.

  Whereupon he made another attempt with his arm, but when he thoughthe had caught his prize, Emmeline was again within his grasp.

  "And my mother?" he then said. It must be remembered that he had onlyyet been in the room for three minutes, though his little effortshave taken longer than that in the telling.

  "She is up stairs, and you are to go to her. But I told her that weshould keep you for a quarter of an hour, and you have not been herehalf that time yet."

  "And how has she borne all this?"

  "Why, well on the whole. When first she heard it this morning, whichshe did before any of us, you know--"

  "Oh, yes, I wrote to her."

  "But your letter told her nothing. Mr. Somers came down almostas soon as your letter was here. He had heard also--from Mr.Prendergast, I think it was, and Mr. Prendergast said a great dealmore than you did."

  "Well?"

  "We thought she was going to be ill at first, for she became so verypale,--flushing up sometimes for half a minute or so; but after anhour or two she became quite calm. She has seen nobody since but usand Aunt Letty."

  "She saw me," said Clara.

  "Oh, yes, you; you are one of us now,--just the same as ourselves,isn't she, Herbert?"

  Not exactly the same, Herbert thought. And then he went up stairs tohis mother.

  This interview I will not attempt to describe. Lady Fitzgerald hadbecome a stricken woman from the first moment that she had heard thatthat man had returned to life, who in her early girlhood had come toher as a suitor. Nay, this had been so from the first moment that shehad expected his return. And these misfortunes had come upon her soquickly that, though they had not shattered her in body and mind asthey had shattered her husband, nevertheless they had told terriblyon her heart. The coming of those men, the agony of Sir Thomas, thetelling of the story as it had been told to her by Mr. Prendergast,the resolve to abandon everything--even a name by which she mightbe called, as far as she herself was concerned, the death of herhusband, and then the departure of her ruined son, had, one may say,been enough to destroy the spirit of any woman. Her spirit they hadnot utterly destroyed. Her powers of endurance were great,--and shehad endured, still hoping. But as the uttermost malice of adversityhad not been able altogether to depress her, so neither did returningprosperity exalt her,--as far as she herself was concerned. Sherejoiced for her children greatly, thanking God that she had notentailed on them an existence without a name. But for herself, asshe now told Herbert, outside life was all over. Her children andthe poor she might still have with her, but beyond, nothing in thisworld;--to them would be confined all her wishes on this side thegrave.

  But nevertheless she could be warm in her greetings to her son. Shecould understand that though she were dead to the world he need notbe so,--nor indeed ought to be so. Things that were now all endingwith her were but beginning with him. She had no feeling that taughther to think that it was bad for him to be a man of rank and fortune,the head of his family, and the privileged one of his race. It hadbeen perhaps her greatest misery that she, by her doing, had placedhim in the terrible position which he had lately been called upon tofill.

  "Dearest mother, it did not make me unhappy," he said, caressing her.

  "You bore it like a man, Herbert, as I shall ever remember. But itdid make me unhappy,--more unhappy than it should have done, when weremember how very short is our time here below."

  He remained with his mother for more than an hour, and then returnedto the drawing-room, where the girls were waiting for him with thetea-things arranged before them.

  "I was very nearly coming up to fetch you," said Mary, "only that weknew how much mamma must have to say to you."

  "We dined early because we are all so upset," said Emmeline; "andClara must be dying for her tea."

  "And why should Clara die for tea any more than any one else?" askedLady Clara herself.

  I will not venture to say what hour it was before they separated forbed. They sat there with their feet over the fender, talking aboutthings gone and things coming,--and there were so many of such thingsfor them to discuss! Even yet, as one of the girls remarked, LadyDesmond had not heard of the last change, or if she had so heard, hadhad no time to communicate with her daughter upon the subject.

  And then Owen was spoken of with the warmest praise by them all, andClara explained openly what had been the full tenor of his intendedconduct.

  "That would have been impossible," said Herbert.

  "But it was not the less noble in him, was it?" said Clara, eagerly.But she did not tell how Owen Fitzgerald had prayed that her lovemight be given back to him, as his reward for what he wishe
d to do onbehalf of his cousin. Now, at least, at this moment it was not told;yet the day did come when all that was described,--a day when Owenin his absence was regarded by them both among the dearest of theirfriends.

  But even on that night Clara resolved that he should have some meedof praise. "Has he not been noble?" she said, appealing to him whowas to be her husband; "has he not been very noble?"

  Herbert, too happy to be jealous, acknowledged that it was so.