It had been said that the unexpected often happens, although I do not
know what learned man of the time succeeded in thus succinctly
expressing a great law and any how it matters little, for I have since
discovered that these learned men make one headful of brains go a long
way by dint of poaching on each other's knowledge. But the unexpected
happened in this case, all true enough whatever.
I was giving my man a bit of a warning.
"Paddy," said I, "you are big, and you are red, and you are Irish; but
by the same token you are not the great Fingal, son of lightning. I
would strongly give you the word. When you see that old woman you
start for the open moors."
"Devil fear me, sir," answered Paddy promptly. "I'll not be stopping.
I would be swimming to Ireland before she lays a claw on me."
"And mind you exchange no words with her," said I, "for 'tis that
which seems to work most wrongfully upon her."
"Never a word out of me," said he. "I'll be that busy getting up the
road."
There was another tumult in the corridor, with the same screeches by
one and the same humble protests by a multitude. The disturbance
neared us with surprising speed. Suddenly I recalled that when the
servant had retired after bringing food and drink I had neglected to
again bar the door. I rushed for it, but I was all too late. I saw the
latch raise. "Paddy!" I shouted wildly. "Mind yourself!" And with that
I dropped to the floor and slid under the bed.
Paddy howled, and I lifted a corner of the valance to see what was
transpiring. The door had been opened, and the Countess stood looking
into the room. She was no longer in a fiery rage; she was cool, deadly
determined, her glittering eye fixed on Paddy. She took a step
forward.
Paddy, in his anguish, chanted to himself an Irish wail in which he
described his unhappiness. "Oh, mother of me, and here I am caught
again by the old hell-cat, and sure the way she creeps toward me is
enough to put the fear of God in the heart of a hedge-robber, the
murdering old witch. And it was me was living so fine and grand in
England and greatly pleased with myself. Sorrow the day I left
Ireland; it is, indeed."
She was now close to him, and she seemed to be preparing for one
stupendous pounce which would mean annihilation to Paddy. Her lean
hands were thrust out, with the fingers crooked, and it seemed to me
that her fingers were very long. In despair Paddy changed his tune and
addressed her.
"Ah, now, alanna. Sure the kind lady would be for doing no harm? Be
easy, now, acushla."
But these tender appeals had no effect. Suddenly she pounced. Paddy
roared, and sprang backward with splendid agility. He seized a chair.
Now I am quite sure that before he came to England Paddy had never
seen a chair, although it is true that at some time in his life he may
have had a peep through a window into an Irish gentleman's house,
where there might be a chair if the King's officers in the
neighbourhood were not very ambitious and powerful. But Paddy handled
this chair as if he had seen many of them. He grasped it by the back
and thrust it out, aiming all four legs at the Countess. It was a fine
move. I have seen a moderately good swordsman fairly put to it by a
pack of scoundrelly drawers who assailed him at all points in this
manner.
"An you come on too fast," quavered Paddy, "ye can grab two legs, but
there will be one left for your eye and another for your brisket."
However she came on, sure enough, and there was a moment of scuffling
near the end of the bed out of my sight. I wriggled down to gain
another view, and when I cautiously lifted an edge of the valance my
eyes met the strangest sight ever seen in all England. Paddy, much
dishevelled and panting like a hunt-dog, had wedged the Countess
against the wall. She was pinioned by the four legs of the chair, and
Paddy, by dint of sturdily pushing at the chair-back, was keeping her
in a fixed position.
In a flash my mind was made up. Here was the time to escape. I
scrambled quickly from under the bed. "Bravo, Paddy!" I cried, dashing
about the room after my sword, coat, waistcoat, and hat. "Devil a fear
but you'll hold her, my bucko! Push hard, my brave lad, and mind your
feet don't slip!"
"If your honour pleases," said Paddy, without turning his eyes from
his conquest, "'tis a little help I would be wishing here. She would
be as strong in the shoulder as a good plough-horse and I am not for
staying here for ever."
"Bravo, my grand lad!" I cried, at last finding my hat, which had
somehow gotten into a corner. From the door I again addressed Paddy in
encouraging speech. "There's a stout-hearted boy for you! Hold hard,
and mind your feet don't slip!"
He cast a quick agonized look in my direction, and, seeing that I was
about basely to desert him, he gave a cry, dropped the chair, and
bolted after me. As we ran down the corridor I kept well in advance,
thinking it the best place in case the pursuit should be energetic.
But there was no pursuit. When Paddy was holding the Countess prisoner
she could only choke and stammer, and I had no doubt that she now was
well mastered by exhaustion.
Curiously there was little hubbub in the inn. The fact that the
Countess was the rioter had worked in a way to cause people to seek
secluded and darkened nooks. However, the landlord raised his bleat at
me. "Oh, sir, such a misfortune to befall my house just when so many
grand ladies and gentlemen are here."
I took him quietly by the throat and beat his head against the wall,
once, twice, thrice.
"And you allow mad ladies to molest your guests, do you?" said I.
"Sir," he stuttered, "could I have caused her to cease?
"True," I said, releasing him. "But now do as I bid you and quickly. I
am away to London. I have had my plenty of you and your mad ladies."
We started bravely to London, but we only went to another and quieter
inn, seeking peace and the absence of fear. I may say we found it,
and, in a chair before a good fire, I again took my comfort. Paddy sat
on the floor, toasting his shins. The warmth passed him into a
reflective mood.
"And I know all I need of grand ladies," he muttered, staring into the
fire. "I thought they were all for riding in gold coaches and smelling
of beautiful flowers, and here they are mad to be chasing Irishmen in
inns. I remember old Mag Cooligan fought with a whole regiment of
King's troops in Bantry, and even the drums stopped beating, the
soldiers were that much interested. But, sure, everybody would be
knowing that Mag was no grand lady, although Pat Cooligan, her
brother, was pig-killer to half the country-side. I am thinking we
were knowing little about grand ladies. One of the soldiers had his
head broke by a musket because the others were so ambitious to destroy
the old lady, and she scratching them all. 'Twas long remembered in
Bantry."
"Hold your tongue about your betters," said I sharply. "Don't be
comparing this Mag Cooligan with a real Countess."
"There would be a strange similarity any how," said he. "But, sure,
Mag never fought in inns, for the reason that they would not be
letting her inside."
"Remember how little you are knowing of them, Paddy," said I. "'Tis
not for you to be talking of the grand ladies when you have seen only
one, and you would not be knowing another from a fish. Grand ladies
are eccentric, I would have you to know. They have their ways with
them which are not for omadhauns like you to understand."
"Eccentric, is it?" said he. "I thought it would be some such
devilment."
"And I am knowing," said I with dignity, "of one lady so fine that if
you don't stop talking that way of ladies I will break your thick
skull for you, and it would matter to nobody."
"'Tis an ill subject for discussion, I am seeing that," said Paddy.
"But, faith, I could free Ireland with an army of ladies like one I've
seen."
"Will you be holding your tongue?" I cried wrathfully.
Paddy began to mumble to himself,--"Bedad, he was under the bed fast
enough without offering her a stool by the fire and a small drop of
drink which would be no more than decent with him so fond of her. I am
not knowing the ways of these people."
In despair of his long tongue I made try to change the talking.
"We are off for London, Paddy. How are you for it?"
"London, is it?" said he warily. "I was hearing there are many fine
ladies there."
For the second time in his life I cuffed him soundly on the ear.
"Now," said I, "be ringing the bell. I am for buying you a bit of
drink; but if you mention the gentry to me once more in that
blackguard way I'll lather you into a resemblance to your
grandfather's bones."
After a pleasant evening I retired to bed leaving Paddy snug asleep by
the fire. I thought much of my Lady Mary, but with her mother stalking
the corridors and her knowing father with his eye wide open, I knew
there was no purpose in hanging about a Bath inn. I would go to
London, where there were gardens, and walks in the park, and parties,
and other useful customs. There I would win my love.
The following morning I started with Paddy to meet Jem Bottles and
travel to London. Many surprising adventures were in store for us, but
an account of these I shall leave until another time, since one would
not be worrying people with too many words, which is a great fault in
a man who is recounting his own affairs.