The Lords of Dunseveric once lived in a castle perched on the edge of a
cliff, a place inferior to the neighbouring Dunluce as a stronghold, but
equally uncomfortable as a residence. The walls were thick, the rooms
little larger than prison cells, and the windows very small and narrow,
but they were wide enough to let the wind whistle through them and the
rain trickle over their sills to the stone floors inside. The doctor
of a modern sanatorium for consumptive people would have been well
satisfied with the ventilation of Dunseveric Castle. On stormy days in
winter it must have been most unsafe to venture out of doors. The worst
winds, fortunately, always blow inwards from the sea, but there are
eddies round buildings, and with precipices on three sides of him,
the ancient lord of Dunseveric had need to walk cautiously and provide
himself, when possible, with something to hold on to. Some time at the
end of the seventeenth century the reigning lord, giving up in despair
the attempt to render habitable a home more suited to a seagull than a
nobleman, being also less in dread than his ancestors of sea pirates and
land marauders, determined to build himself a house in which he could
live comfortably. He selected a site about a mile inland from the
original castle, and laid the foundations of Dunseveric House. Then,
despairing perhaps of living to complete his architect’s grandiose
plans, he gave up the idea of building and hired a house near Dublin.
During the early part of the eighteenth century he interested himself in
Irish politics, and succeeded, as influential politicians did in those
days, in providing comfortably for outlying members of his family from
the public purse. His son, when it came to his turn to reign, ignored
the foundations which his father had laid, and erected a mansion such as
Irish gentlemen delighted in at the time--a Square block of grey masonry
with small windows to light large rooms, a huge basement storey, and an
impressive flight of stone steps leading up to the front door. He also
enclosed several acres of land with a stone wall, called the space a
garden and planted it with some fruit trees which did not flourish.
His son, the Lord Dunseveric of 1798, having little left him to do in
the way of building, devoted his early years to planting and laying out
pleasure grounds round the new house. His wife, a French woman of Irish
extraction, brought a cultivated taste to his aid. No doubt her ideas
and her husband’s energy would in the end have created a beautiful and
satisfying demesne round Dunseveric House if it had not been for the
north wind and the sea spray. These were hard enemies for a landscape
gardener to fight, and when Lady Dunseveric died her husband gave up the
struggle, having nothing better to show for his time and money than some
fringes of dejected-looking alders and a few groves of stunted Scotch
firs. He even neglected the glass houses which his wife had built. Irish
politics became extremely interesting just after Lady Dunseveric died,
and an Irish gentleman might well be forgiven for neglecting the culture
of his demesne when his time was occupied with drilling Volunteers,
passing Grand Jury resolutions in support of the use of Irish
manufactured goods, and subsequently preparing schemes for the internal
development of Ireland.
Thus Dunseveric House was by no means an attractive place to Estelle,
Comtesse de Tour-neville, when she first visited it. Accustomed to the
scenery round her dead husband’s château in the valley of the Loire, and
attached to the life of the French Court, the appearance of Dunseveric
House struck her as utterly dismal. She had every reason beforehand to
suppose that it would be dismal, and was quite convinced that it would
not suit her as a place of residence. Forced to flee from France in
1793, she put off taking refuge in her brother-in-law’s house as long
as possible, and only arrived there after spending three years among
hospitable friends in England.
“The poor Marie, my poor sister,” she said, when Lord Dunseveric, at
the end of the long drive from Ballymoney, turned the horses up the bare
avenue.
To her maid, in the privacy of her bedroom, she opened her grief more
fully.
“I remember very well when my sister married, though I was but a little
girl at the time, eight or perhaps nine years old. I remember that all
the world talked of her handsome Irish husband. He was a fine man then.
He is a fine man still, and has the grand manner. Oh, yes, he is very
well. And my nephew. He is well made, big and strong like all the men
of his race and blood. But he has no manner--none. If only my sister had
lived she might have formed him. But--poor Marie!”
She sighed. The maid hazarded a suggestion that Lady Dunseveric had
found life _triste_, too _triste_ to be endurable.
“You are right,” said the Comtesse, “she must have died of sheer
dulness. She had two children. That was occupation for a while, no
doubt. But, _mon dieu_, a lady cannot go on having children every year
like a woman of the _bourgeoisie_. It would be too tedious. She died.
She was right. And now I am here in her place. I am here with my lord,
who has good manners but does not care about me, wishes me anywhere but
in his house; a nephew who has no manners and a great deal of stupidity,
and a niece who is much too old to be my niece, and who is too like me
in face and figure for us to get on well together. Otherwise, truly,
she is not like me. She is content to spend all day in a boat on the sea
catching fish. Conceive it yourself, Susanne, she was catching fish,
and her companion was the son of the _curé_, a man of some altogether
impossible Protestant sect.”
But the Comtesse had the good manners or the good sense not to grumble
about her surroundings to anyone except her maid. She so far understood
the philosophy of a happy life as to know that pleasure awaits those
only who succeed in making themselves pleasant.
She came down the morning after she arrived in time for breakfast,
although the English breakfast was a meal she had learned to detest, and
the North of Ireland families have made an even more serious business of
it. She expressed a delight which she cannot be supposed to have felt at
the sight of salmon, fried, cold, kippered; ham, eggs, fowl, farles of
home-made bread, oat-cake, honey, jam, butter. To the secret amusement
of Lord Dun-severic she even accepted a bowl of porridge which her
nephew offered her, and then, to the astonishment of Maurice, asked if
she might eat honey with it. She was delightfully optimistic about the
prospects of amusement for the day.
“Where are you going to take me, Una? There are so many things that
I want to see. I recall the letters which Marie, your mother, used to
write to me about wonderful cliffs and gloomy caves and white rocks and
long strands. Of course you have all the business of the house to attend
to. I quite understand. I will wait. But afterwards, where will you take
me?”
Una glanced out of the window. The south wind of the day before had
brought, as south winds usually do in County Antrim, abundant rain.
Maurice, appealed to, gave it as his opinion that there was no chance
of the weather improving until three o’clock, and that there wasn’t much
chance of sunshine even then.
“But, at least,” said the Comtesse, “I shall be able to see your old
castle? I have heard so much about the castle. Could we not even go
there?”
“We might,” said Una dubiously, “but you will have to walk across two
fields, and the grass is long at this time of year. I don’t mind getting
wet, of course, but you----”
“I think, Estelle,” said Lord Dunseveric, “that you had better give
up the idea of any expedition out of doors. Una will have a good fire
lighted for you in the morning-room, and you must make yourself as
comfortable as you can.”
When breakfast was over, Lord Dunseveric himself conducted his sister to
the morning-room. He selected a chair for her. He placed a small table
beside her. He stirred the fire into a fair blaze. He even fetched some
books for her from the library. But the Comtesse was not content.
“Please sit down,” she said, “and talk with me.”
The prospect of a long morning spent sitting on a chair talking to a
woman was not one which pleased Lord Dunseveric very greatly, but his
manners were, as his sister-in-law had observed, excellent. He had
letters to write and an important communication from the general in
command of the troops in Belfast to consider. But he sat down beside
his sister-in-law as if he were really pleased at having the chance of
a long chat with her, as if she did him a favour in granting him the
privilege of keeping her company.
“What shall we talk about?” she said. “About dear Marie? About old
times? That would be too sad. About Maurice and Una? What is Maurice to
do? Have you obtained for him--how do you say it?--a commission in the
army? There is nothing better for a young man than to spend a short
time in the army. He sees the world. He learns manners and how to bear
himself and speak to a woman. And Una? We must have Una presented at
Court. Will you take her to Dublin this year? I think that you ought to.
It is not good for a girl to grow up all alone here.”
“I fear it will hardly be possible for me to go to Dublin either this
year or next.”
“But why? Surely you would be well received? Or is it not so? I suppose
that you are one of the _grands seigneurs_ of Ireland, one of the
leaders of your aristocracy. Besides, _mon frère_, your appearance, your
manner----. There cannot be many of your Irish gentry----.”
She paused and smiled on him most pleasantly. Lord Dunseveric was
sufficiently a man of the world to understand that this pretty lady was
flattering him. He even thought that she was not doing it very well,
that her methods were too obvious to be really artistic. Nevertheless,
he liked it. We most of us enjoy being flattered very much, especially
by pretty women, though we take a great deal of trouble to persuade
ourselves that we despise the flatterer and her ways. The Comtesse would
have said similar things to any man whom she wanted to please, and Lord
Dunseveric was quite aware of the fact. Still he was pleased. It was
a long time since a woman in a pretty dress, a woman who knew how to
assume a graceful attitude, had taken the trouble to flatter him. He
smiled response to her smile.
“I’ve no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I’m not
afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the
present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to
stay at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at
revolution.”
“_Mon dieu!_ And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such
things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins.”
Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to
please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly
natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk.
“I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would
weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about
politics.”
“I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most
exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too
exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also
_sans-culottes?_”
“They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans,
who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.”
“Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were----But is not
Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with
Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was
the son of a _curé_.”
“Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most
fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as
I know.”
The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be
considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was
evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to
another subject.
“Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate
with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.”
“Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a
nice boy and a good sportsman.”
“Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?”
“If you mean that he wouldn’t do as a husband for Una, you are right,
but I don’t think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever
crossed their minds. I like Neal. He’s a fine, straightforward boy, and
a good sportsman.”
“I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English--pardon
me, my dear brother, you Irish--are differently made; but with us the
nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him.”
“There’s no difficulty about your meeting him. I’ll ask him to dinner
to-day if you like. I’m sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with
the invitation.”
“Charming,” said the Comtesse. “Then I shall judge for myself.”
Neal Ward accepted the invitation when he received it. Perhaps he would
not have been able to do so had he been obliged to submit it to his
father and his uncle; but they had gone out together early in the day.
Neal understood that his uncle was to be introduced to several people
of importance, members of his father’s congregation, men who were deeply
involved in the plans of the United Irishmen. He was left alone with a
task to perform. He was not now transcribing passages from Josephus.
His uncle had decided that he was to be trusted, and, as a proof of
confidence, he was set to compile from various papers a list of those in
the neighbourhood who could be relied on to take up arms when the day of
the contemplated outbreak arrived. The work interested Neal greatly.
He knew most of the men whose names he copied. Some of them he knew
intimately. Now and then he was surprised to find that some well-to-do
and apparently well contented farmer was a member of the society. Once
he paused and hesitated about going on with his work. He came to a
statement of the fact that one, James Finlay, had been enrolled as a
United Irishman and admitted to the councils of the local committee.
Neal knew James Finlay, and disliked him. Once he had caught him at
night in the act of netting salmon in the river. Neal had threatened to
hand him over to Lord Dunseveric. The poacher blustered, threatened, and
even attempted an attack upon Neal. He got the worst of the encounter,
and after vague threats of future vengeance, relapsed into whining
supplication. Neal spared him, considering that the man had been
well thrashed, and having the dislike, common to all generous-minded
Irishmen, of bringing to justice a delinquent of any kind. But he
disliked and distrusted James Finlay, and he did not understand how
his father and the others came to trust such a man. He wrote the name,
reflecting that Finlay had left the neighbourhood some weeks before in
order to seek employment in Belfast. Shortly afterwards he completed his
task. Maurice St. Clair arrived with Lord Dunseveric’s invitation. Neal
locked up his papers, changed his clothes, and went through the rain to
Dunseveric House. He was not comfortable or easy in his mind. Yesterday
it was natural and pleasant to spend the day with Maurice and Una.
To-day he knew things of which he had been entirely ignorant before. He
knew that he himself was committed to a share in a desperate struggle,
in what might well become a civil war, and that he would be fighting
against Lord Dunseveric and against his friend Maurice. It did not
seem to him to be a fair and honourable thing to eat the bread
of unsuspecting enemies. Twice, as he tramped through the rain to
Dunseveric House, he stopped and almost decided to turn back. Twice he
succeeded in silencing his scruples and quieting the complaints of his
conscience. Each time it was the thought of Una which decided him. There
was in him a hunger to see the girl, to be near her, to touch her hand,
to hear her voice. Since his uncle had spoken to him about her on the
evening of his arrival Neal had become acutely and painfully conscious
of his love for her. Long ago he had loved her. Looking back he thought
that he had always loved her. Now he knew that he loved her. That made a
great difference.
He was welcomed when he arrived by Lord Dun-severic with friendly
courtesy--by Una shyly. Her manner was not as it had been the day
before. The frank friendliness was gone. There was something else in
its place, something which thrilled Neal with hope and fear. Perhaps the
girl felt instinctively the change in Neal. Perhaps she was conscious
of her aunt’s keen laughing eyes. Who can tell how a girl first becomes
conscious of the fact that a young man loves her? The Comtesse also
welcomed Neal. She set herself to please and flatter him. At dinner
she talked brightly and amusingly. It seemed to Neal that she talked
brilliantly. She told stories of the old French life. She related her
recent experiences of English society. She rallied Lord Dunseveric on
his grave dignity of manner. She drew laughter again and again from Una
and Maurice. But she addressed herself most to Neal. He was intoxicated
with her vivacity, the swift gleams of her wit, her delicate beauty, her
exquisite dress. He had never seen, never even imagined, the existence
of such a woman. Lord Dunseveric watched her and listened to her with
quiet amusement. It seemed to him that his sister-in-law meant not
only to rescue Una from an undesirable lover, but to attach a handsome,
gauche youth to herself. He understood that a woman like Estelle de
Tourneville might find the attentions of Neal Ward vastly diverting in
a place like Dunseveric, where nothing better in the way of a flirtation
was to be looked for.
The wine and fruit were placed on the table and the servants withdrew.
The Comtesse, with her wine-glass in her hand, stood up.
“It is not at all the fashion,” she said, “for a lady to make a speech.
I shall shock you, my lord, but you will forgive me, for you know the
world. I shall shock my sweet Una, but she will forgive me because her
heart has no room in it for unkind thoughts of anyone. I shall shock
my nephew and the solemn Mr. Neal Ward, and they will not forgive me
because they are young and, therefore, have very strict ideas of how a
woman ought to behave herself. Nevertheless, I am going to make a speech
and propose a toast. I am Irish. Long ago my fathers lived in Ireland
and were _grands seigneurs_ as my good brother, Lord Dunseveric, is
to-day. They left Ireland for the sake of their faith and their king.
They went to France; but I am not, therefore, French. I am Irish. Now
that the French people have turned against us, have even wished to cut
off my head, which I think is much more ornamental on my shoulders than
it would be anywhere else--now I have returned to Ireland, I ask you all
to drink my toast with me. I propose--‘Ireland.’ I, who am loyal to the
old faith and the memory of the legitimate king, I will drink it. My
lord, who is of another faith and loyal to another king, will drink it
also. Mr. Neal, who has a third kind of faith, and is, I understand, not
loyal to any king, will, no doubt, drink it. My friends--‘Ireland.’!”
She raised her glass to her lips and sipped the wine. All the four
listeners stood and raised their glasses.
“‘Ireland,’” said Lord Dunseveric gravely. “I drink to Ireland.”
Then, with the glass at his lips, he paused. There was a noise of horse
hoofs on the gravel outside. A horseman, in military uniform, cantered
by. He was followed by another, a trooper. The little company in the
diningroom stood still and silent. The bell at the door of the house
was rung violently. Its sound reached them. A vague uneasiness came
upon them. One by one they sat down and laid their glasses--the wine
untasted--on the table before them. A servant entered the room.
“Captain Twinely, my lord, of the Killulta Company of Yeomanry, wishes
to see your lordship on important business.”
“Ask him to come in here,” said Lord Dunseveric.
Una rose as if to leave the room.
“No,” said Lord Dunseveric, “stay where you are, and do you stay, too,
Estelle. This Captain Twinely must drink a glass of wine with us. He
passes for a gentleman. Then if he has business with me I shall take him
away. I must not break up our little party. It is not every day that
we have the pleasure of listening to such charming speeches as your’s,
Estelle.”
Captain Twinely entered the room with a swagger. He made a great noise
with his heavy boots and with his spurs as he crossed the polished
floor.
“I ask your pardon, my lord. I ask the ladies’ pardon. I am not fit for
your company. I have ridden far today, and the roads are bad, damned
bad. I rode on the king’s business.”
“The ladies,” said Lord Dunseveric, “will be pleased if you will drink a
glass of wine with them. Are you alone?”
“I left my troop in Ballintoy. The sergeant will see that they obtain
refreshment. My servant holds my horse outside.”
“I shall send him some refreshment,” said Lord Dunseveric. “And your
horses must be stabled here till you have told me how I can serve you.”
Captain Twinely drank his wine, bowed to the ladies, and then said--
“I come at an inconvenient hour, my lord. You have just dined and you
have pleasant company, but I must crave your attention for a letter
which I bring you. The king’s business, my lord.”
Lord Dunseveric rose, and led the way to the library.
“I don’t doubt,” said Captain Twinely, “no one could be such a fool as
to doubt the loyalty of every member of your lordship’s household and of
every guest in your lordship’s house; but in deliver-ing my letter and
my message I prefer to be where there is no chance of eavesdropping.
Will you allow me to make sure that we are not overheard?”
Lord Dunseveric himself shut the door of the room and drew a bolt
across it. Captain Twinely took a sealed packet from his breast. Lord
Dunseveric looked carefully at the address, broke the seal, and read the
contents of the paper within.
“Do you know the contents of this paper, Captain Twinely?”
“My orders are to solicit your lordship’s assistance, as a Justice
of the Peace for the county, in arresting certain persons and taking
possession of some arms concealed in the neighbourhood. I do not know
the names of the persons or the place where the arms are concealed. I
have not been treated with confidence. I’m a loyal man, but I’m only
a plain gentleman. I may say that I feel aggrieved. I deserved more
confidence.”
Lord Dunseveric read the letter again before he answered.
“I am directed here to arrest, with your assistance, five persons. All
of them are men who are well known and respected in this neighbourhood.
I know nothing of the evidence against them, beyond the mere fact,
stated here, that from information received they are believed to be
engaged in a plot for an armed rebellion. Captain Twinely, I have not
a very high opinion of the men from whom the Government receives
information, and I have reason to believe that the information is not
always trustworthy. There have been recently---- but I need not go into
that. I am a loyal man. I am willing to assist the Government in any way
in my power, but my loyalty has limits. Two of the persons named in this
letter I shall not arrest. One of them I believe to be innocent of all
designs against the Government; the other is a very feeble old man, who
will not in any case be dangerous as a rebel, and whom I have private
reasons for not wishing to arrest. I am willing to go with you to
the houses of the other three and arrest them. As for the concealed
arms--cannon it is stated here--I do not believe they exist, but I shall
take you to the place named, and let you see for yourself. Will this
satisfy you?”
“Your lordship has to consider whether it will satisfy my commanding
officer. I should have thought it better, more advisable, more prudent,
for your lordship to obey the orders you have received exactly.”
The man’s words were perfectly civil, but his manner and tone suggested
a threat. Lord Dun-severic stiffened suddenly.
“I shall consider your commanding officer,” he said, “when I am shown
that he has any right to command me.”
“Your loyalty----,” began Captain Twinely.
“My loyalty to the king and the Irish constitution is not to be
suspected or impugned by Mr. Twinely, of Killulta.”
“My lord, I consider that an unhandsome speech. I am only a plain
gentleman, but I am loyal. We county gentlemen ought to stand together.
I expected more consideration from you, my lord. I do not like your
sneering tone. By God, if it were not that I am on the king’s busi--”
“Yes, if you were not on the king’s business----”
But Captain Twinely did not finish his speech.
“I shall have some refreshment brought in here to you, Captain Twinely,”
said Lord Dunseveric. “I shall, with your permission, order a servant to
ride to Ballintoy and bring your troop here. When they arrive I shall be
ready to go with you. In the meanwhile, I beg you to excuse my leaving
you. I have some private matters to arrange before we start.”
He walked to the door, drew back the bolt, bowed, and left the room.