PREPARATIONS FOR THE SACRIFICE.
Madam Gillin called many times at Ely Place in her anxiety to astonish
the chancellor, but failed to find him--for the best of all reasons,
that he was not there. Again and again she rapped with the big brass
knocker--always to receive the same answer, 'His lordship is in
England.' Time was moving on; reports arrived in succession that the
works at Fort George were progressing; that they were well-nigh
finished; that they were complete. The unhappy exiles would be drafted
off directly, and Madam Gillin was determined to astonish Lord Clare
before that moment came. What on earth could he be doing in England?
He was an Irishman, if a bad one, and ought to stop at home. She was
on the point of packing up a valise to pursue him across the Channel,
when Jug brought the tidings that my Lord Clare's coach was on its way
to Kingstown, and that therefore its master must be expected back.
The chancellor frowned ominously when he beheld his eccentric
acquaintance ensconced in his favourite chair. The butler apologised.
The lady would take no denial, he explained. She had nearly worn out
the knocker. He could not turn out one of the sex by neck and
shoulders. Maybe it was really something of weight that made her so
persistent. But my Lord Clare was quite another man from when he went
to London, and was in no mood to brook liberties. He had seen Mr. Pitt
there; had, much to the amusement of that gentleman, reviled my Lord
Cornwallis, his policy, and his blunt manner; had explained away the
fiasco at the first voting for union, and had been graciously
received. Mr. Pitt had smiled on him while Mr. Fox sneered; had hinted
that if he and Lord Castlereagh did their work cleverly there would be
no end to the honours which his Majesty would heap on them. They must
not be discouraged, but slave away--hammer and tongs--till the object
was achieved. After all, it was at this juncture merely a matter of a
little tact. As an earnest of future favour, my Lord Clare was created
Baron Fitzgibbon in the Peerage of England, and returned home an inch
taller and three times as overbearing as he had shown himself before.
Once the union arranged, Lord Cornwallis would depart; Lord Clare
would resume his lofty position in Irish politics, and from his new
place in the English House of Lords would coerce British politicians
on special subjects, as he had browbeaten a succession of British
viceroys. But before this delicious dream could be realised there was
much to be done, which required careful manipulation. Lord Castlereagh
had kept him _au courant_ during his absence of what passed in Dublin.
He was aware that, fired by indignation at the breaking of the compact
and the condemnation of his brother, untried, to penal servitude,
young Robert had left London abruptly and gone home. The young
cockatrice, as he elected to call him, meant mischief--would
certainly give trouble--and at an inconvenient moment. He must be
watched--bagged--gagged--swept away like a tiresome fly. It would
not do to have insurrections now. He was aware that the Irish
parliament--servile hitherto--was playing pranks and kicking up its
heels, raising the price of its suicide, to the annoyance of Lord
Castlereagh and the rage of Lord Cornwallis. He had seen a letter from
the Viceroy to the Duke of Portland, wherein the former pleaded once
more for the emancipation of the Catholics, declaring that if they
were kept out in the cold, the important measure which was to be a new
bulwark to England would have a foundation of sand; vowing that he was
sick of dirty water; that if there was no prospect of getting out of
the country he would offer earnest prayers to Heaven for immediate
death. Mr. Pitt, when he showed this letter to Lord Clare, spoke
openly without mincing matters. The King was obdurate about the
Catholics. Lord Clare knew that. They must be cajoled, however; led on
by specious promises and then betrayed; treated in fact after the
ingenious fashion in which Lord Clare had shown himself so consummate
a master in the matter of the compact with the state prisoners. The
Irish Chancellor, primed by Lord Castlereagh, explained the
difficulties of the situation with crystal clearness to Mr. Pitt. It
was now merely a matter of L s. d. How much or how little didn't
signify, since the blood-money was to be supplied by the victim
herself. The Lords and Commons having made the plunge, were
totally divested of all shame. They made use of a small party of
anti-unionists as a lever to dig out more gold; swearing that they
would all go over to that party unless their demands were complied
with in all their greed. Thus was it with the upper class. The lower
class was apathetic and hopeless--all except a few United Irishmen,
who were making a new attempt to attain their ends by stirring up
discord and division. The anti-unionists were leaving no stone
unturned to inflame the spirit of the people. But the spirit was gone
out of them. There would be a tussle for it, no doubt. It would be
well for decorum's sake to postpone the conclusion of the business for
a few months, for it would look bad for the senators who were to be
freshly bought to seem to change their opinions too suddenly. Europe
would laugh if men who declared in April that union meant destruction
were in May to turn round and vote in favour of it. Finally Mr. Pitt
sent his tool home again, bidding him be discreet and diligent, and
laughed in his sleeve so soon as his back was turned.
Lord Clare was puffed out with self-importance when he strutted into
his house and found Madam Gillin ensconced there as though she were
its mistress. Taking no heed of his frowns, she wagged her feathers
with satisfaction, and straightway unfolded her budget. He was as much
astonished as she could possibly desire. Shane then was illegitimate,
and Terence the true Lord Glandore! This was the clue to much which
had seemed inexplicable in my lady. Poor old friend! how she must have
suffered--and she innocent, except in aiding and abetting her husband
when it was too late to do anything else. It was evident that, born of
the same parents, it was a cruel law which would treat one brother
(and the elder one too) as a pariah for lack of a few sentences droned
through the nose. It was natural that a mother should feel this
strongly, and in a wrong-headed feminine way make difficulties greater
in her efforts to gloze them over. But the old lord was right when he
spoke the warning. His sons were only boys; they might have stepped
into their legal places then without much harm resulting. But now
after the long lapse of years, the situation wore another aspect.
Shane had grown to manhood--to the prime of life--under the impression
that he was true master of wealth and broad acres. His life had taken
its permanent shape. It would be a smashing blow to him were his
brother to come forward and claim his own. The position of Terence too
was a singularly unhappy one. He had been bitterly wronged. Of that
there could be no doubt, and his mother must have walked on red-hot
ploughshares when she beheld him going straight to ruin. If he had
been acknowledged as 'my lord' he would have done, of course, as the
majority of lords did--would never have thought of joining the popular
party, would not now be preparing to leave his country--a
brokenhearted exile. For even the most virtuous in the Upper House
were content at this juncture to remain neutral. Poor, poor old
friend! What anguish must have been hers when she contemplated all
this, as she must have done daily, without having strength to say the
words she should have said! Actually she had been doomed to watch her
own son drifting into the dark waters, and with her own hands to cut
the rope which might have saved him. No wonder if her hair was
white--her face of ashen pallor. No wonder if she was haunted by a
ghost who never left her side. Mrs. Gillin's story actually took away
the breath of the chancellor as his mind wandered through the fields
of the past, putting this and that together, fitting pieces of a
puzzle into their places which hitherto had defied his skill.
In the first place he was moved with pity for the Countess of
Glandore. Sure, her sufferings--dragged out and intensified instead of
being healed by Time--would have turned long ago a less steady brain
than hers. Poor lady! at this very moment her trials were at their
acme. The son who had been so much wronged was about to depart on his
sad journey. Would she have the courage to let him go without speaking
the truth? And if she spoke the truth, what line would he take? It was
a pity he had not been hanged in the ordinary course of events. He
would then have gone to his grave in ignorance of the wrong done to
him. The knot would have been severed. For, failing Terence, the title
would be extinct; and, bastard or not, my lady's conscience would have
been at rest with regard to Shane's inheriting. As he turned over the
tangled mass he could not decide for which of the three he ought to be
most sorry. Their cruel case touched the good portion of his heart--in
which there was room for compassion for these three persons, whom he
had known intimately for years; two of whom had grown up before his
eyes. Shane's case was a most dreadful one. But not more cruel than
Terence's. All things considered, it would be best that Terence should
never learn the truth, or Shane either. Things had gone so far that
nothing but evil could come of their positions being reversed.
This was the verdict of the chancellor, and a worldly-wise one too.
For he knew not that my lady's overburthened soul had already vomited
forth the truth; that she had confessed to Shane, now, several weeks
ago. This was his verdict, and Mrs. Gillin was reluctantly compelled
to admit that he was right. But he, on the other hand, fully agreed
with her that something must be done forthwith for Terence. The
Viceroy must be spoken to, the King even must be interviewed--a pardon
gained for the doomed exile without telling him the cause of it. By
being deprived of a fortune which was legally his, he had been
fearfully wronged. For the sake of others it would be well that he
should never know how much. All things considered, his was a case for
clemency. His Majesty, who was jealous of the ermine, and loved not to
see it dragged through the mud, would appreciate at once the
peculiarities with which the case was invested. But to hoodwink
suspicion he must be advised to avoid too abrupt a pardon, such as
should set the tongues of busybodies clacking. Terence must in a
careless way be left behind when the vessel sailed, which was now
lying ready in the Liffey. He must be made to promise to conspire no
more, and then be given to understand quietly that his misdeeds would
be graciously forgotten.
Gillin went away content, and with a light heart. She had fulfilled
her promise of protecting the son of her old lover. Shane, it was
decided, was still to be Lord Glandore. Norah's mamma might now, with
an easy conscience, set about the clinching of that match which she
considered would be beneficial to her child. My lady's reluctant
consent could be wrung from her by fear of her secret becoming known.
She might even be told in plain words that her own evil imagination
had conjured up baseless phantoms--that Norah was born two months
before her mother made the acquaintance of the late lord, and that she
had been brought up a Protestant by his desire simply for the sake of
evading certain clauses in the Penal Code, which might jeopardise his
legacy to a Catholic.
Madam Gillin had seen through my lady's terrors upon this point all
along, and had played on them to revenge herself for the stern
chatelaine's contemptuous airs. For the same cause she had first
imagined a match between the two young people, which their own
inclinations seemed inclined to ratify. It would be rare sport to
bring the haughty woman to the dust, and compel her to accept Norah as
a daughter! It would be, too, a spectacle of ineffable delight to see
Norah make her appearance at a drawing-room by the _entree_ by virtue
of her rank as countess! The fascinating idea took possession of the
worthy woman; yet shrank she not from that to which she considered
herself bound by oath. She would have kicked over with her own fat
foot, if need were, the palace she had built, and have thought no more
of Norah as mistress of Strogue Abbey and the possible intimate friend
of a lady-lieutenant; but she was none the less charmed to find that
duty and delight were not incompatible, that Lord Clare was decided in
his opinion that Shane must still wear the coronet.
Lord Clare considered and reconsidered the strange embroglio whilst
refreshing his inner man with chicken-pasty for a long business talk
with Castlereagh. There were several reasons why Shane must not be
ousted now. What with pugnacious waifs and strays from the broken
ranks of the United Irishmen; what with the honesty of a small band of
senators, and the rapacity of the remainder, there would be a very
pretty fight ere this union could be jotted down in history. To make
success certain consummate tact would be required, as well as a full
purse. Every vote would be of enormous worth; Castlereagh in his
latest bulletin had computed the votes of ordinary M.P.'s at L5000 a
head. The title of Glandore carried with it parliamentary pressure
of many kinds; direct or indirect influence over constituencies, as
well as weight in the Upper House. If all this influence were
transferred from Shane to Terence, it would be used on the wrong side.
He would certainly join Lords Downshire and Powerscourt and other
troublesome persons, who dared to flout the King; would sneer at
English marquisates and be faithful to the errors which beset an
heir-presumptive. It behoved the chancellor to be cunning on this as
on other points. There was no telling what might happen next, in so
singularly involved a complication as this of the Glandore family. Two
points only were quite apparent. Terence, the real earl, must not go
into captivity. Shane, the sham earl, must be retained in his
position, at least until he had borne his share in securing the
success of the Great Measure.
When Castlereagh arrived presently at Ely Place, he disturbed his
colleague's complacency by hints of difficulty independent of money or
of votes. Not only was the scatter-brained school-lad Robert Emmett
back in Ireland (this was no news); but he was showing that he was a
cockatrice indeed. All his acts were watched, his intentions known;
but he was doing considerable damage already to the cause of
Government, and bade fair to make himself still more objectionable. He
was actually starting the foolish old plots again which had only been
allowed to run their course at all for state reasons, and which were
now altogether preposterous and out of date. He prated of tying
together the ravelled strands of the confederacy. Major Sirr had
intelligence of midnight meetings of the good old kind, with passwords
which everybody knew. Had even seen a wonderful green uniform, with a
cocked hat like a merry-andrew's at a fair, which was being
manufactured for the younger Emmett.
'The boy is an honest boy,' Lord Castlereagh averred. 'He is simply
running his head against a wall. It would be well to save him from the
effects of his own lunacy, if possible; a strait waistcoat would fit
him better than his fancy dress.'
This was annoying news, but it was not all. The state of the country
was unsafe, and Lord Cornwallis was of opinion that, unless the
measure could speedily be finished off, difficulties might arise which
it was the interest of all parties to avoid. Time was when the lash
and halter were salutary instruments; but now it was essential that
they should be used no more. Agrarian outrages were becoming ominously
frequent. Not only property was in danger, but life too. Not merely
the life of the low scum, which of course didn't matter, but the
precious lives of lords and ladies. Some lords, indeed, the
remembrance of whose performances on the triangle made them specially
unpopular, had been obliged to surround their mansions with foreign
troops, and were delighted to escape from the homes of their
forefathers to the safer atmosphere of Dame Street and the Castle. Was
not that awkward? Even that was not all! Here was something worse. At
the time when the English militia regiments were drafted into Ireland
for the protection of the proprietors, it was agreed that their
enforced stay should not exceed a certain period, with option of
eventually returning home or lingering on as might be deemed
convenient. The specified time was up now. In a wild chorus--as eager
as the Viceroy's private solo--they all declared that they would not
remain on Irish soil a moment longer than they could help. Even the
strong influence of Lord Cornwallis, who kept his solo for his private
bedchamber when his nightcap was on, could only obtain a month or
two's delay. Things were shaky. Another Hurry might be brought about
unless those in office were careful and it would be monstrous
inconvenient if such a contingency were to take place.
This, according to Lord Castlereagh's account, was in the future. Let
us look at the present, which was sad enough.
The melancholy convoy started for Fort George. Women, children, and
strong men crowded to the quay, and wept as the martyrs were wafted to
their prison. Young Robert Emmett was seen to wave his hand from a
window towards Tom, who stood at the ship's bows to take his last look
at Erin. So soon as the vessel was out of sight, the young man kneeled
down by the open casement with both arms aloft, and swore an oath
there to repel the Sassenagh yet, or perish in the attempt. Many of
those who were wearily plodding homeward recognised his figure and his
action, and, kneeling too, registered their vows in concert. All the
first leaders of the United Irishmen who were not dead were on board
that transport; and Robert, left alone, set to work with a will (as
Castlereagh graphically put it) to batter his head against a wall. He
engaged mysterious premises, decayed warehouses in back slums, from
out of which came by-and-by the hum of many voices, the clang of many
anvils. The Battalion of Testimony peeped through the keyholes, and
were mightily amused. This infantile echo of the preparations of '96
and '97 was diverting--a right jovial jest--a jolly jape! They related
to Major Sirr and his crony, Cassidy, all they had seen and heard, and
those worthies roared too, till tears of exhausted merriment ran down
their cheeks.
The young enthusiast's guileless arrangements for driving the
Englishry into the sea were ridiculous, no doubt. He kept the details
of them to himself, never telling those who loved him of them. As they
were not in the habit of looking through keyholes, they knew not that
he was working in earnest; that he had determined in his own mind,
should the union pass, to make the first shaking out of the united
flag upon the Castle his signal for attack; when a handful of
scatter-brains, as unpractical as himself, should storm the Castle,
kill the Viceroy, proclaim Ireland free, and the Act of Union a
valueless piece of dirty parchment. Jack Cade's rabblement was no whit
more laughable an assemblage than the army which Robert proposed to
lead to victory. The authorities consulted as to what should be done
with him, and decided that it would be safer to allow him to stir up a
little dust in the metropolis than to drive him into the provinces,
where he really might give serious trouble. It would be better to let
the affair come to a head at once, while the English militia and my
Lord Cornwallis were still at hand. It was fortunate for Government
that Robert kept his secret so well; for if his friends had been aware
of his guileless plots, they would have applied at once to the
Viceroy, who would have had no alternative but to lock up the
firebrand and allow the coals to smoulder. Not even to Sara did he
speak openly; though he certainly did let out vague hints which
frightened the damsel not a little; not even to Terence did he speak
at all--to Terence, who remained quietly in seclusion at the Abbey for
months after the vessel sailed, wondering if he was forgotten, or
whether he was set apart to head a second convoy.
As for Doreen, so soon as her amazement had abated (which resulted
from the eavesdropping), it gave place to a feeling of uneasiness. Her
aunt had spoken of the disposal of her hand as a matter of
convenience, for the benefit of Shane; and she now deciphered all the
riddle which had seemed so crabbed and contradictory. With
apprehension she awaited a change in the young lord's demeanour,
expected him to play the lover, and be miserable, as orthodox suitors
are. He was undoubtedly most miserable, but he made no attempt to play
the lover. Although she knew it not, her own manner was the maiden's
safeguard. Cousin Shane, who had always been repelled by her cold
ways, felt that he might as well try to make love to a dead body as to
this full-blooded girl, who, like Terence, announced that her life was
done. Have we not read somewhere of a certain prince who espoused an
ice-maiden for the sake of her dowry? She clasped him in her arms, and
froze him slowly. Just such a bride would Miss Wolfe be to Shane. And
yet he saw that his mother was right. If Terence were somehow to learn
the secret, and to claim his own, what would become of his
illegitimate brother? His mother was right, as she always was. Lord
Kilwarden's nest-egg would keep the wolf from the door. What a pity it
could not be his without the burthen of the accompanying ice-maiden!
As he looked round he decided reluctantly that there was no other rock
to make for; that he must force his inclinations, give up Norah,
possess himself of Doreen; but the sight of her dreary face and
listless demeanour was always enough to put to rout his most firm
resolve--the while he cursed himself for his repulsion. My lady's
ghost was his companion now as well as hers. It communed with him in
the night; it whispered to him by day. The countess perceived the
leaven of fear working within him, and her burthen became, if
possible, more heavy on her back. Irresistible impulse had impelled
her to confess. An indistinct dread of open rupture between the
brothers had forced her to give Shane a reason for more considerate
behaviour towards Terence. But the shot, she found, had entirely
missed its mark. Shane was not a good man; he was gross, brutal, and
endowed with none of the attributes of the serpent. He was not like
Cassidy, for instance. If he hated a person, all the world might know
it. By virtue of his bringing-up as Chief of Blasters and King of
Cherokees, he was terribly handy with rapier and pistol; could send
his closest friend to Hades without compunction; but then it must be
done according to the rules set down by the Knights of Tara, and in
open battle, with paces marked out and seconds looking on. Like many
selfish men, he could be good-natured so long as affability was cheap.
But how grievously had my lady been mistaken in supposing that fear
would induce civility to Terence, in proportion to the wrong that he
was doing him. On the contrary, by the light of my lady's confession,
he saw Terence from such an aspect, that his hitherto colourless
dislike was turned, at once to fiercest hate. Terence was his
junior--one, too, who had brought himself, by his own acts, to
shipwreck, and had done much besides to spoil his elder's prospects.
And this fellow--six years younger than himself--was to take the bread
out of his mouth, because, forsooth, their father and mother had
postponed the mouthing of a few words!
From Shane's point of view it was monstrously unjust. By right of
father and of mother he was Lord Glandore. He could not--would
not--be commonly civil to this fellow, who might, some of these days,
eject him from all that made life pleasant. Vainly his unhappy mother
argued. The case, he persisted, stood thus, and no otherwise. She
could not alter what was done, if she talked till Doomsday. Vainly she
vowed that the secret lay between him and her and Mrs. Gillin. He must
not be rude to Mrs. Gillin, or jilt her daughter, all at once. That
amourette must be allowed to dwindle by slow degrees, till it should
fade out from sheer lack of sustenance. Meanwhile he must make up to
Doreen and be civil to Terence, trusting that events would shape
themselves rightly after all. If the worst came to the worst, his
mother would speak solemnly to Terence, reminding him of the oath he
made by his father's death-bed that he would be loyal to the
elder-born, and adjure him not to stain his soul by perjury. At
mention of that circumstance Shane pished and pshawed, for at best it
was an oath wrung wrongfully from a little lad; and he felt with
dismay that if she was inclined to cling to such broken reeds as that,
her hopes could not be so rosy as she pretended. Sometimes, in
despair, he determined to throw up the game; to seek better fortune in
some foreign service; to offer his sword and courage to Austria or
Prussia; then, in reckless mood, he would veer round, swearing that he
would hold by his coronet till it was torn out of his grasp; that the
grave would be preferable to disgrace and beggary. This mood assumed
after a while the upper hand; and under its influence he did things
which capped his earlier fame as King of Cherokees, and bade fair to
land him in a madhouse.
He gave way more and more to drink. His conduct became daily less
trammelled by accepted rules. He took up a passion for hunting in the
night. To his dogs, who followed their noses, it was all one whether
they tracked their prey by rays of sun or moon. To carry out my Lord
Glandore's conceit, however, it was necessary to provide flambeaux. A
number of servants, well mounted, led the way with torches over drain
and wall, and the shuddering cottiers, startled from sleep by a
nocturnal 'Tallyho!' turned round again to resume their broken rest,
muttering that it was not hell let loose, only mad Glandore.
Perhaps his uncertain future urged him to break his neck like a
gentleman; perhaps he only sought in oddity a refuge from his muddled
thoughts. At any rate, he soon became the talk of Dublin, and his
mother grew daily more haggard and more wan.
Among the men whom Shane met every day in the capital was Mr. Cassidy,
who, by dint of haymaking during the brief time when the sun shone,
had materially improved his position in life. Hand and glove with
Major Sirr, who watched young Robert like a lynx, and whose private
duties on behalf of union were no less important than they had been in
preceding years, he managed to stuff his nest with comfortable
wadding, manufactured chiefly from bank-notes. He took care that
Government should know that but for him Tone would have escaped, and
Terence possibly, and many others. He cultivated the powerful, bullied
the timid, flattered the vain, duped the credulous, amused the
convivial. He received a handsome pension (as depository of awkward
secrets), which raised him for ever above the rank of a half-mounted
to that of a gentleman to the backbone; received splendid presents
from suspected persons who quaked before a vision of Fort George; laid
money by; was altogether a prosperous individual, with a band of spies
under his own orders--the flower and pride of the Staghouse garden.
And prosperity sat well upon his jolly features. Impunity gave him
_aplomb_. His clothes were handsome, his entertainments festive. He
could sing a song or crack a bottle against any man alive. He was not
puffed up by success. It was but natural that he should be elected by
acclamation a Cherokee; a Blaster; that he should be welcomed among
the set of drunken, swearing, fighting daredevils by Shane, their
leader, who had always been his patron. The influence of so merry a
blade was sure to become great amongst the rackety M.P.'s, who would
shortly be called upon to vote. Promises of great things to come were
freely made by the chancellor and his colleague Castlereagh, if those
who inclined to backsliding were well kept to the sticking-point.
Now a very brilliant idea burst at the right moment from the brain of
Mr. Cassidy--an idea which showed that he understood the foibles of
his countrymen, and well knew how best to play on them. Watchful
Europe decided some time before that the Irish senate was hopelessly
disgraced, and branded its members with a verdict of moral cowardice.
They could not with truth deny the soft impeachment, yet they
attempted to justify themselves by showing that physically at least
they were no cowards. Shane was but one example out of many. 'Fighting
Fitzgerald' was even more wild than he. The palm of perfect
Cherokeeism was awarded to Lord Glandore in some measure from
consideration of his rank. The Lords and Commons made up for the moral
cowardice, of which they were notoriously guilty, by an extra amount
of blustering and ruffling. They were aristocratic bravoes. Their
hands were always on their swords. What better opportunity for a
little 'play' than diversity of political opinion? Mr. Cassidy
(newly elected to Daly's, hard by the senate-house) proposed
that covers should be laid there every day, at Government expense,
for--say--thirty or forty guests at least, who could thus be counted
upon, on an emergency, to swell the ranks of the Government party in
either House; and who, inflamed with wine and enthusiasm, would be
delighted to shoot down, or spit, on shortest notice, any unwise
person who should disagree from the opinions of their amphitryon.
This project was thought ingenious, and was acted on. The feasts
were known as 'pistol-dinners,' and took place--either at Daly's
or in a committee-room adjoining, until their _raison d'etre_ had
ceased--under the superintendence of Mr. Cassidy, who, wise enough to
assume for a purpose a lower seat, placed this or that lord _en
evidence_, as circumstances seemed to dictate. It was only natural
that he should push forward as much as possible his patron, Lord
Glandore; and the latter, as he grew more reckless and more
claret-stained, came to glory in the unenviable privilege, and to put
trust in the cheery friend who once was proud to be his slave.
He told him his passing woes, asked his advice, and sometimes took it.
If you are sorely troubled, and in your anxiety to conceal that you
are losing your nerve, force yourself on to preposterous deeds of
prowess, there is much comfort to be obtained from the sympathetic
ring of a jolly voice, the warm clasp of a shoulder-of-mutton hand.
Cassidy, too, was so open and so innocent--so easily seen through.
Lord Glandore felt a sort of disdain for him, dubbing him, with
patrician condescension, a big grown-up baby, and so forth--even
whilst he clutched for support the giant's burly arm. And Cassidy was
no whit offended, laughing more loudly than ever as his patron's jests
waxed broader--till the windows shook again, and the sound-waves
carried a shimmer of his braying from Daly's to the House of Peers.
Sometimes Lord Clare deigned to encourage his satellites by appearing
in person, during an interval of debate, at a pistol-dinner, whilst
Lord Castlereagh was entertaining on a grand scale at home. Then were
toasts drunk with three times three--Government toasts, to which the
chancellor responded in a voice broken by emotion, with a lowly visage
and hand pressed on heart; toasts which were borne on the air out of
open windows to the ears of passers-by, who, scowling, hurried away.
Then, fired by his hints, the pot-valiant heroes would rush forth and
run a-muck--a right jovial way of finishing an evening from the point
of view of a Cherokee; and the chancellor, protesting that the boys
really were too lively and amusing, would return to the House alone by
the private covered way.
One evening, when appearing amongst them to announce that the crisis
was close at hand, he professed to be mightily alarmed by the
proceedings of the opposition party. These were in the habit of
meeting at my Lord Charlemont's, and on this occasion, he said with
sorrow, they had dared to insult the King, in the person of his
ministers, by burning himself and Lord Castlereagh in effigy in the
middle of Stephen's Green. The chancellor said that it was most unkind
and inconsiderate. Yet with Christian meekness he implored the
faithful servants of his Majesty to take no notice of the outrage. The
result was as he intended. With a wild war-whoop the lords and M.P.'s
rose up from dinner, dragging the tablecloth with them in their zeal,
and rushed off to Stephen's Green to fight it out. The anti-unionists
were speedily put to flight, for they were few. By this means, and
such tricks as this, did the crafty minister strive to browbeat the
timid, many of whom, unassailable from any other point, were to be
coerced into submission by the bullet-test.
Two only of the diners remained behind--both of whom were usually in
the very van--Lord Glandore and Cassidy. The former was much out of
sorts. The latter, certain that there was something on his mind, lay
in wait to discover what it could be. He was very fond of penetrating
other people's mysteries, was Mr. Cassidy--for it is astonishing how
an ingenious mind can turn them to its own advantage--and Mr. Cassidy
was always on the prowl to pick up stray wadding for his nest. He
therefore, with a look of concern, sat down beside my lord, whose face
lay on his arms upon the table, and rallied him about his evident
depression.
'Come, come!' he cried, with a pat of his great hand. 'Sure your
lordship's head was not well seasoned in its youth. What ails ye? The
claret's good enough.'
'I wish I could be drowned in it!' Shane muttered with despondency;
'and then there'd be an end. There was a Duke of Clarence killed that
way, you know--lucky fellow!'
'Is it kilt? 'Deed and your lordship won't come to so mean a death,
I'll warrant; though ye're mighty careless of your life--more than I'd
be if all you have was mine.'
Shane started up with a fierce glare. Everybody's chance arrows seemed
winged to stick into his flanks. But he saw nothing in the giant's
flat, round visage but an engaging air of humour and unguarded
openness. What a good-natured face! Shane, weaker than his mother,
yearned for sympathy and consolation; the secret she had carried so
long with heroic fortitude ate into his softer fibre, and devoured
him. He was at his small wits' end to know how to act. Cassidy's warm
heart and kindly friendship might perchance suggest something. Out of
the mouths of babes and sucklings wisdom has come ere now. Acting on
the impulse, Shane, with maudlin tears, swore his dear friend to
solemn secrecy, and amidst a coruscation of cries and curses, blurted
out the story which we wot of.
'What a cruel, cruel world it was!' he wailed, 'and what a bitter fate
was his! He would certainly come to be a beggar--would be thrown out
upon the world an outcast, he, who was not fitted to battle with
it--for my lady was very queer in her ways, would be certain to tell
Terence some day, just as she had told him. Why had she ever told him?
wicked and unnatural mother to cause him such harrowing grief! Why was
not Terence hanged? Why didn't they send him to Fort George? Once
taken out of sight, the chances of my lady's blabbing would be
lessened.'
Cassidy sat listening to his rambling lamentations, with his
china-blue eyes staring vacantly; then hummed to himself the words of
the old song while his nimble brain was working:
'A jackdaw noble, glittering in the plumes
Of the old race, whose honours he assumes!'
'My lady--my lady! It's always your mother ye're bothering about,'
he said presently. 'Sure, your lordship's not tied to my lady's
apron-string!'
But Shane's babble, once set going, was not to be stemmed by pertness.
He proceeded to unfold all her suggestions, mingled with his own
doubts and hopes and fears; and as he talked on, new ideas sprang into
shape, which hitherto had lain indistinct and dormant. He told of
Doreen and her fortune, and how he would like to marry her if he could
get rid of her directly afterwards--of how fortunate it was that he
had sold his parliamentary interest so well--of how Terence had
rebuked him on that subject, and what a crackbrained lunatic he
was--girt round with old-fashioned prejudice--beset with starched
quirks and rubbish.
Cassidy's eyes twinkled, for he detected a glittering piece of wadding
which would suit his nest right well--a precious piece of wadding made
of revenge and self-interest interwoven--a rare piece of wadding which
should be his if craft could win it.
'Would Miss Wolfe have your lordship?' he said carelessly; 'sure, it's
many a colleen that'd jump at your refined appearance, let alone your
wealth. But she----' the sentence remained unfinished, out of respect.
He would not make disagreeable remarks to his patron for anything
whatever. He therefore whistled in a deprecating and provoking manner,
while the latter echoed pettishly:
'But she--what?'
'Maybe I'd best not tell ye! Well--if ye will have it--she--I fear
she's sweet upon another gintleman--that's bad?'
Shane was fairly startled. It had never struck him that she could have
already given herself away--to whom? As her form began to appear
shadowy, he, with the usual inconsistency of man, began to hanker
wildly after the ice-maiden--not for herself of course, but for the
money-box.
'It's not possible!' he cried.
''Deed 'tis!' returned the other, with compassion. 'She's deep in love
with Councillor Crosbie. I've known it this long while.'
Shane ground his teeth and sprang upon his feet. This last blow was
too much. What! this interloper was going to rob him of his birthright
and his name, and, not content with that, was also going to take the
precious ice-maiden, whose paltry little stockingful would at least
keep hunger from the pauper's door. In an access of rage Shane paraded
up and down the club-room like a tiger. Inflamed by his own critical
condition he lashed himself into savage unreasoning passion, and
Cassidy whistled softly before the fire, with his big legs stretched
out and his fists deep in his pockets, until the young man should have
attained the requisite degree of heat. Then, when he judged the
patient's temper to be sufficiently exasperated, he passed his arm
through his, and in a low coaxing voice poured poison in his ear while
the two walked. Sure, his lordship must take the bull by the horns and
act promptly, unless he was satisfied to sit with hands before him and
lose all. He must take measures to prevent Master Terence from seeing
any more of his mother or of Miss Doreen until something could be
definitely settled.
Shane half understood, and his blood tingled.
How did his lordship's father espouse her ladyship? Was it not after
the then prevailing fashion of high-spirited Irish gentlemen? Did he
not carry her off before all competitors, as many another noble member
of the Abduction Club had carried away his bride? True, the Abduction
Club had ceased to exist five and twenty years ago; but in the present
unsettled condition of the country, there was no reason why a leaf
should not be taken from its book. Lord Kilwarden would hush the
matter up, which would merely be a little scandal, strictly limited
within the family circle. Miss Doreen would be Madam Shane: good luck
to the winsome colleen! Her money would be his--so would be the
forty-five thousand pounds for which he had sold his vote. Come what
might, then, there would be no need to talk of drowning himself in
claret--of being thrust forth a beggar in the world.
Shane listened and brightened up. The abduction idea was good, and
jumped with his Irish romance. He would marry the ice-maiden without
having to woo her--a proceeding that he knew he could not accomplish.
But how about Terence? He would interfere--knight of the rueful
countenance though he professed to be. My lady too--what should
prevent her from speaking before these arrangements could be carried
out? The ruinous words were on the tip of her tongue. Terence was at
Strogue, and bound to remain there. He could not leave the grounds
without breaking his parole.
Cassidy was delivered of a real inspiration; and nothing could be
easier than to carry it out. Did not the chancellor say only an hour
ago that the tussle was close at hand--that the Great Measure was to
be again brought forward without delay? Well then. Master Terence must
disappear. Nonsense! No _sbirri_ in long cloaks as in an opera. Major
Sirr and faithful Cassidy could manage that. He could be locked up by
an error of orders just for a little. Was he not a state-prisoner on
parole? and was not the younger Emmett--foolish young scapegrace, who
thought he concealed his identity under the name of Hewitt--busily
preparing to dash his head against a wall? What easier than to suggest
that Councillor Crosbie--already so gravely compromised--had broken
his parole and gone off to join the baby-conspirators? The Battalion
would come up by dozens to swear it. They would minutely describe
where and how--the other side of the country--they had captured him a
second time; would claim rewards for doing so. Afterwards he should be
forthcoming without a hair of his head being injured--his affectionate
brother need not fear for his life. Apologies would be made if need
were (for Government seemed determined to treat him very leniently),
and all would be right as a trivet. Whether any one would speak or no,
so that later on he might assume his title, was an after
consideration. By the time he was released, Lord Glandore would have
voted; Doreen would be Madam Shane; Lord Kilwarden would have blessed
his children. The matter would be settled--Shane would be safely
provided for. If the rumour of the councillor's escape and the
breaking of his parole were deftly managed, his own friends would be
disgusted; his mother, even, would see that confession would not help
matters; Government would wash its hands of so determined a Croppy,
when, the measure carried, his influence would be null and void. It
would be very much more likely than not that those who could speak
would irrevocably decide--after the escapade which they would father
on him--that the secret must be kept for ever.
Shane was amazed and delighted. The babe and suckling had spoken
wisdom indeed--admirable! Verily the best plans are the most simple
ones, and nothing could be simpler than this. It was not possible more
cleverly to meet every difficulty, to countercheck every contingency,
than by this subtle scheme. He promised himself in the future to make
Terence a splendid allowance as a salve to his own conscience--so soon
as he held his portion of the blood-money, and Doreen's stocking and
his marquisate, and a certainty that nobody would blab. So easily are
we inclined to believe what suits us that his bugbear vanished into
the air. Terence would never know. The crisis past, the prospective
marquis would score a point before the world by laying claim to his
brother's liberty, feigning to demand it for state services, instead
of promotion in the peerage. Of course everybody would applaud so
gracious, so affectionate an act. He would receive both favours. The
clouds which threatened to smother him were melting unaccountably
before a magic wand. How strange that the man who had power to work so
potent a spell should be stupid blundering Cassidy!
He clasped the giant warmly by the paw, vowing eternal gratitude if he
would see to this at once. Would he also consider as to what favour
the prospective Marquis of Glandore should ask the Government for his
dear friend--his excellent friend--his saviour?
Cassidy laughed with a great guffaw, which was not all innocence, at
the change which his suggestions had worked. It was just possible that
things would not turn out quite as the future marquis saw them. In a
case of abduction there may be a rescue. The rescuer may carry off the
prize. What if Doreen, instead of becoming by main force Madam Shane,
were to return to the world as Madam Cassidy? The giant had an eye to
that stocking, not for his patron but himself. He also had a consuming
desire to possess its mistress--all the more that she had twice
refused him; that she had declined his acquaintance altogether since
the little party at Glas-aitch-e. It would be a fine revenge to
possess her by right of conquest--a fine revenge on her and on the
odious Terence. No; it was hardly likely that the giant intended to
permit Miss Wolfe to become Madam Shane.