“'Like Dido's self,' she said, 'I'm free!
Trojan or Tyrian are alike to me.'”
There was but one species of tyranny Mr. Kennyfeck ever attempted in his
family: this was, to shroud with a solemn mystery every little event in
his professional career which he saw excited any curiosity with his wife
and daughters. It was true that on such occasions he became a mark for
most sneering insinuations and derisive commentaries, but he rose with
the dignity of a martyr above all their taunts, and doubtless felt in
his heart the supporting energy of a high-priest standing watch over the
gate of the Temple.
The few pencilled lines by Cashel, which had summoned him to the meeting
recorded in the last chapter, he threw into the fire as soon as he had
read, and then arising from the breakfast-table, dryly observed,--
“Don't wait breakfast, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I shall not be back for some
time.”
“Another secret, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife, scoffingly.
He only smiled in reply.
“It ought to be a duel, at least, pa,” said his eldest daughter, “from
the urgent haste of your departure.”
“Or a runaway couple, who wish to have the settlements--”
“Is that all you know of the matter, Livy?” said her sister,
laughing heartily; “why, child, your Gretna Green folks never have
settlements--never think of them till six months later, when they are
wanting to separate.”
“Is there any occasion for mystery in this case?” rejoined Mrs.
Kennyfeck, haughtily.
“To be sure there may, my dear,” broke in Aunt Fanny; “there 's many
a dirty thing the lawyers have to do they 'd be ashamed to own before
their families.”
Even this did not move Mr. Kennyfeck, and, although from the way he
nestled his chin behind the folds of his white cravat, and a certain
scarcely perceptible shake of the head, it was clear he longed to refute
the foul aspersion.
“I suppose you will appear at dinner, sir?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with
her grandest air.
“I hope so, Mrs. Kennyfeck,” was the mild answer.
“Without you should take it into your head, pa, to enter into rivalry
with Mr. Linton, and stay away, heaven knows where or how long,” said
Miss Kennyfeck.
Mr. Kennyfeck did not wait for more, but left the room with an air whose
solemnity well suited any amount of secrecy.
“Is there a carriage at the door?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“No, mamma; there are three saddle-horses--one with a side-saddle. That
odious Miss Meek!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck; “what Lord Charles can see
in her I cannot conceive. To be sure, she saves a stable-boy the more,
and that to him is something.”
“Has your father gone out by the back terrace?” resumed Mrs. Kennyfeck,
one only theme occupying her thoughts.
Olivia retired into an adjoining room, and soon returned, saying,--
“No, ma; there's no one there, except Sir Andrew and Lady Janet, taking
their morning walk.”
“Their run, rather, my dear,” chimed in Miss Kennyfeck, “for she chases
the poor old man up and down with a cup of camomile tea, which either
scalds or sets him a-coughing. I 'm sure that tiresome old couple have
awoke me every day the last week with their squabbling.”
“Step down into the library, my love,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck to her
younger daughter, “and bring, me up the 'Post' or the 'St. James's
Chronicle.'”
“And if you meet Phillis, Just ask if he saw your father, for he forgot
his gloves.” And, suiting the action to the word, Aunt Fanny dived
into a cavern of an apron-pocket, and drew out a pair of knitted things
without fingers, which she offered to Olivia.
“Do no such thing, Miss Olivia Kennyfeck,” said her mamma, with an air
of imposing grandeur.
“Ma wants the newspaper, Olivia, and is not thinking of papa,” said Miss
Kennyfeck; and her eyes sparkled with a malicious fun she well knew how
to enjoy.
As Miss Olivia Kennyfeck left the room, her sister approached the
fireplace, where a small charred portion of the note thrown down by
her father was yet lying. She took it, and walking toward the window,
examined it carefully.
And while we leave her thus occupied, let us, for the reader's
information--albeit he may deem the matter trivial--give the contents as
Cashel wrote them:--
Dear Mr. Kennyfeck,--Make my excuses to Mrs. Kennyfeck
and the Demoiselles Cary and Olivia, if I deprive them of
your society this morning at breakfast, for I shall want
your counsel and assistance in the settlement of some
difficult affairs. I have been shamefully backward in paying
my respectful addresses to the ladies of your family; but
to-day, if they will permit, I intend to afford myself that
pleasure. It is as a friend, and not as my counsel learned
in law, I ask your presence with me in my library at ten
o'clock. Till then,
Believe me yours,
R. C.
Now, of this very commonplace document, a few blackened, crumpled, frail
fragments were all that remained; and these, even to the searching dark
eyes of Miss Kennyfeck, revealed very little. Indeed, had they not been
written in Cashel's hand, she would have thrown them away at once, as
unworthy of further thought. This fact, and the word “Olivia,” which she
discovered after much scrutiny, however, excited all her zeal, and she
labored now like an antiquarian who believes he has gained the clew
to some mysterious inscription. She gathered up the two or three filmy
black bits of paper which yet lay within the fender, and placing them
before her, studied them long and carefully. The word “settlement” was
clear as print.
“'Olivia and 'settlement' in the same paper,” thought she; “what can
this mean?
“Come here, mamma--Aunt Fanny--look at this for a moment,” said she,
eagerly; and the two ladies approached at her bidding.
“What is that word?” she said to Mrs. Kennyfeck; “is it not 'Olivia'?
Don't you see the end of the 'l' has been burned away, but the rest is
quite plain?”
“So it is--upon my life!--and in Cashel's hand, too!” exclaimed Mrs.
Kennyfeck.
[Illustration: 093]
“And what is that?” asked Miss Kennyfeck, triumphantly, pointing to
another word.
Aunt Fanny, with her spectacles on, bent down, and examined it long.
“'Battlement.' That is 'battlement' as clear as day,” said she.
“What nonsense, aunt--it is 'settlement.' Look at what you call a
'b'--it is an 's.'”
“Cary's quite right. The word is 'settlement,'” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in
a voice tremulous with joy.
“And there!--I hope you can read!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, “even
without your spectacles--'paying'--'addresses.'”
“Show it to me, Cary,” said her mother, eagerly. “I declare I can read
it perfectly. Is it possible?--can this be indeed true?”
“Of course it is, mamma. Will you tell me by what other coincidence
you could find Olivia's name coupled with the words 'settlement' and
'addresses' in the same note?”
“It is very suspicious, certainly,” said Aunt Fanny.
“I think it very convincing, aunt--not suspicious,” said Miss Kennyfeck,
proudly. “Here is something about 'friend,' and another word I can't
make out.”
“That's something about a 'saw,' my love,” said Aunt Fanny.
“How absurd, aunt; the word is 'law.' I have it. See--here is the
name--it is the conclusion of the note, and ran, doubtless, thus: 'Your
present friend, and future son-in-law,--R. C.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck leaned forward, and kissed her daughter's cheek with a
degree of fervor she very rarely gave way to; and then, lying back in
her chair, pressed her handkerchief to her face, while she, doubtless,
revelled in a little excursion of fancy, not the less brilliant because
tempered with anxiety.
If the moment was one of maternal ecstasy for Mrs. Kennyfeck, it was no
less one of triumphant joy to her daughter. It was _she_ who revealed
the secret meaning; her skill and ingenuity had given light to the dark
mystery, and consistency to its incoherence. What domination could be
too great for such services? It was then, like a legitimate sovereign
assuming the reins of government, she said,--
“I beg, Aunt Fanny, that you will not spoil the game this time, as most
unquestionably you did before.”
“Let us see that there is one to be spoiled, my dear,” rejoined Aunt
Fanny, snappishly.
“You are really too provoking, Fanny,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, removing her
handkerchief from two very red eyelids. “You never are satisfied when
you see us happy. Cary has shown you enough to convince any one--”
“Anyone disposed to conviction, mamma,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck,
haughtily. “Hush, here's Olivia.”
“Mr. Meek is reading the 'Post,' ma,” said the young lady, entering;
“and he has got the other papers in his pocket, but he says there's
really nothing of any interest in them.”
“I think Livy should be told, mamma,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck to her
mother.
“I quite agree with you, Cary,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “I never was a
friend to any secrecy in families. Your father, indeed, I grieve to say,
does not participate in my sentiments; but much may be excused in him,
from the habits of his profession, and, I will also say, from the class
in life he sprang from.” Here Mrs. Kennyfeck, who had spoken like one
delivering an oracle, stopped to drop a tear over the sad _mésalliance_
which had condemned her to become the wife of an attorney. “Olivia, my
dear, circumstances have disclosed the nature of the interview which
Mr. Kennyfeck would not confide to us. It is one in which you are deeply
concerned, my dear. Have you any suspicion to what I allude?”
Olivia assumed her very sweetest look of innocence, but made no reply.
“Mamma wants you to be candid enough to say, if there is anything in the
way of particular attention you may have received lately, which should
corroborate the impressions we entertain.”
Miss Kennyfeck delivered these words so categorically, that her sister
well knew how, in the event of refusal, a searching cross-examination
was reserved for her.
Olivia looked down, and a very slight embarrassment might be detected in
the quickened heaving of her chest.
“Tell us, my darling,” said Aunt Fanny, “if--if any one has, in a manner
so to say--you understand--eh?”
“Keep the blushes, Livy, for another time; they look beautiful with
orange flowers in the hair,” said her sister; “but be candid with us.”
“If you mean attentions, mamma--”
“We mean attentions, 'and something more,' as Lord Lyndburst says,”
interposed Miss Kennyfeck, who felt that she was the proper person to
conduct the inquiry.
“I cannot positively say, mamma, that we are engaged, but I believe that
if you and pa made no obstacles--if, in fact, you are satisfied that his
rank and fortune are sufficient for your expectations, as I own they are
for mine--”
“What humility!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, holding up her hands.
“Hush, Cary--go on, Livy,” said her mother.
“I have no more to say, mamma. Sir Harvey told me--”
“Sir Harvey!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“Sir Harvey Upton!” echoed Miss Kennyfeck.
“The man with the hair all over his face!” exclaimed Aunt Fanny, whose
western habits had not accustomed her to mustaches.
Olivia stared from one to the other in mingled fear and astonishment.
She suddenly saw that she had been betrayed into a confession to which
they did not possess the slightest clew; she also perceived that the
tidings, for which she anticipated a most joyous welcome, were received
with coldness and almost disdain.
“He is a baronet, mamma, with very great expectations,” said she,
proudly; for really, it was a large “bird” to bag, in the beginning of
the season, too!
“Very possibly,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, looking to her elder daughter
with that silent eloquence which the court occasionally bestows upon the
crown counsel, meaning to say: “Have you anything to reply to that?”
“Mamma is aware that Sir Harvey is a baronet, and a captain of Hussars,
and Jonas Upton of Somerton is his uncle, who may, or may not, leave him
his large estates--a circumstance, most probably, mainly dependent on
the alliance he may form in marriage.”
“Yes, indeed! my dear,” broke in Aunt Fanny; “and when the old man finds
out that 'tis only an attorney's daughter--”
“Fanny, do you mean to drive me distracted?” screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck;
“are my children to be taught to be ashamed of their father?”
“'T is a lesson they might know by heart, this time of day, my dear,”
said the inexorable Fanny, who put up her spectacles, and smoothed down
her apron,--unmistakable signs that she was preparing for battle.
“You need n't 'beat to quarters,' aunt, as Captain Luttredge says; there
is no one going to fire into you,” said Miss Kennyfeck. “The question at
present is, how is Olivia to free herself from an unhappy connection--”
“An unhappy connection!” exclaimed Livy, in amazement.
“Listen to your sister, and don't interrupt her,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“I spoke advisedly, Livy,” resumed the elder, “when I called your
connection with Sir Harvey Upton unhappy. We have just learned that far
higher views are open to you,--that no less a person than Mr. Cashel--”
“Impossible, mamma! he never notices me in the least. Our acquaintance
is scarcely more than a cold act of recognition when we meet.”
“Though love is hot sometimes, soon it grows cold,” muttered Aunt Fanny,
who believed she was quoting to the letter.
“There never was love in the case at all, aunt,” said Olivia.
“Attend to _me_, Livy,” said her sister, who seemed impatient at this
digression. “It is sufficient--it ought, at least, to be sufficient--for
you, that _we_ know Mr. Roland Cashel's intentions. It is for _you_
to establish a coolness with Sir Harvey. There is no difficulty in the
task. I could not presume to instruct _you_ in any matter of this kind,
nor will I.”
“Take a friend's advice, Livy dear, and don't throw out dirty water till
you're sure of clean.”
“What, aunt?” asked Olivia, who really was puzzled by the figurative
eloquence of her relative.
“Pshaw!” said Miss Kennyfeck, equally angry at the counsel and the
vulgarity of the expression it was couched in. “Livy, attend to _me_,”
said she again. “Mr. Cashel has sent for papa this morning to make a
formal--Hush! here is pa himself.” And Mr. Kennyfeck's heavy tread was
heard approaching the door.
Mr. Kennyfeck's sudden entrance not only closed the discussion, but left
the debaters in the difficulty of having no concerted line of conduct
respecting the new arrival; and although Mrs. Kennyfeck's eyebrows were
worked with a telegraphic activity, and Miss Kennyfeck's pantomimic
replies as promptly returned, it was clear that neither comprehended the
other. Kaunitz lays it down as an axiom that “when two wings of an army
are in presence of an enemy, and without means of rapid and certain
communication, it is always better to act on the defensive than to
attack, without some evident weak point of the adversary encourages a
forward movement.” It is more than probable that neither Mrs. Kennyfeck
nor her fair daughter had studied the authority in question, yet, with a
tact quite instinctive, they proceeded to act upon it.
“You are back early, Mr. Kennyfeck,” said his wife, with a tone of half
indifference.
Mr. Kennyfeck looked at his watch, and said it wanted twenty minutes to
twelve.
“Has Mr. Linton returned, pa?” asked Miss Kennyfeck.
“I believe not. I have not heard that he has.”
“It would be little loss if he never did!” said Aunt Fanny, as she
bit the end of an obstinate thread that would not enter the eye of her
needle.
“Oh, Aunt Fanny!” exclaimed Olivia, in a deprecating tone.
“'Pon my word, my dear, them 's my sentiments--whatever yours is.”
“Mr. Cashel certainly thinks differently,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, glad to
introduce the name uppermost in all their thoughts.
“I think of late there has been something like a coldness between
them--You see them very rarely together. Did Mr. Cashel mention his name
to you this morning, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife; and by this sudden
question revealing that they knew, at least, where he had been.
“Mere passingly, incidentally,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, evidently amazed
that his small mystery had been penetrated; then, after a slight pause,
he added, very probably with a sly malice to pique curiosity, “Mr.
Cashel is desirous of Mr. Linton's counsel on a step he meditates
taking.”
“Indeed, sir; and has he much confidence in Mr. Linton's judgment?”
“In this instance, it is likely he will follow the dictates of his own,
Mrs. Kennyfeck,” said the attorney, solemnly.
This fencing was too much for Mrs. Kennyfeck, in whom the Job-like
element was always at zero. It was an insult, too, to her understanding,
that Mr. Kennyfeck should skirmish in this fashion with _her_; and so,
drawing herself proudly up, she said,--
“Mr. Kennyfeck, I would wish to ask you, if you have, even upon one
single occasion, discovered that _my_ knowledge of the world, _my_ tact,
or _my_ intelligence, were inferior to your own?”
“Never, madam; I'm sure I never disputed the--”
“No, sir, you never dared to contest the fact, though you may have
endeavored to escape from its application. I believe, sir, the only
instance of deficient judgment I can be accused of, _you_, at least,
ought not to reproach me with. 'My family'”--this was a word Mrs.
Kennyfeck used to enunciate with an emphasis that always impressed her
husband very little provocation might possibly have made her say, “our
house”--“my family, indeed, may refuse to forgive me”--she stopped,
wiped her eyes, and then, with what seemed an heroic victory over her
feelings, went on--“but the welfare of my children, sir, may well be
conceived dear to one, who would not league to them the unhappy descent
she has herself suffered.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck paused again. It appeared as though, do what she would,
there was no escaping from the theme of her _mésalliance_ when once she
had touched it. It was very birdlime in its adhesiveness.
“When, therefore, Mr. Kennyfeck, the occasion presents itself of
resuming, through my children--for alas! it is lost to me in my own
person--the station I have forfeited, I do think that I should at least
be consulted, that my advice should be asked, and my guidance required.
Don't you think so too, sir?”
Now, of all men living, never was there one more inept to read riddles
than poor Mr. Kennyfeck, and while he averred that he perfectly
concurred in his wife's opinion, he had not the faintest glimmering of a
notion what that opinion implied.
“Don't you think, sir, also it would be better to use a little candor
with your family?”
“Yes, pa, we know all about it,” said Miss Kennyfeck, nodding
significantly.
“Ay, indeed, we had it in black and white--that is, if we can call a bit
of burnt--”
“Aunt Fanny, what are you about?” cried Miss Kennyfeck, in a voice of
real terror, for she was shocked at the meanness she did not scruple to
stoop to.
“Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck,” reiterated his wife, “we know all! If, however,
you still persist in maintaining that mysterious aspect you have assumed
with your family, I must say, sir, it is perfectly absurd.”
“It is unnecessary, too, papa,” cried Miss Kennyfeck.
“And it's unfair to that young creature,” chimed in Aunt Fanny, with
a gesture towards Olivia, who sat, _en tableau_ for injured innocence,
next a window.
Possibly, if any could have read Mr. Kennyfeck's sentiments at that
instant, they would have recognized the sufferings of a true martyr. To
his own heart he muttered,--
“This is very hard; it is being called upon to reply to a case without a
copy of the affidavits.”
At length, with a courage that he did not believe he was capable of, he
said,--
“I am confused, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I am overwhelmed; I may submit a plea of
surprise--that is, I would move the court, I mean--in fact, I must beg
you will permit me to adjourn this case.”
And with these words, and in an agitation very unusual with him, he
hastened from the room. Scarcely had the door closed after him, than he
reopened it, and putting in his head, said,--
“I should have told you, Mrs. Kennyfeck, that Mr. Cashel intends to pay
a visit here to-day.”
And so saying, he shut the door and departed.
“At last, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a voice of exultation, “you
have been obliged to confess so much at least; but, rely on it, girls,
your father is acting under Cashel's dictation, or he never would dare
to tamper in this manner with _me_.”