So cunning, like the doubling of the hare,
Oft turns upon itself.
Bell.
It was a rainy day,--one of those downright pelting, pouring, swooping
wet days which Ireland is accustomed to, for nearly one half of every
year. All out-of-door occupation was impossible; the most fidgety could
only get as far as the stables, to smoke a cigar and “chaff” horse-talk
with the grooms; while the more resigned wandered from room to room, and
place to place, in that restlessness that defies common philosophy to
subdue.
A wet day in a country house is always a severe trial. Sociability will
not be coerced, and the greater the necessity for mutual assistance,
the less is the disposition to render it; besides, they who habitually
contribute least to the enjoyment of their fellows have always great
resources of annoyance at such periods,--as the most insignificant
instrument in the orchestra can at any moment destroy the harmony of the
band.
Scarcely was breakfast over in Tubbermore than the guests were scattered
in various directions, it was difficult to say where. Now and then,
some one would peep into the drawing-room or the library, and, as if not
seeing “the right man,” shut the door noiselessly, and depart. Of the
younger men, many were sleeping off the debauch of the previous evening.
Downie Meek, who had a theory upon the subject, always kept his bed
while it rained. Sir Andrew had, unfortunately, mistaken a lotion
containing laudanum for some concoction of bitters, and was obliged
to be kept eternally walking up and down stairs, along corridors and
passages, lest he should drop asleep; his man, Flint, accompanying him
with “the wakeful announcement” of “Hae a care, Sir Andrew; here 's
my leddy,”--an antidote to the narcotic worth all the Pharmacopoeia
contained.
Lady Janet was meanwhile deep in the formation of a stomachic, which,
judging from the maid's face as she tasted it, must needs have been of
the pungent order. Mrs. White was letter-writing. Howie was sketching
heads of the company, under the title of “Beauties of Ireland,” for a
weekly newspaper. Frobisher was instructing Miss Meek in the science of
making knee-caps for one of his horses; and so with the remainder, a few
only were to be seen below stairs; of these the “Chief” was fast asleep
with the “Quarterly” on his knee, and a stray subaltern or two sat
conning over the “Army List,” and gazing in stupid wonder at their
own names in print! And now we come to the Kennyfecks, at whose door
a servant stands knocking for the second or third time. “Come in” is
heard, and he enters.
The blinds are drawn, which, adding to the gloom of the day, the vast
apartment is in semi-darkness, and it is some time before you can
descry the figures. On a sofa sits Mrs. Kennyfeck in a kind of
travelling-dress, with her bonnet beside her; fragments of ribbons and
stray articles of dress litter the sofa and the table, several trunks
are strewn about, and a maid and a man are performing a _pas de deux_ on
an “imperial,” which, in its efforts to close at the lock, is giving
way simultaneously at the hinges. Miss Kennyfeck stands at the chimney
burning notes and letters, of which, as she glances from time to time,
her features betray the tenor; and, lastly, Olivia is lying on a sofa,
her face concealed between her hands, and only the quick palpitation of
her bosom showing that her agitation is not lulled in slumber.
“What does he say? I can't hear him with all that stamping,” said Mrs.
Kennyfeck; and her voice was not of the dulcet order.
“He says the post-horses have come, mamma, and wishes to know when he's
to come round with the carriage.”
“When I give orders for it; not till then,” said she, imperiously; and
the man, abashed in such a presence, departed.
“There, Pearse, leave it so; I cannot bear that noise any longer.
Frances, you need n't wait; I 'll send for you if I want you;” and the
servants withdrew.
“He's at least two hours away, now,” said she, addressing her eldest
daughter.
“Very nearly. It wanted only a few minutes to eleven when Mr. Cashel
sent for him.”
“I hope, Caroline, that he will remember what is due, not to himself,--I
cannot say that,--but to me, on this occasion. It is impossible that
Cashel can avoid the acknowledgment of his attentions; nothing but your
father's incompetence could permit of his escape.”
“It's too late, mamma,--altogether too late. When Aunt Fanny--”
“Don't speak of her; don't even mention her name in my presence,” cried
Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an accent of bitter anguish.
“I was merely going to observe, mamma, that her conduct has involved
us in such ridicule, that reparation of the mischief is out of the
question.”
“I wish we were away; I cannot bear to stay another day here,” said
Olivia, with a deep sigh.
“If Aunt--”
“Don't call her your aunt, Caroline,--I forbid it; she is no sister of
mine; she has been the evil genius of our family all her life long.
But for her and her wiles I had never been married to your father!
Just fancy what a position you might have had now, but for that cruel
mishap.”
The problem, to judge from Miss Kennyfeck's face, seemed difficult to
solve; but she prudently held her peace.
“You may rest assured they know it all below stairs. That odious Lady
Janet has told it in every dressing-room already.”
“And Linton, mamma,” said Caroline, whose sisterly feelings were merged
in most impartial justice,--“only fancy Linton imitating Aunt Fanny's
benediction with uplifted hands and eyes. I almost think I see him
before me, and hear the insolent shouts of laughter on every side.”
“Give me the aromatic vinegar!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an accent
like suffocation.
“I think there 's some one at the door. Come in,” cried Miss Kennyfeck;
and a very smartly dressed groom entered with a note.
“Is there any answer to this?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, listlessly, who
thought it one of the habitual invitations to some excursion in a
carriage or on horseback.
“Yes, my Lady,” said the servant, bowing.
The title sounded pleasantly, and Mrs. K.'s features relaxed as she
broke the seal.
Ah, Mrs. Kennyfeck, indolently and carelessly as you hold that small
epistle in your fingers, it cost him who wrote it many a puzzling
thought, and many a fair sheet of foolscap. Critics assure us that style
is no criterion of the labor of composition, and that Johnson's rounded
periods ran flippantly off the pen, while the seemingly careless
sentences of Rousseau cost days and nights of toil. The note was from
Sir Harvey Upton, and neither by its caligraphy nor grammar shed lustre
on the literary genius of his corps. It went thus:--
My dear Madam,--The beauty and fascinations of your
daughters--but more especially of the second--have
conspired to inspire me with sentiments of respectful
admiration, which may speedily become something warmer
should I obtain the gratifying sensation of your
approbation.
Family, fortune, and future expectations, will I fancy, be
found “all right.”
Part of the estate entailed on the baronetcy; encumbrances,
a trifle.
I am, waiting your reply, dear madam, Very respectfully
yours,
Harvey Upton,
----Hussars.
“Shall we write, Cary?” whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck, in the very faintest
of tones.
“Better not, mamma; a verbal 'happy to see Sir Harvey,' safer,” was the
answer.
Mrs. Kennyfeck yielded to the sager counsel, and the servant departed
with the message.
“We may leave the matter entirely with Livy, mamma,” said her sister,
half sarcastically; “I opine that innocence, upon the present occasion,
will carry the day.”
“I am glad of it,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “I am fatigued and out of
spirits: I 'd rather not receive visitors.”
“A white frock and a little sentiment,--a sprig of jessamine and a bit
of poetry!” said Miss K., as she arranged her hair at the glass; “only
don't overdo it, Livy.”
“I 'd much rather you 'd not go!” said Olivia, languidly.
“Of course, my dear, we are perfectly aware of that; but we have our
duties also. Mamma must take care that Aunt Fanny does not 'give you
away' before you 're asked for; and I must see what the result of papa's
interview with Cashel may be, lest you should make a bad market while a
good bid is being offered.”
“Clever creature!” murmured Mrs. Kennyfeck, as she rose to leave the
room.
“It will seem so odd, mamma, that I'm to receive him, alone!”
“Not at all, Livy; we are packing up to go off: there are the trunks
and cap-cases all strewn about. You can be engaged with Frances, and
send her to summon us when Sir Harvey comes,” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“Just so, my dear; and then you 'll entreat of him to sit down,--all
as if you had heard nothing of his note; you 'll be quite lively and
natural in your manner.”
“Ah, mamma, remember what Talleyrand said to the Emperor: 'Give me the
instructions, sire, but leave the knavery to myself.' My sweet sister is
quite diplomatic enough to re-echo it.”
Livy looked reproachfully at her, but said nothing.
“If I discover, my dear, that the high prize is on your ticket, I 'll
wear a handkerchief round my neck. Without you see this emblem, don't
discard your baronet.”
“Mamma, is this quite fair?” said Olivia. “Cary speaks as if my heart
had no possible concern in the matter.”
“Quite the reverse, my dear; but bear in mind that you have only one
heart, and it would not be altogether discreet to give it away to two
parties. Cary is always right, my love, in morals as in everything
else!”
“And how am I to behave, mamma,” said Olivia, with more courage than
before, “if I am neither to refuse nor accept Sir Harvey's proposals?”
“Did you never flirt, Livy dearest? Doesn't every partner with whom you
dance twice of the same evening make advances that are neither repelled
nor received? The silliest boarding-school miss that ever blushed
before her Italian teacher knows how to treat such difficulties, if they
deserve the name. But we are delaying too long. Mamma! to your post,
while I, in the library, establish a strict blockade over papa.”
With these words Miss Kennyfeck waved her hand affectedly in adieu,
and led her mother from the room; while Olivia, after a second's pause,
arose and arrayed more smoothly the silky tresses of her hair before the
glass.
We have once already, in this veracious narrative, been ungallant enough
to peep at this young lady, and coolly watch her strategy before the
enemy. We will not repeat the offence, nor linger to mark how, as she
walked the room, she stopped from time to time before the mirror to gaze
on charms which expectancy had already heightened; in fact, we will
quit the chamber with Mrs. Kennyfeck and her elder daughter, and as the
choice is permitted which to follow, we select the latter.
“Here 's Miss Kennyfeck, by Jove!” cried Jennings, as she crossed the
hall. “We have all been dying to see you; pray come here and give us
your counsel.” And he led her into a small drawing-room, where,
around a table covered with prints and colored drawings of costume, a
considerable number of the guests were assembled.
“For mercy's sake, nothing out of the Waverley novels!” said the blond
lady. “I am wearied of seeing the Jewess Rebecca wherever I go.”
“Well, I'll be Diana Vernon, I know that,” said Miss Meek; “you may all
choose how you please.”
“But you can't be, my love, if we have the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,'”
said Mrs. White.
“Why can't I, if Charley takes Osbaldiston?” said she.
“Because they are not characters of the piece.”
“Nobody cares for character in a masquerade!” said Linton.
“Or if they have any, they put a mask over it,” said Lady Janet
“I vote that we are all Tyrolese peasanths,” lisped the fat and dumpy
Mrs. Malone. “It's a most picthuresque costhume.”
“What will you be, Sir Andrew?” cried another, as the old general passed
the door in a dog-trot, with Flint behind him.
“By me saul! I thenk I'll be the Wanderin' Jew!” cried he, wiping the
perspiration off his forehead.
“You hear that, Lady Janet?” said Linton, roguishly. “Sir Andrew intends
to live forever.”
“So that I don't, sir, I can't complain,” said she, with a tartness
quite electric.
“I incline to leave the choice of each free,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as
she tossed over the drawings. “When you select a story, there are always
a certain number of characters nobody likes to take.”
“I'll be Henri Quatre,” said an infantry captain. “I wish you 'd be
Gabrielle, Miss Kennyfeck?”
“Thanks; but I 've a fancy for that Cephalonian costume.”
“Egad! you can always pick up a 'Greek' or two, here, to keep you
company,” said a hussar; but no one joined his laugh.
“I'll be Don Belianis!” said a tall, melancholy subaltern.
“What were you at Bellingden's last year, Fillymore?”
“I went as 'Chiffney;' but they turned me out. The whole was mediaeval,
and they said I was all wrong.”
“Try that turban, my dear Miss Kennyfeck,” said Mrs. White, who,
suspecting the young lady wore false ringlets, made a vigorous effort to
expose the cheat.
“By Jove! how becoming!” exclaimed Jennings. “Now, put on the
mantle,--not over the right shoulder, but so,--crossed a little.”
“You ought to have this scarf round your neck,” said another; “blue and
gold have such an excellent effect.”
“I vote for your wearing that,” said the hussar, quite smitten with her
beauty. “What do they call the dress?”
“Costume of Leopoldine of Eschingen, who defended the 'Irongate' against
the Turks, in 1662.”
“Where was that?” asked one.
“In somebody's avenue, I suppose,” lisped out the tall sub.
“No, no; it 's on some river or other. There's a cataract they call the
Irongate,--I forget where.”
“The Lethe, perhaps,” said Miss Kennyfeck, slyly.
“Is not that a pace! by Jove! Cashel 's in a hurry. This way,” said
Jennings; and they all rushed to the window in time to see Roland flit
past at a full gallop.
Miss Kennyfeck did not wait for more; but, throwing off the turban and
mantle, hastened out to catch her father, who, at the same instant, was
issuing from the library..
“Now, pa,” said she, slipping her arm within his, “how is it to be?
Pray, now, don't affect the mysterious, but say at once,--has he
proposed?”
“Who? has who proposed?”
“Mr. Cashel, of course. How could I mean any other?”
“For you, my dear?” said he, for once venturing upon a bit of raillery.
“Pshaw, pa; for Olivia!”
“Nothing of the kind, my dear. Such a subject has never been alluded to
between us.”
“Poor thing! she has been badly treated, then, that's all! It would,
however, have saved us all a world of misconception if you had only said
so at first; you must own that.”
“But you forget, Miss Kennyfeck, that I never supposed you entertained
this impression. Mr. Cashel's conversation with me related exclusively
to the affairs of his property.”
“Poor Livy!” said Miss Kennyfeck, letting go his arm and ascending the
stairs. As Miss Kennyfeck drew near the door of the drawing room, she
began to sing sufficiently loud to be heard by those within, and thus,
judiciously heralding her approach, she opened the door and entered.
Sir Harvey had been standing beside the chimney-piece with Olivia, but
turned hastily round, his countenance exhibiting that state of mingled
doubt, fear, and satisfaction, which vouched for the cleverness of the
young lady's tactics. Nothing, in truth, could have been more adroit
than her management; performing a feat which among naval men is known
as “backing and filling,” she succeeded in manoeuvring for nigh an hour,
without ever advancing or retiring. We should be unwilling to deny our
reader the value of a lesson, did we not feel how the fairer portion of
our audience would weary over a recital, in every detail of which they
could instruct our ignorance.
The late Lord Londonderry was famed for being able to occupy “the
house” for any given time without ever communicating a fact, raising a
question, solving a difficulty, or, what is harder than all, committing
_himself_. But how humbly does this dexterity appear beside the
young-lady-like tact that, opposed by all the importunity of a lover,
can play the game in such wise that after fifty-odd minutes the “pieces”
should stand upon the board precisely as they did at the beginning!
“How do you do, Sir Harvey? Why are you not on that committee of costume
in the little drawing-room where the great question at issue is between
the time of the crusades and the swell mob?”
“I have been far more agreeably occupied, in a manner that my
feelings”--here Olivia looked disappointed,--“my heart, I mean,” said
he--and the young lady looked dignified--“my feelings and my heart,
too,” resumed be, horribly puzzled which tack to sail upon, “assure me
must nearly concern my future happiness.”
“How pleasant!” said Cary, laughingly, as if she accepted the speech as
some high-flown compliment; “you are so fortunate to know what to do on
a dreary wet day like this.”
Olivia, whose eyes were bent upon her sister, changed color more than
once. “The signal was flying,” “Stop firing,” just at the moment
when the enemy had all but “struck;” in less figurative phrase, Miss
Kennyfeck's throat was encircled by the scarf which she had forgotten to
lay aside on leaving the drawing-room.
The object was too remarkable to escape notice, and Olivia's face grew
scarlet as she thought of her triumph.
Miss Kennyfeck saw this, but attributed the agitation to anything but
its true cause.
“I 'm in search of mamma,” said she, and with a very peculiar glance at
Olivia, left the room.
Sir Harvey's visit lasted full twenty minutes longer; and although no
record has been preserved of what passed on the occasion, they who met
him descending the stairs all agreed in describing his appearance as
most gloomy and despondent. As for Olivia, she saw the door close after
him with a something very like sorrow. There was no love in the case,
nor anything within a day's journey of it; but he was good-looking,
fashionable, well-mannered, and mustachioed. She would have been “my
lady,” too; and though this is but a “brevet nobility” after all, it has
all “the sound of the true metal.” She thought over all these things;
and she thought, besides, how very sad he looked when she said “No;”
and, how much sadder, when asked the usual question about “time, and
proved devotion, and all that sort of thing,” she said “No,” again; and
how, saddest of all, when she made the stereotyped little speech about
“sisterly affection, and seeing him happy with another!” Oh dear! oh
dear! is it not very wearisome and depressing to think that chess can
have some hundred thousand combinations, and love-making but its two or
three “gambits,”--the “fool's-mate” the chief of them? We have said she
was sorry for what had occurred; but she consoled herself by remembering
it was not her fault that Sir Harvey was not as rich as Cashel, and
nephew to a live uncle!
As Sir Harvey's “lady”--Heaven forgive me, I had almost written
“wife”--she would have been the envy of a very large circle of her
Dublin acquaintance; and then she knew that these dragoon people have a
way of making their money go so much further than civilians; and in all
that regards horses, equipage, and outward show, the smartest “mufti”
is a seedy affair beside the frogs of the new regulation pelisse! She
actually began to feel misgivings about her choice. A high drag at the
Howth races, a crowd of whiskered fellows of “ours,” and the band of the
regiment in Merrion Square, came home to her “dear Dublin” imagination
with irresistible fascination. In her mind's eye, she had already cut
the “bar,” and been coldly distant with the infantry. It was a little
revery of small triumphs, but the sum of them mounted up to something
considerable.
“Is he gone, Livy?” said Cary, as, entering noiselessly, she stole
behind her sister's chair.
“Yes, dear, he is gone!” said she, sighing slightly.
“My poor forlorn damsel, don't take his absence so much to heart! You
're certain to see him at dinner!”
“He said he'd leave this afternoon,” said she, gravely; “that he could
n't bear to meet me after what had passed.”
“And what has passed, child?”
“You know, of course, Cary; I refused him!”
“Refused him!--refused him!--what possessed you to do so?”
“This!” said Olivia, gasping with terror at the unknown danger; and she
caught hold of the fringe of her sister's scarf. Miss Kennyfeck started,
and put her hand to her neck, and, suddenly letting it fall again, she
leaned against the wall for support.
“This was a mistake, Livy,” said she, in a voice barely above a whisper;
“I was trying on some costumes below stairs, and they tied this round my
neck, where I utterly forgot it.”
“And there is nothing--” She could not go on, but, hanging her head,
burst into tears.
“My poor dear Livy, don't give way so; the fault, I know, was all mine.
Let me try if I cannot repair it Have you positively refused him?”
She nodded, but could not speak.
“Did you say that there was no hope,--that your sentiments could never
change?”
“I did.”
“Come, that's not so bad; men never believe that. You did n't say that
your affections were engaged?”
“No!”
“There 's a dear child,” said she, kissing her neck; “I knew you 'd
not be guilty of such folly. And how did you part, Livy,--coldly, or in
affectionate sorrow?”
“Coldly; we did not shake hands.”
“That's right; all as it ought to be. It is a sad blunder, but I hope
not irreparable. Cheer up, child; depend upon it, _my_ scarf is not so
fatal as Aunt Fanny's blessing.”
“Ah, then, my dear, I don't see much difference in the end,” said that
redoubtable lady herself, who issued from a small conservatory off the
drawing-room, where she had lain in wait for the last half hour. “I
heard it, my dears, and a nice hash you made of it between you, with
your signals and telescopes,”--we believe she meant telegraphs;
“you threw out the dirty water, now, in earnest!” And so saying, she
proceeded to disentangle herself from a prickly creeper which had a most
pertinacious hold of what Linton called her “scalp-lock.”
“Aunt Fanny's blessing indeed!” said she, for her temper knew no bounds
when she saw the enemy silenced. “'T is little harm that would have
done, if ye did n't take to screaming about it; as if any man could bear
that! You drove him away, my dear, just the way your own mother did poor
Major Cohlhayne,--with hard crying,--till he said, 'he 'd as soon go to
a wake as take tay in the house.' And sure enough, she had to take up
with your poor father, after! Just so. I never knew luck come of signals
and signs. When the good thing 's before you, help yourself. My poor
father used to say, 'Don't pass “the spirits” because there 's claret at
the head of the table; who knows if it 'll ever come down to you?' And
there you are, now! and glad enough you 'd be to take that curate I saw
in Dublin, with the smooth face, this minute. I don't blame you as much
as your poor foolish mother; she has you as she reared you. Bad luck to
you for a plant!” cried she, as the ingenious creeper insinuated itself
among the meshes of her Limerick lace collar. “Cary, just take this out
for me;” but Cary was gone, and her sister with her. Nor did Aunt Fanny
know how long her eloquence had been purely soliloquy.
She looked around her for a moment at the deserted battle-field, and
then slowly retired.