It was a note from Squire Egan which conveyed the news to Dick that
caused so much surprise; the details of the case were not even hinted
at; the bare fact alone was mentioned, with a caution to preserve
it still a secret from Andy, and appointing an hour for dinner at
“Morrison's” next day, at which hotel the Squire expected to arrive from
the country, with his lady and Fanny Dawson, _en route_ for London. Till
dinner-time, then, the day following, Dick was obliged to lay by his
impatience as to the “why and wherefore” of Andy's sudden advancement;
but, as the morning was to be occupied with Tom Durfy's wedding, Dick
had enough to keep him engaged in the meantime.
At the appointed hour a few of Tom's particular friends were in
attendance to witness the ceremony, or, to use their own phrase, “to see
him turned off,” and among them was Tom Loftus. Dick was holding out his
hand to “the colonel,” when Tom Durfy stepped between, and introduced
him under his real name. The masquerading trick of the night before was
laughed at, with an assurance from Dick that it only fulfilled all he
had ever heard of the Protean powers of a gentleman whom he so much
wished to know. A few minutes' conversation in the recess of a window
put Tom Loftus and Dick the Devil on perfectly good terms, and Loftus
proposed to Dick that they should execute the old-established trick on a
bridegroom, of snatching the first kiss from the bride.
“You must get in Tom's way,” said Loftus, “and I'll kiss her.”
“Why, the fact is,” said Dick, “I had proposed that pleasure to myself;
and, if it's all the same to you, _you_ can jostle Tom, and _I'll_ do
the remainder in good style, I promise you.”
“That I can't agree to,” said Loftus; “but as it appears we both have
set our heart on cheating the bridegroom, let us both start fair, and 't
is odd if between us Tom Durfy is not _done_”
This was agreed upon, and many minutes did not elapse till the bride
made her appearance, and “hostilities were about to commence.” The
mutual enemy of the “high contracting parties” first opened his book,
and then his mouth, and in such solemn tones, that it was enough to
frighten _even_ a widow, much less a bachelor. As the ceremony verged
to a conclusion, Tom Loftus and Dick the Devil edged up towards their
'vantage-ground on either side of the blooming widow, now nearly
finished into a wife, and stood like greyhounds in the slip, ready to
start after puss (only puss ought to be spelt here with a B). The widow,
having been married before, was less nervous than Durfy, and, suspecting
the intended game, determined to foil both the brigands, who intended to
rob the bridegroom of his right; so, when the last word of the ceremony
was spoken, and Loftus and Dick made a simultaneous dart upon her, she
very adroitly ducked, and allowed the two “ruggers and rievers” to rush
into each other's arms, and rub their noses together, while Tom Durfy
and his blooming bride sealed their contract very agreeably without
their noses getting in each other's way.
Loftus and Dick had only a laugh at _their own_ expense, instead of
a kiss at _Tom's_, upon the failure of their plot; but Loftus, in a
whisper to Dick, vowed he would execute a trick upon the “pair of them”
before the day was over.
There was a breakfast as usual, and chicken and tongue and wine, which,
taken in the morning, are provocative of eloquence; and, of course, the
proper quantity of healths and toasts were executed _selon la règlei,_
it was time for the bride and bridegroom to bow and blush and curtsey
out of the room, and make themselves food for a paragraph in the morning
papers, under the title of the “happy pair,” who set off in a handsome
chariot, &c., &c.
* * * * *
Tom Durfy had engaged a pretty cottage in the neighbourhood of Clontarf
to pass the honeymoon. Tom Loftus knew this, and knew, moreover, that
the sitting-room looked out on a small lawn which lay before the house,
screened by a hedge from the road, but with a circular sweep leading
up to the house, and a gate of ingress and egress at either end of the
hedge. In this sitting-room Tom, after lunch, was pressing his lady fair
to take a glass of champagne, when the entrance-gate was thrown open,
and a hackney jaunting-car with Tom Loftus and a friend or two upon
it, driven by a special ragamuffin blowing a tin horn, rolled up the
skimping avenue, and as it scoured past the windows of the sitting-room,
Tom Loftus and the other passengers kissed hands to the astonished bride
and bridegroom, and shouted, “Wish you joy!”
The thing was so sudden that Durfy and the widow, not seeing Loftus,
could hardly comprehend what it meant, and both ran to the window; but
just as they reached it, up drove another car, freighted with two or
three more wild rascals who followed the lead which had been given them;
and as a long train of cars were seen in the distance all driving up
to the avenue, the widow, with a timid little scream, threw her
handkerchief over her face and ran into a corner. Tom did not know
whether to laugh or be angry, but, being a good-humoured fellow, he
satisfied himself with a few oaths against the incorrigible Loftus, and
when the _cortège_ had passed, endeavoured to restore the startled fair
one to her serenity.
* * * * *
Squire Egan and party arrived at the appointed hour at their hotel,
where Dick was waiting to receive them, and, of course, his inquiries
were immediately directed to the extraordinary circumstance of Andy's
elevation, the details of which he desired to know. These we shall not
give in the expanded form in which Dick heard them, but endeavour
to condense, as much as possible, within the limits to which we are
prescribed.
The title of Scatterbrain had never been inherited directly from father
to son; it had descended in a zigzag fashion, most appropriate to
the name, nephews and cousins having come in for the coronet and the
property for some generations. The late lord had led a _roué_ bachelor
life up to the age of sixty, and then thought it not worth while to
marry, though many mammas and daughters spread their nets and arrayed
their charms to entrap the sexagenarian.
The truth was, he had quaffed the cup of licentious pleasure all his
life, after which he thought matrimony would prove insipid. The mere
novelty induces some men, under similar circumstances, to try the holy
estate; but matrimony could not offer to Lord Scatterbrain the charms of
novelty, for _he had been_ once married, though no one but himself was
cognisant of the fact.
The reader will certainly say, “Here's an Irish bull; how could a man be
married, without, at least, a woman and a priest being joint possessors
of the secret?”
Listen, gentle reader, and you shall hear how none but Lord Scatterbrain
knew Lord Scatterbrain was married.
There was nothing at which he ever stopped for the gratification of
his passions--no wealth he would not squander, no deceit he would
not practise, no disguise he would not assume. Therefore, gold, and
falsehood, and masquerading were extensively employed by this reckless
_roué_ in the service of Venus, in which service, combined with that of
Bacchus, his life was entirely passed.
Often he assumed the guise of a man in humble life, to approximate some
object of his desire, whom fine clothes and bribery would have instantly
warned and in too many cases his artifices were successful. It was in
one of these adventures he cast his eyes upon the woman hitherto known
in this story under the name of the Widow Rooney; but all his practices
against her virtue were unavailing, and nothing but a marriage could
accomplish what he had set his fancy upon but even _this_ would not stop
him, _for he married her_.
The Widow Rooney has appeared no very inviting personage through these
pages, and the reader may wonder that a man of rank could proceed to
such desperate lengths upon such slight temptation; but, gentle
reader, she was young and attractive when she was married--never to say
_handsome_, but good-looking decidedly, and with that sort of figure
which is comprehended in the phrase “a fine girl.”
And has that fine girl altered into the Widow Rooney? Ah! poverty and
hardship are sore trials to the body as well as to the mind. Too little
is it considered, while we gaze on aristocratic beauty, how much good
food, soft lying, warm wrapping, ease of mind, have to do with the
attractions which command our admiration. Many a hand moulded by
nature to give elegance of form to a kid glove, is “stinted of its fair
proportion” by grubbing toil. The foot which might have excited the
admiration of a ball-room, peeping under a flounce of lace in a satin
shoe, and treading the mazy dance, _will_ grow coarse and broad by
tramping in its native state over toilsome miles, bearing perchance to
a market town some few eggs, whose whole produce would not purchase the
sandal-tie of my lady's slipper; will grow red and rough by standing in
wet trenches, and feeling the winter's frost. The neck on which diamonds
might have worthily sparkled, will look less tempting when the biting
winter has hung icicles there for gems. Cheeks formed as fresh for
dimpling blushes, eyes as well to sparkle, and lips to smile, as those
which shed their brightness and their witchery in the tapestried saloon,
will grow pale with want, and forget their dimples, when smiles are
not there to wake them; lips become compressed and drawn with anxious
thought, and eyes the brightest are quenched of their fires by many
tears.
Of all these trials poor Widow Rooney had enough. Her husband, after
living with her a month, in the character of a steward to some great man
in a distant part of the country, left her one day for the purpose
of transacting business at a fair, which, he said, would require his
absence for some time. At the end of a week, a letter was sent to her,
stating that the make-believe steward had robbed his master extensively,
and had fled to America, whence he promised to write to her, and send
her means to follow him, requesting, in the meantime, her silence, in
case any inquiry should be made about him. This villanous trick was
played off the more readily, from the fact that a steward had absconded
at the time, and the difference in the name the cruel profligate
accounted for by saying that, as he was hiding at the moment he married
her, he had assumed another name.
The poor deserted girl, fully believing this trumped-up tale, obeyed
with unflinching fidelity the injunctions of her betrayer; and while
reports were flying abroad of the absconded steward, she never breathed
a word of, what had been confided to her, and accounted for the absence
of “Rooney” in various ways of her own; so that all trace of the
profligate was lost, by her remaining inactive in making the smallest
inquiry about him, and her very fidelity to her betrayer became the
means of her losing all power of procuring his discovery. For months she
trusted all was right; but when moon followed moon, and she gave birth
to a boy without hearing one word of his father, misgiving came upon
her, and the only consolation left her was, that, though she was
deserted, and a child left on her hands, still she was _an honest
woman_. That child was the hero of our tale. The neighbours passed some
ill-natured remarks about her, when it began to be suspected that her
husband would never let her know more about him; for she had been rather
a saucy lady, holding up her nose at poor men, and triumphing in her
catching of the “steward,” a man well to do in the world; and it may be
remembered, that this same spirit existed in her when Andy's rumoured
marriage with Matty gave the prospect of her affairs being retrieved,
for she displayed her love of pre-eminence to the very first person who
gave her the good news. The ill-nature of her neighbours, however, after
the birth of her child and the desertion of her husband, inducing her
to leave the scene of her unmerited wrongs and annoyances, she suddenly
decamped, and, removing to another part of Ireland, the poor woman began
a life of hardship, to support herself and rear the offspring of her
unfortunate marriage. In this task she was worthily assisted by one of
her brothers, who pitied her condition, and joined her in her retreat.
He married in course of time, and his wife died in giving birth to
Oonah, who was soon deprived of her other parent by typhus fever, that
terrible scourge of the poor; so that the praiseworthy desire of the
brother to befriend his sister only involved her, as it happened, in the
deeper difficulty of supporting two children instead of one. This she
did heroically, and the orphan girl rewarded her, by proving a greater
comfort than her own child; for Andy had inherited in all its raciness
the blood of the Scatterbrains, and his deeds, as recorded in this
history, prove he was no unworthy representative of that illustrious
title. To return to his father--who had done the grievous wrong to the
poor peasant girl: he lived his life of profligacy through, and in
a foreign country died at last; but on his death-bed the scourge of
conscience rendered every helpless hour an age of woe. Bitterest of all
was the thought of the wife deceived, deserted, and unacknowledged. To
face his last account with such fearful crime upon his head he dared
not, and made all the reparation now in his power, by avowing his
marriage in his last will and testament, and giving all the information
in his power to trace his wife, if living, or his heir, if such existed.
He enjoined, by the most sacred injunctions upon him to whom the charge
was committed, that neither cost nor trouble should be spared in the
search, leaving a large sum in ready money besides, to establish the
right, in case his nephew disputed the will. By his own order, his death
was kept secret, and secretly his agent set to work to discover any
trace of the heir. This, in consequence of the woman changing her place
of abode, became more difficult and it was not until after very minute
inquiry that some trace was picked up, and a letter written to the
parish priest of the district to which she had removed, making certain
general inquiries. It was found, on comparing dates some time after,
that it was this very letter to Father Blake which Andy had purloined
from the post-office, and the Squire had thrown into the fire; so that
our hero was very near, by his blundering, destroying his own fortune.
Luckily for him, however, an untiring and intelligent agent was engaged
in his cause, and a subsequent inquiry, and finally a personal visit to
Father Blake, cleared the matter up satisfactorily, and the widow was
enabled to produce such proof of her identity, and that of her son, that
Handy Andy was indisputably Lord Scatterbrain; and the whole affair was
managed so secretly, that the death of the late lord, and the claim of
title and estates in the name of the rightful heir, were announced at
the same moment; and the “Honourable Sackville,” instead of coming into
possession of the peerage and property, and fighting his adversary at
the great advantage of possession, could only commence a suit to drive
him out, if he sued at all.
Our limits compel us to this brief sketch of the circumstances through
which Handy Andy was entitled to and became possessed of a property and
a title, and we must now say something of the effects produced by the
intelligence on the parties most concerned.
The Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain, on the advice of high legal
authority, did not attempt to dispute a succession of which such
satisfactory proofs existed, and, fortunately for himself, had knocked
up a watering-place match, while he was yet in the bloom of
heirship _presumptive_ to a peerage, with the daughter of an English
_millionaire_.
When the Widow Rooney heard the extraordinary turn affairs had taken,
her emotions, after the first few hours of pleasurable surprise, partook
of regret rather than satisfaction. She looked upon her past life of
suffering, and felt as if Fate had cheated her. She, a peeress, had
passed her life in poverty and suffering, with contempt from those over
whom she had superior rights; and the few years of the prosperous future
before her offered her poor compensation for the pinching past. But
after such selfish considerations, the maternal feeling came to her
relief, and she rejoiced that _her son_ was a lord. But then came the
terrible thought of his marriage to dash her joy and triumph.
This was a source of grief to Oonah as well. “If he wasn't married,” she
would say to herself, “I might be _Lady_ Scatterbrain;” and the tears
would burst through poor Oonah's fingers as she held them up to her eyes
and sobbed heavily, till the poor girl would try to gather consolation
from the thought that, maybe, Andy's altered circumstances would make
_her_ disregarded. “There would be plenty to have him now,” thought she,
“and he wouldn't think of me, maybe--so 't is well as it is.”
When Andy heard that he was a lord--a real lord--and, after the first
shock of astonishment, could comprehend that wealth and power were in
his possession, he, though the most interested person, never thought,
as the two women had done, of the desperate strait in which his marriage
placed him, but broke out into short peals of laughter, and exclaimed
in the intervals, “that it was mighty quare;” and when, after much
questioning, any intelligible desire he had could be understood, the
first one he clearly expressed was _“to have a goold watch.”_
He was made, however, to understand that other things than
“goold watches” were of more importance; and the Squire, with his
characteristic good nature, endeavoured to open Andy's comprehension
to the nature of his altered situation. This, it may be supposed, was
rather a complicated piece of work, and too difficult to be set down
in black and white; the most intelligible portions to Andy were his
immediate removal from servitude, and a ready-made suit of gentlemanly
apparel, which made Andy pay several visits to the looking-glass.
Good-natured as the Squire was, it would have been equally awkward to
him as to Andy for the newly fledged lord, though a lord, to have a seat
at his table, neither could he remain in an inferior position in his
house; so Dick, who loved fun, volunteered to take Andy under his
especial care to London, and let him share his lodgings, as a bachelor
may do many things which a man surrounded by his family cannot. Besides,
in a place distant from such extraordinary chances and changes as those
which befell our hero, the sudden and startling difference of position
of the parties not being known renders it possible for a gentleman to
do the good-natured thing which Dick undertook, without compromising
himself. In Dublin it would not have done for Dick Dawson to allow the
man who would have held his horse the day before, to share the same
board with him merely because Fortune had played one of her frolics and
made Andy a lord; but in London the case was different.
To London therefore they proceeded. The incidents of the journey,
sea-sickness included, which so astonished the new traveller, we pass
over, as well as the numberless mistakes in the great metropolis, which
afforded Dick plentiful amusement, though, in truth, Dick had better
objects in view than laughing at Andy's embarrassments in his new
position. He really wished to help him in the difficult path into which
the new lord had been thrust, and did this in a merry sort of way more
successfully than by serious drilling. It was hard to break Andy of
the habit of saying “Misther Dick,” when addressing him, but, at last,
“Misther Dawson” was established. Eating with his knife, drinking as
loudly as a horse, and other like accomplishments, were not so easily
got under, yet it was wonderful how much he improved, as his shyness
grew less, and his consciousness of being a lord grew stronger.
But, if the good nature of Dick had not prompted him to take Andy into
training, the newly discovered nobleman would not have long been in
want of society. It was wonderful how many persons were eager to show
civility to his lordship, and some amongst them even went so far as to
discover relationship. Plenty were soon ready to take Lord Scatterbrain
here, and escort him there, accompany him to exhibitions and
other public places, and charmed all the time with his lordship's
remarks--“they were so original”--“quite delightful to meet something
so fresh”--“how remarkably clever the Irish were!” Such were among the
observations his ignorant blunders produced; and he who, as Handy Andy,
had been anathematised all his life as a “stupid rascal,” “a
blundering thief,” “a thick-headed brute,” &c., under the title of
Lord Scatterbrain all of a sudden was voted “vastly amusing--a little
eccentric, perhaps, but _so_ droll--in fact, so witty!” This was all
very delightful for Andy--so delightful that he quite forgot Bridget
_rhua_. But that lady did not leave him long in his happy obliviousness.
One day, while Dick was absent, and Andy rocking on a chair before
the fire, twirling the massive gold chain of his gold watch round his
forefinger, and uncoiling it again, his repose was suddenly disturbed
by the appearance of Bridget herself, accompanied by _Shan More_ and a
shrimp of a man in rusty black, who turned out to be a shabby attorney
who advanced money to convey his lady client and her brother to London,
for the purpose of making a dash at the lord at once, and securing a
handsome sum by a _coup de main_.
Andy, though taken by surprise, was resolute. Bitter words were
exchanged; and as they seemed likely to lead to blows, Andy prudently
laid hold of the poker, and, in language not quite suited to a noble
lord, swore he would see what the inside of _Shan More's_ head was made
of, if he attempted to advance upon him. Bridget screamed and
scolded, while the attorney endeavoured to keep the peace, and, beyond
everything, urged Lord Scatterbrain to enter at once into written
engagements for a handsome settlement upon his “lady.”
“Lady!” exclaimed Andy; “oh!--a pretty _lady_ she is!”
“I'm as good a lady as you are a lord, anyhow,” cried Bridget.
“Altercation will do no good, my lord and my lady,” said the attorney;
“let me suggest the propriety of your writing an engagement at once;”
and the little man pushed pen, ink, and paper towards Andy.
“I can't, I tell you!” cried Andy.
“You must!” roared _Shan More_.
“Bad luck to you, how can I when I never larned?”
“Your lordship can make your mark,” said the attorney.
“'Faith I can--with a poker,” cried Andy; “and you'd better take care,
master parchment. Make my mark, indeed!--do you think I'd disgrace
the House o' Peers by lettin' on that a lord couldn't write?--Quit the
buildin', I tell you!”
In the midst of the row, which now rose to a tremendous pitch, Dick
returned; and after a severe reprimand to the pettifogger for his
sinister attempt on Andy, referred him to Lord Scatterbrain's solicitor.
It was not such an easy matter to silence Bridget, who extended her
claws towards her lord and master in a very menacing manner, calling
down bitter imprecations on her own head if she wouldn't have her
rights.
Every now and then between the bursts of the storm Andy would exclaim,
“Get out!”
“My lord,” said Dick, “remember your dignity.”
“Av coorse!” said Andy; “but still she must get out!”
The house was at last cleared of the uproarious party; but though
Andy got rid of their presence, they left their sting behind. Lord
Scatterbrain felt, for the first time, that a lord can be very unhappy.
Dick hurried him away at once to the chambers of the law agent, but he,
being closeted on some very important business with another client on
their arrival, returned an answer to their application for a conference,
which they forwarded through the double doors of this sanctum by a
hard-looking man with a pen behind his ear, that he could not have the
pleasure of seeing them till the next morning. Lord Scatterbrain passed
a more unhappy night than he had ever done in his life--even than that
when he was tied up to the old tree--croaked at by ravens, and the
despised of rats.
Negotiations were opened the next day between the pettifogger on
Bridget's side and the law agent of the noble lord, and the arguments,
_pro and con.,_ lay thus:
In the first place, the opening declaration was--Lord Scatterbrain never
would live with the aforesaid Bridget.
Answered--that nevertheless, as she was his lawful wife, a provision
suitable to her rank must be made.
They (the claimants) were asked to name a sum.
The sum was considered exorbitant; it being argued that when her
husband had determined never to live with her, he was in a far
different condition, therefore it was unfair to seek so large a separate
maintenance now.
The pettifogger threatened that Lady Scatterbrain would run in debt,
which Lord Scatterbrain must discharge. My Lord's agent suggested
that my Lady would be advertised in the public papers, and the public
cautioned against giving her credit.
A sum could not be agreed upon, though a fair one was offered on Andy's
part; for the greediness of the pettifogger, who was to have a share of
the plunder, made him hold out for more, and negotiations were broken
off for some days.
Poor Andy was in a wretched state of vexation. It was bad enough that
he was married to this abominable woman, without an additional plague of
being persecuted by her. To such an amount this rose at last, that she
and her big brother dodged him every time he left the house, so that
in self-defence he was obliged to become a close prisoner in his own
lodgings. All this at last became so intolerable to the captive, that
he urged a speedy settlement of the vexatious question, and a larger
separate maintenance was granted to the detestable woman than would
otherwise have been ceded, the only stipulation of a stringent nature
made being, that Lord Scatterbrain should be free from the persecutions
of his hateful wife for the future.