LIFE AT CALLONBY—LOVE-MAKING—MISS O’DOWD’S ADVENTURE.
My first evening at Callonby passed off as nearly all first evenings do
every where. His lordship was most agreeable, talked much of my uncle,
Sir Guy, whose fag he had been at Eton half a century before, promised
me some capital shooting in his preserves, discussed the state of
politics; and, as the second decanter of port “waned apace,” grew
wondrous confidential, and told me of his intention to start his son
for the county at the next general election, such being the object
which had now conferred the honour of his presence on his Irish
estates.
Her ladyship was most condescendingly civil, vouchsafed much tender
commiseration for my “exile,” as she termed my quarters in Kilrush;
wondered how _I_ could possibly exist in a marching regiment, (who had
never been in the cavalry in my life!) spoke quite feelingly on my
kindness in joining their stupid family party, for they were living, to
use her own phrase, “like hermits;” and wound up all by a playful
assurance that as she perceived, from all my answers, that I was bent
on preserving a strict incognito, she would tell no tales about me on
her return to “Town.” Now, it may readily be believed, that all this,
and many more of her ladyship’s allusions, were a “Chaldee manuscript”
to me; that she knew certain facts of my family and relations, was
certain; but that she had interwoven in the humble web of my history, a
very pretty embroidery of fiction was equally so; and while she thus
ran on, with innumerable allusions to Lady Marys and Lord Johns, who
she pretended to suppose were dying to hear from me, I could not help
muttering to myself with good Christopher Sly, “And all this be
true—then Lord be thanked for my good amends;” for up to that moment I
was an ungrateful man for all this high and noble solicitude. One dark
doubt shot for an instant across my brain. Maybe her ladyship had
“registered a vow” never to syllable a name unchronicled by Debrett, or
was actually only mystifying me for mere amusement. A minute’s
consideration dispelled this fear; for I found myself treated “en
Seigneur” by the whole family. As for the daughters of the house,
nothing could possibly be more engaging than their manner. The eldest,
Lady Jane, was pleased from my near relationship to her father’s oldest
friend to receive me, “from the first,” on the most friendly footing;
while, with the younger, Lady Catherine, from her being less ‘maniere’
than her sister, my progress was even greater; and thus, before we
separated for the night, I contrived to “take up my position” in such a
fashion, as to be already looked upon as one of the family party, to
which object, Lord and indeed Lady Callonby seemed most willing to
contribute, and made me promise to spend the entire of the following
day at Callonby, and as many of the succeeding ones as my military
duties would permit.
As his lordship was wishing me “good night” at the door of the
drawing-room, he said, in a half whisper,
“We were ignorant yesterday, Mr. Lorrequer, how soon we should have had
the pleasure of seeing you here; and you are therefore condemned to a
small room off the library, it being the only one we can insure you as
being well aired. I must therefore apprize you that you are not to be
shocked at finding yourself surrounded by every member of my family,
hung up in frames around you. But as the room is usually my own
snuggery, I have resigned it without any alteration whatever.”
The apartment for which his lordship had so strongly apologized, stood
in very pleasing contrast to my late one in Kilrush. The soft Persian
carpet, on which one’s feet sank to the very ankles; the brightly
polished dogs, upon which a blazing wood fire burned; the well
upholstered fauteuils which seemed to invite sleep without the trouble
of lying down for it; and last of all, the ample and luxurious bed,
upon whose rich purple hangings the ruddy glare of the fire threw a
most mellow light, was all a pleasing exchange for the “garniture” of
the “Hotel Healy.”
“Certes, Harry Lorrequer,” said I, as I threw myself upon a small
ottoman before the fire in all the slippered ease, and abandon of a man
who has changed a dress-coat for a morning-gown; “Certes, thou art
destined for great things; even here, where fate had seemed ‘to do its
worst’ to thee, a little paradise opens, and what, to ordinary mortals
had proved but a ‘flat, stale, and most unprofitable’ quarter, presents
to thee all the accumulated delight of a hospitable mansion, a kind,
almost friendly, host, a condescending Madame Mere, and daughters too!
Ah ye Gods! But what is this;” and here, for the first time, lifting up
my eyes, I perceived a beautiful water-colour drawing in the style of
“Chalon,” which was placed above the chimney-piece. I rose at once, and
taking a candle, proceeded to examine it more minutely. It was a
portrait of Lady Jane, a full-length too, and wonderfully like; there
was more complexion, and perhaps more roundness in the figure than her
present appearance would justify; but if any thing was gained in
brilliancy, it was certainly lost in point of expression; and I
infinitely preferred her pale, but beautifully fair countenance, to the
rosy cheek of the picture; the figure was faultless; the same easy
grace, the result of perfect symmetry and refinement together, which
only one in a thousand of even handsome girls possess, was pourtrayed
to the life. The more I looked, the more I felt charmed with it. Never
had I seen any thing so truly characteristic as this sketch, for it was
scarcely more. It was after nearly an hour’s quiet contemplation, that
I began to remember the lateness of the night; an hour, in which my
thoughts had rambled from the lovely object before me, to wonder at the
situation in which I found myself placed; for there was so much of
“empressement” towards me, in the manner of every member of the family,
coupled with certain mistakes as to my habits and acquaintances, as
left me perfectly unable to unravel the mystery which so evidently
surrounded me. “Perhaps,” thought I, “Sir Guy has written in my behalf
to his lordship. Oh, he would never do any thing half so civil. Well,
to be sure, I shall astonish them at head quarters; they’ll not believe
this. I wonder if Lady Jane saw my ‘Hamlet;’ for they landed in Cork
from Bristol about that time. She is indeed a most beautiful girl. I
wish I were a marquis, if it were only for her sake. Well, my Lord
Callonby, you may be a very wise man in the House of Lords; but, I
would just ask, is it exactly prudent to introduce into your family on
terms of such perfect intimacy, a young, fascinating, well-looking
fellow, of four-and-twenty, albeit only a subaltern, with two such
daughters as you have? Peut etre! One thing is certain—_I_ have no
cause of complaint; and so, good night, Lady Jane”—and with those words
I fell asleep, to dream of the deepest blue eyes, and the most melting
tones that ever reduced a poor lieutenant in a marching regiment to
curse his fate, that he could not call the Commander of the Forces his
father.
When I descended to the breakfast-room, I found the whole family
assembled in a group around Lord Kilkee, who had just returned from a
distant part of the county, where he had been canvassing the electors,
and spouting patriotism the day before. He was giving an account of his
progress with much spirit and humour as I entered, but, on seeing me,
immediately came forward, and shook hands with me like an old
acquaintance. By Lord Callonby and the ladies I was welcomed also with
much courtesy and kindness, and some slight badinage passed upon my
sleeping, in what Lord Kilkee called the “Picture Gallery,” which, for
all I knew to the contrary, contained but one fair portrait. I am not a
believer in Mesmer; but certainly there must have been some influence
at work—very like what we hear of “magnetism”—for before the breakfast
was concluded, there seemed at once to spring up a perfect
understanding between this family and myself, which made me feel as
much ‘chez moi’, as I had ever done in my life; and from that hour I
may date an intimacy which every succeeding day but served to increase.
After breakfast Lord Callonby consigned me to the guidance of his son,
and we sallied forth to deal destruction amongst the pheasants, with
which the preserves were stocked; and here I may observe, ‘en passant’,
that with the single exception of fox-hunting, which was ever a passion
with me, I never could understand that inveterate pursuit of game to
which some men devote themselves—thus, grouse-shooting, and its
attendant pleasures, of stumping over a boggy mountain from day-light
till dark, never had much attraction for me; and, as to the delights of
widgeon and wild-duck shooting, when purchased by sitting up all night
in a barrel, with your eye to the bung, I’ll none of it—no, no! Give me
shooting or angling merely as a divertimento, a pleasant interlude
between breakfast and luncheon-time, when, consigning your Manton to a
corner, and the game keeper “to the dogs,” you once more humanize your
costume to take a canter with the daughters of the house; or, if the
day look loweringly, a match of billiards with the men.
I have ever found that the happiest portions of existence are the most
difficult to chronicle. We may—nay, we must, impart our miseries and
annoyances to our many “dear friends,” whose forte is sympathy or
consolation—and all men are eloquent on the subject of their woes; not
so with their joys: some have a miser-like pleasure in hoarding them up
for their own private gratification; others—and they are prudent—feel
that the narrative is scarcely agreeable even to their best friends;
and a few, of whom I confess myself one, are content to be happy
without knowing why, and to have pleasant souvenirs, without being able
to explain them.
Such must be my apology for not more minutely entering upon an account
of my life at Callonby. A fortnight had now seen me ‘enfonce’, the
daily companion of two beautiful girls in all their walks and rides,
through a romantic, unfrequented country, seeing but little of the
other members of the family; the gentlemen being entirely occupied by
their election tactics, and Lady Callonby being a late riser, seldom
appeared before the dinner hour. There was not a cliff upon the bold
and rocky coast we did not climb, not a cave upon the pebbly beach
unvisited; sometimes my fair companions would bring a volume of
Metastasio down to the little river where I used to angle; and the
“gentle craft” was often abandoned for the heart-thrilling verses of
that delightful poet. Yes, many years have passed over, and these
scenes are still as fresh in my memory as though they had been of
yesterday. In my memory, I say, as for thee
“Qui sa si te
Ti sovrerai di me.”
At the end of three weeks the house became full of company, from the
garret to the cellar. Country gentlemen and their wives and daughters
came pouring in, on every species of conveyance known since the flood;
family coaches, which, but for their yellow panels, might have been
mistaken for hearses, and high barouches, the “entree” to which was
accomplished by a step-ladder, followed each other in what appeared a
never-ending succession; and here I may note an instance of the
anomalous character of the conveyances, from an incident to which I was
a witness at the time.
Among the visitors on the second day came a maiden lady from the
neighbourhood of Ennistimon, Miss Elizabeth O’Dowd, the last of a very
old and highly respectable family in the county, and whose extensive
property, thickly studded with freeholders, was a strong reason for her
being paid every attention in Lord Callonby’s power to bestow; Miss
Betty O’Dowd—for so she was generally styled—was the very
personification of an old maid; stiff as a ramrod, and so rigid in
observance of the proprieties of female conduct, that in the estimation
of the Clare gentry, Diana was a hoyden compared to her.
Miss Betty lived, as I have said, near Ennistimon, and the road from
thence to Callonby at the time I speak of—it was before Mr. Nimmo—was
as like the bed of a mountain torrent as a respectable highway; there
were holes that would have made a grave for any maiden lady within
fifty miles; and rocks thickly scattered, enough to prove fatal to the
strongest wheels that ever issued from “Hutton’s.” Miss O’Dowd knew
this well; she had upon one occasion been upset in travelling it—and a
slate-coloured silk dress bore the dye of every species of mud and mire
to be found there, for many a year after, to remind her of her
misfortune, and keep open the wound of her sorrow. When, therefore, the
invitation to Callonby arrived, a grave council of war was summoned, to
deliberate upon the mode of transit, for the honour could not be
declined, “coute qui coute.” The chariot was out of the question;
Nicholas declared it would never reach the “Moraan Beg,” as the first
precipice was called; the inside car was long since pronounced unfit
for hazardous enterprise; and the only resource left, was what is
called in Hibernian parlance, a “low-backed car,” that is, a car
without any back whatever; it being neither more nor less than the
common agricultural conveyance of the country, upon which, a feather
bed being laid, the farmers’ wives and daughters are generally conveyed
to fairs, wakes, and stations, &c. Putting her dignity, if not in her
pocket, at least wherever it could be most easily accommodated, Miss
O’Dowd placed her fair self, in all the plenitude of her charms and the
grandeur of a “bran new green silk,” a “little off the grass, and on
the bottle,” (I love to be particular,) upon this humble voiture, and
set out on her way, if not “rejoicing,” at least consoled by Nicholas,
that “It ‘id be black dark when they reached the house, and the devil a
one ‘id be the wiser than if she came in a coach and four.” Nicholas
was right; it was perfectly dark on their arrival at Callonby, and Miss
O’Dowd having dismounted, and shook her plumage, a little crumpled by
her half-recumbent position for eight miles, appeared in the
drawing-room, to receive the most courteous attentions from Lady
Callonby, and from his lordship the most flattering speeches for her
kindness in risking herself and bringing her horses on such a dreadful
road, and assured her of his getting a presentment the very next
assizes to repair it; “For we intend, Miss O’Dowd,” said he, “to be
most troublesome neighbours to you in future.”
The evening passed off most happily. Miss O’Dowd was delighted with her
hosts, whose character she resolved to maintain in spite of their
reputation for pride and haughtiness. Lady Jane sang an Irish melody
for her, Lady Callonby gave her slips of a rose geranium she got from
the Princess Augusta, and Lord Kilkee won her heart by the performance
of that most graceful step ‘yclept “cover the buckle” in an Irish jig.
But, alas! how short-lived is human bliss, for while this estimable
lady revelled in the full enjoyment of the hour, the sword of Damocles
hung suspended above her head; in plain English, she had, on arriving
at Callonby, to prevent any unnecessary scrutiny into the nature of her
conveyance, ordered Nicholas to be at the door punctually at eleven;
and then to take an opportunity of quietly slipping open the
drawing-room door, and giving her an intimation of it, that she might
take her leave at once. Nicholas was up to time, and having disposed
the conveyance under the shadow of the porch, made his way to the door
of the drawing-room unseen and unobserved. He opened it gently and
noiselessly, merely sufficient to take a survey of the apartment, in
which, from the glare of the lights, and the busy hum of voices, he was
so bewildered that it was some minutes before he recognized his
mistress. At last he perceived her; she was seated at a card-table,
playing whist with Lord Callonby for her partner. Who the other players
were, he knew not. A proud man was Nicholas, as he saw his mistress
thus placed, actually sitting, as he afterwards expressed it, “forenint
the Lord,” but his thoughts were bent on other matters, and it was no
time to indulge his vauntings.
He strove for some time patiently, to catch her eye, for she was so
situated as to permit of this, but without success. He then made a
slight attempt to attract her attention by beckoning with his finger;
all in vain. “Oh murther,” said he, “what is this for? I’ll have to
spake afther all.”
“Four by honours,” said his lordship, “and the odd trick. Another
double, I believe, Miss O’Dowd.”
Miss O’Dowd nodded a graceful assent, while a sharp-looking old dowager
at the side of the table called out, “a rubber of four on, my Lord;”
and now began an explanation from the whole party at once. Nicholas saw
this was his time, and thought that in the melee, his hint might reach
his mistress unobserved by the remainder of the company. He accordingly
protruded his head into the room, and placing his finger upon the side
of his nose, and shutting one eye knowingly, with an air of great
secrecy, whispered out, “Miss Betty—Miss Betty, alanah!” For some
minutes the hum of the voices drowned his admonitions—but as, by
degrees waxing warmer in the cause, he called out more loudly,—every
eye was turned to the spot from whence these extraordinary sounds
proceeded; and certainly the appearance of Nicholas at the moment was
well calculated to astonish the “elegans” of a drawing room. With his
one eye fixed eagerly in the direction of his mistress, his red scratch
wig pushed back off his forehead, in the eagerness of his endeavour to
be heard, there he stood, perfectly unmindful of all around, save Miss
O’Dowd herself. It may well be believed, that such an apparition could
not be witnessed with gravity, and, accordingly a general titter ran
through the room, the whist party still contending about odd tricks and
honours, being the only persons insensible to the mirth around
them—“Miss Betty, arrah, Miss Betty,” said Nicholas with a sigh that
converted the subdued laughter of the guests into a perfect burst of
mirth.
“Eh,” said his lordship, turning round; “what is this? We are losing
something excellent, I fear.”
At this moment, he caught a glimpse of Nicholas, and, throwing himself
back in this chair, laughed immoderately. It was now Miss Betty’s turn;
she was about to rise from the table, when the well-known accents of
Nicholas fell upon her ear. She fell back in her seat—there he was: the
messenger of the foul fiend himself would have been more welcome at
that moment. Her blood rushed to her face and temples; her hands
tingled; she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, there stood the
accursed Nicholas glowering at her still.
“Man—man!” said she at length; “what do you mean, what do you want
here?”
Poor Nicholas, little guessing that the question was intended to throw
a doubt upon her acquaintance with him, and conceiving that the hour
for the announcement had come, hesitated for an instant how he should
designate the conveyance. He could not call it a coach! It certainly
was not a buggy—neither was it a jaunting car—what should he say—he
looked earnestly, and even imploringly at his mistress, as if to convey
some sense of his difficulty, and then, as it were, catching a sudden
inspiration, winked once more—as he said:—
“Miss Betty—the—the—the—,” and here he looked indescribably droll; “the
thing, you know, is at the door.”
All his Lordship’s politeness was too little for the occasion, and Miss
O’Dowd’s tenantry were lost to the Callonby interest for ever.