Like “cat and dog!” not so! _their_ strife
They carried on like “man and wife.”
Family Jars.
It may easily have escaped our reader's memory, that on Roland Cashel's
hasty departure from Mr. Kennyfeck's, the seeds of a very serious schism
had been sown in that respectable family, Mrs. Kennyfeck being firmly
persuaded that her liege lord had grossly mismanaged his influence over
the young proprietor; the girls as resolutely opposed to each other; and
all, with a most laudable unanimity, agreed in thinking that Aunt Fanny
“had spoiled everything,” and that but for her odious interference there
never would have arisen the slightest coolness between them and their
distinguished acquaintance.
“I may lose the agency!” said Mr. Kennyfeck, with a sigh of afflicting
sincerity.
“I should n't wonder if he avoids the house,” quoth his wife.
“He evidently rejects all attempts at domination,” said Miss Kennyfeck,
with a glance at her aunt. Olivia said nothing; but it was not difficult
to see that her thoughts were full of the theme. Meanwhile, Miss O'Hara,
in all the dignity of injured rectitude, sat seemingly unconscious of
the popular feeling against her, repeating from time to time the ominous
words, “We shall see--we shall see;” a species of prophetic warning
that, come what may, can always assert its accomplishment.
With such elements of discord and discontent, the breakfast proceeded
gradually, and the broken attempts at talk had subsided into a sullen
silence, when the butler entered to say that Mr. Phillis begged to speak
a few words with Mr. Kennyfeck.
“Let him come in here,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as her husband was rising
to leave the room. “I think, if there are to be no more blunders, we had
better be present at the conference.”
“Show him in, Pearse,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, in a meek voice; and the
gentleman's gentleman entered, in all that easy self-sufficiency so
peculiar to his class.
“What is it, Mr. Phillis?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a commanding tone,
meant to convey the information of “where the Court sat,” and to whom he
should address his pleading.
“It's a little matter on which I wanted advice, ma'am, for I am really
puzzled bow to act. You know, ma'am, that we are expecting large company
at our place in the country--Tubb--something--”
“Tubbermore,” interposed Mr. Kennyfeck.
“Yes, sir, Tubbermore. Well, there have been at least twenty messages
this morning from different families, who want to know the best way of
going, and when Mr. Cashel means to go himself, and where post-horses
are to be had, and how they are to get forward where there are none, and
so on.”
“Is your master not the person to dictate the answer to these queries?”
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her grandest air.
“Of course, ma'am, but he's not here.”
“Where is he, then?” asked she, eagerly.
“He's gone, ma'am; he went last night.”
“Gone! gone where?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an eagerness no artifice
could cover.
“It's hard to say, ma'am; but he went down to Kingstown last night, and
sailed in the yacht; and from the preparations and sea stores taken from
the hotel, it would seem like a long cruise.”
“And did he not mention anything of his intention to _you_ Mr. Phillis?”
said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a flattering emphasis on the pronoun.
“A few lines in pencil, ma'am, dated from the harbor, was all I
received. Here they are.” And he handed a piece of note-paper across the
table. The contents ran thus:--
Phillis, send word to Sir Harvey Upton's that I sha'n't dine
there to-morrow. Give the bearer of this my dressing-case,
and clothes for some days, and have the fourgon ready packed
to start for Tubbermore on receiving my next orders.
R. C.--Kingstown Harbor.
“And who brought this note?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, who fancied she was
conducting the inquiry in true judicial form.
“One of the yacht sailors, ma'am; he came up on Lord Kilgoff s
carriage.”
“On Lord Kilgoff's carriage--how did that happen?”
“The carriage came into town, ma'am, to bring some things my Lady sent
for; at least, so the sailor told me.”
“And were Lord and Lady Kilgoff on board the yacht?”
“Yes, ma'am; they both sailed in her last night.”
As though drawn by some irresistible influence, every eye was now turned
to Aunt Fanny, who, up to this, had listened to Mr. Phillis with a
breathless attention, and if looks could be translated, every glance
thus thrown said plainly, “This is _your_ doing.”
“Are you certain that the yacht has not returned to Kingstown?” said
Miss O'Hara.
“Perfectly, ma'am. It blew a storm last night, and the sailors about the
harbor told me it was a great chance that any small vessel could outlive
the gale.”
Olivia Kennyfeck became deadly pale at these words, and whispered
something in her sister's ear.
“Of course,” replied the other, aloud; then turning to Phillis, said,
“Had they a pilot with them?”
“I believe so, miss, but there are so many contradictory reports,
one don't know what to credit; some say that Lord Kilgoff was greatly
opposed to the cruise, but that her Ladyship insisted, and that, in
fact, they got under weigh at last without my Lord's knowing, and while
they were at dinner.”
“It was a fearful night!” said Mr. Kennyfeck, whose mind was entirely
engrossed by the one idea.
“Take him into the next room, and I'll join you presently,” said Mrs.
Kennyfeck to her husband, for that keen-sighted lady had remarked the
intense interest with which Mr. Phillis listened to every remark made
around him.
“Here's a pretty piece of business!” cried she, as the door closed after
her husband and the valet; “and certainly, I must say, we 've no one to
thank for it but you, Fanny!”
“Unquestionably not,” echoed Miss Kennyfeck. “Aunt Fanny has the entire
merit of this catastrophe.”
“It is most cruel,” sighed Olivia, as she wiped the tears from her eyes,
and bent upon her stern relative a glance of most reproachful sadness.
“Are you all mad?” said the assailed individual, her courage and her
color rising together. “How can you pretend to connect me with this
disgraceful proceeding? Here's a case as clearly prearranged as ever was
heard of.”
“Impossible!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck; “did n't he invite us only yesterday
to go down to Tubbermore by sea?”
“And didn't you yourself offer the only impediment?” said Miss
Kennyfeck.
“You are very cruel, aunt,” sobbed Olivia.
“You'll drive me out of my senses,” said Miss O'Hara; and certainly her
look did not belie her words. “I endeavor to rescue you from the snares
of a young debauchee, who, as you well know, has a wife still living--”
“There, I hope you are content now,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as Olivia fell
fainting into her arms; and the window was thrown open, and all were
busied in employing the wonted restoratives for such attacks. Meanwhile,
hostilities were continued, but in a less rigorous fashion. “You know
you've ruined everything--you know well how your officious meddling has
destroyed this poor child's fortune; rub her temples, Cary.”
“I know that he is a dissipated, abandoned wretch, that would desert her
to-morrow as he has done that unhappy--”
“Hush, she is coming to. You want to kill her.”
“Humph!” muttered Aunt Fanny; “this scene might be very effective with
the young gentleman, but is quite thrown away upon me.”
“Aunt, aunt!” cried Miss Kennyfeck, reprovingly.
“If we had just followed our own counsels, we should have this very hour
been on the way to Tubbermore, perhaps never to leave it!”
Aunt Fanny shook her head.
“Yes. You may affect to doubt and hesitate, and all that, but where
is the wonderful condescension in a Mr. Cashel proposing for the
grand-niece of Roger Miles O'Hara, of Kilmurray O'Hara of Mayo, the
second cousin of Lawrence O'Hara Kelly, that ought to be Lord Bally
Kelly?”
“Fairly enough, if that was all,” slipped in Miss O'Hara, hoping to
escape from all danger by climbing up the genealogical tree whereon her
sister was perched.
“If that was all!” repeated Mrs. Kennyfeck, indignantly, catching at the
last words, “and what more is wanting, I 'd be glad to ask? But, to be
sure, it was rather a mistake to call to our counsels, in such a case,
one that never could succeed in her own.”
This terrible taunt at Miss O'Hara's celibacy didn't go unpunished,
for, throwing all attempts at conciliation behind her, she rose, with
flashing eyes and trembling lips.
“So, it is you that tell me this,” said she--“_you_ that dare to sneer
at _my_ being unmarried--you, that were fain to take up with a Dublin
attorney--poor Tom Kennyfeck--the hack of the quarter sessions, serving
latitats and tithe notices over the country in his old gig--Indeed,
girls, I 'm sorry to speak that way of your father, but it 's well
known--”
A loud shriek interrupted the speech, and Mrs. Kennyfeck, in strong
hysterics, took her place beside Olivia.
“It will do her good, my dear,” said Aunt Fanny to her niece, as she
chafed the hands and bathed the temples of her mother. “I was only
telling the truth; she'd never have married your father if Major Kennedy
had n't jilted her; and good luck it was he did, for he had two other
wives living at the time--just as your friend, Mr. Cashel, wanted to do
with your sister.”
“Aunt--aunt--I entreat you to have done. Haven't you made mischief
enough?”
“Eaten up with vanity and self-conceit,” resumed the old lady, not
heeding the interruption. “A French cook and a coach-and-four,--nothing
less! Let her scream, child--sure, I know it's good for her--it
stretches the lungs.”
“Leave me--leave the room!” cried Miss Kennyfeck, whose efforts at
calmness were rendered fruitless by the torrent of her aunt's eloquence.
“Indeed I will, my dear: I'll leave the house, too. Sorry I am that I
ever set foot in it. What with the noise and the racket night and day,
it's more like a lunatic asylum than a respectable residence.”
“Send her away--send her away!” screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a cry of
horror.
“Do, aunt--do leave the room.”
“I'm going--I'm going, young lady; but I suppose I may drink my cup of
tea first--it's the last I 'll ever taste in the same house;” and she
reseated herself at the table with a most provoking composure. “I came
here,” resumed she, “for no advantage of mine. I leave you without
regret, because I see how your poor fool of a father, and your vain,
conceited mother--”
“Aunt, you are really too bad. Have you no feeling?”
“That's just what comes of it,” said she, stirring her tea tranquilly.
“You set up for people of fashion, and you don't know that people of
fashion are twice as shrewd and 'cute as yourself. Faith, my dear,
they'd buy and sell you, every one. What are they at all day, but
roguery and schemes of one kind or other, and then after 'doing' you,
home they go, and laugh at your mother's vulgarity!”
A fresh torrent of cries from Mrs. Kennyfeck seemed to show that
unconsciousness was not among her symptoms, and Miss Kennyfeck now
hastened from the room to summon her father to her aid.
“Well, you've come to turn me out, I suppose?” said Aunt Fanny, as the
old gentleman entered in a state of perplexity that might have evoked
the compassion of a less determined enemy.
“My dear Miss Fanny--”
“None of your four courts blarney with me, sir; I'm ready to go--I 'll
leave by the coach to-night. I conclude you 'll have the decency to pay
for my place, and my dinner too, for I 'll go to Dawson's Hotel this
minute. Tell your mother, and that poor dawdle there, your sister, that
they 'd be thankful they'd have followed my advice. The rate you're
living, old gentleman, might even frighten you. There's more waste in
your kitchen than in Lord Clondooney's.
“As for yourself, Caroline, you 're the best of the lot; but your
tongue, darling!--your tongue!” And here she made a gesture of far more
expressive force than any mere words could give.
“Is she gone?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a slight lull succeeded.
“Yes, mamma,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck; “but speak low, for Mr. Phillis
is in the hall.”
“I'll never see her again--I'll never set eyes on her,” muttered Mrs.
Kennyfeck.
“I shouldn't wonder, mamma, if that anonymous letter was written by
herself,” said Caroline. “She never forgave Mr. Cashel for not specially
inviting her; and this, I'm almost sure, was the way she took to revenge
herself.”
“So it was,” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, eagerly seizing at the notion. “Hush,
take care Livy doesn't hear you.”
“As for the yacht expedition, it was just the kind of thing Lady Kilgoff
was ready for. She is dying to be talked of.”
“And that poor, weak creature, Cashel, will be so flattered by the soft
words of a peeress, he'll be intolerable ever after.”
“Aunt Fanny--Aunt Fanny!” sighed Miss Kennyfeck, with a mournful
cadence.
“If I only was sure--that is, perfectly certain--that she wrote that
letter about Cashel--But here comes your father--take Olivia, and leave
me alone.”
Miss Kennyfeck assisted her sister from the sofa, and led her in silence
from the room, while Mr. Kennyfeck sat down, with folded hands and bent
down head, a perfect picture of dismay and bewilderment.
“Well,” said his wife, after a reasonable interval of patient
expectation that he would speak--“well, what have you to say for
yourself now, sir?”
The poor solicitor, who never suspected that he was under any
indictment, looked up with an expression of almost comic innocence.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Kennyfeck, or is it you want to pass off your
dulness for deafness? Did you hear me, I say?”
“Yes, I heard--but I really do not know--that is, I am unaware how--I
cannot see--”
“Oh, the old story,” sighed she--“injured innocence! Well, sir, I was
asking you if you felt gratified with our present prospects? Linton's
intimacy was bad enough, but the Kilgoff friendship is absolute, utter
ruin. That crafty, old, undermining peer, as proud as poor, will soon
ensnare him; and my Lady, with her new airs of a viscountess, only
anxious to qualify for London by losing her character before she appears
there!”
“As to the agency--”
“The agency!” echoed she, indignantly, “do your thoughts never by any
chance, sir, take a higher flight than five per cent.?--are you always
dreaming of your little petty gains at rent-day? I told you, sir, how
the patron might be converted into a son-in-law--did I not?”
“You did, indeed, and I'm certain I never threw any impediment in the
way of it.”
“You never threw any impediment in the way of your child's succeeding
to a fortune of sixteen thousand a year! You really are an exemplary
father.”
“I 'd have forwarded it, if I only knew how.”
“How good of you! I suppose you 'd have drawn up the settlements if
ordered. But so it is--all my efforts through life have been thwarted by
you! I have labored and toiled day and night to place my children in the
sphere that their birth, on one side at least, would entitle them to,
and you know it.”
Now this Mr. Kennyfeck really did not know. In his dull fatuity he
always imagined that he was the honey-gatherer of the domestic hive, and
that Mrs. Kennyfeck had in her own person monopolized the functions of
queen bee and wasp together.
“Your low, pettifogging ambition never soared above a Softly or a Clare
Jones for your daughters, while I was planning alliances that would have
placed them among the best in the land--and how have I been rewarded?
Indifference, coolness, perhaps contempt!” Here a flood of tears, that
had remained dammed up since the last torrent, burst forth in convulsive
sobs. “Ungrateful man, who ought never to have forgotten the sacrifice
I made in marrying him--the rupture with every member of my family--the
severance of every tie that united me to my own.”
She ceased, and here, be it remembered, Mrs. Kennyfeck seemed to address
herself to some invisible jury empanelled to try Mr. Kennyfeck on a
serious charge.
“He came like a serpent into the bosom of our peaceful circle, and with
the arts that his crafty calling but too well supplied, seduced my young
affections.”
Mr. Kennyfeck started. It had never before occurred to him that Don Juan
was among his range of parts.
“False and unfeeling both,” resumed she. “Luring with promises never
intended for performance, you took me from a home, the very sanctuary of
peace!”
Mr. Kennyfeck wiped his forehead in perplexity; his recollection of the
home in question was different. Sanctuary it might have been, but it
was against the officers of the law and the sheriff, and so far as a
well-fastened hall door and barricaded windows went, the epithet did not
seem quite unsuitable.
“Ah!” sighed she--for it is right to remark that Mrs. Kennyfeck was a
mistress of that domestic harmony which consists in every modulation,
from the grand adagio of indignant accusation to the rattling andante
of open abuse--“had I listened to those older and wiser than I, and who
foretold the destiny that awaited me, I had never seen this unhappy day!
No, sir! I had not lived to see myself outraged and insulted, and my
only sister turned out of the house like a discarded menial.”
Had Mr. Kennyfeck been informed that for courteously making way for a
Bencher in the Hall he was stripped of his gown and degraded from his
professional rank, he could not have been more thoroughly amazed and
thunderstruck.
He actually gasped with excess of astonishment, and, if breath had been
left him, would have spoken; but so it was, the very force of the charge
stunned him, and he could not utter a word.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennyfeck, who in the ardor of combat had imitated
certain Spanish sailors, who in the enthusiasm of a sea-fight loaded
their cannons with whatever came next to hand, was actually shocked by
the effect of her own fire. For the grandeur of a peroration she had
taken a flying leap over all truth, and would gladly have been safe back
again at the other side of the fence.
For an instant not a word dropped from either side, and it was clear
that he who spoke first had gained the victory. This was the lady.
“Go, sir”--and she wiped her eyes with that calm dignity by which a
scolding wife seems to call up all Christian forgiveness of herself, and
stand acquitted before her own conscience--“go, sir, and find out what
these people that Cashel has invited mean to do; and if it be their
intention to repair to Tubbermore, let us lose no time in setting out;
and if we are to go, Mr. Kennyfeck, let as do so as becomes us.”
Mr. Kennyfeck stifled a rising sigh--for he knew what the words
denoted--and departed; while Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her heart lightened
of a heavy load, rose to join her daughters, and discuss dress and
“toilette,” the great commissariat of the approaching campaign.