When, having passed through a suite of gorgeously furnished rooms,
Forester entered the dimly lighted boudoir where his lady-mother
reclined, his feelings were full of troubled emotion. The remembrance
of the last time he had been there was present to his mind, mingled
with anxious fears as to his approaching reception. Had he been more
conversant with the “world,” he needed not to have suffered these
hesitations. There are few conditions in life between which so wide
a gulf yawns as that of the titled heir of a house and the younger
brother. He was, then, as little prepared for the affectionate
greeting that met him as for the absence of all trace of illness in her
Ladyship's appearance. Both were very grateful to his feelings as he
drew his chair beside her sofa, and a soft remembrance of former days of
happiness stole over his pleased senses. Lord Netherby, with a fitting
consideration, had left them to enjoy this interview alone, and thus
their emotions were unrestrained by the presence of the only one who had
witnessed their parting. Perhaps the most distinguishing trait of the
closest affection is that the interruptions to its course do not involve
the misery of reconciliation to enable us to return to our own place in
the heart; but that, the moment of grief or anger or doubt over, we
feel that we have a right to resume our influence in the breast whose
thoughts have so long mingled with our own. The close ties of filial and
parental love are certainly of this nature, and it must be a stubborn
heart whose instincts do not tend to that forgiveness which as much
blots out as it pardons past errors. Such was not Lady Netherby's.
Pride of station, the ambition of leadership in certain circles, had so
incorporated themselves with the better dictates of her mind that she
rarely, if ever, permitted mere feeling to influence her; but if for
a moment it did get the ascendancy, her heart could feel as acutely as
though it had been accustomed to such indulgence. In a word, she was as
affectionate as the requirements of her rank permitted. Oh, this Rank,
this Rank! how do its conventionalities twine and twist themselves round
our natures till love and friendship are actually subject to the cold
ordinance of a fashion! How many hide the dark spots of their heart
behind the false screen they call their “Rank”! The rich man, in the
Bible, clothed in his purple, and faring sumptuously, was but acting in
conformity with his “Rank;” nay, more, he was charitable as became his
“Rank,” for the poor were fed with the crumbs from his table.
Forester was well calculated by natural advantages to attract a mother's
pride. He was handsome and well-bred; had even more than a fair share
of abilities, which gained credit for something higher from a
native quickness of apprehension; and even already the adventurous
circumstances of his first campaign had invested his character with a
degree of interest that promised well for his success in the world. If
her manner to him was then kind and affectionate, it was mingled also
with something of admiration, which her woman's heart yielded to the
romantic traits of the youth.
She listened with eager pleasure to the animated description he gave of
the morning at Aboukir, and the brilliant panorama of the attack; nor
was the enjoyment marred by the mention of the only name that could have
pained her, the last words of Lord Netherby having sealed Forester's
lips with respect to the Knight of Gwynne.
The changeful fortunes of his life as a prisoner were mingled with the
recital of the news by which his exchange was effected; and this brought
back once more the subject by which their interview was opened,--the
death of his elder brother. Lady Netherby perhaps felt she had done
enough for sorrow, for she dwelt but passingly on the theme, and rather
addressed herself to the future which was now about to open before her
remaining son, carefully avoiding, however, the slightest phrase
that should imply dictation, and only seeming to express the natural
expectation “the world” had formed of what his career should be. “Lord
Netherby tells me,” said she, “that the Duke of York will, in all
likelihood, name you as an extra aide-decamp, in which case you probably
would remain in the service. It is an honor that could not well be
declined.”
“I scarcely like to form fixed intentions which have no fixed
foundations,” said Forester; “but if I might give way to my own wishes,
it would be to indulge in perfect liberty,--to have no master.”
“Nor any mistress, either, to control you, for some time, I suppose,”
rejoined she, smiling, as if carelessly, but watching how her words were
taken. Forester affected to partake in the laugh, but could not conceal
a slight degree of confusion. Lady Netherby was too clever a tactician
to let even a momentary awkwardness interrupt the interview, and
resumed: “You will be dreadfully worried by all the 'lionizing' in store
for you, I'm certain; you are to be feasted and feted to any extent, and
will be fortunate if the gratulations on your recovery do not bring back
your illness.”
“I shall get away from it all at once,” said Forester, rising, and
walking up and down, as if the thought had suggested the impatient
movement.
“You cannot avoid presenting yourself at the levee,” said Lady Netherby,
anxiously; for already a dread of her son's wilful temper came over her.
“His Royal Highness's inquiries after you do not leave an option on this
matter.”
“What if I'm too ill?” said he, doggedly; “what if I should not be in
town?”
“But where else could you be, Richard?” said she, with a resumption of
her old imperiousness of tone and manner.
“In Ireland, madam,” said Forester, coldly.
“In Ireland! And why, for any sake, in Ireland?”
Forester hesitated, and grew scarlet; he did not know whether to evade
inquiry by a vague reply, or at once avow his secret determination.
At length, with a faltering, uncertain voice, he said: “A matter of
business will bring me to that country; I have already conversed with
Lord Castlereagh on the subject. Lord Netherby was present.”
“I'm sure he could never concur,-I'm certain.” So far her Ladyship had
proceeded, when a sudden fear came over her that she had ventured too
far, and turning hastily, she rang the bell beside her. “Davenport,”
said she to the grave-looking groom of the chambers, who as
instantaneously appeared, “is my Lord at home?”
“His Lordship is in the library, my Lady.”
“Alone?”
“No, my Lady, a gentleman from Ireland is with his Lordship.”
“A gentleman from Ireland!” repeated she, half aloud, as though the very
mention of that country were destined to persecute her; then quickly
added, “Say I wish to speak with him here.”
The servant bowed and withdrew; and now a perfect silence reigned in the
apartment. Forester felt that he had gone too far to retreat, even
were he so disposed, and although dreading nothing more than a “scene,”
awaited, without speaking, the course of events. As much yielding to an
involuntary impatience as to relieve the awkwardness of the interval,
he arose and walked into the adjoining drawing-room, carelessly tossing
over books and prints upon the tables, and trying to affect an ease he
was very far from experiencing.
It was while he was thus engaged that Lord Netherby entered the boudoir,
and seeing her Ladyship alone, was about to speak in his usual tone,
when, at a gesture from her, he was made aware of Forester's vicinity,
and hastily subdued his voice to a whisper. “Whatever the nature of the
tidings which in a hurried and eager tone his Lordship retailed, her
manner on hearing evinced a mingled astonishment and delight, if the
word dare be applied to an emotion whose source was in anything rather
than an amiable feeling.
“It seems too absurd, too monstrous in every way,” exclaimed she, at the
end of an explanation which took several minutes to recount. “And why
address himself to you? That seems also inexplicable.”
“This,” rejoined Lord Netherby, aloud,---“this was his own inspiration.
He candidly acknowledges that no one either counselled or is even aware
of the step he has taken.”
“Perhaps the _à propos_ may do us good service,” whispered she, with a
glance darted at the room where Forester was now endeavoring, by humming
an air, to give token of his vicinity as well as assume an air of
indifference.
“I thought of that,” said Lord Netherby, in the same low voice. “Would
you see him? A few moments would be enough.”
Lady Netherby made no answer, but with closed eyes and compressed lips
seemed to reflect deeply for several minutes. At last she said: “Yes,
let him come. I'll detain Richard in the drawing-room; he shall hear
everything that is said. If I know anything of him, the insult to his
pride will do far more than all our arguments and entreaties.”
“Don't chill my little friend by any coldness of manner,” said his
Lordship, smiling, as he moved towards the door; “I have only got him
properly thawed within the last few minutes.”
“My dear Richard,” said she, as the door closed after Lord Netherby, “I
must keep you prisoner in the drawing-room for a few minutes, while I
receive a visitor of Lord Netherby's. Don't close the doors; I can't
endure heat and this room becomes insupportable without a slight
current of air. Besides, there is no secret, I fancy, in the
communication. As well as I understand the matter, it does not concern
us; but Netherby is always doing some piece of silly good-nature, for
which no one thanks him!”
The last reflection was half soliloquy, but said so that Forester could
and did hear every word of it. While her Ladyship, therefore, patiently
awaited the arrival of her visitor in one room, Forester threw himself
into a chair, and taking up a book at hazard, endeavored to pass the
interval without further thought about the matter.
Sitting with his back towards the door of the boudoir. Forester
accidentally had placed himself in such a position that a large mirror
between the windows reflected to him a considerable portion of the scene
within. It was then with an amount of astonishment far above ordinary
that he beheld the strange-looking figure who followed Lord Netherby
into the apartment of his mother. He was a short, dumpy man, with a bald
head, over which the long hairs of either side were studiously combed
into an ingenious kind of network, and meeting at an angle above
the cranium, looked like the uncovered rafters of a new house. Two
fierce-looking gray eyes that seemed ready for fun or malice, rolled
and revolved unceasingly over the various decorations of the chamber,
while a large thick-lipped mouth, slightly opened at either end, vouched
for one who neglected no palpable occasion for self-indulgence or
enjoyment. There was, indeed, throughout his appearance, a look of racy
satisfaction and contentment, that consorted but ill with his costume,
which was a suit of deep mourning; his clothes having all the gloss
and shine of a recent domestic loss, and made, as seems something to be
expected on these occasions, considerably too large for him, as though
to imply that the defunct should not be defrauded in the full measure of
sorrow. Deep crape weepers encircled his arms to the elbows, and a very
banner of black hung mournfully from his hat.
[Illustration: 368]
“Mr.-------” Here Lord Netherby hesitated, forgetful of his name.
“Dempsey, Paul Dempsey, your Grace,” said the little man, as, stepping
forward, he performed the salutation before Lady Netherby, by which he
was accustomed to precede an invitation to dance.
“Pray be seated, Mr. Dempsey. I have just briefly mentioned to her
Ladyship the circumstances of our interesting conversation, and with
your permission will proceed with my recital, begging that if I fall
into any error you will kindly set me right. This will enable Lady
Netherby, who is still an invalid, to support the fatigue of an
interview wherein her advice and counsel will be of great benefit to us
both.”
Mr. Dempsey bowed several times, not sorry, perhaps, that in such an
awful presence he was spared the office of chief orator.
“I told you, my dear,” said Lord Netherby, turning towards her
Ladyship, “that this gentleman had for a considerable time back enjoyed
the pleasure of intimacy with our worthy relative Lady Eleanor Darcy--”
The fall of a heavy book in the adjoining room interrupted his Lordship,
between whom and Lady Netherby a most significant interchange of glances
took place. He resumed, however, without a pause,--
“Lady Eleanor and her accomplished daughter. If the more urgent question
were uot now before us, it would gratify you to learn, as I have just
done, the admirable patience she has exhibited under the severe trials
she has met; the profound insight she obtained into the condition,
hopeless as it proves to be, of their unhappy circumstances; and the
resignation in which, submitting to changed fortune, she not only has at
once abandoned the modes of living she was habituated to, but actually
descended to what I can fancy must have been the hardest infliction of
all,--vulgar companionship, and the society of a boarding-house.”
“A most respectable establishment, though,” broke in Paul; “Fumbally's
is known all over Ulster--”
A very supercilious smile from Lady Netherby cut short a panegyric Mr.
Dempsey would gladly have extended.
“No doubt, sir, it was the best thing of the kind,” resumed his
Lordship; “but remember who Lady Eleanor Darcy was,--ay, and is.
Think of the station she had always held, and then fancy her in daily
intercourse with those people--”
“Oh, it is very horrid, indeed!” broke in Lady Netherby, leaning back,
and looking overcome even at the bare conception of the enormity.
“The little miserable notorieties of a fishing-village--”
“Coleraine, my Lord,--Coleraine,” cried Dempsey.
“Well, be it so. What is Coleraine?”
“A very thriving town on the river Bann, with a smart trade in yarn, two
breweries, three meeting-houses, a pound, and a Sunday-school,” repeated
Paul, as rapidly as though reading from a volume of a topographical
dictionary.
“All very commendable and delightful institutions, on which I beg
heartily to offer my congratulations, but, you will allow me to remark,
scarcely enough to compensate for the accustomed appliances of a
residence at Gwynne Abbey. But I see we are trespassing on Lady
Netherby's strength. You seem faint, my dear.”
“It's nothing,--it will pass over in a moment or so. This sad account of
these poor people has distressed me greatly.”
“Well, then, we must hasten on. Mr. Dempsey became acquainted with our
poor friends in this their exile; and although from his delicacy and
good taste he will not dwell on the circumstance, it is quite clear to
me, has shown them many attentions; I might use a stronger word, and say
kindnesses.”
“Oh! by Jove, I did nothing. I could do nothing--”
“Nay, sir, you are unjust to yourself; the very intentions by which
you set out on your present journey are the shortest answer to that
question. It would appear, my dear, that my fair relative, Miss
Darcy, has not forfeited the claim she possessed to great beauty and
attraction; for here, in the gentleman before us, is an evidence of
their existence. Mr. Dempsey, who 'never told his love,' as the poet
says, waited in submission himself for the hour of his changing fortune;
and until the death of his mother--”
“No, my Lord; my uncle, Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey's Grove.”
“His uncle, I mean. Mr. Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole.”
“Grove,-Dempsey's Grove,” interpolated Paul, reddening.
“Grove, I should say,” repeated Lord Netherby, unmoved. “By which he has
succeeded to a very comfortable independence, and is now in a position
to make an offer of his hand and fortune.”
“Under the conditions, my Lord,--under the conditions,” whispered Paul.
“I have not forgotten them,” resumed Lord Netherby, aloud. “It would be
ungenerous not to remember them, even for your sake, Mr. Dempsey, seeing
how much my poor, dear relative, Lady Eleanor, is beut on prosecuting
this unhappy suit, void of all hope, as it seems to be, and not having
any money of her owu--”
“Ready money,--cash,” interposed Paul.
“So I mean--ready money to make the advances necessary--Mr. Dempsey
wishes to raise a certain sum by loan, on the security of his property,
which may enable the Darcys to proceed with their claim; this deed to be
executed on his marriage with Miss Darcy. Am I correct, sir?”
“Quite correct, my Lord; you've only omitted that, to save expensive
searches, lawyers' fees, and other devilments of the like nature, that
your Lordship should advance the blunt yourself?”
“I was coming to that point. Mr. Dempsey opines that, taking the
interest it is natural we should do in our poor friends, he has a
kind of claim to make this proposition to us. He is aware of our
relationship--mine, I mean--to Lady Eleanor. She spoke to you, I
believe, on that subject, Mr. Dempsey?”
“Not exactly to _me_,” said Paul, hesitating, and recalling the manner
in which he became cognizant of the circumstance; “but I heard her
say that your Lordship was under very deep obligation to her own
father,--that you were, so to say, a little out at elbows once, very
like myself before Bob died, and that then--”
“We all lived together like brothers and sisters,” said his Lordship,
reddening. “I 'm sure I can't forget how happily the time went over.”
“Then Lady Eleanor, I presume, sir, did not advert to those
circumstances as a reason for your addressing yourself to Lord
Netherby?” said her Ladyship, with a look of stern severity.
“Why, my Lady, she knows nothing about my coming here. Lord bless us! I
wouldn't have told her for a thousand pounds!”
“Nor Miss Darcy, either?”
“Not a bit of it! Oh, by Jove! if you think they 're not as proud as
ever they were, you are much mistaken; and, indeed, on this very same
subject I heard her say that nothing would induce her to accept a favor
from your Lordship, if even so very improbable an event should occur as
your offering one.”
“So that we owe the honor of your visit to the most single-minded of
motives, sir,” said Lady Netherby, whose manner had now assumed all its
stateliness.
“Yes, my Lady, I came as you see,--_Dempsius cum Dempsio_,--so that if I
succeed, I can say like that fellow in the play, 'Alone, I did it.'”
Lord Netherby, who probably felt that the interview had lasted
sufficiently long for the only purpose he had destined or endured it,
was now becoming somewhat desirous of terminating the audience; nor
was his impatience allayed by those sportive sallies of Mr. Dempsey in
allusion to his own former condition as a dependant.
At length he said, “You must be aware, Mr. Dempsey, that this is a
matter demanding much time and consideration. The Knight of Gwynne is
absent.”
“That's the reason there is not an hour to lose,” interposed Paul.
“I am at a loss for your meaning.”
“I mean that if he comes home before it 's all settled, that the game is
up. He would never consent, I 'm certain.”
“So you think that the ladies regard you with more favorable eyes?” said
her Ladyship, smiling a mixture of superciliousness and amusement.
“I have my own reasons to think so,” said Paul, with great composure.
“Perhaps you take too hopeless a view of your case, sir,” resumed Lord
Netherby, blandly. “I am, unhappily, very ignorant of Irish family rank;
but I feel assured that Mr. Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole--”
“Grove,--Dempsey's Grove,” said Paul, with a look of anger.
“I ask your pardon, humbly,--I would say of Dempsey's Grove,-might be an
accepted suitor in the very highest quarters. At all events, from news
I have heard this morning it is more than likely that the Knight will
be in London before many weeks, and I dare not assume either the
responsibility of favoring your views, or incurring his displeasure by
an act of interference. I think her Ladyship coucurs with me.”
“Perfectly. The case is really one which, however we may and do feel the
liveliest interest in, lies quite beyond our influence or control.”
“Mr. Dempsey may rest assured that, even from so brief an acquaintance,
we have learned to appreciate some of his many excellent qualities of
head and heart.”
Lady Netherby bowed an acquiescence cold and stately; and, his Lordship
rising at the same time, Paul saw that the audience drew to a close. He
arose then slowly, and with a faint sigh,--for he thought of his long
and dreary journey, made to so little profit.
“So I may jog back again as I came,” muttered he, as he drew on
his gloves. “Well, well, Lady Eleanor knew him better than I did.
Good-morning, my Lady. I hope you are about to enjoy better health.
Good-bye, my Lord.”
“Do you make any stay in town, Mr. Dempsey?” inquired his Lordship, in
that bland voice that best became him. “Till I pack my portmanteau, my
Lord, and pay my bill at the 'Tavistock,'--not an hour longer.”
“I 'm sorry for that. I had hoped, and Lady Netherby also expected, we
should have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“Very grateful, my Lord; but I see how the land lies as well as if I was
here a month.”
And with this significant speech Mr. Dempsey repeated his salutations
and withdrew.
“What presumption!” exclaimed Lady Netherby, as the door closed behind
him. “But how needlessly Lady Eleanor Darcy must have lowered herself to
incur such acquaintanceship!”
Lord Netherby made no reply, but gave a glance towards the still open
door of the drawing-room. Her Ladyship understood it at once, and
said,--
“Oh, let us release poor Richard from his bondage. Tell him to come in.”
Lord Netherby walked forward; but scarcely had he entered the
drawing-room, when he called out, “He 's gone!”
“Gone! when?--how?” cried Lady Netherby, ringing the bell. “Did you
see Lord Wall incourt when he was going, Davenport?” asked she, at once
assuming her own calm deportment.
“Yes, my Lady.”
“I hope he took the carriage.”
“No, my Lady, his Lordship went on foot.”
“That will do, Davenport. I don't receive to-day.”
“I must hasten after him,” said Lord Netherby, as the servant withdrew.
“We have, perhaps, incurred the very hazard we hoped to obviate.”
“I half feared it,” exclaimed Lady Netherby, gravely. “Lose no time,
however, and bring him to dinner; say that I feel very poorly, and that
his society will cheer me greatly. If he is unfit to leave the house,
stay with him; but above all things let him not be left alone.”
Lord Netherby hastened from the room, and his carriage was soon heard at
a rapid pace proceeding down the square.
Lady Netherby sat with her eyes fixed on the carpet, and her hands
clasped closely, lost in thought. “Yes,” said she, half aloud, “there is
a fate in it! This Lady Eleanor may have her vengeance yet!”
It was about an hour after this, and while she was still revolving her
own deep thoughts, that Lord Netherby re-entered the room.
“Well, is he here?” asked she, impatiently.
“No, he's off to Ireland; the very moment he reached the hotel he
ordered four horses to his carriage, and while his servant packed some
trunks he himself drove over to Lord Castlereagh's, but came back almost
immediately. They must have used immense despatch, for Long told me that
they would be nigh Barnet when I called.”
“He 's a true Wallincourt,” said her Ladyship, bitterly. “Their family
motto is 'Rash in danger,' and they have well deserved it.”