THE MASTER OF MORLEY COURT AND THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN IN
BOTTLE-GREEN--THE BARONET'S DAUGHTER--AND THE TWO CONSPIRATORS.
Encounters such as those described in the last chapter were, it is
needless to say, much more common a hundred and thirty years ago than
they are now. In fact, it was unsafe alike in town and country to stir
abroad after dark in any district affording wealth and aristocracy
sufficient to tempt the enterprise of _professional_ gentlemen. If
London and its environs, with all their protective advantages, were,
nevertheless, so infested with desperadoes as to render its very
streets and most frequented ways perilous to pass through during the
hours of night, it is hardly to be wondered at that Dublin, the capital
of a rebellious and semi-barbarous country--haunted by hungry
adventurers, who had lost everything in the revolutionary wars--with a
most notoriously ineffective police, and a rash and dissolute
aristocracy, with a great deal more money and a great deal less caution
than usually fall to the lot of our gentry of the present day--should
have been pre-eminently the scene of midnight violence and adventure.
The continued frequency of such occurrences had habituated men to think
very lightly of them; and the feeble condition of the civil executive
almost uniformly secured the impunity of the criminal. We shall not,
therefore, weary the reader by inviting his attention to the formal
investigation which was forthwith instituted; it is enough for all
purposes to record that, like most other investigations of the kind at
that period, it ended in--just nothing.
Instead, then, of attending inquests and reading depositions, we must
here request the gentle reader to accompany us for a brief space into
the dressing-room of Sir Richard Ashwoode, where, upon the morning
following the events which in our last we have detailed, the
aristocratic invalid lay extended upon a well-cushioned sofa, arrayed
in a flowered silk dressing-gown, lined with crimson, and with a velvet
cap upon his head. He was apparently considerably beyond sixty--a
slightly and rather an elegantly made man, with thin, anxious features,
and a sallow complexion: his head rested upon his hand, and his eyes
wandered with an air of discontented abstraction over the fair
landscape which his window commanded. Before him was placed a small
table, with all the appliances of an elegant breakfast; and two or
three books and pamphlets were laid within reach of his hand. A little
way from him sate his beautiful child, Mary Ashwoode, paler than usual,
though not less lovely--for the past night had been to her one of
fevered excitement, griefs, and fears. There she sate, with her work
before her, and while her small hands plied their appointed task, her
soft, dark eyes wandered often with sweet looks of affection toward the
reclining form of that old haughty and selfish man, her father.
The silence had continued long, for the old man's temper might not,
perhaps, have brooked an interruption of his ruminations, although, if
the sour and spited expression of his face might be trusted, his
thoughts were not the most pleasant in the world. The train of
reflection, whatever it might have been, was interrupted by the
entrance of a servant, bearing in his hand a note, with which he
approached Sir Richard, but with that air of nervous caution with which
one might be supposed to present a sandwich to a tiger.
"Why the devil, sirrah, do you pound the floor so!" cried Sir Richard,
turning shortly upon the man as he advanced, and speaking in sharp and
bitter accents. "What's that you've got?--a note?--take it back, you
blockhead--I'll not touch it--it's some rascally scrap of dunning
paper--get out of my sight, sirrah."
"An it please you, sir," replied the man, deferentially, "it comes from
Lord Aspenly."
"Eh! oh! ah!" exclaimed Sir Richard, raising himself upon the sofa, and
extending his hand with alacrity. "Here, give it to me; so you may go,
sir--but stay, does a messenger wait?--ask particularly from me how his
lordship does, do you mind? and let the man have refreshment; go,
sirrah, go--begone!"
Sir Richard then took the note, broke the seal, and read the contents
through, evidently with considerable satisfaction. Having completed the
perusal of the note twice over, with a smile of unusual gratification,
tinctured, perhaps, with the faintest possible admixture of ridicule,
Sir Richard turned toward his daughter with more real cheerfulness than
she had seen him exhibit for years before.
"Mary, my good child," said he, "this note announces the arrival here,
on to-morrow, of my old, or rather, my most _particular_ friend, Lord
Aspenly; he will pass some days with us--days which we must all
endeavour to make as agreeable to him as possible. You look--you _do_
look extremely well and pretty to-day; come here and kiss me, child."
Overjoyed at this unwonted manifestation of affection, the girl cast
her work away, and with a beating heart and light step, she ran to her
father's side, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him again and
again, in happy unconsciousness of all that was passing in the mind of
him she so fondly caressed.
The door again opened, and the same servant once more presented
himself.
"What do you come to plague me about _now_?" inquired the master,
sharply; recovering, in an instant, his usual peevish manner--"What's
this you've got?--what _is_ it?"
"A card, sir," replied the man, at the same time advancing the salver
on which it lay within reach of the languid hand of his master.
"Mr. Audley--Mr. Audley," repeated Sir Richard, as he read the card; "I
never heard of the man before, in the course of my life; I know nothing
about him--nothing--and care as little. Pray what is _he_ pestering
about?--what does he want here?"
"He requests permission to see you, sir," replied the man.
"Tell him, with my compliments, to go to hell!" rejoined the
invalid;--"Or, stay," he added, after a moment's pause--"what does he
look like?--is he well or ill-dressed?--old or young?"
"A middle-aged man, sir; rather well-dressed," answered the servant.
"He did not mention his business?" asked Sir Richard.
"No, sir," replied the man; "but he said that it was very important,
and that you would be glad to see him."
"Show him up, then," said Sir Richard, decisively.
The servant accordingly bowed and departed.
"A stranger!--a gentleman!--and come to me upon important and pleasant
business," muttered the baronet, musingly--"important and
pleasant!--Can my old, cross-grained brother-in-law have made a
favourable disposition of his property, and--and--died!--that were,
indeed, news worth hearing; too much luck to happen me, though--no, no,
it can't be--it can't be."
Nevertheless, he thought it _might_ be; and thus believing, he awaited
the entrance of his visitor with extreme impatience. This suspense,
however, was not of long duration; the door opened, and the servant
announced Mr. Audley--a dapper little gentleman, in grave habiliments
of bottle-green cloth; in person somewhat short and stout; and in
countenance rather snub-featured and rubicund, but bearing an
expression in which good-humour was largely blended with
self-importance. This little person strutted briskly into the room.
"Hem!--Sir Richard Ashwoode, I presume?" exclaimed the visitor, with a
profound bow, which threatened to roll his little person up like an
armadillo.
Sir Richard returned the salute by a slight nod and a gracious wave of
the hand.
"You will excuse my not rising to receive you, Mr. Audley," said the
baronet, "when I inform you that I am tied here by the gout; pray, sir,
take a chair. Mary, remove your work to the room underneath, and lay
the ebony wand within my reach; I will tap upon the floor when I want
you."
The girl accordingly glided from the room.
"We are now alone, sir," continued Sir Richard, after a short pause. "I
fear, sir--I know not why--that your business has relation to my
brother; is he--is he _ill_?"
"Faith, sir," replied the little man bluntly, "I never heard of the
gentleman before in my life."
"I breathe again, sir; you have relieved me extremely," said the
baronet, swallowing his disappointment with a ghastly smile; "and now,
sir, that you have thus considerately and expeditiously dispelled what
were, thank heaven! my groundless alarms, may I ask you to what
accident I am indebted for the singular good fortune of making your
acquaintance--in short, sir, I would fain learn the object of your
visit."
"That you shall, sir--that you shall, in a trice," replied the little
gentleman in green. "I'm a plain man, my dear Sir Richard, and love to
come to the point at once--ahem! The story, to be sure, is a long one,
but don't be afraid, I'll abridge it--I'll abridge it." He drew his
watch from his fob, and laying it upon the table before him, he
continued--"It now wants, my dear sir, precisely seven minutes of
eleven, by London time; I shall limit myself to half-an-hour."
"I fear, Mr. Audley, you should find me a very unsatisfactory listener
to a narrative of half-an-hour's length," observed Sir Richard, drily;
"in fact, I am not in a condition to make any such exertion; if you
will obligingly condense what you have to say into a few minutes, you
will confer a favour upon me, and lighten your own task considerably."
Sir Richard then indignantly took a pinch of snuff, and muttered,
almost audibly--"A vulgar, audacious, old boor."
"Well, then, we must try--we must try, my dear sir," replied the little
gentleman, wiping his face with his handkerchief, by way of
preparation--"I'll just sum up the leading points, and leave
particulars for a more favourable opportunity; in fact, I'll hold over
_all_ details to our next merry meeting--our next _tête-à-tête_--when I
hope we shall meet upon a pleasanter _footing_--your gouty toes, you
know--d'ye take me? Ha! ha! excuse the joke--ha! ha! ha!"
Sir Richard elevated his eyebrows, and looked upon the little gentleman
with a gaze of stern and petrifying severity during this burst of
merriment.
"Well, my dear sir," continued Mr. Audley, again wiping his face, "to
proceed to business. You have learned my name from my card, but beyond
my name you know nothing about me."
"_Nothing whatever_, sir," replied Sir Richard, with profound emphasis.
"Just so; well, then, you _shall_," rejoined the little gentleman. "I
have been a long time settled in France--I brought over every penny I
had in the world there--in short, sir, something more than twelve
thousand pounds. Well, sir, what did I do with it? There's the
question. Your gay young fellows would have thrown it away at the
gaming table, or squandered it on gold lace and velvets--or again, your
prudent, plodding fellow would have lived quietly on the interest and
left the principal to vegetate; but what did I do? Why, sir, not caring
for idleness or show, I threw some of it into the wine trade, and with
the rest I kept hammering at the funds, winning twice for every once I
lost. In fact, sir, I prospered--the money rolled in, sir, and in due
course I became rich, sir--rich--_warm_, as the phrase goes."
"Very _warm_, indeed, sir," replied Sir Richard, observing that his
visitor again wiped his face--"but allow me to ask, beyond the general
interest which I may be presumed to feel in the prosperity of the whole
human race, how on earth does all this concern _me_?"
"Ay, ay, there's the question," replied the stranger, looking
unutterably knowing--"that's the puzzle. But all in good time; you
shall hear it in a twinkling. Now, being well to do in the world, you
may ask me, why do not I look out for a wife? I answer you simply, that
having escaped matrimony hitherto, I have no wish to be taken in the
noose at these years; and now, before I go further, what do you take my
age to be--how old do I look?"
The little man squared himself, cocked his head on one side, and looked
inquisitively at Sir Richard from the corner of his eye. The patience
of the baronet was nigh giving way outright.
"Sir," replied he, in no very gracious tones, "you may be the
'Wandering Jew,' for anything I either know or see to the contrary."
"Ha! good," rejoined the little man, with imperturbable good humour, "I
see, Sir Richard, you are a wag--the Wandering Jew--ha, ha! no--not
_that_ quite. The fact is, sir, I am in my sixty-seventh year--you
would not have thought that--eh?"
Sir Richard made no reply whatever.
"You'll acknowledge, sir, that _that_ is not exactly the age at which
to talk of hearts and darts, and gay gold rings," continued the
communicative gentleman in the bottle-green. "I know very well that no
young woman, of her own free choice, could take a liking to _me_."
"Quite impossible," with desperate emphasis, rejoined Sir Richard, upon
whose ear the sentence grated unpleasantly; for Lord Aspenly's letter
(in which "hearts and darts" were profusely noticed) lay before him on
the table; "but once more, sir, may I implore of you to tell me the
drift of all this?"
"The drift of it--to be sure I will--in due time," replied Mr. Audley.
"You see, then, sir, that having no family of my own, and not having any
intention of taking a wife, I have resolved to leave my money to a fine
young fellow, the son of an old friend; his name is O'Connor--Edmond
O'Connor--a fine, handsome, young dog, and worthy to fill any place in
all the world--a high-spirited, good-hearted, dashing young rascal--you
know something of him, Sir Richard?"
The baronet nodded a supercilious assent; his attention was now really
enlisted.
"Well, Sir Richard," continued the visitor, "I have wormed out of
him--for I have a knack of my own of getting at people's secrets, no
matter how close they keep them, d'ye see--that he is over head and
ears in love with your daughter--I believe the young lady who just
left the room on my arrival; and indeed, if such is the case, I
commend the young scoundrel's taste; the lady is truly worthy of all
admiration--and----"
"Pray, sir, proceed as briefly as may be to the object of your
conversation with me," interrupted Sir Richard, drily.
"Well, then, to return--I understand, sir," continued Audley, "that
you, suspecting something of the kind, and believing the young fellow
to be penniless, very naturally, and, indeed, I may say, very
prudently, and very sensibly, opposed yourself to the thing from the
commencement, and obliged the sly young dog to discontinue his
visits;--well, sir, matters stood so, until _I_--cunning little
_I_--step in, and change the whole posture of affairs--and how? Marry,
thus, I come hither and ask your daughter's hand for _him_, upon these
terms following--that I undertake to convey to him, at once, lands to
the value of one thousand pounds a year, and that at my death I will
leave him, with the exception of a few small legacies, sole heir to all
I have; and on his wedding-day give him and his lady their choice of
either of two chateaux, the worst of them a worthy residence for a
nobleman."
"Are these chateaux in Spain?" inquired Sir Richard, sneeringly.
"No, no, sir," replied the little man, with perfect guilelessness;
"both in Flanders."
"Well, sir," said Sir Richard Ashwoode, raising himself almost to a
sitting posture, and preluding his observations with two unusually
large pinches of snuff, "I have heard you very patiently throughout a
statement, all of which was fatiguing, and much of which was positively
disagreeable to me: and I trust that what I have now to say will render
it wholly unnecessary for you and me ever again to converse upon the
same topic. Of Mr. O'Connor, whom, in spite of this strange repetition
of an already rejected application, I believe to be a spirited young
man, I shall say nothing more than that, from the bottom of my heart I
wish him every success of every kind, so long as he confines his
aspirations to what is suitable to his own position in society; and,
consequently, conducive to his own comfort and respectability. With
respect to his very flattering vicarious proposal, I must assure you
that I do not suspect Miss Ashwoode of any inclination to descend from
the station to which her birth and fortune entitle her; and if I did
suspect it, I should feel it to be my imperative duty to resist, by
every means in my power, the indulgence of any such wayward caprice;
but lest, after what I have said, any doubt should rest upon your mind
as to the value of these obstacles, it may not be amiss to add that my
daughter, Miss Ashwoode, is actually promised in marriage to a
gentleman of exalted rank and great fortune, and who is, in all
respects, an unexceptionable connection. I have the honour, sir, to
wish you good-morning."
"The devil!" exclaimed the little gentleman, as soon as his utter
amazement allowed him to take breath. A long pause ensued, during which
he twice inflated his cheeks to their utmost tension, and puffed the
air forth with a prolonged whistle of desolate wonder. Recollecting
himself, however, he hastily arose, wished Sir Richard good-day, and
walked down stairs, and out of the house, all the way muttering, "God
bless my body and soul--a thousand pounds a year--the devil--_can_ it
be?--body o' me--refuse a thousand a year--what the deuce is he looking
for?"--and such other ejaculations; stamping all the while emphatically
upon every stair as he descended, to give vent to his indignation, as
well as impressiveness to his remarks.
Something like a smile for a moment lit up the withered features of the
old baronet; he leaned back luxuriously upon his sofa, and while he
listened with delighted attention to the stormy descent of his visitor,
he administered to its proper receptacle, with prolonged relish, two
several pinches of rappee.
"So, so," murmured he, complacently, "I suspect I have seen the last of
honest Mr. Audley--a little surprised and a little angry he does appear
to be--dear me!--he stamps fearfully--what a very strange creature it
is."
Having made this reflection, Sir Richard continued to listen pleasantly
until the sounds were lost in the distance; he then rang a small
hand-bell which lay upon the table, and a servant entered.
"Tell Mistress Mary," said the baronet, "that I shall not want her just
now, and desire Mr. Henry to come hither instantly--begone, sirrah."
The servant disappeared, and in a few moments young Ashwoode, looking
unusually pale and haggard, and dressed in a morning suit, entered the
chamber. Having saluted his father with the formality which the usages
of the time prescribed, and having surveyed himself for a moment at the
large mirror which stood in the room, and having adjusted thereat the
tie of his lace cravat, he inquired,--
"Pray, sir, who was that piece of 'too, too solid flesh' that passed me
scarce a minute since upon the stairs, pounding all the way with the
emphasis of a battering ram? As far as I could judge, the thing had
just been discharged from your room."
"You have happened, for once in your life, to talk with relation to the
subject to which I would call your attention," said Sir Richard. "The
person whom you describe with your wonted facetiousness, has just been
talking with me; his name is Audley; I never saw him till this morning,
and he came coolly to make proposals, in young O'Connor's name, for
your sister's hand, promising to settle some scurvy chateaux, heaven
knows where, upon the happy pair."
"Well, sir, and what followed?" asked the young man.
"Why simply, sir," replied his father, "that I gave him the answer
which sent him stamping down stairs, as you saw him. I laughed in his
face, and desired him to go about his business."
"Very good, indeed, sir," observed young Ashwoode.
"There is no occasion for commentary, sir," continued Sir Richard.
"Attend to what I have to say: a nobleman of large fortune has
requested my permission to make his suit to your sister--_that_ I have,
of course, granted; he will arrive here to-morrow, to make a stay of
some days. I am resolved the thing _shall_ be concluded. I ought to
mention that the nobleman in question is Lord Aspenly."
The young man looked for a moment or two the very impersonation of
astonishment, and then, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"Either be silent, sir, or this moment quit the room," said Sir
Richard, in a tone which few would have liked to disobey--"how dare
you--you--you insolent, dependent coxcomb--how dare you, sir, treat me
with this audacious disrespect?"
The young man hastened to avert the storm, whose violence he had more
than once bitterly felt, by a timely submission.
"I assure you, sir, nothing was further from my intention than to
offend you," said he--"I am fully alive--as a man of the world, I could
not be otherwise--to the immense advantages of the connection; but Lord
Aspenly I have known so long, and always looked upon as a confirmed old
bachelor, that on hearing his name thus suddenly, something of
incongruity, and--and--and I don't exactly know what--struck me so very
forcibly, that I involuntarily and very thoughtlessly began to laugh. I
assure you, sir, I regret it very much, if it has offended you."
"You are a weak fool, sir, I am afraid," replied his father, shortly:
"but that conviction has not come upon me by surprise; you _can_,
however, be of some use in this matter, and I am determined you _shall_
be. Now, sir, mark me: I suspect that this young fellow--this O'Connor,
is not so indifferent to Mary as he should be to a daughter of mine,
and it is more than possible that he may endeavour to maintain his
interest in her affections, imaginary or real, by writing letters,
sending messages, and such manoeuvring. Now, you must call upon the
young man, wherever he is to be found, and either procure from him a
distinct pledge to the effect that he will think no more of her (the
young fellow has a sense of honour, and I would rely upon his promise),
or else you must have him out--in short, make him _fight_ you--you
attend, sir--if _you_ get hurt, we can easily make the country too hot
to hold him; and if, on the other hand, _you_ poke _him_ through the
body, there's an end of the whole difficulty. This step, sir, you
_must_ take--you understand me--I am very much in earnest."
This was delivered with a cold deliberateness, which young Ashwoode
well understood, when his father used it to imply a fixity of purpose,
such as brooked no question, and halted at no obstacle.
"Sir," replied Henry Ashwoode, after an embarrassed pause of a few
minutes, "you are not aware of _one_ particular connected with last
night's affray--you have heard that poor Darby, who rode with me, was
actually brained, and that _I_ escaped a like fate by the interposition
of one who, at his own personal risk, saved my life--that one was the
very Edmond O'Connor of whom we speak."
"What you allude to," observed Sir Richard, with very edifying
coolness, "is, no doubt, very shocking and very horrible. I regret the
destruction of the man, although I neither saw nor knew much about him;
and for your eminently providential escape, I trust I am fully as
thankful as I ought to be; and now, granting all you have said to be
perfectly accurate--which I take it to be--what conclusion do you wish
me to draw from it?"
"Why, sir, without pretending to any very extraordinary proclivity to
gratitude," replied the young man--"for O'Connor told me plainly that
he did not expect any--I must consider what the world will say, if I
return what it will be pleased to regard as an obligation, by
challenging the person who conferred it."
"Good, sir--good," said the baronet, calmly: and gazing upon the
ceiling with elevated eyebrows and a bitter smile, he added,
reflectively, "he's afraid--afraid--afraid--ay, afraid--afraid."
"You wrong me very much, sir," rejoined young Ashwoode, "if you imagine
that fear has anything to do with my reluctance to act as you would
have me; and no less do you wrong me, if you think I would allow any
school-boy sentimentalism to stand in the way of my family's interests.
My _real_ objection to the thing is this--first, that I cannot see any
satisfactory answer to the question, What will the world say of my
conduct, in case I force a duel upon him the day after he has saved my
life?--and again, I think it inevitably damages any young woman in the
matrimonial market, to have low duels fought about her."
Sir Richard screwed his eyebrows reflectively, and remained silent.
"But at the same time, sir," continued his son, "I see as clearly as
you could wish me to do, the importance, under present circumstances--or
rather the absolute necessity--of putting a stop to O'Connor's suit;
and, in short, to all communication between him and my sister, and I
will undertake to do this effectually."
"And how, sir, pray?" inquired the baronet.
"I shall, as a matter of course, wait upon the young man," replied
Henry Ashwoode--"his services of last night demand that I should do so.
I will explain to him, in a friendly way, the hopelessness of his suit.
I should not hesitate either to throw a little colouring of my own over
the matter. If I can induce O'Connor once to regard me as his
friend--and after all, it is but the part of a friend to put a stop to
this foolish affair--I will stake my existence that the matter shall be
broken off for ever and a day. If, however, the young fellow turn out
foolish and pig-headed, I can easily pick a quarrel with him upon some
other subject, and get him out of the way as you propose; but without
mixing up my sister's name in the dispute, or giving occasion for
gossip. However, I half suspect that it will require neither crafty
stratagem nor shrewd blows to bring this absurd business to an end. I
daresay the parties are beginning to tire heartily of waiting, and
perhaps a little even of one another; and, for my part, I really do not
know that the girl ever cared for him, or gave him the smallest
encouragement."
"But _I_ know that she _did_," replied Sir Richard. "Carey has shown me
letters from her to him, and from him to her, not six months since.
Carey is a very useful woman, and may do us important service. I did
not choose to mention that I had seen these letters; but I sounded Mary
somewhat sternly, and left her with a caution which I think must have
produced a salutary effect--in short, I told her plainly, that if I had
reason to suspect any correspondence or understanding between her and
O'Connor, I should not scruple to resort to the sternest and most
rigorous interposition of parental authority, to put an end to it
peremptorily. I confess, however, that I have misgivings about this. I
regard it as a very serious obstacle--one, however, which, so sure as I
live, I will entirely annihilate."
There was a pause for a little while, and Sir Richard continued,--
"There is a good deal of sense in what you have suggested. We will talk
it over and arrange operations systematically this evening. I presume
you intend calling upon the fellow to-day; it might not be amiss if you
had him to dine with you once or twice in town: you must get up a kind
of confidential acquaintance with him, a thing which you can easily
terminate, as soon as its object is answered. He is, I believe, what
they call a frank, honest sort of fellow, and is, of course, very
easily led; and--and, in short--made a _fool_ of: as for the girl, I
think I know something of the sex, and very few of them are so romantic
as not to understand the value of a title and ten thousand a year!
Depend upon it, in spite of all her sighs, and vapours, and romance,
the girl will be dazzled so effectually before three weeks, as to be
blind to every other object in the world; but if not, and should she
dare to oppose my wishes, I'll make her cross-grained folly more
terrible to her than she dreams of--but she knows me too well--she
_dares_ not."
Both parties remained silent and abstracted for a time, and then Sir
Richard, turning sharply to his son, exclaimed, with his usual tart
manner,--
"And now, sir, I must admit that I am a good deal tired of your very
agreeable company. Go about your business, if you please, and be in
this room this evening at half-past six o'clock. You had _better_ not
forget to be punctual; and, for the present, get out of my sight."
With this very affectionate leave-taking, Sir Richard put an end to the
family consultation, and the young man, relieved of the presence of the
only person on earth whom he really feared, gladly closed the door
behind him.