PARTING--THE SHELTERED VILLAGE, AND THE JOURNEY'S END.
Never was little gentleman in such a fuss as Mr. Audley--never were so
many orders issued and countermanded and given again--never were Larry
Toole's energies so severely tried and his intellects so
distracted--impossible tasks and contradictory orders so "huddled on
his back," that he well nigh went mad under the burthen; at length,
however, matters were arranged, two coaches with post-horses were
brought to the door, Mary Ashwoode and her attendant were deposited in
one, along with such extempore appliances for wardrobe and toilet as
Mrs. Pickley, in a hurried excursion, was enabled to collect from the
neighbouring shops and pack up for the journey, and Mr. Audley stood
ready to take his place in the other.
"Larry," said he, before ascending, "here are ten guineas, which will
keep you in bread and cheese until you hear from me again; don't on any
account leave the 'Cock and Anchor,' your master's horse and luggage
are there, and, no doubt, whenever he returns to Dublin, which I am
very certain must soon occur, he will go directly thither; so be you
sure to meet him there, should he happen during my absence to arrive;
and mark me, be very careful of this letter, give it him the moment you
see him, which, please God, will be very soon indeed; keep it in some
safe place--don't carry it in your breeches pocket, you blockhead,
you'll grind it to powder, booby! indeed, now that I think on't, you
had better give it at once in charge to the innkeeper of the 'Cock and
Anchor;' don't forget, on your life I charge you, and now good-night."
"Good-night, and good luck, your honour, and may God speed you!"
ejaculated Larry, as the vehicles rumbled away. The charioteers had
received their directions, and Mary Ashwoode and her trusty companion,
confused and bewildered by the rapidity with which events had succeeded
one another during the day, and stunned by the magnitude of the dangers
which they had so narrowly escaped, found themselves, scarcely
crediting the evidence of their senses, rapidly traversing the interval
which separated Dublin city from the little town of Naas.
It is not our intention to weary our readers with a detailed account of
the occurrences of the journey, nor to present them with a catalogue of
all the mishaps and delays to which Irish posting in those days, and
indeed much later, was liable; it is enough to state that upon the
evening of the fourth day the two carriages clattered into the wretched
little village which occupied the road on which opened the avenue
leading up to the great house of Ardgillagh. The village, though
obviously the abode of little comfort or cheerfulness, was not on that
account the less picturesque; the road wound irregularly where it
stood, and was carried by an old narrow bridge across a wayward
mountain stream which wheeled and foamed in many a sportive eddy within
its devious banks. Close by, the little mill was couched among the
sheltering trees, which, extending in irregular and scattered groups
through the village, and mingling with the stunted bushes and briars of
the hedges, were nearly met from the other side of the narrow street by
the broad branching limbs of the giant trees which skirted the wild
wooded domain of Ardgillagh. Thus occupying a sweeping curve of the
road, and embowered among the shadowy arches of the noble timber, the
little village had at first sight an air of tranquillity, seclusion,
and comfort, which made the traveller pause to contemplate its simple
attractions and to admire how it could be that a few wretched hovels
with crazy walls and thatch overgrown with weeds, thus irregularly
huddled together beneath the rude shelter of the wood, could make a
picture so pleasing to the eye and so soothing to the heart. The
vehicles were drawn up by their drivers before the door of a small
thatched building which, however, stood a whole head and shoulders
higher than the surrounding hovels, exhibiting a second storey with
three narrow windows in front, and over its doorway, from which a large
pig, under the stimulus of a broomstick, was majestically issuing, a
sign-board, the admiration of connoisseurs for miles round, presenting
a half-length portrait of the illustrious Brian Borhome, and admitted
to be a startling likeness. Before this mansion--the only one in the
place which pretended to the character of a house of public
entertainment--the post-boys drew bridle, and brought the vehicles to a
halt. Mr. Audley was upon the road in an instant, and with fussy
gallantry assisting Mary Ashwoode to descend. Their sudden arrival had
astounded the whole household--consternation and curiosity filled the
little establishment. The proprietor, who sat beneath the capacious
chimney, started to his feet, swallowing, in his surprise, a whole
potato, which he was just deliberately commencing, and by a miracle
escaped choking. The landlady dropped a pot, which she was scrubbing,
upon the back of a venerable personage who was in a stooping posture,
lighting his pipe, and inadvertently wiped her face in the pot clout;
everybody did something wrong, and nobody anything right; the dog was
kicked and the cat scalded, and in short, never was known in the little
village of Ardgillagh, within the memory of man, except when Ginckle
marched his troops through the town, such a universal hubbub as that
which welcomed the two chaises and their contents to the door of Pat
Moroney's hospitable mansion.
Mrs. Moroney, with more lampblack upon her comely features than she was
at that moment precisely aware of, hastened to the door, which she
occupied as completely and exclusively as the corpulent specimen of
Irish royalty over her head did his proper sign-board; all the time
gazing with an admiring grin upon Mr. Audley and the lady whom he
assisted to descend; and at exceedingly short and irregular intervals,
executing sundry slight ducks, intended to testify her exuberant
satisfaction and respect, while all around and about her were thrust
the wondering visages of the less important inmates of the
establishment; many were the murmured criticisms, and many the
ejaculations of admiration and surprise, which accompanied every
movement of the party under observation.
"Oh! but she's a fine young lady, God bless her!" said one.
"But isn't she mighty pale, though, entirely?" observed another.
"That's her father--the little stout gentleman; see how he houlds her
hand for fear she'd thrip comin' out. Oh! but he's a nate man!"
remarked a third.
"An' her hand as white as milk; an' look at her fine rings," said a
fourth.
"She's a rale lady; see the grand look of her, and the stately step,
God bless her!" said a fifth.
"See, see; here's another comin' out; that's her sisther," remarked
another.
"Hould your tongues, will yees?" ejaculated the landlady, jogging her
elbow at random into somebody's mouth.
"An' see the little one taking the box in her hand," observed one.
"Look at the tall lady, how she smiles at her, God bless her! she's a
rale good lady," remarked another.
"An' now she's linkin' with him, and here they come, by gorra,"
exclaimed a third.
"Back with yees, an' lave the way," exclaimed Mrs. Moroney; "don't you
see the quality comin'?"
Accordingly, with a palpitating heart, the worthy mistress of King
Brian Borhome prepared to receive her aristocratic guests. With due
state and ceremony she conducted them into the narrow chamber which,
except the kitchen, was the only public apartment in the establishment.
After due attention to his fair charge, Mr. Audley inquired of the
hostess,--
"Pray, my good worthy woman, are we not now within a mile or less of
the entrance into the domain of Ardgillagh?"
"The gate's not two perches down the road, your honour," replied she;
"is it to the great house you want to go, sir?"
"Yes, my good woman; certainly," replied he.
"Come here, Shawneen, come, asthore!" cried she, through the half-open
door. "I'll send the little gossoon with you, your honour; he'll show
you the way, and keep the dogs off, for they all knows him up at the
great house. Here, Shawneen; this gintleman wants to be showed the way
up to the great house; and don't let the dogs near him; do you mind? He
hasn't much English," said she, turning to her guest, by way of
apology, and then conveying her directions anew in the mother tongue.
Under the guidance of this ragged little urchin, Mr. Audley accordingly
set forth upon his adventurous excursion.
Mrs. Moroney brought in bread, milk, eggs, and in short, the best cheer
which her limited resources could supply; and, although Mary Ashwoode
was far too anxious about the result of Mr. Audley's visit to do more
than taste the tempting bowl of new milk which was courteously placed
before her, Flora Guy, with right good will and hearty appetite, did
ample justice to the viands which the hostess provided.
After some idle talk between herself and Flora Guy, Mrs. Moroney
observed in reply to an interrogatory from the girl,--
"Twenty or thirty years ago there wasn't such a fox-hunter in the
country as Mr. French; but he's this many a year ailing, and winter
after winter, it's worse and worse always he's getting, until at last
he never stirs out at all; and for the most part he keeps his bed."
"Is anyone living with him?" inquired Flora.
"No, none of his family," answered she; "no one at all, you may say;
there's no one does anything in his place, an' very seldom anyone sees
him except Mistress Martha and Black M'Guinness; them two has him all
to themselves; and, indeed, there's quare stories goin' about them."