“Well, it 's done now, Lucy, and it can't be helped,” said young
Lendrick to his sister, as, with an unlighted cigar between his
lips, and his hands in the pockets of his shooting-jacket, he walked
impatiently up and down the drawing-room. “I 'm sure if I only suspected
you were so strongly against it, I 'd not have done it.”
“My dear Tom, I'm only against it because I think papa would be so. You
know we never see any one here when he is at home, and why should we
now, because he is absent?”
“Just for that reason. It's our only chance, girl.”
“Oh, Tom!”
“Well, I don't mean that exactly, but I said it to startle you. No,
Lucy; but, you see, here's how the matter stands. I have been three
whole days in their company. On Tuesday the young fellow gave me that
book of flies and the top-joint of my rod. Yesterday I lunched with
them. To-day they pressed me so hard to dine with them that I felt
almost rude in persisting to refuse; and it was as much to avoid the
awkwardness of the situation as anything else that I asked them up to
tea this evening.”
“I'm sure, Tom, if it would give you any pleasure--”
“Of course it gives me pleasure,” broke he in; “I don't suspect that
fellows of my age like to live like hermits. And whom do I ever see down
here? Old Mills and old Tobin, and Larry Day, the dog-breaker. I ask his
pardon for putting him last, for he is the best of the three. Girls can
stand this sort of nun's life, but I 'll be hanged if it will do for
us.”
“And then, Tom,” resumed she, in the same tone, “remember they are both
perfect strangers. I doubt if you even know their names.”
“That I do,--the old fellow is Sir Brook something or other. It 's not
Fogey, but it begins like it; and the other is called Trafford,--Lionel,
I think, is his Christian name. A glorious fellow, too; was in the 9th
Lancers and in the blues, and is now here with the fifty--th because he
went it too hard in the cavalry. He had a horse for the Derby two years
ago.” The tone of proud triumph in which he made this announcement
seemed to say, Now, all discussion about him may cease. “Not but,” added
he, after a pause, “you might like the old fellow best; he has such a
world of stories, and he draws so beautifully. The whole time we were in
the boat he was sketching something; and he has a book full of odds
and ends; a tea-party in China, quail-shooting in Java, a wedding in
Candia,--I can't tell what more; but he 's to bring them up here with
him.”
“I was thinking, Tom, that it might be as well if you 'd go down and ask
Dr. Mills to come to tea. It would take off some of the awkwardness of
our receiving two strangers.”
“But they 're not strangers, Lucy; not a bit of it. I call him Trafford,
and he calls me Lendrick; and the old cove is the most familiar old
fellow I ever met.”
“Have you said anything to Nicholas yet?” asked she, in some eagerness.
“No; and that's exactly what I want you to do for me. That old bear
bullies us all, so that I can't trust myself to speak to him.”
“Well, don't go away, and I'll send for him now;” and she rang the bell
as she spoke. A smart-looking lad answered the summons, to whom she
said, “Tell Nicholas I want him.”
“Take my advice, Lucy, and merely say there are two gentlemen coming to
tea this evening; don't let the old villain think you are consulting him
about it, or asking his advice.”
“I must do it my own way,” said she; “only don't interrupt. Don't
meddle,--mind that, Tom.” The door opened, and a very short, thick-set
old man, dressed in a black coat and waistcoat, and drab breeches and
white stockings, with large shoe-buckles in his shoes, entered. His face
was large and red, the mouth immensely wide, and the eyes far set from
each other, his low forehead being shadowed by a wig of coarse red
hair, which moved when he spoke, and seemed almost to possess a sort of
independent vitality.
He had been reading when he was summoned, and his spectacles had been
pushed up over his forehead, while he still held the county paper in his
hand,--a sort of proud protest against being disturbed.
“You heard that Miss Lucy sent for you?” said Tom Lendrick, haughtily,
as his eye fell upon the newspaper.
“I did,” was the curt answer, as the old fellow, with a nervous shake of
the head, seemed to announce that he was ready for battle.
“What I wanted, Nicholas, was this,” interposed the girl, in a voice of
very winning sweetness; “Mr. Tom has invited two gentlemen this evening
to tea.”
“To tay!” cried Nicholas, as if the fact staggered all credulity.
“Yes, to tea; and I was thinking if you would go down to the town and
get some biscuits, or a sponge-cake, perhaps--whatever, indeed, you
thought best; and also beg Dr. Mills to step in, saying that as papa was
away--”
“That you was going to give a ball?”
“No. Not exactly that, Nicholas,” said she, smiling; “but that two
friends of my brother's--”
“And where did he meet his friends?” cried he, with a marked emphasis on
the “friends.” “Two strangers. God knows who or what! Poachers as like
as anything else. The ould one might be worse.”
“Enough of this,” said Tom, sternly. “Are you the master here? Go off,
sir, and do what Miss Lucy has ordered you.”
“I will not,--the devil a step,” said the old man, who now thrust the
paper into a capacious pocket, and struck each hand on a hip. “Is it
when the 'Jidge' is dying, when the newpapers has a column of the names
that 's calling to ask after him, you are to be carousing and feastin'
here?”
“Dear Nicholas, there's no question of feasting. It is simply a cup
of tea we mean to give; sorely there's no carousing in that. And as to
grandpapa, papa says that he was certainly better yesterday, and Dr.
Beattie has hopes now.”
“I have n't, then, and I know him better than Dr. Beattie.”
“What a pity they have n't sent for you for the consultation!” said Tom,
ironically.
“And look here, Nicholas,” said Lucy, drawing the old man towards the
door of a small room that led off the drawing-room, “we could have tea
here; it will look less formal, and give less trouble; and Mears could
wait,--he does it very well; and you need n't be put out at all.”
These last words fell to a whisper; but he was beyond reserve, beyond
flattery. The last speech of her brother still rankled in his memory,
and all that fell upon his ear since that fell unheeded.
“I was with your grandfather, Master Tom,” said the old man, slowly,
“twenty-one years before you were born! I carried his bag down to Court
the day he defended Neal O' Gorman for high treason, and I was with him
the morning he shot Luke Dillon at Castle Knock; and this I 'll say and
stand to, there 's not a man in Ireland, high or low, knows the Chief
Baron better than myself.”
“It must be a great comfort to you both,” said Tom; but his sister had
laid her hand on his mouth and made the words unintelligible.
“You'll say to Mr. Mills, Nicholas,” said she, in her most coaxing way,
“that I did not write, because I preferred sending my message by _you_,
who could explain why I particularly wanted him this evening.”
“I'll go, Miss Lucy, resarving the point, as they say in the
law,--resarving the point! because I don't give in that what you're
doin' is right; and when the master comes home, I'm not goin' to defend
it.”
“We must bear up under that calamity as well as we can,” said the young
man, insolently; but Nicholas never looked towards or seemed to hear
him.
“A barn-a-brack is better than a spongecake, because if there 's some of
it left it does n't get stale, and one-and-six-pence will be enough; and
I suppose you don't need a lamp?”
“Well, Nicholas, I must say, I think it would be better; and two candles
on the small table, and two on the piano.”
“Why don't you mentiou a fiddler?” said he, bitterly. “If it's a ball,
there ought to be music?”
Unable to control himself longer, young Lendrick wrenched open the
sash-door, and walked out into the lawn.
“The devil such a family for temper from this to Bantry!” said Nicholas;
“and here's the company comin' already, or I 'm mistaken. There 's a
boat makin' for the landing-place with two men in the stern.”
Lucy implored him once more to lose no time on his errand, and hastened
away to make some change in her dress to receive the strangers.
Meanwhile Tom, having seen the boat, walked down to the shore to meet
his friends.
Both Sir Brook and Trafford were enthusiastic in their praises of the
spot. Its natural beauty was indeed great, but taste and culture had
rendered it a marvel of elegance and refinement. Not merely were the
trees grouped with reference to foliage and tint, but the flower-beds
were so arranged that the laws of color should be respected, and thus
these plats of perfume were not less luxuriously rich in odor than they
were captivating as pictures.
“It is all the governor's own doing,” said Tom, proudly, “and he is
continually changing the disposition of the plants. He says variety is
a law of the natural world, and it is our duty to imitate it. Here comes
my sister, gentlemen.”
As though set in a beautiful frame, the lovely girl stood for an instant
in the porch, where drooping honeysuckles and the tangled branches of
a vine hung around her, and then came courteously to meet and welcome
them.
“I am in ecstasy with all I see here, Miss Lendrick,” said Sir Brook.
“Old traveller that I am, I scarcely know where I have ever seen such a
combination of beauty.”
“Papa will be delighted to hear this,” said she, with a pleasant smile;
“it is the flattery he loves best.”
“I 'm always saying we could keep up a salmon-weir on the river for a
tithe of what these carnations and primroses cost us,” said Tom.
“Why, sir, if you had been in Eden you 'd have made it a market garden,”
said the old man.
“If the governor was a Duke of Devonshire, all these-caprices might be
pardonable; but my theory is, roast-beef before roses.”
While young Lendrick attached himself to Trafford, and took him here and
there to show him the grounds, Sir Brook walked beside Lucy, who did the
honors of the place with a most charming courtesy.
“I am almost ashamed, sir,” said she, as they turned towards the house,
“to have asked you to see such humble objects as these to which we
attach value, for my brother tells me you are a great traveller; but
it is just possible you have met in your journeys others who, like us,
lived so much out of the world that they fancied they had the prettiest
spot in it for their own.”
“You must not ask me what I think of all I have seen: here, Miss
Lendrick, till my enthusiasm calms down;” and his look of admiration,
so palpably addressed to herself, sent a flush to her cheek. “A man's
belongings are his history,” said Sir Brook, quickly turning the
conversation into an easier channel: “show me his study, his stable,
his garden; let me see his hat, his cane, the volume he thrusts into
his pocket, and I 'll make you an indifferent good guess about his daily
doings.”
“Tell me of papa's. Come here, Tom,” cried she, as the two young men
came towards her, “and listen to a bit of divination.”
“Nay, I never promised a lecture. I offered a confidence,” said he, in
a half whisper; but she went on: “Sir Brook says that he reads people
pretty much as Cuvier pronounced on a mastodon, by some small minute
detail that pertained to them. Here's Tom's cigar-case,” said she,
taking it from his pocket; “what do you infer from that, sir?”
“That he smokes the most execrable tobacco.”
“But can you say why?” asked Tom, with a sly twinkle of his eye.
“Probably for the same reason I do myself,” said Sir Brook, producing a
very cheap cigar.
“Oh, that's a veritable Cuban compared to one of mine,” cried Tom; “and
by way of making my future life miserable, here has been Mr. Trafford
filling my pocket with real havannahs, giving me a taste for luxuries I
ought never to have known of.”
“Know everything, sir, go everywhere, see all that the world can show
you; the wider a man's experiences the larger his nature and the more
open his heart,” said Foss-brooke, boldly.
“I like the theory,” said Trafford to Miss Lendrick; “do you?”
“Sir Brook never meant it for women, I fancy,” said she, in a low tone;
but the old man overheard her, and said: “You are right. The guide ought
to know every part of the mountain; the traveller need only know the
path.”
“Here comes a guide who is satisfied with very short excursions,” cried
Tom, laughing; “this is our parson, Dr. Mills.”
The little, mellow-looking, well-cared-for person who now joined them
was a perfect type of old-bachelorhood, in its aspect of not unpleasant
selfishness. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and appropriate;
and though you saw at a glance it was all for himself and his own
enjoyment it was provided, his good manners and courtesy were ever ready
to extend its benefits to others; and a certain genial look he wore, and
a manner that nature had gifted him with, did him right good service in
life, and made him pass for “an excellent fellow, though not much of a
parson.”
He was of use now, if only that by his presence Lucy felt more at ease,
not to say that his violoncello, which always remained at the Nest, made
a pleasant accompaniment when she played, and that he sang with much
taste some of those lyrics which arc as much linked to Ireland by poetry
as by music.
“I wish he was our chaplain,--by Jove I do!” whispered Trafford to
Lendrick; “he's the jolliest fellow of his cloth I have ever met.”
“And such a cook,” muttered the other.
“A cook!”
“Ay, a cook. I 'll make him ask us to dinner, and you 'll tell me if you
ever ate fish as he gives it, or tasted macaroni as dressed by him. I
have a salmon for you, doctor, a ten-pound fish. I wish it were bigger!
but it is in splendid order.”
“Did you set it?” asked the parson, eagerly.
“What does he mean by set it?” whispered Trafford.
“Setting means plunging it in very hot water soon after killing it,
to preserve and harden the 'curd.' Yes; and I took your hint about the
arbutus leaves, too, doctor. I covered it all up with them.”
“You are a teachable youth, and shall be rewarded. Come and eat him
to-morrow. Dare I hope that these gentlemen are disengaged, and will
honor my poor parsonage? Will you favor me with your company at five
o'clock, sir?”
Sir Brook bowed, and accepted the invitation with pleasure.
“And you, sir?”
“Only too happy,” said Trafford.
“Lucy, my dear, you must be one of us.”
“Oh, I could not; it is impossible, doctor,--you know it is.”
“I know nothing of the kind.”
“Papa away,--not to speak of his never encouraging us to leave home,”
muttered she, in a whisper.
“I accept no excuses, Lucy; such a rare opportunity may not occur to me
in a hurry. Mrs. Brennan, my housekeeper, will be so proud to see you,
that I 'm not sure she 'll not treat these gentlemen to her brandy
peaches,--a delicacy, I feel bound to say, she has never conceded to any
one less than the bishop of the diocese.”
“Don't ask me, doctor. I know that papa--”
But he broke in, saying,--“'You know I 'm your priest, and your
conscience is mine;' and besides, I really do want to see how the
parsonage will look with a lady at the top of the table: who knows what
it may lead to?”
“Come, Lucy, that's the nearest thing to a proposal I 've heard for some
time. You really must go now,” said Tom.
“Papa will not like it,” whispered she in his ear.
“Then he'll have to settle the matter with me, Lucy,” said the doctor,
“for it was I who overruled you.”
“Don't look to me, Miss Lendrick, to sustain you in your refusal,” said
Sir Brook, as the young girl turned towards him. “I have the strongest
interest in seeing the doctor successful.”
If Trafford said nothing, the glance he gave her more than backed the
old man's speech, and she turned away half vexed, half pleased, puzzled
how to act, and flattered at the same time by an amount of attention so
new to her and so strange. Still she could not bring herself to promise
she would go, and wished them all good-night at last, without a pledge.
“Of course she will,” muttered Tom in the doctor's ear. “She's afraid
of the governor; but I know he'll not be displeased,--you may reckon on
her.”