The little lodging occupied by Sir Brook and young Lendrick was in a
not very distinguished suburb near Cullen's Wood. It was in a small
one-storied cottage, whose rickety gate bore the inscription “Avoca
Villa” on a black board, under which, in the form of permanence that
indicated frequent changes of domicile, were the words, “Furnished
Apartments, and Board if required.” A small enclosure, with three
hollyhocks in a raised mound in the centre, and a luxurious crop of
nettles around, served as garden: a narrow path of very rough shingle
conducted to the door.
The rooms within were very small, low, and meanly furnished; they
bespoke both poverty and neglect; and while the broken windows,
the cobwebbed ceiling, and the unwashed floor all indicated that no
attention was bestowed on comfort or even decency, over the fireplace,
in a large black frame, was a painting representing the genealogical
tree of the house of the proprietor, Daniel O'Reardon, Esquire, the
lineal descendant of Frenok-Dhubh-na-Bochlish O'Reardon, who was King of
West Carbarry, a.d. 703, and who, though at present only a doorkeeper in
H. M. Court of Exchequer, had royal blood in his veins, and very kingly
thoughts in his head.
If a cruel destiny compelled Mr. O'Reardon to serve the Saxon, he “took
it out” in a most hearty hatred of his patron. He denounced him when he
talked, and he reviled him when he sang. He treasured up paragraphs of
all the atrocities of the English press, and he revelled in the severe
strictures which the Irish papers bestowed on them. So far as hating
went, he was a true patriot.
If some people opined that Mr. O'Reardon's political opinions rather
partook of what was in vogue some sixty-odd years ago than what
characterized a time nearer our own day, there were others, less
generous critics, who scrupled not to say that he was a paid spy of the
Government, and that all the secret organization of treason--all the
mysterious plotting of rebellion that seems never to die completely
out in Ireland--were known to and reported by this man to the Castle.
Certain it was that he lived in a way his humble salary at the Four
Courts could not have met, and indulged in convivial excesses far beyond
the reach of his small income.
When Sir Brook and Tom Lendrick became his lodgers, he speedily saw that
they belonged to a class far above what usually resorted to his humble
house. However studiously simple they might be in all their demands,
they were unmistakably gentlemen; and this fact, coupled with their
evident want of all employment or occupation, considerably puzzled Mr.
O'Reardon, and set him a-thinking what they could be, who they were,
and, as he phrased it, “what they were at.” No letters came for them,
nor, as they themselves gave no names, was there any means of tracing
their address; and to his oft-insinuated request, “If any one asks
for you, sir, by what name will I be able to answer?” came the same
invariable “No one will call;” and thus was Mr. O'Reardon reduced
to designate them to his wife as the “old chap” and the “young
one,”--titles which Sir Brook and Tom more than once overheard through
the frail partitions of the ill-built house.
It is not impossible that O'Reardon's peculiar habits and line of life
disposed him to attach a greater significance to the seeming mystery
that surrounded his lodgers than others might have ascribed; it is
probable that custom had led him to suspect everything that was in any
way suspicious. These men draw many a cover where there is no fox, but
they rarely pass a gorse thicket and leave one undetected. His lodgers
thus became to him a study. Had he been a man of leisure, he would have
devoted the whole of it to their service; he would have dogged their
steps, learned their haunts, and watched their acquaintances,--if
they had any. Sunday was, however, his one free day, and by some
inconceivable perversity they usually spent the entire of it at home.
The few books they possessed bore no names, some of them were in foreign
languages, and increased thereby Mr. O'Reardon's suspicious distrust;
but none gave any clew to their owners. There was another reason for his
eagerness and anxiety; for a long time back Ireland had been generally
in a condition of comparative quiet and prosperity; there was less
of distress, and, consequently, less of outrage. The people seemed at
length to rely more upon themselves and their own industry than on
the specious promises of trading politicians, and Mr. O'Reardon, whose
functions, I fear, were not above reproach in the matter of secret
information, began to fear lest some fine morning he might be told his
occupation was gone, and that his employers no longer needed the fine
intelligence that could smell treason, even by a sniff; he must, he
said, do something to revive the memory of his order, or the chance was
it would be extinguished forever.
He had to choose between denouncing them as French emissaries or
American sympathizers. A novel of Balzac's that lay on the table decided
for the former, for he knew enough to be aware it was in French; and
fortified with this fact, he proceeded to draw up his indictment for the
Castle.
It was, it must be confessed, a very meagre document; it contained
little beyond the writer's own suspicions. Two men who were poor enough
to live in Avoca Villa, and yet rich enough to do nothing for their
livelihood, who gave no names, went out at unseasonable hours, and
understood French, ought to be dangerous, and required to be watched,
and therefore he gave an accurate description of their general
appearance, age, and dress, at the office of the Private Secretary, and
asked for his “instructions” in consequence.
Mr. O'Reardon was not a bad portrait-painter with his pen, and in
the case of Sir Brook there were peculiarities enough to make even
a caricature a resemblance; his tall narrow head, his long drooping
moustache, his massive gray eyebrows, his look of stern dignity, would
have marked him, even without the singularities of dress which recalled
the fashions of fifty years before.
Little, indeed, did the old man suspect that his high-collared coat and
bell-shaped hat were subjecting him to grave doubts upon his loyalty.
Little did he think, as he sauntered at evening along the green lanes
in this retired neighborhood, that his thoughts ought to have been on
treason and bloodshed.
He had come to the little lodging, it is true, for privacy. After his
failure in that memorable interview with Sir William Lendrick, he had
determined that he would not either importune the Viceroy for place, or
would he be in any way the means of complicating the question between
the Government and the Chief Baron by exciting the Lord-Lieutenant's
interest in his behalf.
“We must change our lodging, Tom,” said he, when he came home on that
night. “I am desirous that, for the few days we remain here, none should
trace nor discover us. I will not accept what are called compensations,
nor will I live on here to be either a burden or a reproach to men who
were once only my equals.”
“You found my worthy grandfather somewhat less tractable than you
thought for, sir?” asked Tom.
“He was very fiery and very haughty; but on the whole, there was much
that I liked in him. Such vitality in a man of his years is in itself a
grand quality, and even in its aggressiveness suggests much to regard.
He refused to hear of me for the vacant office, and he would not accept
_you_.”
“How did he take your proposal to aid us by a loan?”
“I never made it. The terms we found ourselves on after half an hour's
discussion of other matters rendered such a project impossible.”
“And Lucy, how did she behave through it all?”
“She was not there; I did not see her.”
“So that it turned out as I predicted,--a mere meeting to exchange
amenities.”
“The amenities were not many, Tom; and I doubt much if your grandfather
will treasure up any very delightful recollections of my acquaintance.”
“I'd like to see the man, woman, or child,” burst out Tom, “who ever got
out of his cage without a scratch. I don't believe that Europe contains
his equal for irascibility.”
“Don't dwell on these views of life,” said Sir Brook, almost sternly.
“You, nor I, know very little what are the sources of those intemperate
outbreaks we so often complain of,--what sore trials are ulcerating the
nature, what agonizing maladies, what secret terrors, what visions of
impending misery; least of all do we know or take count of the fact that
it is out of these high-strung temperaments we obtain those thrilling
notes of human passion and tenderness coarser natures never attain to.
Let us bear with a passing discord in the instrument whose cadences can
move us to very ecstasy.”
Tom hung his head in silence, but he certainly did not seem convinced.
Sir Brook quietly resumed: “How often have I told you that the world
has more good than bad in it,--yes, and what's more, that as we go on
in life this conviction strengthens in us, and that our best experiences
are based on getting rid of our disbeliefs. Hear what happened me this
morning. You know that for some days back I have been negotiating to
raise a small loan of four hundred pounds to take us to Sardinia and
start our mine. Mr. Waring, who was to have lent me this sum on the
security of the mine itself, took it into his head to hesitate at the
last hour, and inserted an additional clause that I should insure my
life in his behalf.
“I was disconcerted, of course, by this,--so much so, that had I not
bought a variety of tools and implements on trust, I believe I would
have relinquished the bargain and tried elsewhere. It was, however, too
late for this; I was driven to accept his terms, and, accredited with a
printed formula from an insurance office, I waited on the doctor who was
to examine me.
“A very brief investigation satisfied him that I was not seaworthy; he
discovered I know not what about the valves of my heart, that implied
mischief, and after 'percussing' me, as he called it, and placing his
ear to my chest, he said, 'I regret to say, sir, that I cannot pronounce
you insurable.'
“I could have told him that I came of a long-lived race on either side;
that during my life I had scarcely known an illness, that I had borne
the worst climates without injury, and such-like,--but I forbore; I
had too much deference for his station and his acquirements to set
my judgment against them, and I arose to take my leave. It is just
possible, though I cannot say I felt it, that his announcement might
have affected me; at all events, the disappointment did so, and I was
terrified about the difficulties in which I saw myself involved. I
became suddenly sick, and I asked for a glass of water; before it came I
had fainted, a thing that never in my whole life had befallen me.
When, I rallied, he led me to talk of my usual habits and pursuits,
and gradually brought me to the subject which had led me-to his house.
'What!' said he, 'ask for any security beyond the property itself! It is
absurd; Waring is always-doing these things. Let me advance this money.
I know a great deal more about you, Sir Brook, than you think; my friend
Dr. Lendrick has spoken much of you, and of all your kindness to his
son; and though you may not have heard of my name,--Beattie,--I am very
familiar with yours.'
“In a word, Tom, he advanced the money. It is now in that writing-desk;
and I have--I feel it--a friend the-more in the world. As I left his
door, I could not help saying to myself, What signify a few days more or
less of life, so long as such generous traits as this follow one to the
last? He made me a happier man by his noble trust in me than if he had
declared me a miracle of strength and vigor. Who is that looking in at
the window, Tom? It's the second time I have seen a face there.”
Tom started to his feet and hurried to the door. There was, however, no
one there; and the little lane was silent and deserted. He stopped a few
minutes to listen, but not a footfall could be heard, and he returned to
the room believing it must have been a mere illusion.
“Let us light candles, Tom, and have out our maps. I want to see whether
Marseilles will not be our best and cheapest route to the island.”
They were soon poring eagerly over the opened map, Sir Brook carefully
studying all the available modes of travel; while Tom, be it owned, let
his eyes wander from land to land, till following out the Danube to the
Black Sea, he crossed over and stretched away into the mountain gorges
of Circassia, where Schamyl and his brave followers were then fighting
for liberty. For maps, like the lands they picture, never offer to
two minds kindred thoughts; each follows out in space the hopes and
ambitions that his heart is charged with; and where one reads wars
and battle-fields, another but sees pastoral pleasures and a tranquil
existence,--home and home-happiness.
“Yes, Tom; here I have it. These coasting-craft, whose sailing-lines
are marked here, will take us and our traps to Cagliari for a mere
trifle,--here is the route.”
As the young man bent over the map, the door behind opened, and a
stranger entered. “So I have found you, Fossbrooke!” cried he, “though
they insisted you had left Ireland ten days ago.”
“Mercy on me! Lord Wilmington!” said Sir Brook, as he shaded his eyes to
stare at him. “What could have brought you here?”
“I 'll tell you,” said he, dropping his voice. “I read a description so
very like you in the secret report this morning, that I sent my servant
Curtis, who knows you well, to see if it was not yourself; when he
came back to me--for I waited for him at the end of the lane--with the
assurance that I was right, I came on here. I must tell you that I took
the precaution to have your landlord detained, as if for examination, at
the Under-Secretary's office; and he is the only one here who knows me.
Mr. Lendrick, I hope you have not forgotten me? We met some months ago
on the Shannon.”
“What can I offer you?” said Sir Brook. “Shall it be tea? We were just
going to have it.”
“I 'll take whatever you like to give me; but let us profit by the few
moments I can stay. Tell me how was it you failed with the Chief Baron?”
“He wouldn't have me; that's all. He maintains his right to an undivided
patronage, and will accept of no dictation.”
“Will he accept of your friend here? He has strong claims on him.”
“As little as myself, my Lord; he grew eloquent on his public virtue,
and of course became hopeless.”
“Will he retire and let us compensate him?”
“I believe not. He thinks the country has a vested interest in his
capacity, and as he cannot be replaced, he has no right to retire.''
“He may make almost his own terms with us, Fossbrooke,” said
the Viceroy. “We want to get rid of himself and an intractable
Solicitor-General together. Will you try what can be done?”
“Not I, my Lord. I have made my first and last advances in that
quarter.”
“And yet I believe you are our last chance. He told Pemberton yesterday
you were the one man of ability that ever called on him with a message
from a Viceroy.”
“Let us leave him undisturbed in his illusion, my Lord.”
“I 'd say, let us profit by it, Fossbrooke. I have been in search of you
these eight days, to beg you would take the negotiation in hand. Come,
Mr. Lendrick, you are interested in this; assist me in persuading Sir
Brook to accept this charge. If he will undertake the mission, I am
ready to give him ample powers to treat.”
“I suspect, my Lord,” said Tom, “you do not know my grandfather. He is
not a very manageable person to deal with.”
“It is for that reason I want to place him in the hands of my old friend
here.”
“No, no, my Lord; it is quite hopeless. Had we never met, I might
have come before him with some chance of success; but I have already
prejudiced myself in his eyes, and our one interview was not very
gratifying to either of us.”
“I'll not give in, Fossbrooke, even though I am well aware I can do
nothing to requite the service I ask of you.”
“We leave Ireland to-morrow evening. We have a project which requires
our presence in the island of Sardinia. We are about to make our
fortunes, my Lord, and I 'm sure you 're not the man to throw any
obstacle in the way.”
“Give me half an hour of your morning, Fossbrooke; half an hour will
suffice. Drive out to the Priory; see the Chief Baron; tell him I
intrusted the negotiation to you, as at once more delicate to each
of us. You are disconnected with all party ties here. Say it is not a
question of advancing this man or that,--that we well know how
inferior must any successor be to himself, but that certain changes
are all-essential to us. We have not--I may tell you in confidence--the
right man as our law adviser in the House; and add, 'It is a moment
to make your own terms; write them down and you shall have your reply
within an hour,--a favorable one I may almost pledge myself it will be.
At all events, every detail of the meeting is strictly between us, and
on honor.' Come, now, Fossbrooke; do this for me as the greatest service
I could entreat of you.”
“I cannot refuse you any longer. I will go. I only premise that I am to
limit myself strictly to the statement you shall desire me to repeat. I
know nothing of the case; and I cannot be its advocate.”
“Just so. Give me your card. I will merely write these words,--'See Sir
Brook for me.--Wilmington.' Our object is his resignation, and we are
prepared to pay handsomely for it. Now, a word with you, Mr. Lendrick. I
heard most honorable mention of you yesterday from the vice-provost; he
tells me that your college career was a triumph so long as you liked
it, and that you have abilities for any walk in life. Why not continue,
then, on so successful a path? Why not remain, take out your degree, and
emulate that distinguished relative who has thrown such lustre on your
family?”
“First of all, my Lord, you have heard me much overrated. I am not at
all the man these gentlemen deem me; secondly, if I were, I 'd rather
bring my abilities to any pursuit my friend here could suggest. I 'd
rather be _his_ companion than be my grandfather's rival. You have heard
what he said awhile ago,--we are going to seek our fortune.”
“He said to make it,” said Lord Wilmington, with a smile.
“Be it so, my Lord. _I 'll_ seek, and _he 'll_ find; at all events, I
shall be his companion; and I'm a duller dog than I think myself if I do
not manage to be the better of it.”
“You are not the only one he has fascinated,” said the Viceroy, in a
whisper. “I 'm not sure I 'd disenchant you if I had the power.”
“Must I positively undertake this negotiation?” asked Fossbrooke, with a
look of entreaty.
“You must”
“I know I shall fail.”
“I don't believe it.”
“Well, as Lady Macbeth says, if we fail _we fail_; and though murdering
a king be an easier thing than muzzling a Chief Baron,--here goes.”
As he said this, the door was gently moved, and a head protruded into
the room.
“Who is that?” cried Tom, springing rapidly towards the door; but
all was noiseless and quiet, and no one to be seen. “I believe we are
watched here,” said he, coming back into the room.
“Good-night, then. Let me have your report as early as may be,
Fossbrooke. Good-night.”