'Who is she?' whispered her ladyship.
'Does not your ladyship know Lady Oranmore—the Irish Lady Oranmore?'
'Lord bless me!—what have I said!—what have I done! Oh! why did not you give me a hint, Lady St. James?'
'I was not aware that your ladyship was not acquainted with Lady Oranmore,' replied Lady St. James, unmoved by her distress.
Everybody sympathised with Lady Oranmore, and admired the honest zeal with which she abided by her country, and defended it against unjust aspersions and affected execrations. Every one present enjoyed Lady Clonbrony's confusion, except Miss Nugent, who sat with her eyes bowed down by penetrative shame during the whole of this scene; she was glad that Lord Colambre was not witness to it; and comforted herself with the hope that, upon the whole, Lady Clonbrony would be benefited by the pain she had felt. This instance might convince her that it was not necessary to deny her country to be received in any company in England; and that those who have the courage and steadiness to be themselves, and to support what they feel and believe to be the truth, must command respect. Miss Nugent hoped that in consequence of this conviction Lady Clonbrony would lay aside the little affectations by which her manners were painfully constrained and ridiculous; and, above all, she hoped that what Lady Oranmore had said of Ireland might dispose her aunt to listen with patience to all Lord Colambre might urge in favour of returning to her home. But Miss Nugent hoped in vain. Lady Clonbrony never in her life generalised any observations, or drew any but a partial conclusion from the most striking facts.
'Lord! my dear Grace!' said she, as soon as they were seated in their carriage, 'what a scrape I got into to-night at supper, and what disgrace I came to!—and all this because I did not know Lady Oranmore. Now you see the inconceivable disadvantage of not knowing everybody—everybody of a certain rank, of course, I mean.'
Miss Nugent endeavoured to slide in her own moral on the occasion, but it would not do.
'Yes, my dear, Lady Oranmore may talk in that kind of style of Ireland, because, on the other hand, she is so highly connected in England; and, besides, she is an old lady, and may take liberties; in short, she is Lady Oranmore, and that's enough.'
The next morning, when they all met at breakfast, Lady Clonbrony complained bitterly of her increased rheumatism, of the disagreeable, stupid party they had had the preceding night, and of the necessity of going to another formal party that night, the next, and the next, and, in the true fine lady style, deplored her situation, and the impossibility of avoiding those things,
Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.
Miss Nugent determined to retire as soon as she could from the breakfast-room, to leave Lord Colambre an opportunity of talking over his family affairs at full liberty. She knew by the seriousness of his countenance that his mind was intent upon doing so, and she hoped that his influence with his father and mother would not be exerted in vain. But just as she was rising from the breakfast-table, in came Sir Terence O'Fay, and, seating himself quite at his ease, in spite of Lady Clonbrony's repulsive looks, his awe of Lord Colambre having now worn off—
'I'm tired,' said he, 'and have a right to be tired; for it's no small walk I've taken for the good of this noble family this morning. And, Miss Nugent, before I say more, I'll take a cup of TA from you, if you please.'
Lady Clonbrony rose, with great stateliness, and walked to the farthest end of the room, where she established herself at her writing-table, and began to write notes.
Sir Terence wiped his forehead deliberately.
'Then I've had a fine run—Miss Nugent, I believe you never saw me run; but I can run, I promise you, when it's to serve a friend. And, my lord (turning to Lord Clonbrony), what do you think I run for this morning—to buy a bargain—and of what!—a bargain of a bad debt—a debt of yours, which I bargained for, and up just in time—and Mordicai's ready to hang himself this minute. For what do you think but that rascal was bringing upon you—but an execution?—he was.'
'An execution!' repeated everybody present, except Lord Colambre.
'And how has this been prevented, sir?' said Lord Colambre.
'Oh! let me alone for that,' said Sir Terence. 'I got a hint from my little friend, Paddy Brady, who would not be paid for it either, though he's as poor as a rat. Well! as soon as I got the hint, I dropped the thing I had in my hand, which was the DUBLIN EVENING, and ran for the bare life—for there wasn't a coach—in my slippers, as I was, to get into the prior creditor's shoes, who is the little solicitor that lives in Crutched Friars, which Mordicai never dreamt of, luckily; so he was very genteel, though he was taken on a sudden, and from his breakfast, which an Englishman don't like particularly—I popped him a douceur of a draught, at thirty-one days, on Garraghty, the agent; of which he must get notice; but I won't descant on the law before the ladies—he handed me over his debt and execution, and he made me prior creditor in a trice. Then I took coach in state, the first I met, and away with me to Long Acre—saw Mordicai. "Sir," says I, "I hear you're meditating an execution on a friend of mine." "Am I?" said the rascal; "who told you so?" "No matter," said I; "but I just called in to let you know there's no use in life of your execution; for there's a prior creditor with his execution to be satisfied first." So he made a great many black faces, and said a great deal, which I never listened to, but came off here clean to tell you all the story.'
'Not one word of which do I understand,' said Lady Clonbrony.
'Then, my dear, you are very ungrateful,' said Lord Clonbrony.
Lord Colambre said nothing, for he wished to learn more of Sir Terence O'Fay's character, of the state of his father's affairs, and of the family methods of proceeding in matters of business.
'Faith! Terry, I know I'm very thankful to you—but an execution's an ugly thing—and I hope there's no danger—'
'Never fear!' said Sir Terence: 'Haven't I been at my wits' ends for myself or my friends ever since I come to man's estate—to years of discretion, I should say, for the deuce a foot of estate have I! But use has sharpened my wits pretty well for your service; so never be in dread, my good lord for look ye!' cried the reckless knight, sticking his arms akimbo 'look ye here! in Sir Terence O'Fay stands a host that desires no better than to encounter, single witted, all the duns in the united kingdoms, Mordicai the Jew inclusive.'
'Ah! that's the devil, that Mordicai,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'that's the only man an earth I dread.'
'Why, he is only a coachmaker, is not he!' said Lady Clonbrony: 'I can't think how you can talk, my lord, of dreading such a low man. Tell him, if he's troublesome, we won't bespeak any more carriages; and, I'm sure, I wish you would not be so silly, my lord, to employ him any more, when you know he disappointed me the last birthday about the landau, which I have not got yet.'
'Nonsense, my dear,'said Lord Clonbrony; 'you don't know what you are talking of. Terry, I say, even a friendly execution is an ugly thing.'
'Phoo! phoo!—an ugly thing! So is a fit of the gout—but one's all the better for it after. 'Tis just a renewal of life, my lord, for which one must pay a bit of a fine, you know. Take patience, and leave me to manage all properly—you know I'm used to these things, Only you recollect, if you please, how I managed my friend Lord —; it's bad to be mentioning names—but Lord EVERYBODY-KNOWS-WHO—didn't I bring him through cleverly, when there was that rascally attempt to seize the family plate? I had notice, and what did I do, but broke open a partition between that lord's house and my lodgings, which I had taken next door; and so, when the sheriff's officers were searching below on the ground floor, I just shoved the plate easy through to my bedchamber at a moment's warning, and then bid the gentlemen walk in, for they couldn't set a foot in my paradise, the devils! So they stood looking at it through the wall, and cursing me and I holding both my sides with laughter at their fallen faces.'
Sir Terence and Lord Clonbrony laughed in concert.
'This is a good story,' said Miss Nugent, smiling; 'but surely, Sir Terence,
such things are never done in real life?'
'Done! ay, are they; and I could tell you a hundred better strokes, my dear Miss Nugent.'
'Grace!' cried Lady Clonbrony, 'do pray have the goodness to seal and send these notes; for really,' whispered she, as her niece came to the table,'I CAWNT STEA, I cawnt bear that man's VICE, his accent grows horrider and horrider!'
Her ladyship rose, and left the room.
'Why, then,' continued Sir Terence, following up Miss Nugent to the table, where she was sealing letters, 'I must tell you how I sarved that same man on another occasion, and got the victory too.'
No general officer could talk of his victories, or fight his battles o'er again, with more complacency than Sir Terence O'Fay recounted his CIVIL exploits.
'Now I'll tell Miss Nugent. There was a footman in the family, not an Irishman, but one of your powdered English scoundrels that ladies are so fond of having hanging to the backs of their carriages; one Fleming he was, that turned spy, and traitor, and informer, went privately and gave notice to the creditors where the plate was hid in the thickness of the chimney; but if he did, what happened! Why, I had my counter-spy, an honest little Irish boy, in the creditor's shop, that I had secured with a little douceur of usquebaugh; and he outwitted, as was natural, the English lying valet, and gave us notice just in the nick, and I got ready for their reception; and, Miss Nugent, I only wish you'd seen the excellent sport we had, letting them follow the scent they got; and when they were sure of their game, what did they find?—Ha! ha! ha!—dragged out, after a world of labour, a heavy box of—a load of brickbats; not an item of my friend's plate—that was all snug in the coal-hole, where them dunces never thought of looking for it. Ha! ha! ha!'
'But come, Terry,' cried Lord Clonbrony, 'I'll pull down your pride. How finely, another time, your job of the false ceiling answered in the hall. I've heard that story, and have been told how the sheriffs fellow thrust his bayonet up through your false plaster, and down came tumbling the family plate hey, Terry? That hit cost your friend, Lord everybody-knows-who, more than your head's worth, Terry.'
'I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a farthing.'
'When he paid £7000 for the plate, to redeem it?'
'Well! and did not I make up for that at the races of —? The creditors learned that my lord's horse, Naboclish, was to run at—races; and, as the sheriff's officer knew he dare not touch him on the race-ground, what does he do, but he comes down early in the morning on the mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery stables. He had an exact description of the stables, and the stall, and the horse's body-clothes.
'I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut of the fellow's jib, what does I do, but whips the body-clothes off Naboclish, and claps them upon a garrone that the priest would not ride.
'In comes the bailiff—"Good morrow to you, sir," says I, leading out of the stable my lord's horse, with an OULD saddle and bridle on.
'"Tim Neal," says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone's heels, "mind your hits to-day, and WEE'L wet the plate to-night."
'"Not so fast, neither," says the bailiff—"here's my writ for seizing the horse."
'"Och," says I, "you wouldn't be so cruel."'
"That's all my eye," says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately to —'
'Ha! ha! ha!—That was neat, I grant you, Terry,' said Lord Clonbrony. 'But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriffs fellow have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!'
'But stay, my lord—stay, Miss Nugent—I have more for you,' following her wherever she moved. 'I did not let him off so, even. At the cant, I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I, left him on their hands for 500 guineas. Ha! ha! ha!—was not that famous?'
'But,' said Miss Nugent, 'I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir Terence. Surely this would be—'
'What?—out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.'
'I am afraid of offending you.'
'You can't, my dear, I defy you—say the word that came to the tongue's end; it's always the best.'
'I was going to say, swindling,' said the young lady, colouring deeply.
'Oh! you was going to say wrong, then! It's not called swindling amongst gentlemen who know the world—it's only jockeying—fine sport—and very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Anything to get a friend out of a present pressing difficulty.'
'And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of the future?'
The future! leave the future to posterity,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it's time enough to think of it. I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy's alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And besides, there never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that would tell his little expedients beforehand, or before the very day of battle.'
'It must be a sad thing,' said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, 'to be reduced to live by little expedients—daily expedients.'
Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing.
'But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord Colambre, my dear,' said Sir Terence, 'there's an easy way of settling your family affairs at once; and, since you don't like little daily expedients, Miss Nugent, there's one great expedient, and an expedient for life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction—and ours. I hinted it delicately to you before, but, between friends, delicacy is impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you've nothing to do but go and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B—, that desires no better—'
'Sir!' cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger. Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm—
'Oh, my lord!'
'Sir Terence O'Fay,' continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone, 'you are wrong to mention that young lady's name in such a manner.'
'Why, then, I said only Miss B—, and there are a whole hive of BEES. But I'll engage she'd thank me for what I suggested, and think herself the queen bee if my expedient was adopted by you.'
'Sir Terence,' said his lordship, smiling, 'if my father thinks proper that you should manage his affairs, and devise expedients for him, I have nothing to say on that point; but I must beg you will not trouble yourself to suggest expedients for me, and that you will have the goodness to leave me to settle my own affairs.'
Sir Terence made a low bow, and was silent for five seconds; then turning to Lord Clonbrony, who looked much more abashed than he did—
'By the wise one, my good lord, I believe there are some men—noblemen, too—that don't know their friends from their enemies. It's my firm persuasion, now, that if I had served you as I served my friend I was talking of, your son there would, ten to one, think I had done him an injury by saving the family plate.'
'I certainly should, sir. The family plate, sir, is not the first object in my mind,' replied Lord Colambre; 'family honour—Nay, Miss Nugent, I must speak,' continued his lordship, perceiving; by her countenance, that she was alarmed.
'Never fear, Miss Nugent dear,' said Sir Terence; 'I'm as cool as a cucumber. Faith! then, my Lord Colambre, I agree with you, that family honour's a mighty fine thing, only troublesome to one's self and one's friends, and expensive to keep up with all the other expenses and debts a gentleman has nowadays. So I, that am under no natural obligations to it by birth or otherwise, have just stood by through life, and asked myself, before I would volunteer being bound to it, what could this same family honour do for a man in this world? And, first and foremost, I never remember to see family honour stand a man in much stead in a court of law—never saw family honour stand against an execution, or a custodiam, or an injunction even. 'Tis a rare thing, this same family honour, and a very fine thing; but I never knew it yet, at a pinch, pay for a pair of boots even,' added Sir Terence, drawing up his own with much complacency.
At this moment Sir Terence
was called out of the room by one who wanted to speak to him on particular business.
'My dear father,' cried Lord Colambre, 'do not follow him; stay for one moment, and hear your son—your true friend.'
Miss Nugent went out of the room, that she might leave the father and son at liberty.
'Hear your natural friend for one moment,' cried Lord Colambre. 'Let me beseech you, father, not to have recourse to any of these paltry expedients, but trust your son with the state of your affairs, and we shall find some honourable means—'
'Yes, yes, yes, very true; when you're of age, Colambre, we'll talk of it; but nothing can be done till then. We shall get on, we shall get through, very well, till then, with Terry's assistance. And I must beg you will not say a word more against Terry—I can't bear it—I can't hear it—I can't do without him. Pray don't detain me—I can say no more—except,' added he, returning to his usual concluding sentence, 'that there need, at all events, be none of this, if people would but live upon their own estates, and kill their own mutton.' He stole out of the room, glad to escape, however shabbily, from present explanation and present pain. There are persons without resource who in difficulties return always to the same point, and usually to the same words.
While Lord Colambre was walking up and down the room, much vexed and disappointed at finding that he could make no impression on his father's mind, nor obtain his confidence as to his family affairs, Lady Clonbrony's woman, Mrs. Petito, knocked at the door, with a message from her lady, to beg, if Lord Colambre was BY HIMSELF; he would go to her dressing-room, as she wished to have a conference with him. He obeyed her summons.
The Absentee Page 8
