Bartley did his best; and such was the excellence of the roads, that, notwithstanding the rate at which our hero travelled, he arrived safely in Dublin, just in time to put his letter into the post-office, and to sail in that night’s packet. The wind was fair when Lord Colambre went on board, but before they got out of the Bay it changed; they made no way all night: in the course of the next day, they had the mortification to see another packet from Dublin sail past them, and when they landed at Holyhead, were told the packet, which had left Ireland twelve hours after them, had been in an hour before them. The passengers had taken their places in the coach, and engaged what horses could be had. Lord Colambre was afraid that Mr. Garraghty was one of them; a person exactly answering his description had taken four horses, and set out half an hour before in great haste for London. Luckily, just as those who had taken their places in the mail were getting into the coach, Lord Colambre saw among them a gentleman, with whom he had been acquainted in Dublin, a barrister, who was come over during the long vacation, to make a tour of pleasure in England. When Lord Colambre explained the reason he had for being in haste to reach London, he had the good-nature to give up to him his place in the coach. Lord Colambre travelled all night, and delayed not one moment, till he reached his father’s house, in London.
“My father at home?”
“Yes, my lord, in his own room — the agent from Ireland with him, on particular business — desired not to be interrupted — but I’ll go and tell him, my lord, you are come.”
Lord Colambre ran past the servant, as he spoke — made his way into the room — found his father, Sir Terence O’Fay, and Mr. Garraghty — leases open on the table before them; a candle lighted; Sir Terence sealing; Garraghty emptying a bag of guineas on the table, and Lord Clonbrony actually with a pen in his hand, ready to sign.
As the door opened, Garraghty started back, so that half the contents of his bag rolled upon the floor.
“Stop, my dear father, I conjure you,” cried Lord Colambre, springing forward, and snatching the pen from his father’s hand.
“Colambre! God bless you, my dear boy! at all events. But how came you here? — And what do you mean?” said his father.
“Burn it!” cried Sir Terence, pinching the sealing-wax; “for I burnt myself with the pleasure of the surprise.”
Garraghty, without saying a word, was picking up the guineas that were scattered upon the floor.
“How fortunate I am,” cried Lord Colambre, “to have arrived just in time to tell you, my dear father, before you put your signature to these papers, before you conclude this bargain, all I know, all I have seen of that man!”
“Nick Garraghty, honest old Nick; do you know him, my lord?” said Sir Terence.
“Too well, sir.”
“Mr. Garraghty, what have you done to offend my son? I did not expect this,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Upon my conscience, my lord, nothing to my knowledge,” said Mr. Garraghty, picking up the guineas; “but showed him every civility, even so far as offering to accommodate him with cash without security; and where will you find the other agent, in Ireland, or any where else, will do that? To my knowledge, I never did any thing, by word or deed, to offend my Lord Colambre; nor could not, for I never saw him but for ten minutes, in my days; and then he was in such a foaming passion, begging his lordship’s pardon, owing to the misrepresentations he met with of me, I presume, from a parcel of blackguards that he went amongst, incognito, he would not let me or my brother Dennis say a word to set him right; but exposed me before all the tenantry, and then threw himself into a hack, and drove off here, to stop the signing of these leases, I perceive. But I trust,” concluded he, putting the replenished money-bag down, with a heavy sound on the table, opposite to Lord Clonbrony, “I trust my Lord Clonbrony will do me justice; that’s all I have to say.”
“I comprehend the force of your last argument fully, sir,” said Lord Colambre. “May I ask, how many guineas there are in the bag? — I don’t ask whether they are my father’s or not.”
“They are to be your lordship’s father’s, sir, if he thinks proper,” replied Garraghty. “How many, I don’t know that I can justly, positively say — five hundred, suppose.”
“And they would be my father’s, if he signed those leases — I understand that perfectly, and understand that my father will lose three times that sum by the bargain. My dear father, you start — but it is true — is not this the rent, sir, at which you are going to let Mr. Garraghty have the land?” placing a paper before Lord Clonbrony.
“It is — the very thing.”
“And here, sir, written with my own hand, are copies of the proposals I saw from responsible, respectable tenants, offered and refused. Is it so, or is it not, Mr. Garraghty? — deny it, if you can.”
Mr. Garraghty grew pale; his lips quivered; he stammered; and, after a shocking convulsion of face, could at last articulate — only, “That there was a great difference between tenant and tenant, his lordship must be sensible — especially for so large a rent.”
“As great a difference as between agent and agent, I am sensible — especially for so large a property!” said Lord Colambre, with cool contempt. “You find, sir, I am well informed with regard to this transaction; you will find, also, that I am equally well informed with respect to every part of your conduct towards my father and his tenantry. If, in relating to him what I have seen and heard, I should make any mistakes, you are here; and I am glad you are, to set me right, and to do yourself justice.”
“Oh! as to that, I should not presume to contradict any thing your lordship asserts from your own authority: where would be the use? I leave it all to your lordship. But, as it is not particularly agreeable to stay to hear one’s self abused — Sir Terence! I’ll thank you to hand me my hat! — And if you’ll have the goodness, my Lord Clonbrony, to look over finally the accounts before morning, I’ll call at your leisure to settle the balance, as you find convenient: as to the leases, I’m quite indifferent.” So saying, he took up his money-bag.
“Well, you’ll call again in the morning, Mr. Garraghty?” said Sir Terence; “and, by that time, I hope we shall understand this misunderstanding better.”
Sir Terence pulled Lord Clonbrony’s sleeve: “Don’t let him go with the money — it’s much wanted.”
“Let him go,” said Lord Colambre: “money can be had by honourable means.”
“Wheugh! — He talks as if he had the bank of England at his command, as every young man does,” said Sir Terence.
Lord Colambre deigned no reply. Lord Clonbrony walked undecidedly between his agent and his son — looked at Sir Terence, and said nothing.
Mr. Garraghty departed: Lord Clonbrony called after him from the head of the stairs, “I shall be at home and at leisure in the morning.”
Sir Terence ran down stairs after him: Lord Colambre waited quietly for their return.
“Fifteen hundred guineas at a stroke of a goose-quill! — That was a neat hit, narrowly missed, of honest Nick’s!” said Lord Clonbrony. “Too bad! too bad, faith! — I am much, very much obliged to you, Colambre, for that hint: by to-morrow morning we shall have him in another tune.”
“And he must double the bag, or quit,” said Sir Terence.
“Treble it, if you please, Terry. Sure, three times five’s fifteen: — fifteen hundred down, or he does not get my signature to those leases for his brother, nor get the agency of the Colambre estate. — Colambre, what more have you to tell of him? for, since he is making out his accounts against me, it is no harm to have a per contra against him, that may ease my balance.”
“Very fair! very fair!” said Sir Terence. “My lord, trust me for remembering all the charges against him — every item: and when he can’t clear himself, if I don’t make him buy a good character dear enough, why, say I am a fool, and don’t know the value of character, good or bad!”
“If you know the value of character, Sir Terence,” said Lord Colambre, “you know that
it is not to be bought or sold.” Then turning from Sir Terence to his father, he gave a full and true account of all he had seen in his progress through his Irish estates; and drew a faithful picture both of the bad and good agent. Lord Clonbrony, who had benevolent feelings, and was fond of his tenantry, was touched; and when his son ceased speaking, repeated several times, “Rascal! rascal! How dare he use my tenants so — the O’Neills in particular! — Rascal! bad heart! — I’ll have no more to do with him.” But, suddenly recollecting himself, he turned to Sir Terence, and added, “That’s sooner said than done — I’ll tell you honestly, Colambre, your friend Mr. Burke may he the best man in the world — but he is the worst man to apply to for a remittance or a loan, in a HURRY! He always tells me, ‘he can’t distress the tenants.’”
“And he never, at coming into the agency even,” said Sir Terence, “advanced a good round sum to the landlord, by way of security for his good behaviour. Now honest Nick did that much for us at coming in.”
“And at going out is he not to be repaid?” said Lord Colambre.
“That’s the devil!” said Lord Clonbrony: “that’s the very reason I can’t conveniently turn him out.”
“I will make it convenient to you, sir, if you will permit me,” said Lord Colambre. “In a few days I shall be of age, and will join with you in raising whatever sum you want, to free you from this man. Allow me to look over his account; and whatever the honest balance may be, let him have it.”
“My dear boy!” said Lord Clonbrony, “you’re a generous fellow. Fine Irish heart! — glad you’re my son! But there’s more, much more, that you don’t know,” added he, looking at Sir Terence, who cleared his throat; and Lord Clonbrony, who was on the point of opening all his affairs to his son, stopped short.
“Colambre,” said he, “we will not say any thing more of this at present; for nothing effectual can be done till you are of age, and then we shall see all about it.”
Lord Colambre perfectly understood what his father meant, and what was meant by the clearing of Sir Terence’s throat. Lord Clonbrony wanted his son to join him in opening the estate to pay his debts; and Sir Terence feared that if Lord Colambre were abruptly told the whole sum total of the debts, he would never be persuaded to join in selling or mortgaging so much of his patrimony as would be necessary for their payment. Sir Terence thought that the young man, ignorant probably of business, and unsuspicious of the state of his father’s affairs, might be brought, by proper management, to any measures they desired. Lord Clonbrony wavered between the temptation to throw himself upon the generosity of his son, and the immediate convenience of borrowing a sum of money from his agent, to relieve his present embarrassments.
“Nothing can be settled,” repeated he, “till Colambre is of age; so it does not signify talking of it.”
“Why so, sir?” said Lord Colambre. “Though my act, in law, may not be valid till I am of age, my promise, as a man of honour, is binding now; and, I trust, would be as satisfactory to my father as any legal deed whatever.”
“Undoubtedly, my dear boy; but—”
“But what?” said Lord Colambre, following his father’s eye, which turned to Sir Terence O’Fay, as if asking his permission to explain. “As my father’s friend, sir, you ought, permit me to say, at this moment to use your influence to prevail upon him to throw aside all reserve with a son, whose warmest wish is to serve him, and to see him at ease and happy.”
“Generous, dear boy,” cried Lord Clonbrony. “Terence, I can’t stand it; but how shall I bring myself to name the amount of the debts?”
“At some time or other, I must know it,” said Lord Colambre: “I cannot be better prepared at any moment than the present; never more disposed to give my assistance to relieve all difficulties. Blindfold, I cannot be led to any purpose, sir,” said he, looking at Sir Terence: “the attempt would be degrading and futile. Blindfolded I will not be — but, with my eyes open, I will see, and go straight and prompt as heart can go, to my father’s interest, without a look or thought to my own.”
“By St. Patrick! the spirit of a prince, and an Irish prince, spoke there,” cried Sir Terence: “and if I’d fifty hearts, you’d have all in your hand this minute, at your service, and warm. Blindfold you! After that, the man that would attempt it desarves to be shot; and I’d have no sincerer pleasure in life than shooting him this moment, was he my best friend. But it’s not Clonbrony, or your father, my lord, would act that way, no more than Sir Terence O’Fay — there’s the schedule of the debts,” drawing a paper from his bosom; “and I’ll swear to the lot, and not a man on earth could do that but myself.”
Lord Colambre opened the paper. His father turned aside, covering his face with both his hands.
“Tut, man,” said Sir Terence: “I know him now better than you; he will stand, you’ll find, the shock of that regiment of figures — he is steel to the backbone, and proof spirit.”
“I thank you, my dear father,” said Lord Colambre, “for trusting me thus at once with a view of the truth. At first sight it is, I acknowledge, worse than I expected; but I make no doubt that, when you allow me to examine Mr. Garraghty’s accounts and Mr. Mordicai’s claims, we shall be able to reduce this alarming total considerably.”
“The devil a pound, nor a penny,” said Sir Terence; “for you have to deal with a Jew and Old Nick; and, since I’m not a match for them, I don’t know who is; and I have no hope of getting any abatement. I’ve looked over the accounts till I’m sick.”
“Nevertheless, you will observe that fifteen hundred guineas have been saved to my father at one stroke, by his not signing those leases.”
“Saved to you, my lord; not your father, if you please,” said Sir Terence. “For now I’m upon the square with you, I must be straight as an arrow, and deal with you as the son and friend of my friend: before, I was considering you only as the son and heir, which is quite another thing, you know; accordingly, acting for your father here, I was making the best bargain against you I could: honestly, now, I tell you. I knew the value of the lands well enough: I was as sharp as Garraghty, and he knew it; I was to have had for your father the difference from him, partly in cash and partly in balance of accounts — you comprehend — and you only would have been the loser, and never would have known it, may be, till after we all were dead and buried; and then you might have set aside Garraghty’s lease easy, and no harm done to any but a rogue that desarved it; and, in the mean time, an accommodation to my honest friend, my lord, your father here. But, as fate would have it, you upset all by your progress incognito through them estates. Well, it’s best as it is, and I am better pleased to be as we are, trusting all to a generous son’s own heart. Now put the poor father out of pain, and tell us what you’ll do, my dear.”
“In one word, then,” said Lord Colambre, “I will, upon two conditions, either join my father in levying fines to enable him to sell or mortgage whatever portion of his estate is necessary for the payment of these debts; or I will, in whatever mode he can point out, as more agreeable or more advantageous to him, join in giving security to his creditors.”
“Dear, noble fellow!” cried Sir Terence: “none but an Irishman could do it.”
Lord Clonbrony, melted to tears, could not articulate, but held his arms open to embrace his son.
“But you have not heard my conditions yet,” said Lord Colambre.
“Oh, confound the conditions!” cried Sir Terence.
“What conditions could he ask, that I could refuse at this minute?” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Nor I — was it my heart’s blood, and were I to be hanged for it,” cried Sir Terence. “And what are the conditions?”
“That Mr. Garraghty shall be dismissed from the agency.”
“And welcome, and glad to get rid of him — the rogue, the tyrant,” said Lord Clonbrony; “and, to be beforehand with you in your next wish, put Mr. Burke into his place.”
“I’ll write the letter for you to sign, my lord, this
minute,” cried Terry, “with all the pleasure in life. No; it’s my Lord Colambre should do that in all justice.”
“But what’s your next condition? I hope it’s no worse,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“That you and my mother should cease to be absentees.”
“Oh, murder!” said Sir Terence; “may be that’s not so easy; for there are two words to that bargain.”
Lord Clonbrony declared that, for his own part, he was ready to return to Ireland next morning, and to promise to reside on his estate all the rest of his days; that there was nothing he desired more, provided Lady Clonbrony would consent to it; but that he could not promise for her; that she was as obstinate as a mule on that point; that he had often tried, but that there was no moving her; and that, in short, he could not promise on her part.
But it was on this condition, Lord Colambre said, he must insist. Unless this condition were granted, he would not engage to do any thing.
“Well, we must only see how it will be when she comes to town; she will come up from Buxton the day you’re of age to sign some papers,” said Lord Clonbrony; “but,” added he with a very dejected look and voice, “if all’s to depend on my Lady Clonbrony’s consenting to return to Ireland, I’m as far from all hope of being at ease as ever.”
“Upon my conscience, we’re all at sea again,” said Sir Terence.
Lord Colambre was silent; but in his silence there was such an air of firmness, that both Lord Clonbrony and Sir Terence were convinced entreaties would, on this point, be fruitless. Lord Clonbrony sighed deeply.
“But when it’s ruin or safety! and her husband and all belonging to her at stake, the woman can’t persist in being a mule,” said Sir Terence.
“Of whom are you talking, sir?” said Lord Colambre.
“Of whom? Oh, I beg your lordship’s pardon — I thought I was talking to my lord; but, in other words, as you are her son, I’m persuaded her ladyship, your mother, will prove herself a reasonable woman — when she sees she can’t help it. So, my Lord Clonbrony, cheer up; a great deal may be done by the fear of Mordicai, and an execution, especially now there’s no prior creditor. Since there’s no reserve between you and I now, my Lord Colambre,” said Sir Terence, “I must tell you all, and how we shambled on those months while you were in Ireland. First, Mordicai went to law, to prove I was in a conspiracy with your father, pretending to be prior creditor, to keep him off and out of his own; which, after a world of swearing and law — law always takes time to do justice, that’s one comfort — the villain proved at last to be true enough, and so cast us; and I was forced to be paid off last week. So there’s no prior creditor, or any shield of pretence that way. Then his execution was coming down upon us, and nothing to stay it till I thought of a monthly annuity to Mordicai, in the shape of a wager. So the morning after he cast us, I went to him: ‘Mr. Mordicai,’ says I, ‘you must be plased to see a man you’ve beaten so handsomely; and though I’m sore, both for myself and my friend, yet you see I can laugh still, though an execution is no laughing matter, and I’m sensible you’ve one in petto in your sleeve for my friend Lord Clonbrony. But I’ll lay you a wager of a hundred guineas on paper, that a marriage of his son with an heiress, before next Lady-day, will set all to rights, and pay you with a compliment too.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 557
