Castle Richmond

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER II.

  OWEN FITZGERALD.

  I have tied myself down to thirteen years ago as the time of mystory; but I must go back a little beyond this for its first scenes,and work my way up as quickly as may be to the period indicated. Ihave spoken of a winter in which Herbert Fitzgerald was at home atCastle Richmond, having then completed his Oxford doings; but I mustsay something of two years previous to that, of a time when Herbertwas not so well known in the county as was his cousin of Hap House.

  It was a thousand pities that a bad word should ever have been spokenof Owen Fitzgerald; ten thousand pities that he should ever havegiven occasion for such bad word. He was a fine, high-spirited,handsome fellow, with a loving heart within his breast, andbright thoughts within his brain. It was utterly wrong that a manconstituted as he was should commence life by living alone in a largecountry-house. But those who spoke ill of him should have rememberedthat this was his misfortune rather than his fault. Some greaterendeavour might perhaps have been made to rescue him from evil ways.Very little such endeavour was made at all. Sir Thomas once ortwice spoke to him; but Sir Thomas was not an energetic man; andas for Lady Fitzgerald, though she was in many things all that wasexcellent, she was far too diffident to attempt the reformation of aheadstrong young man, who after all was only distantly connected withher.

  And thus there was no such attempt, and poor Owen became the subjectof ill report without any substantial effort having been made to savehim. He was a very handsome man--tall, being somewhat over six feetin height--athletic, almost more than in proportion--with short,light chestnut-tinted hair, blue eyes, and a mouth perfect as thatof Phoebus. He was clever, too, though perhaps not educated ascarefully as might have been: his speech was usually rapid, hearty,and short, and not seldom caustic and pointed. Had he fallen amonggood hands, he might have done very well in the world's fight; butwith such a character, and lacking such advantages, it was quite asopen to him to do ill. Alas! the latter chance seemed to have fallento him.

  For the first year of his residence at Hap House, he was popularenough among his neighbours. The Hap House orgies were not commencedat once, nor when commenced did they immediately become a subject ofscandal; and even during the second year he was tolerated;--toleratedby all, and still flattered by some.

  Among the different houses in the country at which he had becomeintimate was that of the Countess of Desmond. The Countess of Desmonddid not receive much company at Desmond Court. She had not the means,nor perhaps the will, to fill the huge old house with parties of herIrish neighbours--for she herself was English to the backbone. Ladiesof course made morning calls, and gentlemen too, occasionally; butsociety at Desmond Court was for some years pretty much confined tothis cold formal mode of visiting. Owen Fitzgerald, however, didobtain admittance into the precincts of the Desmond barracks.

  He went there first with the young earl, who, then quite a boy, hadhad an ugly tumble from his pony in the hunting-field. The countesshad expressed herself as very grateful for young Fitzgerald's care,and thus an intimacy had sprung up. Owen had gone there once or twiceto see the lad, and on those occasions had dined there; and on oneoccasion, at the young earl's urgent request, had stayed and slept.

  And then the good-natured people of Muskerry, Duhallow, and Desmondbegan, of course, to say that the widow was going to marry the youngman. And why not? she was still a beautiful woman; not yet forty by agood deal, said the few who took her part; or at any rate, not muchover, as was admitted by the many who condemned her. We, who havebeen admitted to her secrets, know that she was then in truth onlythirty-eight. She was beautiful, proud, and clever; and if it wouldsuit her to marry a handsome young fellow with a good house and anunembarrassed income of eight hundred a year, why should she notdo so? As for him, would it not be a great thing for him to have acountess for his wife, and an earl for his stepson?

  What ideas the countess had on this subject we will not just nowtrouble ourselves to inquire. But as to young Owen Fitzgerald, wemay declare at once that no thought of such a wretched alliance everentered his head. He was sinful in many things, and foolish in manythings. But he had not that vile sin, that unmanly folly, which wouldhave made a marriage with a widowed countess eligible in his eyes,merely because she was a countess, and not more than fifteen yearshis senior. In a matter of love he would as soon have thought ofpaying his devotions to his far-away cousin, old Miss BarbaraBeamish, of Ballyclahassan, of whom it was said that she had set hercap at every unmarried man that had come into the west riding of thecounty for the last forty years. No; it may at any rate be said ofOwen Fitzgerald, that he was not the man to make up to a widowedcountess for the sake of the reflected glitter which might fall onhim from her coronet.

  But the Countess of Desmond was not the only lady at Desmond Court. Ihave before said that she had a daughter, the Lady Clara, the heroineof this coming story; and it may be now right that I should attemptsome short description of her; her virtues and faults, her merits anddefects. It shall be very short; for let an author describe as hewill, he cannot by such course paint the characters of his personageson the minds of his readers. It is by gradual, earnest efforts thatthis must be done--if it be done. Ten, nay, twenty pages of thefinest descriptive writing that ever fell from the pen of a novelistwill not do it.

  Clara Desmond, when young Fitzgerald first saw her, had hardlyattained that incipient stage of womanhood which justifies a motherin taking her out into the gaieties of the world. She was then onlysixteen; and had not in her manner and appearance so much of thewoman as is the case with many girls of that age. She was shy anddiffident in manner, thin and tall in person. If I were to say thatshe was angular and bony, I should disgust my readers, who, dislikingthe term, would not stop to consider how many sweetest girls areat that age truly subject to those epithets. Their undeveloped butactive limbs are long and fleshless, the contour of their face is thesame, their elbows and shoulders are pointed, their feet and handsseem to possess length without breadth. Birth and breeding have giventhem the frame of beauty, to which coming years will add the softroundness of form, and the rich glory of colour. The plump, rosygirl of fourteen, though she also is very sweet, never rises to suchcelestial power of feminine grace as she who is angular and bony,whose limbs are long, and whose joints are sharp.

  Such was Clara Desmond at sixteen. But still, even then, to thosewho were gifted with the power of seeing, she gave promise of greatloveliness. Her eyes were long and large, and wonderfully clear.There was a liquid depth in them which enabled the gazer to look downinto them as he would into the green, pellucid transparency of stillocean water. And then they said so much--those young eyes of hers:from her mouth in those early years words came but scantily, but fromher eyes questions rained quicker than any other eyes could answerthem. Questions of wonder at what the world contained,--of wonder asto what men thought and did; questions as to the inmost heart, andtruth, and purpose of the person questioned. And all this was askedby a glance now and again; by a glance of those long, shy, liquideyes, which were ever falling on the face of him she questioned, andthen ever as quickly falling from it.

  Her face, as I have said, was long and thin, but it was the longnessand thinness of growing youth. The natural lines of it were full ofbeauty, of pale silent beauty, too proud in itself to boast itselfmuch before the world, to make itself common among many. Her hair wasalready long and rich, but was light in colour, much lighter thanit grew to be when some four or five more years had passed over herhead. At the time of which I speak she wore it in simple braidsbrushed back from her forehead, not having as yet learned thatmajestic mode of sweeping it from her face which has in subsequentyears so generally prevailed.

  And what then of her virtues and her faults--of her merits anddefects? Will it not be better to leave them all to time and thecoming pages? That she was proud of her birth, proud of being anIrish Desmond, proud even of her poverty, so much I may say of her,even at that early age. In that she was careless of the world'sesteem, fon
d to a fault of romance, poetic in her temperament, andtender in her heart, she shared the ordinary--shall I say foibles orvirtues?--of so many of her sex. She was passionately fond of herbrother, but not nearly equally so of her mother, of whom the brotherwas too evidently the favoured child.

  She had lived much alone; alone, that is, with her governess andwith servants at Desmond Court. Not that she had been neglected byher mother, but she had hardly found herself to be her mother'scompanion; and other companions there she had had none. When she wassixteen her governess was still with her; but a year later than thatshe was left quite alone, except inasmuch as she was with her mother.

  She was sixteen when she first began to ask questions of OwenFitzgerald's face with those large eyes of hers; and she saw muchof him, and he of her, for the twelve months immediately after that.Much of him, that is, as much goes in this country of ours, wherefour or five interviews in as many months between friends is supposedto signify that they are often together. But this much-seeingoccurred chiefly during the young earl's holidays. Now and againhe did ride over in the long intervals, and when he did do so wasnot frowned upon by the countess; and so, at the end of the winterholidays subsequent to that former winter in which the earl had hadhis tumble, people through the county began to say that he and thecountess were about to become man and wife.

  It was just then that people in the county were also beginning totalk of the Hap House orgies; and the double scandal reached Owen'sears, one shortly after the other. That orgies scandal did nothurt him much. It is, alas! too true that consciousness of such areputation does not often hurt a young man's feelings. But the otherrumour did wound him. What! he sell himself to a widowed countessalmost old enough to be his mother; or bestow himself rather,--forwhat was there in return that could be reckoned as a price? At anyrate, he had given no one cause to utter such falsehood, such calumnyas that. No; it certainly was not probable that he should marry thecountess.

  But this set him to ask himself whether it might or might not bepossible that he should marry some one else. Might it not be wellfor him if he could find a younger bride at Desmond Court? Not fornothing had he ridden over there through those bleak mountains;not for nothing, nor yet solely with the view of tying flies forthe young earl's summer fishing, or preparing the new nag forhis winter's hunting. Those large bright eyes had asked him manyquestions. Would it not be well that he should answer them?

  For many months of that year Clara Desmond had hardly spoken tohim. Then, in the summer evening, as he and her brother would liesprawling together on the banks of the little Desmond river, whilethe lad was talking of his fish, and his school, and his cricketclub, she would stand by and listen, and so gradually she learned tospeak.

  And the mother also would sometimes be there; or else she wouldwelcome Fitzgerald in to tea, and let him stay there talking asthough they were all at home, till he would have to make a midnightride of it before he reached Hap House. It seemed that no fear as toher daughter had ever crossed the mother's mind; that no idea hadever come upon her that her favoured visitor might learn to love theyoung girl with whom he was allowed to associate on so intimate afooting. Once or twice he had caught himself calling her Clara, andhad done so even before her mother; but no notice had been taken ofit. In truth, Lady Desmond did not know her daughter, for the mothertook her absolutely to be a child, when in fact she was a child nolonger.

  "You take Clara round by the bridge," said the earl to his friend oneAugust evening, as they were standing together on the banks of theriver, about a quarter of a mile distant from the sombre old pile inwhich the family lived. "You take Clara round by the bridge, and Iwill get over the stepping-stones." And so the lad, with his rod inhis hand, began to descend the steep bank.

  "I can get over the stepping-stones, too, Patrick," said she.

  "Can you though, my gay young woman? You'll be over your ankles ifyou do. That rain didn't come down yesterday for nothing."

  Clara as she spoke had come up to the bank, and now looked wistfullydown at the stepping-stones. She had crossed them scores of times,sometimes with her brother, and often by herself. Why was it that shewas so anxious to cross them now?

  "It's no use your trying," said her brother, who was now half across,and who spoke from the middle of the river. "Don't you let her, Owen.She'll slip in, and then there will be no end of a row up at thehouse."

  "You had better come round by the bridge," said Fitzgerald. "It isnot only that the stones are nearly under water, but they are wet,and you would slip."

  So cautioned, Lady Clara allowed herself to be persuaded, and turnedupwards along the river by a little path that led to a foot bridge.It was some quarter of a mile thither, and it would be the samedistance down the river again before she regained her brother.

  "I needn't bring you with me, you know," she said to Fitzgerald. "Youcan get over the stones easily, and I can go very well by myself."

  But it was not probable that he would let her do so. "Why should Inot go with you?" he said. "When I get there I have nothing to do butsee him fish. Only if we were to leave him by himself he would not behappy."

  "Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald, how very kind you are to him! I do so oftenthink of it. How dull his holidays would be in this place if it werenot for you!"

  "And what a godsend his holidays are to me!" said Owen. "When theycome round I can ride over here and see him, and you--and yourmother. Do you think that I am not dull also, living alone at HapHouse, and that this is not an infinite blessing to me?"

  He had named them all--son, daughter, and mother; but there had beena something in his voice, an almost inappreciable something in histone, which had seemed to mark to Clara's hearing that she herselfwas not the least prized of the three attractions. She had felt thisrather than realized it, and the feeling was not unpleasant.

  "I only know that you are very goodnatured," she continued, "and thatPatrick is very fond of you. Sometimes I think he almost takes youfor a brother." And then a sudden thought flashed across her mind,and she said hardly a word more to him that evening.

  This had been at the close of the summer holidays. After that he hadbeen once or twice at Desmond Court, before the return of the boyfrom Eton; but on these occasions he had been more with the countessthan with her daughter. On the last of these visits, just beforethe holidays commenced, he had gone over respecting a hunter he hadbought for Lord Desmond, and on this occasion he did not even seeClara.

  The countess, when she had thanked him for his trouble in the matterof the purchase, hesitated a moment, and then went on to speak ofother matters.

  "I understand, Mr. Fitzgerald," said she, "that you have been verygay at Hap House since the hunting commenced."

  "Oh, I don't know," said Owen, half laughing and half blushing. "It'sa convenient place for some of the men, and one must be sociable."

  "Sociable! yes, one ought to be sociable certainly. But I am alwaysafraid of the sociability of young men without ladies. Do not beangry with me if I venture as a friend to ask you not to be toosociable."

  "I know what you mean, Lady Desmond. People have been accusing usof--of being rakes. Isn't that it?"

  "Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald, that is it. But then I know that I have noright to speak to you on such a--such a subject."

  "Yes, yes; you have every right," said he, warmly; "more right thanany one else."

  "Oh, no; Sir Thomas, you know--"

  "Well, yes, Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas is very well, and so also is LadyFitzgerald; but I do not feel the same interest about them that Ido about you. And they are such humdrum, quiet-going people. As forHerbert, I'm afraid he'll turn out a prig."

  "Well, Mr. Fitzgerald, if you give me the right I shall use it." Andgetting up from her chair, and coming to him where he stood, shelooked kindly into his face. It was a bonny, handsome face for awoman to gaze on, and there was much kindness in hers as she smiledon him. Nay, there was almost more than kindness, he thought, as hecaught her eye. It was like,--almost like the sweetness of motherl
ylove. "And I shall scold you," she continued. "People say that fortwo or three nights running men have been playing cards at Hap Housetill morning."

  "Yes, I had some men there for a week. I could not take their candlesaway, and put them to bed; could I, Lady Desmond?"

  "And there were late suppers, and drinking of toasts, and headachesin the morning, and breakfast at three o'clock, and gentlemen withvery pale faces when they appeared rather late at the meet--eh, Mr.Fitzgerald?" And she held up one finger at him, as she upbraidedhim with a smile. The smile was so sweet, so unlike her usual look;that, to tell the truth, was often too sad and careworn for her age.

  "Such things do happen, Lady Desmond."

  "Ah, yes; they do happen. And with such a one as you, heaven knowsI do not begrudge the pleasure, if it were but now and then,--onceagain and then done with. But you are too bright and too good forsuch things to continue." And she took his hand and pressed it, asa mother or a mother's dearest friend might have done. "It would sogrieve me to think that you should be even in danger of shipwreck.

  "You will not be angry with me for taking this liberty?" shecontinued.

  "Angry! how could any man be angry for such kindness?"

  "And you will think of what I say. I would not have you unsociable,or morose, or inhospitable; but--"

  "I understand, Lady Desmond; but when young men are together, onecannot always control them."

  "But you will try. Say that you will try because I have asked you."

  He promised that he would, and then went his way, proud in his heartat this solicitude. And how could he not be proud? was she not highin rank, proud in character, beautiful withal, and the mother ofClara Desmond? What sweeter friend could a man have; what counsellormore potent to avert those dangers which now hovered round his head?

  And as he rode home he was half in love with the countess. Where isthe young man who has not in his early years been half in love withsome woman older, much older than himself, who has half conquered hisheart by her solicitude for his welfare?--with some woman who haswhispered to him while others were talking, who has told him in suchgentle, loving tones of his boyish follies, whose tenderness andexperience together have educated him and made him manly? Young menare so proud, proud in their inmost hearts, of such tenderness andsolicitude, as long as it remains secret and wrapt as it were ina certain mystery. Such liaisons have the interests of intrigue,without--I was going to say without its dangers. Alas! it may be thatit is not always so.

  Owen Fitzgerald as he rode home was half in love with the countess.Not that his love was of a kind which made him in any way desirousof marrying her, or of kneeling at her feet and devoting himself toher for ever; not that it in any way interfered with the other lovewhich he was beginning to feel for her daughter. But he thought withpleasure of the tone of her voice, of the pressure of her hand, ofthe tenderness which he had found in her eye.

  It was after that time, as will be understood, that some goodnaturedfriend had told him that he was regarded in the county as the futurehusband of Lady Desmond. At first he laughed at this as being--ashe himself said to himself--too good a joke. When the reportfirst reached him, it seemed to be a joke which he could share sopleasantly with the countess. For men of three and twenty, thoughthey are so fond of the society of women older than themselves,understand so little the hearts and feelings of such women. In hisideas there was an interval as of another generation between him andthe countess. In her thoughts the interval was probably much lessstriking.

  But the accusation was made to him again and again till it woundedhim, and he gave up that notion of a mutual joke with his kind friendat Desmond Court. It did not occur to him that she could ever thinkof loving him as her lord and master; but it was brought home to himthat other people thought so.

  A year had now passed by since those winter holidays in which ClaraDesmond had been sixteen, and during which she was described byepithets which will not, I fear, have pleased my readers. Thoseepithets were now somewhat less deserved, but still the necessityof them had not entirely passed away. Her limbs were still thinand long, and her shoulders pointed; but the growth of beauty hadcommenced, and in Owen's eyes she was already very lovely.

  At Christmas-time during that winter a ball was given at CastleRichmond, to celebrate the coming of age of the young heir. It wasnot a very gay affair, for the Castle Richmond folk, even in thosedays, were not very gay people. Sir Thomas, though only fifty, wasan old man for his age; and Lady Fitzgerald, though known intimatelyby the poor all round her, was not known intimately by any but thepoor. Mary and Emmeline Fitzgerald, with whom we shall become betteracquainted as we advance in our story, were nice, good girls, andhandsome withal; but they had not that special gift which enablessome girls to make a party in their own house bright in spite of allobstacles.

  We should have but little to do with this ball, were it not thatClara Desmond was here first brought out, as the term goes. It wasthe first large party to which she had been taken, and it was to hera matter of much wonder and inquiry with those wondering, speakingeyes.

  And Owen Fitzgerald was there;--as a matter of course, the readerwill say. By no means so. Previous to that ball Owen's sins had beencommented upon at Castle Richmond, and Sir Thomas had expostulatedwith him. These expostulations had not been received quite sograciously as those of the handsome countess, and there had beenanger at Castle Richmond.

  Now there was living in the house of Castle Richmond one Miss LettyFitzgerald, a maiden sister of the baronet's, older than her brotherby full ten years. In her character there was more of energy, andalso much more of harsh judgment, and of consequent ill-nature, thanin that of her brother. When the letters of invitation were beingsent out by the two girls, she had given a decided opinion that thereprobate should not be asked. But the reprobate's cousins, with thatpartiality for a rake which is so common to young ladies, would notabide by their aunt's command, and referred the matter both to mammaand papa. Mamma thought it very hard that their own cousin should berefused admittance to their house, and very dreadful that his sinsshould be considered to be of so deep a dye as to require so severe asentence; and then papa, much balancing the matter, gave final ordersthat the prodigal cousin should be admitted.

  He was admitted, and dangerously he used the privilege. The countess,who was there, stood up to dance twice, and twice only. She openedthe ball with young Herbert Fitzgerald the heir; and in about an hourafterwards she danced again with Owen. He did not ask her twice; buthe asked her daughter three or four times, and three or four times heasked her successfully.

  "Clara," whispered the mother to her child, after the last of theseoccasions, giving some little pull or twist to her girl's frock asshe did so, "you had better not dance with Owen Fitzgerald againto-night. People will remark about it."

  "Will they?" said Clara, and immediately sat down, checked in heryoung happiness.

  Not many minutes afterwards, Owen came up to her again. "May we haveanother waltz together, I wonder?" he said.

  "Not to-night, I think. I am rather tired already." And so she didnot waltz again all the evening, for fear she should offend him.

  But the countess, though she had thus interdicted her daughter'sdancing with the master of Hap House, had not done so through anyabsolute fear. To her, her girl was still a child; a child withouta woman's thoughts, or any of a woman's charms. And then it wasso natural that Clara should like to dance with almost the onlygentleman who was not absolutely a stranger to her. Lady Desmond hadbeen actuated rather by a feeling that it would be well that Clarashould begin to know other persons.

  By that feeling,--and perhaps unconsciously by another, that it wouldbe well that Owen Fitzgerald should be relieved from his attendanceon the child, and enabled to give it to the mother. Whether LadyDesmond had at that time realized any ideas as to her own interestin this young man, it was at any rate true that she loved to havehim near her. She had refused to dance a second time with HerbertFitzgerald; she had refused to stand up w
ith any other person who hadasked her; but with Owen she would either have danced again, or havekept him by her side, while she explained to him with flatteringfrankness that she could not do so lest others should be offended.

  And Owen was with her frequently through the evening. She was takento and from supper by Sir Thomas, but any other takings that wereincurred were done by him. He led her from one drawing-room toanother; he took her empty coffee-cup; he stood behind her chair,and talked to her; and he brought her the scarf which she had leftelsewhere; and finally, he put a shawl round her neck while old SirThomas was waiting to hand her to her carriage. Reader, good-natured,middle-aged reader, remember that she was only thirty-eight, and thathitherto she had known nothing of the delights of love. By the young,any such hallucination on her part, at her years, will be regarded aslunacy, or at least frenzy.

  Owen Fitzgerald drove home from that ball in a state of mind thatwas hardly satisfactory. In the first place, Miss Letty had made adirect attack upon his morals, which he had not answered in the mostcourteous manner.

  "I have heard a great deal of your doings, Master Owen," she said tohim. "A fine house you're keeping."

  "Why don't you come and join us, Aunt Letty?" he replied. "It wouldbe just the thing for you."

  "God forbid!" said the old maid, turning up her eyes to heaven.

  "Oh, you might do worse, you know. With us you'd only drink andplay cards, and perhaps hear a little strong language now and again.But what's that to slander, and calumny, and bearing false witnessagainst one's neighbour?" and so saying he ended that interview--notin a manner to ingratiate himself with his relative, Miss LettyFitzgerald.

  After that, in the supper-room, more than one wag of a fellow hadcongratulated him on his success with the widow. "She's got somesort of a jointure, I suppose," said one. "She's very young-looking,certainly, to be the mother of that girl," declared another. "Upon myword, she's a handsome woman still," said a third. "And what titlewill you get when you marry her, Fitz?" asked a fourth, who wasrather ignorant as to the phases under which the British peeragedevelops itself.

  Fitzgerald pshawed, and pished, and poohed; and then, breaking awayfrom them, rode home. He felt that he must at any rate put an end tothis annoyance about the countess, and that he must put an end alsoto his state of doubt about the countess's daughter. Clara had beenkind and gracious to him in the first part of the evening; nay,almost more than gracious. Why had she been so cold when he went upto her on that last occasion? why had she gathered herself like asnail into its shell for the rest of the evening?

  The young earl had also been at the party, and had exacted a promisefrom Owen that he would be over at Desmond Court on the next day. Ithad almost been on Owen's lips to tell his friend, not only that hewould be there, but what would be his intention when he got there.He knew that the lad loved him well; and almost fancied that, earlas he was, he would favour his friend's suit. But a feeling thatLord Desmond was only a boy, restrained him. It would not be well toinduce one so young to agree to an arrangement of which in after andmore mature years he would so probably disapprove.

  But not the less did Fitzgerald, as he drove home, determine thaton the next day he would know something of his fate: and with thisresolve he endeavoured to comfort himself as he drove up into his ownavenue, and betook himself to his own solitary home.