Kate Vernon, Vol. 2 (of 3)

"Oh, blessed queen of heaven! that iver I should live to see the day; not even the next gale?"

Kate shook her head, and Mrs. O'Toole, placing the can beside her, sat down on a log of timber by the river, as if unable to support herself under such intelligence.

"An' you so tinderly rared, an' the masther! Ah! sweet Mary, what'ill become iv us at all, at all? Taaffe, sure I remimber him, the desavin' vagabone, ye wor Arthur Taaffe, wid a hard word for the poor, an' yer cap in yer hand to the quolity ye wor ruinatin'; faith, it's a miserable pity the masther let it go so asy; sure the wind iv a word to my sisther's husband's son, Denny Doolan 'ud have riz the boys on Knockdrum; an' I'd like to see the process sarver that 'ud get the tip of his toe on the lands."

"You know, nurse, that is a sort of thing happily gone by."

"More's the pity if it is; how are yez to deal with thaves an' ruffins, if it is'nt with the sthrong hand?"

There was a pause, during which, nurse, her hands clasped and embracing her knees, rocked herself to and fro, and Kate, leaning against an old thorn, (now bursting into primeval youth and beauty,) gazed sadly down upon her.

"Six an' four is ten, an' four is fourteen," now burst out Mrs. O'Toole, abruptly. "Ye see, Miss Kate, me daughther is doin' well in Ameriky, wid her husband; an' Denis in the hoigth iv grandure wid the Captin in Ingee, an' I, aitin' an' dhrinkin' iv the best iv vittles, an' doin' just what I like in the Curnel's house, wid shawls, an' gowns, an' lace caps, guve me by the thrunkful; faith, me wages is just so much dhross; I'd as lieve light the candles with the notes; so, Miss Kate, avick! if the Masther ud keep the money for me till betther times, I'd be greatly behoulden to him, he'd save me from bein' chated; any ways it's a murtherin' shame to have it lyin' there useless."

"Nurse, my own, dear nurse," said Kate, clasping her arms round her, "where is there so true a heart as yours? No, no, this will not do." Then, (as nurse reddened a little,) "should we want it you shall be the first I apply to; but we shall have a hundred pounds to go on with; and Lady Desmond has offered us all we want; and besides, (approaching the last dreaded communication, with a desperate attempt at gaiety) besides, I am going to earn quite a fortune."

"Airn a fortune, Miss Kate! ah, how, jewel?"

"I am, you know, a good musician, and in London there is money to be got for teaching music, and – "

"Miss Vernon, is it a tacher ye'd be afther makin' iv yerself? You that was born iv as ould a stock as any in all Ireland, ay oulder. Och! what's come to ye at all, at all, you that used to be like a princess wid yer aiquals, an' a angel wid yer infariors? I niver thought I'd live to see the day I could say, I'm ashamed iv ye! ochone! ochone!"

"Nor will you, if you will think for a moment," said Kate, affectionately taking Mrs. O'Toole's hand between both her own. "Listen to me: suppose I had been born your own daughter, instead of your having adopted me, would you think me mean if I worked for the support of my grandfather, or, would you approve of my leaving him and myself to live on what we could get from the charity of others? No, I thought not. Will the good and gracious God regard me with less favour, for endeavouring to submit and bow before the sentence He has, in His wisdom, pronounced on our first parents? 'In the sweat of thy brow shall thou eat thy bread.'"

"No, ochone no, alanah!" sobbed nurse, "sure I'm the unfortunate ould woman to live to this day – to see mee beautiful child, that shu'd have married to a prence, tachin' thim thaves iv English the piania – an the masther! what 'ill become iv him? The Lord look down on him! Sweet Jesus pity us!"

"Now, nurse," resumed Kate, tremulously, "I know how you could do me a service – I will tell you, how you may be my support; I shall have enough to do with grandpapa – help me to cheer him – make light of our troubles to him; and – " clasping her hand, "Oh, dear! old friend, do not scare away the courage so necessary to me – by these sad lamentations. There is one thing more I must say to you; we have no right to induce you to come along with us in ignorance, and, God knows, if we shall be able to pay you, even the small wages you so generously insisted on, when we left Dungar. Mr. Winter offers you higher terms, and a comfortable home, and – "

"Och! what have I done, that ye should think I'm not desarvin' iv being wid yez, in throuble? Is id at this time of day ye want to be tould that I'd lave thousands to beg through the world wid yez – lave ye! och, where would I go? Sure yez the whole world to ould nurse! Lave ye, an ye in throuble. Oh! what have I done that ye would spake that way to me?" And covering her face in the folds of her cloak – poor nurse sobbed aloud!

"Hear me, my own dear, earliest friend," cried Kate, kneeling beside her, and endeavouring to take her hand, "I have said this, simply, because I was told to do so – I never dreamt – I never could dream of parting from you, and that subject is at rest between us for ever – come what may, we will be together. Do you hear me? Put your arms round me, and say you forgive your own Kate."

And nurse folded her to her heart fervently, exclaiming —

"The blessin' iv Christ on ye, avourneen!"

There was a pause for some moments – broken at length by the sound of footsteps, seldom heard in that unfrequented spot.

"We must go home now," said Kate, wiping away her tears. Nurse, still silent, rose, and lifted her can.

"An where is it yer going to tache? that iver I should say the word!" she asked with a fresh burst of grief. "In London – in London, musha, but it's a big place, and sure the house o' Lords is there, an I'll go bail the masther – 'ill meet many a one that heard tell iv D'Arcy Vernon in Dungar – who knows Miss Kate; but some iv thim 'ill spake to the Queen, to make him a jidge or a gineral, or the like, any ways; it's sich a tunderin' big place, that ye might be tachin' in one corner, and livin' like a prencess in another, an no one a bit the wiser; sure, yer right hand wouldn't know what the lift was doin', in a big place like that."

"Very true, nurse, I dare say no one will know what I am about."

"The Lord send!" said Mrs. O'Toole, heartily, as the fact of Kate's teaching for money began to lose half its horrors in the fancied possibility of concealing the inglorious occupation.

"Now, nurse," said Kate, pausing at the gate of their little domain, "remember our agreement, you must not make bad worse to grandpapa."

"Niver you fear, darlint, I'd bite the tongue out iv me head, afore I'd spake the word, that id vex yer; only dont send me from ye, mavourneen."

True to her word, when the Colonel, after dinner – in consequence of Kate's having intimated that nurse knew how affairs stood – said —

"Bad times, Nelly – bad times – worse than I ever thought I should live to see."

She replied cheerfully, and steadily —

"Thrue, for ye, sir; but there's good luck afore yez, for all that – an' Miss Kate an meself's goin' to be as bould as lions, so we are faith, I'll see yez give the go-bye to thim thavin' attornies, yet."

Swiftly sped the interval that remained before they left their peaceful dwelling; numerous were the arrangements to be made before the final move, and the selections of those peculiarly sacred treasures, that could not be left behind, the number of which was daily swelled. Winter took charge of the Colonel's picture, but, "John Anderson," was packed for removal – music and drawings – a pet vase or two – her books, and some cushions for the Colonel, was all that Kate could take with her of her pleasant, pretty home; but the sofa and prie dieu, at which she had so diligently worked, to give an air of greater elegance to their little drawing-room – the arm chair, so associated in her mind's eye with the noble, venerable form of her grandfather – the flower garden, now bursting into radiant beauty, and which Fred Egerton used so much to admire, even in its autumn garb – all these must pass away into strange hands; she must not only leave her ark, but ever think of it as desecrated! And, Elijah Bush, too, he must be left; and the navigator's little orphan; and the keeper's sickly boy – all her poor people – the various objects to which her full, rich sympathies so freely flowed.

Yes; many a link that bound her, closely and pleasantly, to her calm and quiet life, in their ecclesiastical retreat, she was compelled to break; and still through all the saddening occupations which preceded their dreaded journey, Kate endeavoured to keep her mind fixed upon the future she had laid down for herself, with a steadiness which, exhibited in some more high sounding and attractive cause than the mere common-place duty of earning bread for her parent, would have drawn forth odes and laudations from many a potent pen.

Nurse's conduct was beyond all praise; not even when alone with Kate, did she indulge in anything beyond a passing condemnation of attorneys, generally; and good little Mrs. Winter, only half enlightened as to the real motives of her friends' departure, was invulnerable to the prying of Miss Araminta Cox.

Matters stood thus and time had run by, to within a week of the removal to London, when Gilpin, now very weak, interrupted Kate's practice one morning.

"My dear Mr. Gilpin," said she, rising to receive him, with some surprise, "this is most imprudent!"

"I could not let you go without paying one more visit to the Priory." His cough interrupted him.

"But we should have called on you, I intended doing so with grandpapa; indeed you were wrong to venture out, but, as you are here, how glad I am to see you, and the day is so fine."

"When do you start?" he asked, feebly; sinking back exhausted into an arm chair Kate had drawn forward.

"Ah, do not talk of that; Tuesday or Wednesday. Now the time draws near I feel my heart sink at the idea of leaving all we are accustomed to, to cast ourselves like ship-wrecked mariners on the great troubled ocean of London."

"And I have almost prayed that you might remain a little longer; but it is not to be so. I have crawled out to-day, my dear Miss Vernon, for I knew I should find you alone, and I wanted to speak a few quiet words with you. I almost feared to meet you after this sad change in all our hopes for you; I have so deplored it, that, judging by myself, I dreaded its effects on you, but your face re-assures me, there is no grief, scarce a grave look there. I have so much wished to speak with you."

"And I with you, dear Mr. Gilpin, I feel it is so long since I saw you."

"But let us speak at once of all that has occurred, I shall soon be so weary. How is it that there is none of the languor of sorrow, the fever of anxiety in your face?"

"Because I feel neither – do you know, I am half surprised to find how the first feeling of dread at the idea of earning money, has worn away by steadfastly looking at it. It reminds me of those double pictures which appear wintry when you first look at them, but, hold them to the light, and the deeper, richer colors of summer, painted beneath, shine forth! Then, dear grandpapa has borne up so wonderfully, and poor nurse has been so manageable, and you and Mr. Winter so – so kind, that I should be an ungrateful coward to let myself feel sad, except," she added, as the tears sprang to her eyes, "at the thought of parting from you all."

Gilpin was silent, for a few moments, and then said,

"My dear young lady, forgive me, for not knowing your noble nature better! I ought to have been certain you would be above the common grief that mourns the possibility of losing caste, as the worst of earthly woes; my chief anxiety to see you, and to see you alone, was to hear fully, from your own lips, all the plans of which I do not like to question the Colonel too closely, and to offer you a few hints, which, (excuse me if I presume too far) may be useful to you."

"Our plans are simple enough. To remove to London, where, through the interest of my old music master and one or two friends, to whom Mr. Winter offers me introductions, I hope to obtain pupils in music, who will pay me for instruction, that is all."

"If you will allow me I will add one, to an old master of mine. And these are all the introductions you will take with you?"

"Yes, all. Mr. Winter mentioned the bishop's wife as likely to be of use; but, to say the truth, I shrunk from the idea of asking her; I do not like to have the matter talked over at the little clerical tea-parties of A – . So much for my high-mindedness."

"Very natural, and a few good professional introductions are worth scores of mere recommendations to fashionable ladies, who consider they fulfil their promise if they mention your name to any acquaintance who may happen to make enquiries for an instructress. Now if Herman, (I think he was your master,) will really back you up, and give you his junior pupils, you may be very successful. I am afraid my recommendation will not prove very effectual, but try it."

"And, Mr. Gilpin, what should you – that is have you any idea what I ought to ask for my services?"

"You must learn all that from Herman, or Winter's friends; as to the terms on which you and your pupils' families will meet, accept some hints, which experience enables me to give; God knows you will teach under very different circumstances from what I did. Novels and magazines teem with the most revolting instances of the slights shown to lady teachers. In my opinion all this may be very much, if not altogether avoided, except by the resident governess; occasional teachers have only to observe this rule; treat those with whom you come in contact, professionally, as men of business do those whom they encounter on 'Change, or in their offices; once a lesson is given, the relations between pupil and teacher are at an end, and you have no more to say to each other; for this purpose resist any advance towards intimacy, which may – which will be sure to be made to you. Am I speaking too freely, Miss Vernon, in thus placing the reality of your future before you?"

"No," said Kate, firmly, and holding out her hand to him. "No, I feel the need of such suggestions, and I like to talk of what must be; it is good for me, and there is no use in making grandpapa think of it at all more than necessary; I hope to manage so as often to cheat him into forgetfulness of my occupation; only I do trust Mr. Winter's friend may not engage apartments for us in a wretched, narrow street. Lady Desmond used to live in Berkeley street, and it was reckoned a good situation, I thought it horrible."

"You might try the Kensington or Bayswater side."

"Any trees or flowers to be seen there?"

"Oh, yes, plenty."

"Then I will beg of Mr. Winter to suggest that locale."

"Mrs. O'Toole of course goes with you?"

"Of course. Dear nurse, she is so true and self-forgetful!"

"And Cormac, what will you do with him? You can hardly take that huge animal with you."

"Not just yet; he remains with the Winters; but will follow us when we can arrange to have him. Mr. Winter said no one would take us in, at first, with so formidable a looking companion."

"I should fear not, but – "

The entrance of the Colonel here cut short their private conference; he, like his granddaughter, expressed surprise and pleasure, not unmingled with uneasiness, at the organist's appearance, and, after some discussion, he agreed to dine with them, at a somewhat earlier hour than usual; as the softness of a June evening could not possibly, they all agreed, be more injurious than the morning air.

"And let us send for Winter and his wife," concluded the Colonel.

Once more the little circle met round the hospitable board in the Priory dining-room, and though the absence of many familiar ornaments, already packed, gave a look of barrenness to the pretty sitting room, and bespoke the approaching departure, the party was not a sad one; each tried to cheer the others, and in so doing roused himself.

So ended the last dinner at the Priory, and never again did the same party meet under the same roof.

Some such presentiment touched Kate's heart, and gave a tenderness to her attentions, an under current of feeling even to the fanciful sallies and playful arguments with which she strove to enliven her guests, which, gracefully as she ever played the part of hostess, lent an inexpressible charm to all she uttered; and even Mrs. Winter, usually unobservant, seemed impressed by the peculiar sweetness of her voice and manner; and often, in after life, did Kate look back to that last evening as singularly agreeable, despite the approaching separation.

The last! Oh, how much of tenderness clings round that word – the last word or look, the last even of suffering, what a grasp, they take of the memory; as though the soul, in itself immortal, cannot familiarise its faculties with any thing so finite, so sad, so passing as the last.

CHAPTER IV.

A NEW WORLD

However kind and true by nature, a man who has risen to, can never quite understand the feeling, of one who has fallen from higher fortunes; the seeming trifles which can elate, or depress, are but trifles to the former; nor can any amount of sincere friendship ever reveal to him the saddening effect which some insignificant occurrence, he would scarcely perceive, produces on the other; he cannot dream with what terrible and intense conviction, the sudden consciousness of total change, flashes on the mind that had happily half-forgotten it, at some accident of daily life, to him, nothing, in itself, a mere "contretemps," which, in brighter days would have only raised a smile, but which is now too sure an indication of the current; straw though it be.

And Winter, with all his real, steady affection, for Kate, felt half angry with her for the obstinacy with which she adhered to her intention of travelling by the first class in the railway. He could not comprehend, what she could so well feel, that the moral effect produced on her grandfather, by a long journey in a conveyance, which would, every moment, bring the utter change of his fortunes and position, so forcibly before him, would far more than counterbalance the few pounds saved.

"But," reiterated Winter, "the colonel is well and remarkably strong for his age, he would not find the journey in the least fatiguing by the second class; and, my dear girl, I want to impress on you the necessity of conforming, at once, to the changes Heaven has been pleased to send you. Procrastination is always bad, but in the present case peculiarly injurious."

"Yes, Mr. Winter, I know all that, and as to the fatigue, that is not what I think of; but imagine how wretched grandfather would feel – no, you cannot imagine – but would it be worth while, for the sake of the difference, to let him receive so bad an impression of his new position at the very outset, and so rudely. He will have enough to suffer. Let him have an easy start; in short this is one of the very few points on which I cannot accept of your guidance; and all I will add is, I hope you will, though unconvinced, acquiesce in my decision, and not mention this controversy to grandpapa."

"'Pon my word, Miss Vernon, you put me down, right royally," said he, laughing, and yet surprised at the air of quiet firmness with which she announced her determination.

"My own, dear, kind master! Ah, when shall I have an argument with you again? But you will write to me often, and sometimes come to London."

"I will, I will indeed. Ah, Kate, I did not know how much you had twined yourself round this tough old heart of mine, till I found I was to lose my bright pupil. You had better make over Cormac to me, till you have a house of your own?"

"Oh, no, no, we should be incomplete without my dear old dog! Besides, I promised him he should join us as soon as possible."

"Promised the dog; and you look as grave as a judge."

"Yes, I said to him yesterday, 'I am not going to leave you long behind, dear Cormac,' and he looked up at me with his honest eyes, as though he trusted me so implicitly; I could not deceive him."

"Kate, you have too much imagination for the battle of life, get rid of some of it, I advise you."

"Get rid of it! And shall I pursue my way more successfully, if I clip the wings that might sometimes help to waft me over rough places."

"You are incorrigible! You see your fancy is going to cheat you out of nearly five pounds in this railroad business. I wish you would be advised by me; and, indeed, strictly speaking, it is your duty to conform as soon as possible to circumstances."

"My strict duty! Oh, Mr. Winter, I abjure strictness, it is a thing of mathematical precision, gone, vanished with the old dispensation; which, providing rules for all and every thing, left no room for those exquisite shades and tints without which, life, as well as pictures, would have neither truth nor beauty. I never like to think how much or how little I ought to do; there is one maxim on this point, that supplies to me the absence of every other. 'Freely ye have received, freely give,' Why should I pain another, to fulfil to the letter, an unimportant duty? But, I have settled that point."

"Well, well, you are right in intention at all events, and now I must say good morning, what are you going to do?"

"Why, I have finished my preparations; and as grandpapa is going with you about the luggage, I intend hearing the evening service in the Cathedral; vespers, (I like the name, popish though it be) for the last time. Ah, Maestro mio, to-morrow."

"Don't talk of it, but I'll tell Mrs. Winter she may expect you in an hour. Au revoir."

Kate strolled slowly through the churchyard, and mounted the steps; stood for some minutes gazing at the well-known scene from the city wall, thinking, "how and when shall I see it again! What awaits me in the new world into which I am about to plunge!" Then turning to the right, she followed the rather tortuous way, formed by the time worn ramparts, until she reached the narrow alley which led to the cathedral. The entrance to the cloisters at this spot, was a low vaulted passage, which communicated, in ancient times, with the servants' offices, and formed an angle with a lofty chapel, now used as an ante-room; and here Kate again paused, as if to take the scene into her memory. To the Chapter house, opposite the end opening on the cloisters, was a beautiful window, showing through its lace-like and still perfect tracery, the soft, green grass which clothed the quadrangle formed by the cloisters, and a thorn tree grew close against its mullions, and even thrust its branches, so delicately green, with the first fresh and unspeakable tints of spring, through their many openings; contrasting its fair youth, with the solemn grey and massive stones around it. A bright gleam of sunshine, which fell slanting, it up one half the chapel, through which Kate advanced, leaving the other in shadow. The unbroken stillness, the air of deep repose, which pervaded the old pile, gave something of its own calm to her feelings, which had been a little ruffled by the thousand anticipations her argument with Winter had called up. The hour of evening prayer was not yet arrived, and she stood for a while gazing at the exquisite effects of light and shade, till the perfect silence woke up her fancy, and she smiled to think, that it would scarce surprise her, to see a plumed and helmetted shadow fall on the stream of sunshine, which bathed the pavement with a flood of gold, and even were the shadow followed by a substantial mailed form, with knightly spurs, and cross-hilted sword, it would seem but natural, here.

The distant sound of the organ warned her that the service was about to begin, and she was soon kneeling in the quiet nook she usually occupied.

The next morning they left A – .

"The last journey I made by rail-road was with you to Carrington," said Kate to Winter.

She was looking a little pale, and a certain anxious nervousness made her tremble in every limb; but she kept up very cheerfully.

They were standing on the platform at the railway station, waiting for the train, which, starting from some newer and more important place, only gave a few hurried, breathless moments to poor old anti-locomotive A – .

The Colonel was looking a shade more elegant even than usual, in a large cloak, which hung gracefully round his tall, erect form. There was their luggage all ticketed and piled up, all of home that could be packed into trunks; and Kate felt singularly desolate at the idea of being thus, for the first time, without any sanctuary, however humble, to which, as to an ark, she might retreat, when the fountains of the great deep, of sorrow or of disappointment, were broken up; and Mrs. Winter was there with a well-packed basket of sandwiches, and wine and water; but poor Gilpin had been so unwell since his imprudent visit to the Priory, that he had been obliged to leave the Winters to do the parting honours, alone, to their valued friends. Nor can we omit to mention Mrs. O'Toole, who, in a black silk bonnet, snowy cap, and substantial cloth cloak, albeit it was early June, looked the very model of a respectable old family-servant; over one arm hung Miss Vernon's shawl, and, in her left hand, she carried a blue band-box, containing divers and sundry articles thrust into it, at the last moment, and secured by a red silk handkerchief.