Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II)

He now hastened along, and speedily emerging at a little grassy opening of the wood, came in sight of a lady walking at some distance in front. The fashionable air and splendid dress, which might have suited the most brilliant promenade of a great city, seemed strange in such a lone, unvisited spot. Linton lost no time in overtaking her, only diminishing his speed as he came closer, when, with his hat removed, and in an attitude of the most humble deference, he said, —

“Pray let me stand excused if I am somewhat behind my time; the fault was not my own.”

“Oh, say nothing about it,” said a soft musical voice, and Lady Kilgoff turned an easy smile towards him. “‘Qui s’excuse, s’accuse,’ says the French proverb, and I never dreamt of the accusation. Is it not a lovely day here?”

Linton was too much piqued to answer at once, but recovering, he said, “Without seeking to apologize for an absence that was not felt, let me return to the subject. I assure your Ladyship that I had been detained by Lord Kilgoff, who was pleased to bestow a more than ordinary share of his confidence upon me, and even condescended to ask my counsel.”

“How flattering! Which you gave, I hope, with all the sincerity for which you are famous.”

Linton tried to smile, but not very successfully.

“What, then, was this wonderful mystery? Not the representative peerage, I trust; I ‘m sure I hope that question is at rest forever.”

“You are quite safe there, – he never mentioned it.”

“Oh, then it was his diplomatic ambition, – ain’t I right? Ah, I knew it; I knew it How very silly, or how very wicked you must be, Mr. Linton, to encourage these daydreams, – you who have not the excuse of hallucinations, who read the book of life as it is written, without fanciful interpretations!”

“I certainly must disclaim your paneygric. I had one hallucination, if so you term it, – it was that you wished, ardently wished, for the position which a foreign ‘mission’ bestows. A very natural wish, I freely own, in one so worthy in every way to grace and adorn it.”

“Well, so I did some time back, but I ‘ve changed my mind. I don’t think I should like it; I have been reconsidering the subject.”

“And your Ladyship inclines now rather to seclusion and rural pleasures; how fortunate that I should have been able to serve your interests there also.”

“What do you mean?” said she, with a stare, while a deep scarlet suffused her cheek.

“I alluded to a country visit which you fancied might be made so agreeably, but which his Lordship had the bad taste to regard less favorably.”

“Well, sir, you did not presume to give any opinion?”

“I really did. I had all the hardihood to brave Lord Kilgoff’s most fixed resolves. You were aware that he declined Mr. Cashel’s invitation?”

She nodded, and he went on, —

“Probably, too, knowing the reasons for that refusal?”

“No, sir; the matter was indifferent to me, so I never troubled my head about it. My Lord said we shouldn’t go, and I said, ‘Very well,’ and there it ended.”

Now, although this was spoken with a most admirably feigned indifference, Linton was too shrewd an observer not to penetrate the deception.

“I am doubly unlucky this day,” said he, at last, “first to employ all my artifices to plan a ministerial success to which you are actually averse, and secondly, to carry a point to which you are indifferent.”

“Dare I ask, if the question be not an indiscreet one, what peculiar interest Mr. Linton can have, either in our acceptance or refusal of this invitation?”

“Have I not said that I believed you desired it?” replied he, with a most meaning look.

“Indeed you read inclinations most skilfully, only that you interpret them by anticipation.”

“This is too much,” said Linton, in a voice whose passionate earnestness showed that all dissimulation was at an end, “far too much! The genteel comedy that we play before the world, madam, might be laid aside for a few moments here. When I asked for this interview, and you consented to give it – ”

“It was on the express stipulation that you should treat me as you do in society, sir,” broke she in – “that there should be no attempt to fall back upon an intimacy which can never be resumed.”

“When I promised, I intended to have kept my word, Laura,” said he, in deep dejection; “I believed I could have stifled the passion that consumes me, and talked to you in the words of sincere, devoted friendship, but I cannot. Old memories of once happiness, brought up too vividly by seeing you, as I used to see you, when in many a country walk we sauntered on, dreaming of the time when, mine, by every tie of right, as by affection – ”

“How you requited that affection, Linton!” said she, in a tone whose deep reproach seemed actually to stun him. Then suddenly changing to an air of disdainful anger, she continued: “You are a bold man, Linton. I thought it would be too much for even your hardihood to recur to a theme so full of humiliation for yourself; but I know your theory, sir: you think there is a kind of heroism in exaggerated baseness, and that it is no less great to transcend men in crime than in virtue. You dare to speak of an affection that you betrayed and bartered for money.”

“I made you a peeress, madam. When you were Laura Gardiner, you couldn’t have spoken to me as now you speak.”

“If I consented to the vile contract, it was that, when I discovered your baseness, any refuge was preferable to being the wife of one like you!”

“A most complimentary assurance, not only to myself, but his Lordship,” said Linton, with an insolent smile.

“Now, hear me,” said she, not noticing the taunt, but speaking with a voice of deep collected earnestness. “It is in vain to build upon time or perseverance – the allies you trust so deeply – to renew the ties broken forever. If I had no other higher and more sustaining motive, my knowledge of you would be enough to rescue me from this danger. I know you well, Linton. You have often told me what an enemy you could be. This, at least, I believe of all that you have ever sworn! I have a full faith, too, in your ingenuity and skill; and yet I would rather brave both – ay, both hate and craft – than trust to what you call your honor.”

“You do indeed know me well, Laura,” said he, in a voice broken and faltering, “or you never had dared to speak such words to me. There is not one breathing could have uttered them and not pay the penalty, save yourself. I feel in my inmost heart how deeply I have wronged you, but is not my whole life an atonement for the wrong? Am I not heartbroken and wretched, without a hope or a future? What greater punishment did any one ever incur than to live in the daily sight and contemplation of a bliss that his own folly or madness have forever denied him; and yet, to that same suffering do I cling, as the last tie that binds me to existence. To see you in the world, to watch you, to mark the effect your grace and beauty are making on all around you – how every fascination calls up its tribute of admiration – how with each day some new excellence develops itself, till you seem inexhaustible in all the traits of graceful womanhood, this has been the cherished happiness of my life! It was to this end I labored to induce the acceptance of that invitation that once more, beneath the same roof, I should see you for days long. Your own heart must confess how I have never before the world forgotten the distance that separates us. There is, then, no fear that I should resign every joy that yet remains to me for any momentary indulgence of speaking to you as my heart feels. No, no, Laura, you have nothing to dread either from my hate or my love.”

“To what end, then, was it that you asked me to meet you here to-day?” said she, in a voice in which a touch of compassionate sorrow was blended.

“Simply to entreat, that if I should succeed in persuading his Lordship to accept this visit, you would throw no obstacle in the way on your side.”

“And if I consent, shall I have no cause to rue my compliance?”

“So far as depends on me, none, on my honor!”

It had been better for Linton’s cause that he had omitted the last words, at least: as Laura turned away her head, a curl of insolent meaning was on her lip, but she did not speak, and they now walked along, side by side, in silence.

“You will go, then?” said he, at last, in a low whisper.

“Yes,” said she, faintly.

Linton stole a glance at her unperceived, and suddenly the sparkle of his eyes and the elation of his whole expression showed the transport of pleasure he experienced.

“Now for one word of caution,” said Linton, as, drawing closer to her side, he assumed the tone of sincere friendship. “Lord Kilgoff has just revealed to me, in deep confidence, that he has been much offended by certain attentions shown to you by this Mr. Cashel, and which were of so marked a nature that he was almost determined never to admit his intimacy in future. Had his Lordship known you as well as I do, he might have spared himself this anxiety. I believe such savage excellence as his has few attractions for you; nor, save the admiration that all must yield you, has the youth taste or feeling to appreciate your excellence. However, ‘my Lord’ is jealous; let it be your care, by knowledge of the fact, not to incur anything to sustain the suspicion.”

“How very absurd all this is! Do you know that Mr. Cashel did not condescend to pay me the poor compliment of a special invitation to his house, but asked my Lord to come, and hoped I would accompany him; just as people invite their humbler acquaintances, hoping that only half the request may be accorded.”

“He is underbred even to barbarism,” said Linton.

“He seems a most good-natured creature, and full of generosity.”

“Overwealth has sometimes that air. When the glass is brimful, none but the steadiest hand can carry, without spilling, the wine.”

“He does not appear even to make the effort. They tell me he has squandered some thousands already, making presents to every one who will accept them.”

“He gave me this cane,” said Linton, superciliously, exhibiting a little riding cane, which he had taken himself out of Cashel’s hand, and was of no value whatever. “Not any great evidence of exaggerated generosity,” said he. “As to his house, however, I trust its honors may be well done; he has given me carte blanche, and I must only try and not disgrace my prerogative.”

“How very late it is – nearly seven,” said Lady Kilgoff, looking at her watch.

“Shall I see your Ladyship to your carriage?” said Linton.

“I think not,” said she, blushing slightly; “as I left it unaccompanied, so I shall return to it Good-bye.”

She held out her hand as she spoke, but slightly averted her head, so that Linton could not mark the expression of her features. As it was, he pressed the gloved fingers to his lips, but, when doing so, contrived to unclasp her bracelet, – a singularly rich one, and a present from Lord Kilgoff on the day of her marriage. This he let fall noiselessly on the grass, and murmured, in a low voice, “Goodbye.”

Lady Kilgoff, hastily wrapping her shawl about her, left the spot. Linton watched her till he had seen her seated in the carriage, and continued to gaze after it, as it drove rapidly away, and so intently occupied by his thoughts, that he did not notice the approach of a horseman, who came up at a walking pace behind him.

“Eh, Tom!” cried out Lord Charles Frobisher, “this is flying at high game!”

“You are mistaken, Charley,” said he, in some confusion. “This ‘meeting under the green-wood tree’ was nothing less than a love affair.”

“Oh, hang your morality, Mr. Joseph; it’s rather good fun to see the ‘insolent beauty’ of the season capitulating.”

“Wrong again,” said Linton, affecting a laugh. “Everton is in a scrape, and his wife wants me to get him out of the way – ”

“Nonsense, man, I saw the carriage; there is no need of mystifying here. Besides, it’s no affair of mine – I’m sure I wish it were! But come, what are the odds on Hitchley’s colt – are seven to two taken?”

“Don’t bet,” said Linton, knowingly; “there is something ‘wrong’ in that stable, and I have n’t found out the secret.”

“What a deep fellow you are, Tom.”

“Nothing of the kind, Charley. If I were, you ‘d never have discovered it. Your only deep fellow is he that the world deems shallow – your light-hearted, rattling knave, whose imputed thoughtlessness covers every breach of faith, and makes his veriest schemes seem purely accident. But, once get the repute of being a clever or a smart fellow, and success is tenfold more difficult. The world, then, only plays with you as one does with a sharper, betting small stakes, and keeping a steady eye on the cards. Your own sleepy eye, Charley, your languid, careless look, are a better provision than most men give their younger children.”

Lord Charles lifted his long eyelashes lazily, and, for a second, something like a sparkle lit up his cold, dark eye, but it was gone in a moment, and his habitually lethargic expression once more returned. “You heard that we were nearly ‘out,’ I suppose?” said he, after a pause.

“Yes. This is the second time that I bought Downie Meek’s carriage-horses on the rumor of a change of administration.”

“And sold them back again at double the price, when he found that the ministry were safe!”

“To be sure; was n’t it a ‘good hedge’ for him to be Secretary for Ireland at the cost of a hundred or so?”

“You ‘ll get the name of spreading the false intelligence, Tom, if you always profit so much by it.”

“With all my heart. I wish sincerely some good-natured fellow would lay to my charge a little roguery that I had no share in. I have experienced all manner and shades of sensations, but injured innocence, that would really be new to me.”

“Well,” sighed Lord Charles, with a yawn, “I suppose we have only a short time before us here. The end of the session will scarcely see us in office.”

“About that: by keeping all hands at the pumps we may float the ship into harbor, but no more.”

“And what ‘s to become of us?” said the aide-de-camp, with a deep depression in his accent.

“The usual lot of a crew paid off,” cried Linton, laughing; “look out for a new craft in commission, and go to sea again. As for you, Charley, you can either marry something in the printed calico line, with a hundred and fifty thousand, or, if you prefer it, exchange into a light cavalry corps at Suntanterabund.”

“And you?” said Lord Charles, with something almost of sternness.

“I? Oh, as for me, I have many alternatives. I can remain a Whig, and demand office from the Tories – a claim Peel has never resisted; I can turn Repealer, and be pensioned by something in the Colonies; I can be a waiter on Providence, and live on all parties by turns. In fact, Charley, there never was a better age for your ‘adventurer’ than this year of our Lord 18 – . All the geography of party has been erased, and it is open to every man to lay down new territorial limits.”

“But for any case of the kind you should have a seat in Parliament”

“So I mean it, my boy. I intend to represent, – I’m sure I forget the name of my constituency, – in the next assemblage of the collective wisdom.”

“How do you manage the qualification?” said the aide-de-camp, slyly.

“The man who gives the borough must take care of that; it’s no affair of mine,” said Linton, carelessly. “I only supply the politics.”

“And what are they to be?”

“Cela dépend. You might as well ask me what dress I ‘ll wear in the changeable climate of an Irish July.”

“Then you ‘ll take no pledges?”

“To be sure I will; every one asked of me. I only stipulate to accompany each with a crotchet of my own, so that, like the gentleman who emptied his snuff-box over the peas, I ‘ll leave the dish uneatable by any but myself.”

“Well, good-bye, Tom,” said Lord Charles, laughing. “If you only be as loyal in love as you promise to be in politics, our fair friend is scarcely fortunate.” And so saying, he cantered slowly away.

“Poor fellow!” said Linton, contemptuously, “your little bit of principle haunts you like a superstition.” And with this reflection, he stepped out briskly to where the boy was standing with his horse.

“Oh, Mr. Linton, darlin’, only sixpence! and I here this two hours?” said the ragged urchin, with a cunning leer, half roguery, half shame.

“And where could you have earned sixpence, you scoundrel, in that time?” cried Linton, affecting anger.

“Faix, I ‘d have earned half a crown if I ‘d got up on the beast and rode down to Bilton’s,” said the fellow, grinning.

“You ‘d have had your skull cracked with this cane, the next time I met you, for your pains,” said the other, really enraged, while he chucked a shilling at him.

“Success to your honor, – all’s right,” said the boy. And touching his cap, he scampered off into the wood, and disappeared.

“You shall have a sea voyage, my friend,” said Linton, looking after him; “a young gentleman with such powers of observation would have a fine opening in our colonies.” And away he rode towards town, his brain revolving many a complex scheme and lucky stratagem, but still with ready smile acknowledging each salutation of his friends, and conveying the impression of being one whose easy nature was unruffled by a care.

CHAPTER XIX. THE DOMESTIC DETECTIVE CONSULTED

Of “sweet fifteen” no mortal e’er afraid is,Your real “man traps” are old maiden ladies.The Legacy.

It was late of that same afternoon ere Cashel awoke. Mr. Phillis had twice adventured into the room on tiptoe, and as stealthily retired, and was now, for the third time, about to retreat, when Roland called him back.

“Beg pardon, sir; but Mrs. Kennyfeck’s footman has been here twice for the answer to this note.”

“Let me see it,” said Cashel, taking a highly-perfumed epistle, whose tinted paper, seal, and superscription were all in the perfection of epistolary coquetry.

Dear Mr. Cashel, – Mamma desires me to convey her reproaches for your shocking forgetfulness of yesterday, when, after promising to dine here, you never appeared. She will, however, not only forgive the past, but be grateful for the present, if you will come to us to-day at seven.

Believe me, very truly yours,

Olivia Kennyfeck.

Simple and commonplace as the words were, Cashel read them over more than once.

I know not if any of my male readers can corroborate me, but I have always thought there is some mysterious attraction in even the most every-day epistle of a young and pretty woman. The commonest social forms assume a different meaning, and we read the four letters which spell “dear” in an acceptation very remote from what they inspire when written by one’s law agent; and then, the concluding “yours truly,” or “faithfully yours,” or better again, “ever yours,” – what suggestive little words they are! how insinuating in their portraiture of a tie which possibly might, but does not actually, bind the parties.

If my readers concur not in these sympathies; I have great satisfaction in saying that Roland Cashel did. He not only sat gazing at the few lines, but he looked so long at them as to half believe that the first word was a superlative; then, suddenly rousing himself he asked the hour. It was already past six. He had only time, then, for a verbal, “With pleasure,” and to dress for dinner.

It seemed like a reproach on his late mode of living, the pile of unopened letters, which in imposing mass Mr. Phillis had arrayed on his master’s dressing-table. They contained specimens of everything epistolary which falls to the lot of those favored children of fortune who, having “much to give,” are great favorites with the world. There were dear little pressing invitations signed by the lady of the house, and indited in all the caligraphy of the governess. There were begging letters from clergymen with large families, men who gave so “many hostages to fortune,” that they actually ruined themselves in their own “recognizances.” Flatteries, which, if not written on tinted paper, might have made it blush to bear them, mixed up with tradesmen’s assurances of fidelity and punctuality, and bashful apologies for the indelicacy of any allusion to money.

Oh, it is a very sweet world this of ours, and amiable withal! save that the angelic smile it bestows on one part of the creation has a sorry counterpart in the sardonic grin with which it regards the other. Our friend Cashel was in the former category, and he tossed over the letters carelessly, rarely breaking a seal, and, even then, satisfied with a mere glance at the contents, or the name of the writer, when he suddenly caught sight of a large square-shaped epistle, marked “Sea-letter.” It was in a hand he well knew, that of his old comrade Enrique; and burning with anxiety to hear of him, he threw himself into a chair, and broke the seal.

The very first words which met his eye shocked him.

“St. Kitt’s, Jamaica.

“Ay, Roland, even so. St. Kitt’s, Jamaica! heavily ironed in a cell at the top of a strong tower over the sea, with an armed sentry at my door, I write this! a prisoner fettered and chained, – I, that could not brook the very orders of discipline! Well, well, it is only cowardice to repine.

Truth is, amigo, I ‘ve had no luck since you left us. It was doubtless yours that sustained me so long, and when you withdrew from the firm, I became bankrupt, and yet, this is pretty much what we used once, in merry mood, to predict for each other, ‘the loop and the leap.’

“How shall I tell you so briefly as neither to weary you to read, nor myself to write it, my last sad misfortune? I say the last, because the bad luck took a run against me. First, I lost everything I possessed at play, – the very pistols you sent me, I staked and lost. Worse still, Roland, – and faith

I don’t think I could make the confession, if a few hours, or a few days more, were not to hide my shame in a felon’s grave, – I played the jewels you sent here for Maritaña. She refused them with words of bitterness and anger. Partly from the irritated feeling of the moment, partly from the curse of a gambler’s spirit, – the hope to weary out the malice of fortune, – I threw them on the monte-table. Of course I lost.

It was soon after this Barcelonetta was laid in ruin by a shock of earthquake, the greatest ever experienced here. The ‘Quadro’ is a mere mass of chaotic rubbish. The ‘Puerta Mayor,’ with all its statues, is ingulfed, and an arm of the sea now washes up and over the beautiful gardens where the Governor gave his fête. The villa, too, rent from roof to basement, is a ruin; vast yawning gulfs intersect the parterres everywhere; the fountains are dried up; the trees blasted by lightning; and a red-brown surface of ashes strewn over the beauteous turf where we used to stroll by moonlight. The old tree that sheltered our monte-table stands uninjured, as if in mockery over our disasters!

Maritaña’s hammock was slung beneath the branches, and there she lay, careless of – nay, I could almost say, if the words did not seem too strange for truth, actually pleased by – the dreadful event. I went to take leave of her; it was the last night we were to spend on shore. I little knew it was to be the last time we should ever meet. Pedro passed the night among the ruins of the villa, endeavoring to recover papers and valuables amid that disastrous mass. Geizheimer was always with him, and as Noronja and the rest soon fell off to sleep, wearied by a day of great fatigue, I sat alone beside her hammock till day was breaking. Oh, would that night could have lasted for years, so sweetly tranquil were the starlit hours, so calm and yet so full of hopeful promise. What brilliant pictures of ambition did she, that young, untaught girl, present to my eyes, – how teach me to long for a cause whose rewards were higher, and greater, and nobler than the prizes of this wayward life. I would have spoken of my affection, my deep-felt, long-cherished love, but, with a half-scornful laugh, she stopped me, saying, ‘Is this leafy shade so like a fair lady’s boudoir that you can persuade yourself to trifle thus, or is your own position so dazzling that you deem the offer to share it a flattery?’”

“I ‘m afraid, sir,” said Mr. Phillis, here obtruding his head into the room, “that you ‘ll be very late. It is already more than half-past seven o’clock.”