The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1

But Daly’s eyes were fixed upon the paper, which he held firmly between both hands.

“Ay, I see what you are looking at,” said Freney; “that was a kind of memorandum the old fellow made of the money Gleeson paid him the day before.”

Daly paid no attention to the remark, but muttered half aloud the contents of the document before him: “Check on Ball for eighteen thousand, payable at sight, – thirty-six thousand eight hundred and ten pounds in notes of the Bank of England, – gold, seventeen hundred guineas.”

“There was a lob,” cried Freney, as he rubbed his hands together. “I was set up for life if I got half of it! And now, Mr. Daly, just tell me one thing: isn’t Mr. Darcy there as bad as myself, to take all this money for his vote?”

“How do you mean?” said Daly, sternly.

“I mean that a gentleman born and bred as he is, oughtn’t to sell his country for goold; that if a blackguard like myself takes to the road, it’s all natural and reasonable, and the world’s little worse off when they hang half a dozen of my kind; but for a real born gentleman of the old stock of the land to go and take money for his vote in Parliament!”

“And who dares to say he did so?” cried Daly, indignantly.

“Faix, that’s the story up in Dublin; they say he ‘d no other way of clearing off the debts on his property. Bad cess to me if I ‘d do it! Here I am, a robber and a highwayman, I don’t deny it, but may I wear hemp for a handkerchief if I ‘d sell my country. Bad luck to the Union, and all that votes for it,” said he, as, filling a bumper of whiskey, he tossed it off to this laudable sentiment.

“If you had n’t wronged my friend the Knight of Gwynne, I’m not certain that I wouldn’t have pledged your toast myself.”

“If he ‘s a friend of yours I say nothing against him; but sure when he – ”

“Once for all,” said Daly, sternly, “this story is false;” while he added, in a low muttering to himself, “corruption must needs have spread widely when such a calumny was even ventured on. – And so, Freney, Hickman escaped you?”

“He did, sir,” said Freney, sighing; “he made a lodgment in Kildare next day, and more of the money he carried up to town, guarded all the way by the two fellows I told you. Ah! Mr. Daly, if all the world was as cunning as old Peter, I might give up the road as a bad job. There! do you hear that? Listen, sir.”

“What is it?” said Daly, after a moment’s silence.

“They’re my nags, sir, coming up the road. I’d know their trot if I heard it among a troop of dragoons. ‘T is clippers they are.”

As he spoke he arose from the table, and, lighting a small lantern he always carried with him, hastened to the door, where already the two horses were standing, a bare-legged “gossoon” holding the bridles.

“Well, Jemmy, what ‘s the news to-night?” said Freney.

“Nothing, sir, at all. I passed the down mail at Seery’s Mill, and when the coachman heard the step of the horses, he laid on the wheelers wid all his might, and sat down on the footboard, and the two outside passengers lay flat as a pancake on the top when I passed. I could n’t help giving a screech out of me for fun, and the old guard let fly, and sent a ball through my ‘caubeen;’” and as he said these words he exhibited his ragged felt hat, which, in addition to its other injuries, now displayed a round bullet-hole through either side.

“Serve you right,” said Freney, harshly; “I wish he’d levelled three inches lower. That young rascal, sir, keeps the whole road in a state of alarm that stops all business on it.” Then he added, in a whisper, “but he never failed me in his life. I ‘ve only to say when and where I want the horses, and I ‘d lay my neck on it he’s there.”

Daly, who had been for some minutes examining the two horses by the lantern with all the skill of an adept, now turned the light full upon the figure of the boy whose encomium was thus pronounced. The urchin, as if conscious that he was passing an inspection, set his tattered hat jauntily on one side, and with one arm a-kimbo, and a leg advanced, stood the very perfection of ragged, self-sufficient rascality. Though at most not above fourteen years of age, and short in size even for that, his features had the shrewd intelligence of manhood; a round, wide head, covered with dark red hair, projected over two eyes set wide apart, whose bad expression was ingeniously improved by a habit of squinting at pleasure, – a practice with which he now amused himself, as Mr. Daly continued to stare at him. His nose, which a wound had partly separated from the forehead, was short and wide, leaving an unnatural length to the lower part of the face, where an enormous mouth, garnished with large and regular teeth, was seen, – a feature that actually gave a look of ferocity even to a face so young.

“It’s plain to see what destiny awaits that young scoundrel,” said Daly, as he gazed almost sadly at the assemblage of bad passions so palpably displayed in his countenance.

“I ‘d wager the young devil knows it himself, and can see the gallows even now before him.”

A wild burst of frantic laughter broke from the urchin as, in the exuberance of his merriment, he capered round Daly with gambols the most strange and uncouth, and then, mimicking an air of self-admiration, he strutted past, while he broke into one of the slang ditties of the day: —

     “With beauty and manners to plaze,     I ‘ll seek a rich wife, and I ‘ll find her,     And live like a Lord all my days,     And sing, Tally-high-ho the Grinder!”

Freney actually screamed with laughter as he watched the mingled astonishment and horror depicted in Daly’s face.

“That fellow’s fate will lie heavily on your heart yet,” said Daly, in a voice whose solemn tones at once arrested Freney’s merriment, while the “gossoon,” with increased animation and in a wilder strain, burst forth, —

     “My Lord cheats at play like a rogue,     And my Lady flings honor behind her;     And why wold n’t I be in vogue,     And sing, Tally-high-ho the Grinder!”

“Come,” said Daly, turning away, for, amid all his disgust, a sense of the ludicrous was stealing over him, and the temptation to laugh was struggling in him, – “come, let us be off; you have nothing to wait for, I suppose?”

“Nothing, sir; I’m ready this instant. Here, Jemmy, take this portmanteau, and meet us outside of Maynooth, under the old castle wall.”

“Stay,” cried Daly, whose misgivings about the safe arrival of his luggage would have made him prefer any other mode of transmission; “he ‘ll scarcely be in time.”

“Not in time! I wish I’d a bet of fifty guineas on it that he would not visit every stable on the road, and know every traveller’s name and business, and yet be a good half hour before us. Off with you! Away!”

Diving under the two horses, the “gossoon” appeared at the other side of the road, and then, with a wild spring in the air, and an unearthly shout of laughter, he cleared the fence before him and disappeared, while as he went the strain of his slang song still floated in the air, and the refrain, “Tally-high-ho the Grinder,” could be heard through the stillness of the night.

“Take the dark horse, sir; you ‘re heavier than me,” said Freney, as he held the stirrup.

“A clever hack, faith,” said Daly, as he seated himself in the saddle, and gathered up the reins.

“And mounts you well,” cried Freney, admiring both horse and rider once more by the light before he extinguished the lantern.

The storm had now considerably abated, and they rode on at a brisk pace, nor did they draw rein till the tall ruined castle of Maynooth could be seen, rearing its dark head against the murky sky.

“We part here,” said Daly, who for some time had been lost in thought, “and I have nothing but thanks to offer you for this night’s service, Freney; but if the time should come that I can do you a good turn – ”

“I ‘ll never ask it, sir,” said Freney, interrupting him.

“And why not? Are you too proud?”

“Not too proud to be under any obligation to you,” said the robber, stopping him, “but too proud of the honor you did me this night by keeping my company, ever to hurt your fame by letting the world know it. No, Mr. Daly, I knew your courage well; but this was the bravest thing ever you did.”

He sprang from his horse as he spoke, and gave a long, shrill whistle. A deep silence followed, and he repeated the signal, and, soon after, the tramp of naked feet was heard on the road, and Jemmy advanced towards them at his ordinary sling trot.

“Take the trunk up to the town.”

“No, no,” said Daly, “I’ll do that myself;” and he relieved the urchin of his burden, taking the opportunity to slip some crown-pieces into his willing hand while he did so.

“Good-bye, sir,” said Freney, taking off his hat with courteous deference.

“Good-bye, Freney,” said Daly, as he seized the robber’s hand and shook it warmly. “I ‘ll soon be shaking hands with twenty fellows not a whit more honest,” said Daly, as he looked after him through the gloom. “Hang me if I don’t think he’s better company, too!” and with this very flattering reflection on some parties unknown, he plodded along towards the town.

Here, again, new disappointment awaited him: a sudden summons had called the members of both political parties to the capital, and horses were not to be had at any price.

“‘T is the Lord’s marciful providence left him only the one arm,” said a waiter, as he ushered Daly into a sitting-room, and cast a glance of most meaning terror at the retiring figure of Sandy.

“What do you mean?” asked Daly, hastily.

“It’s what he smashed the best chaise in the yard, as if it was a taycup, this morning. Mr. Tisdal ordered it to be ready at seven o’clock, to take him up to town, and, when it came to the door, up comes that long fellow with his one arm, and says, ‘This will do for my master,’ says he, and cool and aisy he gets up into the chaise, and sits down, and when he was once there, by my conscience you might as well try to drain the canal with a cullender as get him out again! We had a fight that lasted nigh an hour, and signs on it, there’s many a black eye in the stable-yard to show for it; but he beat them all off, and kept his ground. ‘Never mind,’ said Mr. Tisdal, and he whispered a word to the master; and what did they do, sir, but nailed him up fast in the chaise, and unharnessed the horses, put them to a jaunting-car, and started with Mr. Tisdal before you could turn round.”

“And Sandy,” cried Daly, “what did he do?”

“Sandy? – av it’s that you call him, – a divil a doubt but he’s sandy and stony too, – he made a drive at the front panel wid one leg, and away it went; and he smashed open the door with his fist; and put that short stump of an arm through the wood as if it was cheese. ‘T is a holy show, the same chaise now! And when he got out, may I never spread a tablecloth if you’d see a crayture in the street: they run in every direction, as if it was the duke’s bull was out of the paddock, and it’s only a while ago he grew raysonable.”

However little satisfactory the exploit was to the innkeeper and his household, it seemed to sharpen Daly’s enjoyment of his breakfast, and compensate him for the delay to which he was condemned. The messenger sent to seek for horses returned at last without them, and there was now no alternative but to await, with such patience as he could muster, some chaise for town, and thus reach Dublin before nightfall.

A return chaise from Kilcock was at last secured, and Daly, with his servant on the box, proceeded towards Dublin.

It was dark when they reached the capital, and drove with all the speed they could accomplish to the Knight’s house in Henrietta Street. Great was Daly’s discomfort to learn that his friend Darcy had just driven from the door.

“Where to?” said he, as he held his watch in his hand, as if considering the chances of still overtaking him.

“To a dinner-party, sir, at Lord Castlereagh’s,” said the servant.

“At Lord Castlereagh’s!” And nothing but the presence of the man repressed the passionate exclamation that quivered on his lip.

“Yes, sir, his Lordship and Mr. Heffernan called here – ”

“Mr. Heffernan, – Mr. Con Heffernan do you mean?” interrupted he, quickly. “Ah! I have it now. And when was this visit?”

“On Monday last, sir.”

“On Monday,” said Daly to himself. “The very day the letter was written to me: there’s something in it, after all. Drive to Kildare Place, and as fast as you can,” said he, aloud, as he sprang into the chaise.

The steps were up, the door banged to, the horses lashed into a gallop, and the next moment saw the chaise at the end of the street.

Short as the distance was, – scarcely a mile to Heffer-nan’s house, – Daly’s impatient anxiety made him think it an eternity. His object was to reach the house before Heffernan started; for he judged rightly that not only was the Secretary’s dinner planned by that astute gentleman, but that its whole conduct and machinery rested on his dexterity.

“I know the fellow well,” muttered Daly, – “ay, and, by Heaven! he knows me. His mock candor and his counterfeit generosity have but a bad chance with such men as myself; but Darcy’s open, unsuspecting temperament is the very metal he can weld and fashion to his liking.”

It was in the midst of reflections like these, mingled with passionate bursts of impatience at the pace, which was, notwithstanding, a sharp gallop, that they dashed up to Heffer-nan’s door. To make way for them, a chariot that stood there was obliged to move on.

“Whose carriage is this?” said Daly, as, without waiting for the steps to be lowered, he sprang to the ground.

“Mr. Heffernan’s, sir.”

“He is at home, then?”

“Yes, sir; but just about to leave for a dinner-party.”

“Stand by that chariot, Sandy, and take care that no one enters it till I come back,” whispered Daly in his servant’s ear. And Sandy took up bis post at the door like a sentinel on duty. “Tell your master,” said Daly to the servant, who stood at the open hall-door, “that a gentleman desires to speak with him.”

“He’s just going out, sir.”

“Give my message,” said Daly, sternly.

“With what name, sir?”

“Repeat the words as I have given them to you, and don’t dictate to me how I am to announce myself,” said he, harshly, as he opened the door and walked into the parlor.

Scarcely had he reached the fireplace when a bustle without proclaimed that Heffernan was passing downstairs, and the confused sound of voices was heard as he and his servant spoke together. “Ah! very well,” said Heffernan, aloud; “you may tell the gentleman, John, that I can’t see him at present. I ‘ve no notion of keeping dinner waiting half an hour.” And so saying, he passed out to enter the carriage.

“Na, na,” said Sandy, as the footman offered his arm to assist his master to mount the steps; “ye maun wait a wee. I trow ye hae no seen my master yet.”

“What means this insolence? Who is this fellow? – push him aside.”

“That’s na sae easy to do,” replied Sandy, gravely; “and though I hae but one arm, ye ‘ll no be proud of yer-sel ‘gin you try the game.”

“Who are you? By what right do you stop me here?” said Heffernan, who, contrary to his wont, was already in a passion.

“I’m Bagenal Daly’s man; and there’s himsel in the parlor, and he’ll tell you mair, maybe.”

The mention of that name seemed to act like a spell upon Heffernan, and, without waiting for another word, he turned back hastily, and re-entered the house. He stopped as he laid his hand on the handle of the door, and his face, when the light fell on it, was pale as death; and although no other sign of agitation was perceptible, the expression of his features was very different from ordinary. The pause, brief as it was, seemed sufficient to rally him, for, opening the door with an appearance of haste, he advanced towards Daly, and, with an outstretched hand, exclaimed, —

“My dear Mr. Daly, I little knew who it was I declined to see. They gave me no name, and I was just stepping into my carriage when your servant told me you were here. I need not tell you that I would not deny myself to you.”

“I believe not, sir,” said Daly, with a strong emphasis on the words. “I have come a long journey to see and speak with you.”

“May I ask it, as a great favor, that you will let our interview be for to-morrow morning? You may name your hour, or as many of them as you like – or will you dine with me?”

“We ‘ll dine together to-day, sir,” said Daly.

“That’s impossible,” said Heffernan, with a smile which all his tact could not make an easy one. “I have been engaged for four days to Lord Castlereagh, – a party which I had some share in assembling together, – and, indeed, already I am five-and-twenty minutes late.”

“I regret deeply, sir,” said Daly, as, crossing his hands behind his back, he slowly walked up and down the room, – “I regret deeply that I must deprive the noble Secretary’s dinner-party of so very gifted a guest. I know something of Mr. Heffernan’s entertaining powers, and I have heard even more of them; but for all that, I must be unrelenting, and – ”

“The thing is really impossible.”

“You will dine with me to-day,” was the cool answer of Daly, as, fixing his eyes steadily on him, he uttered the words in a low, determined tone.

“Once for all, sir – ” said Heffernan, as he moved towards the door.

“Once for all,” repeated Daly, “I will have my way. This is no piece of caprice, – no sudden outbreak of that eccentricity which you and others affect to fasten on me. No, Mr. Heffernan; I have come a hundred and fifty miles with an object, and not all the wily dexterity of even you shall balk me. To be plain, sir, there are reports current in the clubs and society generally that you have been the means of securing the Knight of Gwynne to the side of Government. I know – ay, and you know – how many of these rumors originate on the shallow foundation of men being seen together in public, and cultivating an intimacy on purely social grounds. Now, Mr. Heffernan, Darcy’s opinions, it is well known, are not those of the Ministry, and the only result of such calumnies will be that he, the head of a family, and a country gentleman of the highest rank, will be drawn into a dangerous altercation with some of those lounging puppies that circulate such slanders. I am his friend, and, as it happens, with no such ties to life and station as he possesses. I will, if possible, place myself in a similar position, and, to do so, I know no readier road than by keeping your company. I will give the gentlemen every pretext to talk of me as they have done of him; and if I hear a mutter, or if I see a signal that the most suspicious nature can torture into an affront, I will teach the parties that if they let their tongues run glibly, they at least shall keep their hair-triggers in order. Now, sir, you ‘ll not only dine with me to-day, but you ‘ll do so in the large room of the Club. I ‘ve given you my reasons, and I tell you flatly that I will hear nothing in opposition to them; for I am quite ready to open the ball with Mr. Con Heffernan.”

Heffernan’s courage had been proved on more than one occasion; but, somehow, he had his own reasons, it would seem, for declining the gage of battle here. That they were valid ones would appear from the evident struggle compliance cost him, as, with a quivering lip and whisper, he said:

“There may be much force in what you say, Mr. Daly, – your motives, at least, are unquestionable. I will offer, therefore, no further opposition.” So saying, he opened the door to permit Daly to pass out. “To the Club,” said he to the footman, as they both seated themselves in the chariot.

“The Club, sir!” repeated the astonished servant.

“Yes, to Daly’s Club,” said Bagenal himself. And they drove off.

CHAPTER XVIII. LORD CASTLEREAGH’S DINNER-PARTY

The day of Lord Castlereagh’s dinner-party had arrived, and the guests, all save Mr. Heffernan, were assembled in the drawing-room. The party was small and select, and his Lordship had gone through the usual routine of introducings, when Hamilton asked if he still expected any one.

“Yes; Mr. Heffernan promised to make one of our twelve; he is generally punctuality itself, and I cannot understand what detains him.”

“He said he ‘d call for me on his way,” said Lord Beerhaven, “and I waited some time for him; but as I would not risk spoiling your Lordship’s entrées, I came away at last.”

This speech was made by one who felt no small uneasiness on his own part respecting the cookery, and took the occasion of suggesting his fears, as a hint to order dinner.

“Shall we vote him present, then?” said Lord Castle-reagh, who saw the look of dismay the further prospect of waiting threw over the party.

“By all means,” said Lord Beerhaven; “Heffernan never eats soup.”

“I don’t think he cares much for fish, either,” said Hamilton.

“I think our friend Con is fond of walnuts,” said the Knight, dryly.

“Them ‘s the unwholesomest things he could eat,” muttered old Hickman, who, although seated in a corner of the room, and partly masked by his son and grandson, could not be altogether secluded from earshot.

“Are they indeed?” said the bishop, turning sharply round; for the theme of health was one that engaged all his sympathies; and although his short apron covered a goodly rotundity of form, eating exacted to the full as many pains as it afforded pleasures to the Churchman.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Hickman, highly gratified to obtain such exalted notice; “there’s an essential oil in them that destroys the mucous membrane – ”

“Destroys the mucous membrane!” said the bishop, interrupting him.

“Mine is pretty much in that way already,” said Lord Beerhaven, querulously; “five-and-twenty minutes past six.”

“No, no, my dear Darcy,” said Lord Drogheda, who, having drawn the Knight aside, was speaking in an earnest but low tone, “I never was easier in my life, on the score of money; don’t let the thing give you any trouble; consult Gleeson about it, he’s a clever fellow, and take your own time for the payment.”

“Gleeson is a clever fellow, my Lord, but there are straits that prove too much even for his ingenuity.”

“Ah! I know what you mean,” said Lord Drogheda, secretly, “you ‘ve heard of that Spanish-American affair, – yes, he made a bad hit there; some say he’ll lose fifty thousand by it.”

Dinner was at this moment announced, and the Knight was unable to learn further on a subject the little he had heard of which gave him great sorrow. Unfortunately, too, his position at table was opposite, not next, to Lord Drogheda, and he was thus compelled to wait for another opportunity of interrogating him.

Lord Castlereagh has left behind him one reputation which no political or party animosity has ever availed to detract from, that of being the most perfect host that ever dispensed the honors of a table. Whatever seeming reserve or coldness he maintained at other times, here he was courteous to cordiality; his manner, the happy union of thorough good-breeding and friendly ease. Gifted with a most retentive memory, and well versed on almost every topic that could arise, he possessed that most difficult art, the power of developing the resources and information of others, without ever making any parade of his own acquirements; or, what is still harder, without betraying the effort which, in hands less adroit, becomes the most vulgar of all tricks, called “drawing out.”

With all these advantages, and well suited as he was to meet every emergency of a social meeting, he felt on the present occasion far less at ease than was his wont. The party was one of Heffernan’s contriving, – the elements were such as he himself would never have dreamed of collecting together, – and he relied upon his “ancient” to conduct the plan he had so skilfully laid down. It was, as he muttered to himself, “Heffernan’s Bill,” and he was not coming forward to explain its provisions or state its object.

Happily for the success of such meetings in general, the adjuncts contribute almost equally with the intellectual resources of the party; and here Heffernan, although absent, had left a trace of his skill. The dinner was admirable. Lord Castlereagh knew nothing of such matters; the most simple, nay, the most ill-dressed, meats would have met equal approval from him with the greatest triumphs of the art; and as to wine, he mixed up his madeira, his claret, and his burgundy together in a fashion which sadly deteriorated him in the estimation of many of his more cultivated acquaintances.