CHAPTER XXIII. A VERY HUMBLE DWELLING
The little lodging occupied by Sir Brook and young Lendrick was in a not very distinguished suburb near Cullen’s Wood. It was in a small one-storied cottage, whose rickety gate bore the inscription “Avoca Villa” on a black board, under which, in the form of permanence that indicated frequent changes of domicile, were the words, “Furnished Apartments, and Board if required.” A small enclosure, with three hollyhocks in a raised mound in the centre, and a luxurious crop of nettles around, served as garden: a narrow path of very rough shingle conducted to the door.
The rooms within were very small, low, and meanly furnished; they bespoke both poverty and neglect; and while the broken windows, the cobwebbed ceiling, and the unwashed floor all indicated that no attention was bestowed on comfort or even decency, over the fireplace, in a large black frame, was a painting representing the genealogical tree of the house of the proprietor, Daniel O’Reardon, Esquire, the lineal descendant of Frenok-Dhubh-na-Bochlish O’Reardon, who was King of West Carbarry, a.d. 703, and who, though at present only a doorkeeper in H. M. Court of Exchequer, had royal blood in his veins, and very kingly thoughts in his head.
If a cruel destiny compelled Mr. O’Reardon to serve the Saxon, he “took it out” in a most hearty hatred of his patron. He denounced him when he talked, and he reviled him when he sang. He treasured up paragraphs of all the atrocities of the English press, and he revelled in the severe strictures which the Irish papers bestowed on them. So far as hating went, he was a true patriot.
If some people opined that Mr. O’Reardon’s political opinions rather partook of what was in vogue some sixty-odd years ago than what characterized a time nearer our own day, there were others, less generous critics, who scrupled not to say that he was a paid spy of the Government, and that all the secret organization of treason – all the mysterious plotting of rebellion that seems never to die completely out in Ireland – were known to and reported by this man to the Castle. Certain it was that he lived in a way his humble salary at the Four Courts could not have met, and indulged in convivial excesses far beyond the reach of his small income.
When Sir Brook and Tom Lendrick became his lodgers, he speedily saw that they belonged to a class far above what usually resorted to his humble house. However studiously simple they might be in all their demands, they were unmistakably gentlemen; and this fact, coupled with their evident want of all employment or occupation, considerably puzzled Mr. O’Reardon, and set him a-thinking what they could be, who they were, and, as he phrased it, “what they were at.” No letters came for them, nor, as they themselves gave no names, was there any means of tracing their address; and to his oft-insinuated request, “If any one asks for you, sir, by what name will I be able to answer?” came the same invariable “No one will call;” and thus was Mr. O’Reardon reduced to designate them to his wife as the “old chap” and the “young one,” – titles which Sir Brook and Tom more than once overheard through the frail partitions of the ill-built house.
It is not impossible that O’Reardon’s peculiar habits and line of life disposed him to attach a greater significance to the seeming mystery that surrounded his lodgers than others might have ascribed; it is probable that custom had led him to suspect everything that was in any way suspicious. These men draw many a cover where there is no fox, but they rarely pass a gorse thicket and leave one undetected. His lodgers thus became to him a study. Had he been a man of leisure, he would have devoted the whole of it to their service; he would have dogged their steps, learned their haunts, and watched their acquaintances, – if they had any. Sunday was, however, his one free day, and by some inconceivable perversity they usually spent the entire of it at home.
The few books they possessed bore no names, some of them were in foreign languages, and increased thereby Mr. O’Reardon’s suspicious distrust; but none gave any clew to their owners. There was another reason for his eagerness and anxiety; for a long time back Ireland had been generally in a condition of comparative quiet and prosperity; there was less of distress, and, consequently, less of outrage. The people seemed at length to rely more upon themselves and their own industry than on the specious promises of trading politicians, and Mr. O’Reardon, whose functions, I fear, were not above reproach in the matter of secret information, began to fear lest some fine morning he might be told his occupation was gone, and that his employers no longer needed the fine intelligence that could smell treason, even by a sniff; he must, he said, do something to revive the memory of his order, or the chance was it would be extinguished forever.
He had to choose between denouncing them as French emissaries or American sympathizers. A novel of Balzac’s that lay on the table decided for the former, for he knew enough to be aware it was in French; and fortified with this fact, he proceeded to draw up his indictment for the Castle.
It was, it must be confessed, a very meagre document; it contained little beyond the writer’s own suspicions. Two men who were poor enough to live in Avoca Villa, and yet rich enough to do nothing for their livelihood, who gave no names, went out at unseasonable hours, and understood French, ought to be dangerous, and required to be watched, and therefore he gave an accurate description of their general appearance, age, and dress, at the office of the Private Secretary, and asked for his “instructions” in consequence.
Mr. O’Reardon was not a bad portrait-painter with his pen, and in the case of Sir Brook there were peculiarities enough to make even a caricature a resemblance; his tall narrow head, his long drooping moustache, his massive gray eyebrows, his look of stern dignity, would have marked him, even without the singularities of dress which recalled the fashions of fifty years before.
Little, indeed, did the old man suspect that his high-collared coat and bell-shaped hat were subjecting him to grave doubts upon his loyalty. Little did he think, as he sauntered at evening along the green lanes in this retired neighborhood, that his thoughts ought to have been on treason and bloodshed.
He had come to the little lodging, it is true, for privacy. After his failure in that memorable interview with Sir William Lendrick, he had determined that he would not either importune the Viceroy for place, or would he be in any way the means of complicating the question between the Government and the Chief Baron by exciting the Lord-Lieutenant’s interest in his behalf.
“We must change our lodging, Tom,” said he, when he came home on that night. “I am desirous that, for the few days we remain here, none should trace nor discover us. I will not accept what are called compensations, nor will I live on here to be either a burden or a reproach to men who were once only my equals.”
“You found my worthy grandfather somewhat less tractable than you thought for, sir?” asked Tom.
“He was very fiery and very haughty; but on the whole, there was much that I liked in him. Such vitality in a man of his years is in itself a grand quality, and even in its aggressiveness suggests much to regard. He refused to hear of me for the vacant office, and he would not accept you.”
“How did he take your proposal to aid us by a loan?”
“I never made it. The terms we found ourselves on after half an hour’s discussion of other matters rendered such a project impossible.”
“And Lucy, how did she behave through it all?”
“She was not there; I did not see her.”
“So that it turned out as I predicted, – a mere meeting to exchange amenities.”
“The amenities were not many, Tom; and I doubt much if your grandfather will treasure up any very delightful recollections of my acquaintance.”
“I’d like to see the man, woman, or child,” burst out Tom, “who ever got out of his cage without a scratch. I don’t believe that Europe contains his equal for irascibility.”
“Don’t dwell on these views of life,” said Sir Brook, almost sternly. “You, nor I, know very little what are the sources of those intemperate outbreaks we so often complain of, – what sore trials are ulcerating the nature, what agonizing maladies, what secret terrors, what visions of impending misery; least of all do we know or take count of the fact that it is out of these high-strung temperaments we obtain those thrilling notes of human passion and tenderness coarser natures never attain to. Let us bear with a passing discord in the instrument whose cadences can move us to very ecstasy.”
Tom hung his head in silence, but he certainly did not seem convinced. Sir Brook quietly resumed: “How often have I told you that the world has more good than bad in it, – yes, and what’s more, that as we go on in life this conviction strengthens in us, and that our best experiences are based on getting rid of our disbeliefs. Hear what happened me this morning. You know that for some days back I have been negotiating to raise a small loan of four hundred pounds to take us to Sardinia and start our mine. Mr. Waring, who was to have lent me this sum on the security of the mine itself, took it into his head to hesitate at the last hour, and inserted an additional clause that I should insure my life in his behalf.
“I was disconcerted, of course, by this, – so much so, that had I not bought a variety of tools and implements on trust, I believe I would have relinquished the bargain and tried elsewhere. It was, however, too late for this; I was driven to accept his terms, and, accredited with a printed formula from an insurance office, I waited on the doctor who was to examine me.
“A very brief investigation satisfied him that I was not seaworthy; he discovered I know not what about the valves of my heart, that implied mischief, and after ‘percussing’ me, as he called it, and placing his ear to my chest, he said, ‘I regret to say, sir, that I cannot pronounce you insurable.’
“I could have told him that I came of a long-lived race on either side; that during my life I had scarcely known an illness, that I had borne the worst climates without injury, and such-like, – but I forbore; I had too much deference for his station and his acquirements to set my judgment against them, and I arose to take my leave. It is just possible, though I cannot say I felt it, that his announcement might have affected me; at all events, the disappointment did so, and I was terrified about the difficulties in which I saw myself involved. I became suddenly sick, and I asked for a glass of water; before it came I had fainted, a thing that never in my whole life had befallen me. When, I rallied, he led me to talk of my usual habits and pursuits, and gradually brought me to the subject which had led me-to his house. ‘What!’ said he, ‘ask for any security beyond the property itself! It is absurd; Waring is always-doing these things. Let me advance this money. I know a great deal more about you, Sir Brook, than you think; my friend Dr. Lendrick has spoken much of you, and of all your kindness to his son; and though you may not have heard of my name, – Beattie, – I am very familiar with yours.’
“In a word, Tom, he advanced the money. It is now in that writing-desk; and I have – I feel it – a friend the-more in the world. As I left his door, I could not help saying to myself, What signify a few days more or less of life, so long as such generous traits as this follow one to the last? He made me a happier man by his noble trust in me than if he had declared me a miracle of strength and vigor. Who is that looking in at the window, Tom? It’s the second time I have seen a face there.”
Tom started to his feet and hurried to the door. There was, however, no one there; and the little lane was silent and deserted. He stopped a few minutes to listen, but not a footfall could be heard, and he returned to the room believing it must have been a mere illusion.
“Let us light candles, Tom, and have out our maps. I want to see whether Marseilles will not be our best and cheapest route to the island.”
They were soon poring eagerly over the opened map, Sir Brook carefully studying all the available modes of travel; while Tom, be it owned, let his eyes wander from land to land, till following out the Danube to the Black Sea, he crossed over and stretched away into the mountain gorges of Circassia, where Schamyl and his brave followers were then fighting for liberty. For maps, like the lands they picture, never offer to two minds kindred thoughts; each follows out in space the hopes and ambitions that his heart is charged with; and where one reads wars and battle-fields, another but sees pastoral pleasures and a tranquil existence, – home and home-happiness.
“Yes, Tom; here I have it. These coasting-craft, whose sailing-lines are marked here, will take us and our traps to Cagliari for a mere trifle, – here is the route.”
As the young man bent over the map, the door behind opened, and a stranger entered. “So I have found you, Fossbrooke!” cried he, “though they insisted you had left Ireland ten days ago.”
“Mercy on me! Lord Wilmington!” said Sir Brook, as he shaded his eyes to stare at him. “What could have brought you here?”
“I ‘ll tell you,” said he, dropping his voice. “I read a description so very like you in the secret report this morning, that I sent my servant Curtis, who knows you well, to see if it was not yourself; when he came back to me – for I waited for him at the end of the lane – with the assurance that I was right, I came on here. I must tell you that I took the precaution to have your landlord detained, as if for examination, at the Under-Secretary’s office; and he is the only one here who knows me. Mr. Lendrick, I hope you have not forgotten me? We met some months ago on the Shannon.”
“What can I offer you?” said Sir Brook. “Shall it be tea? We were just going to have it.”
“I ‘ll take whatever you like to give me; but let us profit by the few moments I can stay. Tell me how was it you failed with the Chief Baron?”
“He wouldn’t have me; that’s all. He maintains his right to an undivided patronage, and will accept of no dictation.”
“Will he accept of your friend here? He has strong claims on him.”
“As little as myself, my Lord; he grew eloquent on his public virtue, and of course became hopeless.”
“Will he retire and let us compensate him?”
“I believe not. He thinks the country has a vested interest in his capacity, and as he cannot be replaced, he has no right to retire.‘’
“He may make almost his own terms with us, Fossbrooke,” said the Viceroy. “We want to get rid of himself and an intractable Solicitor-General together. Will you try what can be done?”
“Not I, my Lord. I have made my first and last advances in that quarter.”
“And yet I believe you are our last chance. He told Pemberton yesterday you were the one man of ability that ever called on him with a message from a Viceroy.”
“Let us leave him undisturbed in his illusion, my Lord.”
“I ‘d say, let us profit by it, Fossbrooke. I have been in search of you these eight days, to beg you would take the negotiation in hand. Come, Mr. Lendrick, you are interested in this; assist me in persuading Sir Brook to accept this charge. If he will undertake the mission, I am ready to give him ample powers to treat.”
“I suspect, my Lord,” said Tom, “you do not know my grandfather. He is not a very manageable person to deal with.”
“It is for that reason I want to place him in the hands of my old friend here.”
“No, no, my Lord; it is quite hopeless. Had we never met, I might have come before him with some chance of success; but I have already prejudiced myself in his eyes, and our one interview was not very gratifying to either of us.”
“I’ll not give in, Fossbrooke, even though I am well aware I can do nothing to requite the service I ask of you.”
“We leave Ireland to-morrow evening. We have a project which requires our presence in the island of Sardinia. We are about to make our fortunes, my Lord, and I ‘m sure you ‘re not the man to throw any obstacle in the way.”
“Give me half an hour of your morning, Fossbrooke; half an hour will suffice. Drive out to the Priory; see the Chief Baron; tell him I intrusted the negotiation to you, as at once more delicate to each of us. You are disconnected with all party ties here. Say it is not a question of advancing this man or that, – that we well know how inferior must any successor be to himself, but that certain changes are all-essential to us. We have not – I may tell you in confidence – the right man as our law adviser in the House; and add, ‘It is a moment to make your own terms; write them down and you shall have your reply within an hour, – a favorable one I may almost pledge myself it will be. At all events, every detail of the meeting is strictly between us, and on honor.’ Come, now, Fossbrooke; do this for me as the greatest service I could entreat of you.”
“I cannot refuse you any longer. I will go. I only premise that I am to limit myself strictly to the statement you shall desire me to repeat. I know nothing of the case; and I cannot be its advocate.”
“Just so. Give me your card. I will merely write these words, – ‘See Sir Brook for me. – Wilmington.’ Our object is his resignation, and we are prepared to pay handsomely for it. Now, a word with you, Mr. Lendrick. I heard most honorable mention of you yesterday from the vice-provost; he tells me that your college career was a triumph so long as you liked it, and that you have abilities for any walk in life. Why not continue, then, on so successful a path? Why not remain, take out your degree, and emulate that distinguished relative who has thrown such lustre on your family?”
“First of all, my Lord, you have heard me much overrated. I am not at all the man these gentlemen deem me; secondly, if I were, I ‘d rather bring my abilities to any pursuit my friend here could suggest. I ‘d rather be his companion than be my grandfather’s rival. You have heard what he said awhile ago, – we are going to seek our fortune.”
“He said to make it,” said Lord Wilmington, with a smile.
“Be it so, my Lord. I ‘ll seek, and he ‘ll find; at all events, I shall be his companion; and I’m a duller dog than I think myself if I do not manage to be the better of it.”
“You are not the only one he has fascinated,” said the Viceroy, in a whisper. “I ‘m not sure I ‘d disenchant you if I had the power.”
“Must I positively undertake this negotiation?” asked Fossbrooke, with a look of entreaty.
“You must”
“I know I shall fail.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Well, as Lady Macbeth says, if we fail we fail; and though murdering a king be an easier thing than muzzling a Chief Baron, – here goes.”
As he said this, the door was gently moved, and a head protruded into the room.
“Who is that?” cried Tom, springing rapidly towards the door; but all was noiseless and quiet, and no one to be seen. “I believe we are watched here,” said he, coming back into the room.
“Good-night, then. Let me have your report as early as may be, Fossbrooke. Good-night.”
CHAPTER XXIV. A MORNING AT THE PRIORY
The morning after this interview was that on which the Chief Baron had invited Colonel Sewell to inspect his gardens and hothouses, – a promise of pleasure which, it is but fair to own, the Colonel regarded with no extravagant delight. To his thinking, the old Judge was an insupportable bore. His courtesy, his smartness, his anecdotes, his reminiscences were all Boredom. He was only endurable when by the excess of his conceit he made himself ridiculous. Then alone did Sewell relish his company; for he belonged to that class of men, and it is a class, who feel their highest enjoyment whenever they witness any trait in human nature that serves to disparage its dignity or tarnish its lustre.
That a man of unquestionable ability and power like the Chief Baron should render himself absurd through his vanity, was a great compensation to such a person as Sewell. To watch the weaknesses and note the flaws in a great nature, to treasure up the consolation that, after all, these “high intelligences” occasionally make precious fools of themselves, are very congenial pastimes to small folk. Perhaps, indeed, they are the sole features of such men they are able to appreciate, and, like certain reptiles, they never venture to bite save where corruption has preceded them.
Nothing in his manner betrayed this tendency; he was polished and courteous to a degree. A very critical eye might have detected in his bearing that he had been long a subordinate. His deference was a little – a very little – overstrained; he listened with a slight tinge of over-attention; and in his humility as he heard an order, and his activity as he obeyed it, you could read at once the aide-decamp in waiting.
It is not necessary to remind the reader that all this lacquer of good breeding covered a very coarse and vulgar nature. In manner he was charming, – his approach, his address, his conversation were all perfect; he knew well when to be silent, – when to concur by a smile with what he was not expected to confirm by a word, – when to seem suddenly confronted with a new conviction, and how to yield assent as though coerced to what he would rather have resisted. In a word, he was perfect in all the training of those superb poodles who fetch and carry for their masters, that they may have the recompense of snarling at all the rest of mankind.
As there are heaven-born doctors, lawyers, divines, and engineers, so are there men specially created for the antechamber, and Sewell was one of them.
The old Judge had given orders for a liberal breakfast. He deemed a soldier’s appetite would be a hearty one, and he meant to treat him hospitably. The table was therefore very generously spread, and Sewell looked approvingly at the fare, and ventured on a few words of compliment on the ample preparations before him.
“It is the only real breakfast-table I have seen since I left Calcutta,” said he, smiling graciously.
“You do me honor, sir,” replied the old man, who was not quite sure whether or not he felt pleased to be complimented on a mere domestic incident.
Sewell saw the hitch at once, and resumed: “I remember an observation Lord Commorton made me when I joined his staff in India. I happened to make some remark on a breakfast set out pretty much like this, and he said, ‘Bear in mind, Captain Sewell, that when a man who holds a high function sits down to a well-served breakfast, it means that he has already completed the really important work of the day. The full head means the empty stomach.’”
“His Excellency was right, sir; had he always been inspired with sentiments of equal wisdom, we should never have been involved in that unhappy Cantankankarabad war.”
“It was a very disastrous affair, indeed,” sighed Sewell; “I was through the whole of it.”
“When I first heard of the project,” continued the Judge, “I remarked to a friend who was with me, – one of the leading men at the Bar, – ‘This campaign will tarnish our arms, and imperil our hold on India. The hill-tribes are eminently warlike, and however specious in their promises to us, their fidelity to their chiefs has never been shaken.’”
“If your judgment had been listened to, it would have saved us a heavy reverse, and saved me a very painful wound; both bones were fractured here,” said Sewell, showing his wrist.
The Chief Baron scarcely deigned a glance at the cicatrix; he was high above such puny considerations. He was at that moment Governor-General of India and Prime Minister of England together. He was legislating for hundreds of millions of dark-skins, and preparing his explanations of his policy for the pale faces at home.
“‘Mark my words, Haire,’ said I,” continued the Judge, with increased pomposity of manner, “‘this is the beginning of insurrection in India.’ We have a maxim in law, Colonel Sewell, Like case, like rule. So was it there. May I help you to this curry?”
“I declare, my Lord, I was beginning to forget how hungry I was. Shall I be deemed impertinent if I ask how you obtained your marvellous – for it is marvellous – knowledge of India?”
“Just as I know the Japanese constitution; just as I know Central Africa; just as I know, and was able to quote some time back, that curious chapter of the Brehon laws on substitutes in penal cases. My rule of life has been, never to pass a day without increasing the store of my acquirements.”
“And all this with the weighty charge and labor of your high office.”
“Yes, sir; I have been eighteen years on the Bench. I have delivered in that time some judgments which have come to be deemed amongst the highest principles of British law. I have contributed largely to the periodical literature of the time. In a series of papers – you may not have heard of them – signed ‘Icon,’ in the ‘Lawyer’s Treasury of Useful Facts,’ I have defended the Bar against the aggressive violence of the Legislature, I hope it is not too much to say, triumphantly.”
“I remember Judge Beale, our Indian Chief-Justice, referring to those papers as the most splendid statement of the position and claims of the barrister in Great Britain.”
“Beale was an ass, sir; his law was a shade below his logic, – both were pitiable.”
“Indeed? – yes, a little more gravy. Is your cook a Provençal? that omelette would seem to say so.”
“My cook is a woman, and an Irishwoman, sir. She came to me from Lord Manners, and, I need not say, with the worst traditions of her art, which, under Lady Lendrick’s training, attained almost to the dignity of poisoning.”
Sewell could not restrain himself any longer, but laughed out at this sudden outburst. The old Judge was, however, pleased to accept the emotion as complimentary; he smiled and went on: “I recognized her aptitude, and resolved to train her, and to this end I made it a practice to detain her every morning after prayers, and read to her certain passages from approved authors on cookery, making her experiment on the receipts for the servants’ hall. We had at first some slight cases of illness, but not more serious than colic and violent cramps. In the end she was successful, sir, and has become what you see her.”
“She would be a cordon bleu in Paris.”
“I will take care, sir, that she hears of your approval. Would you not like a glass of Maraschino to finish with?”
“I have just tasted your brandy, and it is exquisite.”
“I cannot offer you a cigar, Colonel; but you are at liberty to smoke if you have one.”
“If I might have a stroll in that delicious garden that I see there, I could ask nothing better. Ah, my Lord,” said he, as they sauntered down a richly scented alley, “India has nothing like this, – I doubt if Paradise has any better.”
“You mean to return to the East?”
“Not if I can help it, – not if an exchange is possible. The fact is, my Lord, my dear wife’s health makes India impossible so far as she is concerned; the children, too, are of the age that requires removal to Europe; so that, if I go back, I go back alone.” He said this with a voice of deep depression, and intending to inspire the sorrow that overwhelmed him. The old Judge, however, fancied he had heard of heavier calamities in life than living separated from the wife of his bosom; he imagined, at least, that with courage and fortitude the deprivation might be endured; so he merely twitched the corners of his mouth in silence.
The Colonel misread his meaning, and went on: “Aspiring to nothing in life beyond a home and home-happiness, it is, of course, a heavy blow to me to sacrifice either my career or my comfort. I cannot possibly anticipate a return earlier than eight or ten years; and who is to count upon eight or ten years in that pestilent climate? Assuredly not a man already broken down by wounds and jungle fever!”
The justice of the remark was, perhaps, sufficient for the Chief Baron. He paid no attention to its pathetic side, and so did not reply.
Sewell began to lose patience, but he controlled himself, and, after a few puffs of his cigar, went on: “If it were not for the children, I ‘d take the thing easy enough. Half-pay is a beggarly thing, but I ‘d put up with it. I ‘m not a man of expensive tastes. If I can relish thoroughly such sumptuous fare as you gave me this morning, I can put up with very humble diet. I ‘m a regular soldier in that.”
“An excellent quality, sir,” said the old man, dryly.
“Lucy, of course, would suffer. There are privations which fall very heavily on a woman, and a woman, too, who has always been accustomed to a good deal of luxury.”
The Chief bowed an assent.
“I suppose I might get a depot appointment for a year or two. I might also – if I sold out – manage a barrack-mastership, or become an inspector of yeomanry, or some such vulgar makeshift; but I own, my Lord, when a man has filled the places I have, – held staff appointments, – been a private secretary, – discharged high trusts, too, for in Mooraghabad I acted as Deputy-Resident for eight months, – it does seem a precious come-down to ask to be made a paymaster in a militia regiment, or a subaltern in the mounted police.”
“Civil life is always open to a man of activity and energy,” said the Judge, calmly.
“If civil life means a profession, it means the sort of labor a man is very unfit for after five-and-thirty. The Church, of course, is open on easier terms; but I have scruples about the Church. I really could not take orders without I could conscientiously say, This is a walk I feel called to.”
“An honorable sentiment, sir,” was the dry rejoinder.
“So that the end will be, I suppose, one of these days I shall just repack my bullock-trunk, and go back to the place from whence I came, with the fate that attends such backward journeys!”
The Chief Baron made no remark. He stooped to fasten, a fallen carnation to the stick it had been attached to, and then resumed his walk. Sewell was so provoked by the sense of failure – for it had been a direct assault – that he walked along silent and morose. His patience could endure no longer, and he was ready now to resent whatever should annoy him.