My Lords of Strogue Volume I Part 15

Violent means were of course vulgar, and dangerous to boot, by reason of Miss Wolfe's character. My lady wished to unite her to her eldest son, did she? Well, it was an odd fancy, at which it was not his place to cavil. All the more reason then to render the folly of the girl of no effect by artifice. Once settled down as a wife and mother, she would forget the errors of her girlhood, and even thank her friends for having saved her from herself.

Now my Lord Clare knew through Mr. Pitt, whose spies in Paris told him everything, that Tone kept up a correspondence with Miss Wolfe under the name of Smith--that she fetched her letters from Jug Coyle's shebeen, where they were left for her under a prearranged name. His own spies told him that she talked sometimes with mysterious men, who came and went in a suspicious manner, between the environs of Dublin and the outlying districts. Yes, it was too true; my lady might well look shocked. The conspirators were making a catspaw of her niece, who hovered between two duties--the one to her Protestant father, the other to her crushed co-religionists.

Did my lady's eyes ask what was to be done? This, and only this. For it was clear, was it not, that her mines must be countermined for her own sake and that of her belongings? It would not do to seize the letters, because the villain in Paris would then invent some new method of communication, which it might take the spies some time to discover, and time was important just now. The young lady, being enthusiastic and inexperienced, was most shamefully _exploitee_--the executive saw that, and were prepared to make allowances, provided her family would play a little into their hands. Did she see what he meant? No! Then my lady was duller than usual, and he must dot his i's. The executive knew that Miss Wolfe was artfully used as a spreader of secrets, because no one else in all Ireland occupied a position of similar complexity. Her heart was with the malcontents, to begin with. She, as daughter of the attorney-general--most cautious of time-servers--was not likely to be suspected of overt acts of treason.

She was clearheaded, too, and resolute, useful in council. Ill-judged in other things, the conspirators had done wisely to employ Miss Wolfe as a means of intercommunication.

It would never do for Mr. Wolfe to be told of his child's transgressions, as he would only whimper and cry out; the stronger hand of his sister therefore must take the tiller, and steer the family through this difficulty. Did my lady see now? No! Well, the spies of the executive were cunning, no doubt; but their eyes could not pierce stone walls or sheets of paper tied tight with ribbon. My Lord Camden and the Privy Council wanted to know what the letters contained which were dropped at the 'Irish Slave' for Miss Doreen.

Would my lady undertake the little service of finding out, and then tell her dear friend Lord Clare what plans were suggested, what names mentioned? He, on his side, would of course promise to be prudence personified, and swear never to divulge by what means the information had been obtained.

The countess winced at the suggestion, and her face crimsoned. If Government chose to establish a bureau of paid informers, who were dubbed the Battalion of Testimony, it was no affair of hers, though she could not approve the principle; but as to becoming one herself, the bare idea was an audacious insult. The chancellor laughed airily as she turned on him, for he expected some such ebullition of feeling, and waited a little while ere he proceeded. Then, like the serpent luring Eve, he strove to decide her with specious arguments. He showed that, by helping to circ.u.mvent their plans, she might do signal service against the Catholics; that both her brother and eldest son might be made to benefit indirectly by her acts, and that n.o.body would know anything of what she had done. In love and war all means are fair. The girl had no excuse for the line she chose to take. It was right and fitting that the lower orders should be cowed; that the Papists should be stamped down into the serfdom from which in their insolence they struggled to escape; that this Tone, whom people had liked till he took up the cudgels of Antichrist, should be brought to punishment.

These were good reasons--strong enough surely to decide my lady. If she wanted another, let her think of Gillin and her 'Irish Slave.' It would be strange if that hateful enemy could not be mixed in the coming struggle, and crushed in the downfall of the conspirators. This last stroke almost settled the resolve of the wavering countess, whose mental mirror had been blurred by long dabbling in questionable waters, which, rising in her husband's throat to choking, had wrung that last cry from him before he died. It would be delightful to discomfit Gillin. It would be odd, too, if Doreen, in the contrition which follows upon being found out, did not throw herself on her aunt's mercy, and joyfully do as she was told, on condition of being saved. After meditating awhile, my lady said she would think about it; and Lord Clare, having planted his arrow, rode back to town, satisfied that he had gained his end.

Doreen was not chicken-feeding, as Terence had thought probable, on the morning when the riders started from the Priory. Yet was she up and about, for there is naught so invigorating as fresh sea-air with a whiff of tar in it, and the evenings at the Abbey were dreary enough to induce the most wakeful to take refuge betimes in bed. She tended the flowers in the tiny square called Miss Wolfe's plot, spent a few moments in affectionate communion with some eager wet muzzles and wagging tails in the kennels, then tripped away to the rosary, to study a letter received the night before--a letter signed 'Smith,' in a cramped hand. When such reached her, she invariably retired thither to decipher them; for in the seclusion formed by the high clipped hedges, she was sure of privacy, none being able to wander among the shady avenues of beech without giving notice of their intention by the clang of the golden grille, or the creaking of a lesser gate situated at the other end of the pleasaunce.

It was a letter which gave food for concern. Impetuous, hot, Keltic; dealing, too, with details which told of action imminent.

'I will have no priests in the business,' it said. 'Most of them are enemies to the French revolution. They will only do mischief. The republic is on the move; will give us five thousand men. I would attempt it with one hundred. My own life is of little consequence.

Please G.o.d, though, the dogs shall not have my poor blood to lick. I am willing to encounter any danger as a soldier, but have a violent objection to being hanged as a traitor, consequently I have claimed a commission in the French army. This to ensure being treated as a soldier in case of the fortune of war throwing me into the hands of England.'

'His life--n.o.ble young hero!' Doreen reflected. 'Suppose that he were to lose his life in the coming struggle! If Moiley needed such a sacrifice, better that he should fall fighting than die a dog's death by the noose!'

As she thought what a blow his death would be, her bosom swelled with anxiety; for every earnest woman sets up an idol in her heart, to be clothed in the trappings of her own belief, which she takes for its native adornments. She sits and keeps pious vigil over it, and weaves enn.o.bling legends concerning it, seeming to become purified by contact with a n.o.bler power, which, after all, is but the reflection of her own better self. That her influence over Theobald was great, Doreen knew, but not so great as his was over her. There seemed to her mind, twisted as it was by circ.u.mstance into a sombre shape, something sublime even in the light way in which he wrote of gravest things. His letters were schoolboy doc.u.ments, full of homely jests, quaint sayings, quotations from bad plays. Yet what a marvellous work was he achieving. A year ago he had gone forth a wanderer, armed with a few pounds and a large stock of hope. He had sailed to New York, narrowly escaping seizure by the crimpers on the sea; had then made for Paris, whither he arrived almost without a penny. He knew scarce a word of French, yet went he straight to Carnot, who, in a satin dressing-gown, was holding _levees_ at the Luxembourg. Partly in broken words, much more by signs, he made known his wishes to the Organiser of Victory, and, through him, to the Directory. They saw in his project for an invasion of Ireland a tempting way of hara.s.sing perfidious Albion, but unfortunately their treasury was empty, their armies disorganised, and so they gave to their suppliant a cool reception. But Tone was not to be easily put off. He haunted the antechambers of the ministers, learned their language, prepared statements, suggested plans; importuned all and each in broken jargon, till, amazed at his energy, filled with respect for his pure motives and simple life, they gave him a high place amongst their own officers, and promised that his desires should be gratified.

Doreen followed the rapidity of his proceedings with astonished admiration, marvelling that he should work as he worked from sheer love of humankind; was quite persuaded that all he did was right; compared him daily to the men she saw around her--arrogant Clare, swinish Shane, idle, prosaic Terence--and felt almost prepared sometimes, if need were, to cast in her lot (as the chancellor surmised) with her mother's oppressed people, rather than with those of her highly-connected father. Gusts of loathing swept over her soul for the feudal magnificence of the Abbey; she seemed thrown on a bed of roses whose perfume sickened her. The idea of wedding all this splendour while her people groaned, was in itself revolting; to espouse Shane with it, filled the measure of her horror. Rather than submit to my lady's eccentric wish, she was prepared to run away--to hide herself in Connaught, anywhere; and this being comfortably settled, she went on with Theobald's last letter.

'Independence at all hazards. If the men of property won't help us, they must fall, and we must support ourselves by the aid of that numerous community, _the men of no property_. Alas for poor Pat! He is fallible; but a lame dog has been helped over a stile before now. The _arme blanche_ is the system of the French, and, I believe, for the Irish too. At least I shall recommend it, as Pat, being very savage and furious, takes more naturally to the pike than the musket, and the tactics of every nation should be adapted to its character. As for Dublin, one of two things must happen. Its garrison is at least five thousand strong. If a landing were effected. Government would either retain the garrison for their own security (in which case there would be five thousand men idle on the part of the enemy), or they would march them to oppose us, and then the people would seize the capital.

Any way, we could starve Dublin in a week, without striking a blow.'

'Starve Dublin in a week!' Doreen pondered. 'What would happen to outlying places like the Abbey?' Then an idea struck her, whereby her own annoyances might be considerably lightened. 'Why not,' she thought, 'work on my aunt's prudential fears, and induce her to transfer the establishment to Ennishowen, in the north? Thus may Shane and his mother be removed from danger, whilst I am free of a dilemma--for, of course, when the moment of peril comes, my place will be beside my father.'

The golden grille clanged. A slight female figure, in a blue velvet habit and peaked hat, after the new mode, made its way among the roses, and Doreen advanced to welcome Sara.

Mr. Curran's pet was always a favourite of Miss Wolfe's, to whom her prattle was a rest in the midst of many perplexities. She rallied her archly about the undergraduate, marking, with a grave smile, the confusion in the young maid's face; listening absently to ecstatic descriptions of his numerous perfections, with a tender indulgence mixed with sadness; for it undoubtedly was sad to observe how blindly and artlessly the gay kitten gambolled, in spite of that threatening cloud; wondering, wide-eyed, whether he really and positively ever could come to care a tiny bit for a silly little thing like her.

Doreen knew quite well that Robert Emmett's was a lovable nature, that he was free from the ordinary frailties of youth, sensitive to a fault, just such a visionary as would suffer terribly in a great crisis such as was at hand. Just as Tone was a chivalrous man of action, so the younger Emmett was a dreamer of the most unpractical kind--one who, staring at the stars, and striving to pierce their mysteries, would plunge head-foremost into the first pitfall that was made ready for his feet. His admiration for Theobald was as great as Doreen's. When that cloud should burst, he would surely be found by his side--might possibly stumble where the other could stand erect--and, if aught befell him, what then would happen to the Primrose? But what is the use of courting melancholy? Doreen this morning, as at other times, shook off the dismal effects of her gay friend's castle-building, made efforts to meet her half-way, spoke hopefully of days to come, when Ireland should be content, when Sara should have become a wrinkled matron with a parterre of yellow blossoms round her, and beloved Robert a happy old paterfamilias with a treble chin.

Sara's peachy cheeks broke into dimples of pleasure at the description, as she looked up sideways like a bird.

'You are wasting your holiest affections, my child!' Doreen observed demurely; 'for men are dreadful, dreadful creatures who deceive and ride away. They don't care about our love one bit, unless we pretend to withhold it.'

'I love him so very much,' returned Sara, with a rapt gaze and trembling accents, 'that I could be content to worship him from a long way off if he would let me--he is so good and kind and n.o.ble!'

'He has never spoken to you of love?'

'Never.'

The child's eyes filled with tears, and Doreen's heart tightened for her. Poor fragile blossom. What might the nipping blast have in store for it?

'If any mischance were to befall him----' began the elder girl.

'I should die,' Sara answered simply, as though such a result was the only one which could be possible.

Doreen walked on in silence. She was twenty-three, her companion five years younger. Yet she could not comprehend this innocent pure heart which at eighteen gave itself unconditionally away to be trampled upon or treasured as its recipient should elect. She was sure that she had herself never loved any one, except Tone, and her father, and her mother's memory. The iron of the Penal Code had seared the germ of such a love within her if it ever had existed. She recalled the cold way in which she had calculated her capacity for playing Judith, and felt ashamed. But why should she, after all? The practical and the romantic were singularly blended in her character. What had a Catholic to do with love and the exchanging of young hearts? Fretfully she turned away from the enchantments of conservatories and hen-houses which she was displaying to her friend, and remarked as she led the way to the kennels:

'You said you had brought Terence with you. Can he be closeted all this while with his mother? That would be unusual. He does not favour us with much of his society. As I live, here's another visitor. It is such a lovely morning that I shall lay violent hands upon you all. Mr.

Ca.s.sidy here is one of the best yachtsmen on the bay. We might go for a sail round Ireland's Eye if Terence would only condescend to show himself.'

'Oh yes!' cried ecstatic Sara, 'it would be entrancingly delicious.'

She would run and tell my lady, who was probably breakfasting, that she must give us her son for the general good.

It was the jolly giant, who on his big bay hunter clattered into the courtyard; come, probably, in search of news on his own account, in spite of what he had said to Terence a few hours before. He had watered his horse at the shebeen, had taken a plunge into the sea to dissipate the fumes of last night's revel, had given red-haired Biddy such a smacking kiss as would have roused the ire of Terence's devoted henchman if he had been within fifty yards, and was now come to pay his respects to the inmates of the Abbey.

He praised the dogs in a flurried sort of way, stood on one great foot and then the other, rapping the dust from his full-skirted riding-coat with his hunting-crop, whilst his eyes devoured the fine lines of Miss Wolfe's figure, which indeed compelled admiration through its tight-fitting, high-waisted frock. During the last year he had made considerable advance in the good graces of the chatelaine, and of her first-born. She, as chatelaines ought to be, was delighted to have a host of philanderers hanging about the Abbey, swilling its liquor, devouring its beef, while my lord deigned to make the squireen useful in a mult.i.tude of ways. Belonging as he did to the half-mounted cla.s.s, such homage as he could pay was due to a great lord, who was kind enough to smile upon him. That he might be hand and glove with the United Irishmen was neither here nor there; was he not also an ally of Major Sirr's as well as a _protege_ of the chancellor's--tolerated too by Curran, Lord Clare's arch-enemy? He was all things to all men, a typical 'tame cat:' it remained to be seen which side he would take when the crisis should come--at least so people remarked who did not know, as we do, that he had taken the oath and was given to mystical questions anent the placing of a bough in the crown of England. A man who can turn his hand to anything, rides well to hounds, sings jovial ditties, makes genteel play with a rapier, can sigh like a furnace, and look languishingly at a pretty girl, is sure of being a general favourite. Doreen liked Mr. Ca.s.sidy as much as Shane did, an unusual circ.u.mstance, for his likes and dislikes were generally in direct opposition to hers. She was wont to jest at his many blunders, lecture him for his stupidity, allow him greater liberties than were usual between an heiress and a 'half-mounted.' For there was no harm in him.

He would not be likely to try to run off with this prize, for Shane's sword--champion-spit of the Cherokees and Blasters--was a universally dreaded weapon, and Mr. Ca.s.sidy was too fond of the good things of this life to think of suddenly quitting it with daylight through his vitals. Sometimes he made love to her. Then she held out a warning finger while smiles wreathed her ruddy lips, as she would have done to any inmate of the kennels that should dare leap with dirty paws upon her flowered muslin.

This morning his behaviour was not what it should have been. Sure that dip in Dublin Bay had not washed away the impudence begot of claret.

She looked so ravishingly fresh and neat in the chip hat which, with a plain white ribbon knotted beneath the chin, gave a yet fuller glow to her rich complexion, the close-clinging robe spangled here and there with a bunch of poppies, that there was little wonder if prudence was for once outrun by pa.s.sion. She was not Miss Hoyden any more. Her clothes were of the most fashionable cut; nimblest-fingered of Dublin tailoresses made her frock; long mitts of daintiest Carrick lace masked only to accentuate the golden ripeness of her finely modelled arms; a pair of stout pointed brogues, silver buckled, drew down the eye to the clean ankle and high instep, which told of healthful exercise by a series of suave contours and voluptuous curves.

Now the mind of Ca.s.sidy was gross in its essence; jaded too by appet.i.tes in riot. What would be more likely to stimulate a coa.r.s.e illiterate squireen than the aspect of such a living paradox as this?

His political intentions were admirable, doubtless; possibly when the time came he, like a few others, would rise to the occasion, cast aside low vices, and, pa.s.sing like gold through the fire, achieve deeds which would endear him to his countrymen. That was possibly in the future. The present only whispered, as his eyes wandered over the figure of the girl before him, that such a morsel could not be too dearly bought. With unwonted courage, he blurted out the original remark:

'Mistress Doreen, you're monsthrous beautiful!'

'Am I?' she replied, raising her eyebrows. 'Alas! it's of little consequence.'

'Is it now?' returned Ca.s.sidy, endeavouring in his murky brain to plod out a reason for the statement. 'Oh!' he said at length, 'becase you're booked, and you don't care whether my lord is pleased or not.'

'My lord?' inquired the girl, her brows arching yet higher.

'Aren't you to be the future lady of Ennishowen? I can put two and two together.'

So this hateful match was being freely canva.s.sed. Even muddlepated Ca.s.sidy had penetrated my lady's plans. He was peering straight into her eyes, trying to find what he could at the bottom of their brown depths. The heat of angry humiliation sent the blood bubbling to her face. Ca.s.sidy observed it, and leered pleasantly.

'He's not good enough for you--I don't like your marrying him,' he observed with decision.

'No more do I,' returned calm Miss Wolfe.

Ca.s.sidy's looks sought the ground--his big hand fondled the muzzles of the dogs. After a long pause, he said in a low voice:

'If you don't care about him it's small blame to you.'

'Neither for him, nor anybody else.' (The slightest contraction of a fine nostril.)

'Don't say that, Miss Doreen, darlint,' said the giant, quickly.