Roland Cashel Volume I Part 21

Kennyf.e.c.k, who was a very shrewd observer of everything in high life, having remembered that it twice occurred to herself and Mr. K. to have arrived the first at the Secretary's "Lodge," in the Park, and that the n.o.ble hostess did not descend till at least some two or three others had joined them.

The "first man" to a dinner is the next most miserable thing to the "last man" at leaving it. The cold air of solitude, the awkwardness of seeming too eager to be punctual, the certainty, almost inevitable, that the next person who arrives is perfectly odious to you, and that you will have to sustain a _tete-a-tete_ with the man of all others you dislike,--all these are the agreeables of the first man; but he who now had to sustain them was, happily, indifferent to their tortures. He was an old, very deaf gentleman, who had figured at the dinner-tables of the capital for half a century, on no one plea that any one could discover, save that he was a "Right Honorable." The privilege of sitting at the Council had conferred the far pleasanter one of a.s.sisting at dinners; and his political career, if not very ambitious, had been, what few men can say, unruffled.

He seated himself, then, in a very well-cushioned chair, and with that easy smile of benevolent meaning which certain deaf people a.s.sume as a counterpoise for the want of colloquial gifts, prepared to be, or at least to look, a very agreeable old gentleman to the next arrival.

A full quarter of an hour pa.s.sed over, without anything to break the decorous stillness of the house; when suddenly the door was thrown wide, and the butler announced Sir Harvey Upton and Captain Jennings. These were two hussar officers, who entered with that admirable accompaniment of clinking sabres, sabretaches, and spurs, so essential to a cavalry appearance.

"Early, by Jove!" cried one, approaching the mirror over the chimney-piece, and arranging his moustaches, perfectly unmindful of the presence of the Right Honorable who sat near it.

"They are growing worse and worse in this house, I think," cried the other. "The last time I dined here, we sat down at a quarter to nine."

"It's all Linton's fault," drawled out the first speaker; "he told a story about Long Wellesley asking some one for 'ten.' and apologizing for an early dinner, as he had to speak in the House afterwards. Who is here? Neat steppers, those horses!"

"It is Kilgoff and his new wife,--do you know her?"

"No; she's not one of those pale girls we used to ride with at Leamington?"

There was no time for reply, when the names were announced, "Lord and Lady Kilgoff!" and a very weakly looking old man, with a blue inside vest, and enormous diamond studs in his shirt, entered, supporting a very beautiful young woman, whose proud step and glancing eye were strange contrasts to his feeble and vacant expression. The hussars exchanged significant but hasty glances, and fell back, while the others advanced up the room.

"Our excellent hostess," said my Lord, in a low but distinct voice, "will soon shame Wilton-Crescent itself in late hours. I fancy it 's nigh eight o'clock."

"It's not their fault, poor things," said she, lying back in a chair and disposing her magnificent dress into the most becoming folds; "people will come late do what one may."

"They may do so, that's very true; but I would beg to observe, you need not wait for them." This was said with a smile towards the hussars, as though to imply, "There is no reason why you should not express an opinion, if it agree with mine."

The baronet immediately bowed, and smiling, so as to show a very white range of teeth beneath his dark moustache, said, "In part, I agree with your Lordship, but it requires the high hand of fashion to reform the abuse." Here a most insidious glance at her Ladyship most effectually conveyed the point of his meaning.

Just then, in all the majesty of crimson velvet, Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k appeared, her comely person heaving under the acc.u.mulated splendor of lace, flowers, and jewelry. Her daughters, more simply but still handsomely dressed, followed, Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k bringing up the rear, in very evident confusion at having torn his kid gloves,--a misfortune which he was not clear should be buried in silence, or made the subject of public apology.

Lady Kilgoff received Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k's excuses for being late with a very quiet, gentle smile; but my Lord, less given to forgiveness, held his watch towards Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k, and said, "There 's always an excuse for a man of business, sir, or this would be very reprehensible."

Fortunately for all parties the company now poured in faster; every instant saw some two or three arrive. Indeed, with such speed did they appear, it seemed as if they had all waited for a movement _en ma.s.se_: judges and generals, with nieces and daughters manifold, country gentlemen, cliente, the _elite_ of Dublin diners-out, the Whites, the Rigbys, with their ringleted girls, the young member for Mactark, the Solicitor-General and Mrs. Knivett, and, at last, escorted by his staff of curates and small vicars, came "the Dean" himself, conducting a very learned dissertation on the musical properties of the "Chickgankazoo,"--a three-stringed instrument of an African tribe, and which he professed to think "admirably adapted for country congregations too poor to buy an organ! Any one could play it, Softly could play it, Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k could--"

"How do you do, Mr. Dean?" said that lady, in her sweetest of voices.

The Dean accepted the offered hand, but, without attending to the salutation, went on with a very curious argument respecting the vocal chords in the human throat, which he promised to demonstrate on any thin lady in the company.

The Chief Secretary's fortunate arrival, however, rescued the devoted fair one from the Dean's scientific ardor; for Mr. Meek was a great personage in the chief circles of Dublin. Any ordinary manner, in comparison with Mr. Downie Meek's, would be as linsey-woolsey to three-pile velvet! There was a yielding softness, a delicious compliance about him, which won him the world's esteem, and pointed him out to the Cabinet as the very man to be "Secretary for Ireland." Conciliation would be a weak word to express the _suave_ but winning gentleness of his official dealings. The most frank of men, he was unbounded in professions, and if so elegant a person could have taken a hint from so humble a source, we should say that he had made his zoological studies available and imitated the cuttle-fish, since when close penned by an enemy he could always escape by muddying the water. In this great dialectic of the Castlereagh school he was perfect, and could become totally unintelligible at the shortest notice.

After a few almost whispered words to his hostess, Mr. Meek humbly requested to be presented to Mr. Cashel. Roland, who was then standing beside Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, and listening to a rather amusing catalogue of the guests, advanced to make the Secretary's acquaintance. Mr. Downie Meek's approaches were perfect, and in the few words he spoke, most favorably impressed Cashel with his unpretentious, unaffected demeanor.

"Are we waiting for any one, Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k?" said his spouse, with a delicious simplicity of voice.

"Oh, certainly!" exclaimed her less accomplished husband; "Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline and Lord Charles Frobisher have not arrived."

"It appears to me,"--a favorite expression of his Lordship, with a strong emphasis on the p.r.o.noun,--"it appears to me," said Lord Kilgoff, "that Sir Andrew MacFarline waits for the tattoo at the Royal Barrack to dress for dinner;" and he added, somewhat lower, "I made a vow, which I regret to have broken to-day, never to dine wherever he is invited."

"Here they come! here they come at last," cried out several voices together, as the heavy tread of carriage-horses was heard advancing, and the loud summons of the footman resounded through the square.

Sir Andrew and Lady Janet MacFarline were announced in Mr. Pea.r.s.e's most impressive manner; and then, after a slight pause, as if to enable the company to recover themselves from the shock of such august names, Lord Charles Frobisher and Captain Foster.

Sir Andrew was a tall, raw-boned, high-cheeked old man, with a white head, red nose, and a very Scotch accent, whose manners, after forty years' training, still spoke of the time that he carried a halbert in the "Black Watch." Lady Janet was a little, grim-faced, gray-eyed old lady, with a hunch, who, with a most inveterate peevishness of voice and a most decided tendency to make people unhappy, was the terror of the garrison.

"We hae na kept ye waitin', Mrs. Kannyfack, I humbly hope?" said Sir Andrew.

"A good forty minutes, Sir Andrew," broke in Lord Kilgoff, showing his watch; "but you are always the last."

"He was not recorded as such in the official despatch from 'Maida,' my Lord," said Lady Janet, fiercely; "but with some people there is more virtue in being early at dinner than first up the breach in an a.s.sault!"

"The siege will always keep hot, my Lady," interposed a very well-whiskered gentleman in a blue coat and two inside waistcoats; "the soup will not."

"Ah, Mr. Linton," said she, holding out two fingers, "why were n't you at our picnic?" Then she added, lower:

"Give me your arm in to dinner. I can't bear that tiresome old man."

Linton bowed and seemed delighted, while a scarcely perceptible motion of the brows conveyed an apology to Miss Kennyf.e.c.k.

Dinner was at length announced, and after a little of what Sir Andrew called "clubbing the battalions," they descended in a long procession.

Cashel, after vainly essaying to secure either of the Kennyf.e.c.k girls as his companion, being obliged to pair off with Mrs. White, the lady who always declined, but never failed to come.

It is a singular fact in the physiology of Amphytrionism, that second-cla.s.s people can always succeed in a "great dinner," though they fail egregiously in all attempts at a small party. We reserve the reason for another time, to record the fact that Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k's table was both costly and splendid. The soups were admirable, the Madeira perfect in flavor, the pates as hot and the champagne as cold, the fish as fresh and the venison as long kept, the curry as high seasoned and the pine-apple ice as delicately simple, as the most refined taste could demand. The material enjoyments were provided with elegance and abundance, and the guests--the little chagrin of the long waiting over--all disposed to be chatty and agreeable.

Like a tide first breaking on a low strand, in small and tiny ripples, then gradually coming bolder in, with courage more a.s.sured, and greater force, the conversation of a dinner usually runs; till at last at the high flood the great waves tumble madly one upon another, and the wild chorus of the clashing water wakes up "the spirit of the storm."

Even without the aid of the "Physiologie du Gout," people will talk of eating while they eat; and so the chitchat was _cuisine_ in all its moods and tenses, each bringing to the common stock some new device in cookery, and some anecdotes of his travelled experience in "gourmandise," and while Mr. Linton and Lord Charles celebrated the skill of the "Cadran," or the "Schwan" at Vienna, the Dean was critically explaining to poor Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k that Homer's heroes had probably the most perfect _roti_ that ever was served, the juices of the meat being preserved in such large ma.s.ses.

"Soles, with a 'gratin' of fine gingerbread, I saw at Metternich's,"

said Mr. Linton, "and they were excellent."

"I like old Jules Perregaux's idea better, what he calls his _cotelettes a la financiere_."

"What are they? I never tasted them."

"Very good mutton cutlets _en papillotte_, the envelopes being billets de banque of a thousand francs each."

"Is it permitted to help one's self twice, my Lord?"

"I called for the dish again, but found it had been too successful. De Brigues did a neat thing that way, in a little supper he gave to the artistes of the Opera-Comique; the jellies were all served with rings in them,--turquoise, diamond, emerald, pearl, and so on,--so that the fair guests had all the excitement of a lottery as the _plat_ came round to them."

"The kick-shaws required something o' that kind to make them endurable,"

said Sir Andrew, gruffly; "gie me a haggis, or a c.o.c.kie-leekie."

"What is that?" said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who saw with a sharp malice how angrily Lady Janet looked at the notion of the coming explanation.

"I 'll tell ye wi' pleasure, Miss Kannyfack, hoo to mak' a c.o.c.kie-leekie!"

"c.o.c.kie-leekie, _unde derivator_ c.o.c.kie-leekie?" cried the Dean, who, having taken a breathing canter through Homer and Horace, was quite ready for the moderns.

"What, sir?" asked Sir Andrew, not understanding the question.

"I say, what 's the derivation of your c.o.c.kie-leekie,--the etymology of the phrase?"