Roland Cashel Volume I Part 40

Had Miss O'Hara been the mere quiet, easy-going, simple-minded elderly maiden she seemed to Cashel's eyes, the step on our part had not been needed; she might, like some other characters of our tale, have been suffered to glide by as ghosts or stage-supernumeraries do, unquestioned and undetained; but she possessed qualities of a kind to demand somewhat more consideration. Aunt f.a.n.n.y, to give her the t.i.tle by which she was best known, was, in reality, a person of the keenest insight into others,--reading people at sight, and endowed with a species of intuitive perception of all the possible motives which lead to any action. Residing totally in a small town in the west of Ireland, she rarely visited the capital, and was now, in fact, brought up "special"

by her sister, Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, who desired to have her advice and counsel on the prospect of securing Cashel for one or other of her daughters. It was so far a wise step, that in such a conjuncture no higher opinion could have been obtained.

"It was like getting a private hint from the Chancellor about a cause in equity." This was Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k's own ill.u.s.tration.

Aunt f.a.n.n.y was then there in the guise of a domestic detective, to watch proceedings and report on them,--a function which simplifies the due conduct of a case, be it in love or law, beyond anything.

"How agreeable your papa must be this evening, my dear!" said Mrs.

Kennyf.e.c.k, as with a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece she recognized that it was near ten.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 261]

"I 'm sure he is deep in one of his interminable law arguments, which always makes Mr. Cashel so sleepy and so stupid, that he never recovers for the rest of the evening."

"He ought to find the drawing-room all the pleasanter for the contrast,"

remarked Miss O'Hara, dryly. "I like to see young men--mind me well, young men, it does n't do with old ones--thoroughly bored before they come among the ladies. The sudden change to the tea, and the wax-lights, and the bright eyes, are trying stimulants. Let them, however, be what they call 'pleasant' below-stair, and they are sure to come up flushed and excited, well satisfied with the host's claret, and only anxious to order the carriage. What o'clock is it now?"

"A quarter-past ten, aunt."

"Too late; full three-quarters too late," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed she, with the tone of an oracle. "There is nothing your father could have to say should have detained him till now. Play that little Mexican thing again, my dear; and, Livy, love, leave the door a little open; don't you find the heat of this room intolerable?"

The young ladies obeyed, and meanwhile Aunt f.a.n.n.y, drawing her chair closer to her sister's, said, in a low tone,--

"Well, explain the matter more clearly. Did he give her the diamonds?"

"No; that is the strangest of all," responded Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k. "He just told Leonard to send them home, and we never heard more about them."

Aunt f.a.n.n.y shook her head.

"You know, he asked Olivia, as they were going downstairs, what she thought of them; and she replied, 'They 're beautiful.'"

"How did she say it, though; was it like a mere casual remark, or did she make it with feeling?"

"With feeling," echoed Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, pursing up her lips.

"Well?"

"Well! he just said, 'I'll take them,' and there was an end of it."

Aunt f.a.n.n.y seemed to reflect, and, after some time, said,--

"Now, as to the horse, when did he make her a present of that?"

"It was to Caroline he gave the horse; sure I told you already."

"Very true, so you did; a bad feature of the case, too! She ought to have declined it somehow."

"So she would," broke in Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k; "but, you perceive, it was very doubtful, at the time, which of the girls he preferred."

"And you tell me this Mr. Linton has such influence over him."

"The most absolute. It is only a few weeks since they became acquainted, and now they are inseparable."

"What is he like,--Linton himself?"

Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k gave a most significant signal, by closing up her lips, and slowly nodding her head,--a gesture that seemed well understood.

"Does Kennyf.e.c.k know nothing of his affairs; has he no private history of the man, which might be useful to us?"

"Don't think of that, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, knowingly; "but here they come at last." This was said with reference to the sound of footsteps on the stairs, which gradually approached, and at last Mr.

Kennyf.e.c.k made his appearance in the drawing-room.

"Where is Mr. Cashel,--is he gone?" asked Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, in an accent of unusual anxiety.

"He went away above an hour ago. He wanted to see a letter, or to write one, or to look for one he had lost,--I forget which."

"I'm certain you do!" observed Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, with an expression of unequivocal contempt. "I am perfectly certain we need not look to you for either information or a.s.sistance."

Poor Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k was dumfoundered. The very words were riddles to him, and he turned to each person about him in silent entreaty for explanation; but none came.

"What had you been conversing about?" asked Aunt f.a.n.n.y, in that encouraging tone lawyers sometimes use to draw out a reluctant or bashful witness.

"Of his money affairs, Miss O'Hara; and I am grieved to say that the subject had so little interest for him, that he started up and left me on suddenly remembering something about a letter."

"Which something you have totally forgotten," remarked Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, tartly.

"And yet it would be a most important fact for us," observed Aunt f.a.n.n.y, with judicial solemnity; "a letter, whether to read or to write, of such pressing necessity, implies much."

"Come, Livy, dear," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, rising from the pianoforte, and addressing her sister, who sat reading on the sofa, "_my_ canzonette and _your_ beautiful att.i.tude are so much sweetness thrown away. He's gone without even a thought of either! There, there, don't look so innocently vacant,--you understand me perfectly."

A very gentle smile was all the younger sister's reply as she left the room.

"Depend upon it, my dear," said Miss O'Hara to Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, "that young man had made some unhappy connection; that's the secret of this letter, and when they get into a sc.r.a.pe of the kind it puts marriage out of their heads altogether. It was the same with Captain Morris,"--here she whispered still lower, the only audible words being, "without my ever suspecting,--one evening--a low creature--never set eyes upon--ah, man, man!" And with this exclamation aloud, Aunt f.a.n.n.y took her candle and retired.

About a minute after, however, she re-entered the drawing-room, and advancing close to her sister, said, with all the solemnity of deep thought,--

"Peter is no good in this case, my dear; send him home at once. That man will 'blaze' for the asking." And with a nod of immense significance she finally withdrew.

CHAPTER XX. HOW ENRIQUE'S LETTER WAS LOST AND FOUND.

"Arcades ambo!"

Blackguards both!

In the window of a very pretty cottage-room overlooking the Liffey, and that romantic drive so well known to Dub-liners as the "low road" to Lucan, sat Tom Linton. He was enjoying a cigar and a gla.s.s of weak negus, as a man may enjoy such luxuries seated in the easiest of chairs, looking out upon one of the sweetest of woodland landscapes, and feeling the while that the whole was "his own." If conscientious scruples had been any part of that gentleman's life philosophy, he might have suffered some misgivings, seeing that the cottage itself, its furniture, the plate, the very horses in the stable and the grooms about it, had been won at the hazard-table, and from one whose beggary ended in suicide. But Linton did not dwell on such things, and if they did for an instant cross his mind, he dismissed them at once with a contemptuous pity for the man who could not build up a fortune by the arts with which he had lost one. He had not begun the world himself with much principle, and all his experiences went to prove that even less would suffice, and that for the purposes of the station he occupied, and the society he frequented, it was only necessary that he should not transgress in his dealings with men of a certain rank and condition; so that while every transaction with people of cla.s.s and fashion should be strictly on "the square," he was at perfect liberty to practise any number of sharp things with all beneath them. It was the old axiom of knight-errantry adapted to our own century, which made every weapon fair used against the plebeian!