The Kellys and the O'Kellys Part 56

"Not exactly that: but I won't say I thought you were exactly just what you ought to be."

"But didn't you think I was exactly what I ought not to have been?

Didn't you imagine, now, that I habitually sat up all night, gambling, and drinking buckets of champagne and brandy-and-water? And that I lay in bed all day, devising iniquity in my dreams? Come now, tell the truth, and shame the devil; if I am the devil, I know people have made me out to be."

"Why, really, Adolphus, I never calculated how your days and nights were spent. But if I am to tell the truth, I fear some of them might have been pa.s.sed to better advantage."

"Which of us, f.a.n.n.y, mightn't, with truth, say the same of ourselves?"

"Of course, none of us," said f.a.n.n.y; "don't think I'm judging you; you asked me the question,--and I suppose you wanted an answer."

"I did; I wanted a true one--for though you may never have given yourself much trouble to form an opinion about me, I am anxious that you should do so now. I don't want to trouble you with what is done and past; I don't want to make it appear that I have not been thoughtless and imprudent--wicked and iniquitous, if you are fond of strong terms; neither do I want to trouble you with confessing all my improprieties, that I may regularly receive absolution. But I do wish you to believe that I have done nothing which should exclude me from your future good opinion; from your friendship and esteem."

"I am not of an unforgiving temperament, even had you done anything for me to forgive: but I am not aware that you have."

"No; nothing for you to forgive, in the light of an offence to yourself; but much, perhaps, to prevent your being willing to regard me as a personal friend. We're not only first cousins, f.a.n.n.y, but are placed more closely together than cousins usually are. You have neither father nor mother; now, also, you have no brother," and he took her hands in his own as he said so. "Who should be a brother to you, if I am not? who, at any rate, should you look on as a friend, if not on me?

n.o.body could be better, I believe, than Selina; but she is stiff, and cold--unlike you in everything. I should be so happy if I could be the friend--the friend of friends you spoke of the other evening; if I could fill the place which must be empty near your heart. I can never be this to you, if you believe that anything in my past life has been really disgraceful. It is for this reason that I want to know what you truly think of me. I won't deny that I am anxious you should think well of me:--well, at any rate for the present, and the future, and charitably as regards the past."

f.a.n.n.y had been taken much by surprise by the turn her cousin had given to the conversation; and was so much affected, that, before he had finished, she was in tears. She had taken her hand out of his, to put her handkerchief to her eyes, and as she did not immediately answer, he continued:

"I shall probably be much here for some time to come--such, at least, are my present plans; and I hope that while I am, we shall become friends: not such friends, f.a.n.n.y, as you and Judith O'Joscelyn--friends only of circ.u.mstance, who have neither tastes, habits, or feelings in common--friends whose friendship consists in living in the same parish, and meeting each other once or twice a week; but friends in reality--friends in confidence--friends in mutual dependence--friends in love--friends, dear f.a.n.n.y, as cousins situated as we are should be to each other."

f.a.n.n.y's heart was very full, for she felt how much, how desperately, she wanted such a friend as Kilcullen described. How delightful it would be to have such a friend, and to find him in her own cousin! The whole family, hitherto, were so cold to her--so uncongenial. The earl she absolutely disliked; she loved her aunt, but it was only because she was her aunt--she couldn't like her; and though she loved Lady Selina, and, to a degree, admired her, it was like loving a marble figure. There was more true feeling in what Kilcullen had now said to her, than in all that had fallen from the whole family for the four years she had lived at Grey Abbey, and she could not therefore but close on the offer of his affection.

"Shall we be such friends, then?" said he; "or, after all, am I too bad? Have I too much of the taint of the wicked world to be the friend of so pure a creature as you?"

"Oh no, Adolphus; I'm sure I never thought so," said she. "I never judged you, and indeed I am not disposed to do so now. I'm too much in want of kindness to reject yours,--even were I disposed to do so, which I am not."

"Then, f.a.n.n.y, we are to be friends--true, loving, trusting friends?"

"Oh, yes!" said f.a.n.n.y. "I am really, truly grateful for your affection and kindness. I know how precious they are, and I will value them accordingly."

Again Lord Kilcullen took her hand, and pressed it in his; and then he kissed it, and told her she was his own dear cousin f.a.n.n.y; and then recommended her to go and dress, which she did. He sat himself down for a quarter of an hour, ruminating, and then also went off to dress; but, during that quarter of an hour, very different ideas pa.s.sed through his mind, than such as those who knew him best would have given him credit for.

In the first place, he thought that he really began to feel an affection for his cousin f.a.n.n.y, and to speculate whether it were absolutely within the verge of possibility that he should marry her--retrieve his circ.u.mstances--treat her well, and live happily for the rest of his life as a respectable n.o.bleman.

For two or three minutes the illusion remained, till it was banished by retrospection. It was certainly possible that he should marry her: it was his full intention to do so: but as to retrieving his circ.u.mstances and treating her well!--the first was absolutely impossible--the other nearly so; and as to his living happily at Grey Abbey as a family man, he yawned as he felt how impossible it would be that he should spend a month in such a way, let alone a life. But then f.a.n.n.y Wyndham was so beautiful, so lively, so affectionate, so exactly what a cousin and a wife ought to be: he could not bear to think that all his protestations of friendship and love had been hypocritical; that he could only look upon her as a gudgeon, and himself as a bigger fish, determined to swallow her! Yet such must be his views regarding her. He departed to dress, absolutely troubled in his conscience.

And what were f.a.n.n.y's thoughts about her cousin? She was much surprised and gratified, but at the same time somewhat fl.u.s.tered and overwhelmed, by the warmth and novelty of his affection. However, she never for a moment doubted his truth towards her, or had the slightest suspicion of his real object. Her chief thought was whether she could induce him to be a mediator for her, between Lord Cashel and Lord Ballindine.

During the next two days he spoke to her a good deal about her brother--of whom, by-the-bye, he had really known nothing. He contrived, however, to praise him as a young man of much spirit and great promise; then he spoke of her own large fortune, asked her what her wishes were about its investment, and told her how happy he would be to express those wishes at once to Lord Cashel, and to see that they were carried out. Once or twice she had gradually attempted to lead the conversation to Lord Ballindine, but Kilcullen was too crafty, and had prevented her; and she had not yet sufficient courage to tell him at once what was so near her heart.

"f.a.n.n.y," said Lady Selina, one morning, about a week after the general arrival of the company at Grey Abbey, and when some of them had taken their departure, "I am very glad to see you have recovered your spirits: I know you have made a great effort, and I appreciate and admire it."

"Indeed, Selina, I fear you are admiring me too soon. I own I have been amused this week past, and, to a certain degree, pleased; but I fear you'll find I shall relapse. There's been no radical reform; my thoughts are all in the same direction as they were."

"But the great trial in this world is to behave well and becomingly in spite of oppressive thoughts: and it always takes a struggle to do that, and that struggle you've made. I hope it may lead you to feel that you may be contented and in comfort without having everything which you think necessary to your happiness. I'm sure I looked forward to this week as one of unmixed trouble and torment; but I was very wrong to do so. It has given me a great deal of unmixed satisfaction."

"I'm very glad of that, Selina, but what was it? I'm sure it could not have come from poor Mrs Ellison, or the bishop's wife; and you seemed to me to spend all your time in talking to them. Virtue, they say, is its own reward: I don't know what other satisfaction you can have had from them."

"In the first place, it has given me great pleasure to see that you were able to exert yourself in company, and that the crowd of people did not annoy you: but I have chiefly been delighted by seeing that you and Adolphus are such good friends. You must think, f.a.n.n.y, that I am anxious about an only brother--especially when we have all had so much cause to be anxious about him; and don't you think it must be a delight to me to find that he is able to take pleasure in your society? I should be doubly pleased, doubly delighted, if I could please him myself. But I have not the vivacity to amuse him."

"What nonsense, Selina! Don't say that."

"But it's true, f.a.n.n.y; I have not; and Grey Abbey has become distasteful to him because we are all sedate, steady people. Perhaps some would call us dull, and heavy; and I have grieved that it should be so, though I cannot alter my nature; but you are so much the contrary--there is so much in your character like his own, before he became fond of the world, that I feel he can become attached to and fond of you; and I am delighted to see that he thinks so himself. What do you think of him, now that you have seen more of him than you ever did before?"

"Indeed," said f.a.n.n.y, "I like him very much."

"He is very clever, isn't he? He might have been anything if he had given himself fair play. He seems to have taken greatly to you."

"Oh yes; we are great friends:" and then f.a.n.n.y paused--"so great friends," she continued, looking somewhat gravely in Lady Selina's face, "that I mean to ask the greatest favour of him that I could ask of anyone: one I am sure I little dreamed I should ever ask of him."

"What is it, f.a.n.n.y? Is it a secret?"

"Indeed it is, Selina; but it's a secret I will tell you. I mean to tell him all I feel about Lord Ballindine, and I mean to ask him to see him for me. Adolphus has offered to be a brother to me, and I mean to take him at his word."

Lady Selina turned very pale, and looked very grave as she replied,

"That is not giving him a brother's work, f.a.n.n.y. A brother should protect you from importunity and insult, from injury and wrong; and that, I am sure, Adolphus would do: but no brother would consent to offer your hand to a man who had neglected you and been refused, and who, in all probability, would now reject you with scorn if he has the opportunity--or if not that, will take you for your money's sake. That, f.a.n.n.y, is not a brother's work; and it is an emba.s.sy which I am sure Adolphus will not undertake. If you take my advice you will not ask him."

As Lady Selina finished speaking she walked to the door, as if determined to hear no reply from her cousin; but, as she was leaving the room, she fancied that she heard her sobbing, and her heart softened, and she again turned towards her and said, "G.o.d knows, f.a.n.n.y, I do not wish to be severe or ill-natured to you; I would do anything for your comfort and happiness, but I cannot bear to think that you should"--Lady Selina was puzzled for a word to express her meaning--"that you should forget yourself," and she attempted to put her arm round f.a.n.n.y's waist.

But she was mistaken; f.a.n.n.y was not sobbing, but was angry; and what Selina now said about her forgetting herself, did not make her less so.

"No," she said, withdrawing herself from her cousin's embrace and standing erect, while her bosom was swelling with indignation: "I want no affection from you, Selina, that is accompanied by so much disapprobation. You don't wish to be severe, only you say that I am likely to forget myself. Forget myself!" and f.a.n.n.y threw back her beautiful head, and clenched her little fists by her side: "The other day you said 'disgrace myself', and I bore it calmly then; but I will not any longer bear such imputations. I tell you plainly, Selina, I will not forget myself, nor will I be forgotten. Nor will I submit to whatever fate cold, unfeeling people may doom me, merely because I am a woman and alone. I will not give up Lord Ballindine, if I have to walk to his door and tell him so. And were I to do so, I should never think that I had forgotten myself."

"Listen to me, f.a.n.n.y," said Selina.

"Wait a moment," continued f.a.n.n.y, "I have listened enough: it is my turn to speak now. For one thing I have to thank you: you have dispelled the idea that I could look for help to anyone in this family.

I will not ask your brother to do anything for me which you think so disgraceful. I will not subject him to the scorn with which you choose to think my love will be treated by him who loved me so well. That you should dare to tell me that he who did so much for my love should now scorn it!--Oh, Selina, that I may live to forget that you said those words!" and f.a.n.n.y, for a moment, put her handkerchief to her eyes--but it was but for a moment. "However," she continued, "I will now act for myself. As you think I might forget myself, I tell you I will do it in no clandestine way. I will write to Lord Ballindine, and I will show my letter to my uncle. The whole house shall read it if they please. I will tell Lord Ballindine all the truth--and if Lord Cashel turns me from his house, I shall probably find some friend to receive me, who may still believe that I have not forgotten myself." And f.a.n.n.y Wyndham sailed out of the room.

Lady Selina, when she saw that she was gone, sat down on the sofa and took her book. She tried to make herself believe that she was going to read; but it was no use: the tears dimmed her eyes, and she put the book down.

The same evening the countess sent for Selina into her boudoir, and, with a fidgety mixture of delight and surprise, told her that she had a wonderful piece of good news to communicate to her.

"I declare, my dear," she said, "it's the most delightful thing I've heard for years and years; and it's just exactly what I had planned myself, only I never told anybody. Dear me; it makes me so happy!"

"What is it, mamma?"

"Your papa has been talking to me since dinner, my love, and he tells me Adolphus is going to marry f.a.n.n.y Wyndham."

"Going to marry whom?" said Lady Selina, almost with a shout.

"f.a.n.n.y, I say: it's the most delightful match in the world: it's just what ought to be done. I suppose they won't have the wedding before summer; though May is a very nice month. Let me see; it only wants three weeks to May."

"Mamma, what are you talking about?--you're dreaming."

"Dreaming, my dear? I'm not dreaming at all: it's a fact. Who'd've thought of all this happening so soon, out of this party, which gave us so much trouble! However, I knew your father was right. I said all along that he was in the right to ask the people."