Lord Kilgobbin

There were various theories in circulation to explain this change of temper in their chief. Some ascribed it to young Kearney, who was a ‘stuck-up’ young fellow, and wanted his father to give himself greater airs and pretensions. Others opinioned it was the daughter, who, though she played Lady Bountiful among the poor cottiers, and affected interest in the people, was in reality the proudest of them all. And last of all, there were some who, in open defiance of chronology, attributed the change to a post-dated event, and said that the swells from the Castle were the ruin of Mathew Kearney, and that he was never the same man since the day he saw them.

Whether any of these were the true solution of the difficulty or not, Kearney’s popularity was on the decline at the moment when this unfortunate narrative of the attack on his castle aroused the whole county and excited their feelings against him. Mr. McGloin took every step of his proceeding with due measure and caution: and having secured a certain number of promises of attendance at the meeting, he next notified to his lordship, how, in virtue of a certain section of a certain law, he had exercised his right of calling the members together; and that he now begged respectfully to submit to the chief, that some of the matters which would be submitted to the collective wisdom would have reference to the ‘Buck Goat’ himself, and that it would be an act of great courtesy on his part if he should condescend to be present and afford some explanation.

That the bare possibility of being called to account by the ‘Goats’ would drive Kearney into a ferocious passion, if not a fit of the gout, McGloin knew well; and that the very last thing on his mind would be to come amongst them, he was equally sure of: so that in giving his invitation there was no risk whatever. Mathew Kearney’s temper was no secret; and whenever the necessity should arise that a burst of indiscreet anger should be sufficient to injure a cause, or damage a situation, ‘the lord’ could be calculated on with a perfect security. McGloin understood this thoroughly; nor was it matter of surprise to him that a verbal reply of ‘There is no answer’ was returned to his note; while the old servant, instead of stopping the ass-cart as usual for the weekly supply of groceries at McGloin’s, repaired to a small shop over the way, where colonial products were rudely jostled out of their proper places by coils of rope, sacks of rape-seed, glue, glass, and leather, amid which the proprietor felt far more at home than amidst mixed pickles and mocha.

Mr. McGloin, however, had counted the cost of his policy: he knew well that for the ambition to succeed his lordship as Chief of the Club, he should have to pay by the loss of the Kilgobbin custom; and whether it was that the greatness in prospect was too tempting to resist, or that the sacrifice was smaller than it might have seemed, he was prepared to risk the venture.

The meeting was in so far a success that it was fully attended. Such a flock of ‘Goats’ had not been seen by them since the memory of man, nor was the unanimity less remarkable than the number; and every paragraph of Mr. McGloin’s speech was hailed with vociferous cheers and applause, the sentiment of the assembly being evidently highly National, and the feeling that the shame which the Lord of Kilgobbin had brought down upon their county was a disgrace that attached personally to each man there present; and that if now their once happy and peaceful district was to be proclaimed under some tyranny of English law, or, worse still, made a mark for the insult and sarcasm of the Times newspaper, they owed the disaster and the shame to no other than Mathew Kearney himself.

‘I will now conclude with a resolution,’ said McGloin, who, having filled the measure of allegation, proceeded to the application. ‘I shall move that it is the sentiment of this meeting that Lord Kilgobbin be called on to disavow, in the newspapers, the whole narrative which has been circulated of the attack on his house; that he declare openly that the supposed incident was a mistake caused by the timorous fears of his household, during his own absence from home: terrors aggravated by the unwarrantable anxiety of an English visitor, whose ignorance of Ireland had worked upon an excited imagination; and that a copy of the resolution be presented to his lordship, either in letter or by a deputation, as the meeting shall decide.’

While the discussion was proceeding as to the mode in which this bold resolution should be most becomingly brought under Lord Kilgobbin’s notice, a messenger on horseback arrived with a letter for McGloin. The bearer was in the Kilgobbin livery, and a massive seal, with the noble lord’s arms, attested the despatch to be from himself.

‘Shall I put the resolution to the vote, or read this letter first, gentlemen?’ said the chairman.

‘Read! read!’ was the cry, and he broke the seal. It ran thus: —

‘Mr. McGloin, – Will you please to inform the members of the “Goat Club” at Moate that I retire from the presidency, and cease to be a member of that society? I was vain enough to believe at one time that the humanising element of even one gentleman in the vulgar circle of a little obscure town, might have elevated the tone of manners and the spirit of social intercourse. I have lived to discover my great mistake, and that the leadership of a man like yourself is far more likely to suit the instincts and chime in with the sentiments of such a body. – Your obedient and faithful servant,

Kilgobbin.’

The cry which followed the reading of this document can only be described as a howl. It was like the enraged roar of wild animals, rather than the union of human voices; and it was not till after a considerable interval that McGloin could obtain a hearing. He spoke with great vigour and fluency. He denounced the letter as an outrage which should be proclaimed from one end of Europe to the other; that it was not their town, or their club, or themselves had been insulted, but Ireland! that this mock-lord (cheers) – this sham viscount – (greater cheers) – this Brummagem peer, whose nobility their native courtesy and natural urbanity had so long deigned to accept as real, should now be taught that his pretensions only existed on sufferance, and had no claim beyond the polite condescension of men whom it was no stretch of imagination to call the equals of Mathew Kearney. The cries that received this were almost deafening, and lasted for some minutes.

‘Send the ould humbug his picture there,’ cried a voice from the crowd, and the sentiment was backed by a roar of voices; and it was at once decreed the portrait should accompany the letter which the indignant ‘Goats’ now commissioned their chairman to compose.

That same evening saw the gold-framed picture on its way to Kilgobbin Castle, with an ample-looking document, whose contents we have no curiosity to transcribe – nor, indeed, is the whole incident one which we should have cared to obtrude upon our readers, save as a feeble illustration of the way in which the smaller rills of public opinion swell the great streams of life, and how the little events of existence serve now as impulses, now obstacles, to the larger interests that sway fortune. So long as Mathew Kearney drank his punch at the ‘Blue Goat’ he was a patriot and a Nationalist; but when he quarrelled with his flock, he renounced his Irishry, and came out a Whig.

CHAPTER XXXII

AN UNLOOKED-FOR PLEASURE

When Dick Kearney waited on Cecil Walpole at his quarters in the Castle, he was somewhat surprised to find that gentleman more reserved in manner, and in general more distant, than when he had seen him as his father’s guest.

Though he extended two fingers of his hand on entering, and begged him to be seated, Walpole did not take a chair himself, but stood with his back to the fire – the showy skirts of a very gorgeous dressing-gown displayed over his arms – where he looked like some enormous bird exulting in the full effulgence of his bright plumage.

‘You got my note, Mr. Kearney?’ began he, almost before the other had sat down, with the air of a man whose time was too precious for mere politeness.

‘It is the reason of my present visit,’ said Dick dryly.

‘Just so. His Excellency instructed me to ascertain in what shape most acceptable to your family he might show the sense entertained by the Government of that gallant defence of Kilgobbin; and believing that the best way to meet a man’s wishes is first of all to learn what the wishes are, I wrote you the few lines of yesterday.’

‘I suspect there must be a mistake somewhere,’ began Kearney, with difficulty. ‘At least, I intimated to Atlee the shape in which the Viceroy’s favour would be most agreeable to us, and I came here prepared to find you equally informed on the matter.’

‘Ah, indeed! I know nothing – positively nothing. Atlee telegraphed me, “See Kearney, and hear what he has to say. I write by post. – ATLEE.” There’s the whole of it.’

‘And the letter – ’

‘The letter is there. It came by the late mail, and I have not opened it.’

‘Would it not be better to glance over it now?’ said Dick mildly.

‘Not if you can give me the substance by word of mouth. Time, they tell us, is money, and as I have got very little of either, I am obliged to be parsimonious. What is it you want? I mean the sort of thing we could help you to obtain. I see,’ said he, smiling, ‘you had rather I should read Atlee’s letter. Well, here goes.’ He broke the envelope, and began: —

‘“MY DEAR MR. WALPOLE, – I hoped by this time to have had a report to make you of what I had done, heard, seen, and imagined since my arrival, and yet here I am now towards the close of my second week, and I have nothing to tell; and beyond a sort of confused sense of being immensely delighted with my mode of life, I am totally unconscious of the flight of time.

‘“His Excellency received me once for ten minutes, and later on, after some days, for half an hour; for he is confined to bed with gout, and forbidden by his doctor all mental labour. He was kind and courteous to a degree, hoped I should endeavour to make myself at home – giving orders at the same time that my dinner should be served at my own hour, and the stables placed at my disposal for riding or driving. For occupation, he suggested I should see what the newspapers were saying, and make a note or two if anything struck me as remarkable.

‘“Lady Maude is charming – and I use the epithet in all the significance of its sorcery. She conveys to me each morning his Excellency’s instructions for my day’s work; and it is only by a mighty effort I can tear myself from the magic thrill of her voice, and the captivation of her manner, to follow what I have to reply to, investigate, and remark on.

‘“I meet her each day at luncheon, and she says she will join me ‘some day at dinner.’ When that glorious occasion arrives, I shall call it the event of my life, for her mere presence stimulates me to such effort in conversation that I feel in the very lassitude afterwards what a strain my faculties have undergone.”’

‘What an insufferable coxcomb, and an idiot to boot!’ cried Walpole. ‘I could not do him a more spiteful turn than to tell my cousin of her conquest. There is another page, I see, of the same sort. But here you are – this is all about you: I’ll read it. “In re Kearney. The Irish are always logical; and as Miss Kearney once shot some of her countrymen, when on a mission they deemed National, her brother opines that he ought to represent the principles thus involved in Parliament.”’

‘Is this the way in which he states my claims!’ broke in Dick, with ill-suppressed passion.

‘Bear in mind, Mr. Kearney, this jest, and a very poor one it is, was meant for me alone. The communication is essentially private, and it is only through my indiscretion you know anything of it whatever.’

‘I am not aware that any confidence should entitle him to write such an impertinence.’

‘In that case, I shall read no more,’ said Walpole, as he slowly refolded the letter.’ The fault is all on my side, Mr. Kearney,’ he continued;’ but I own I thought you knew your friend so thoroughly that extravagance on his part could have neither astonished nor provoked you.’

‘You are perfectly right, Mr. Walpole; I apologise for my impatience. It was, perhaps, in hearing his words read aloud by another that I forgot myself, and if you will kindly continue the reading, I will promise to behave more suitably in future.’

Walpole reopened the letter, but, whether indisposed to trust the pledge thus given, or to prolong the interview, ran his eyes over one side and then turned to the last page. ‘I see,’ said he, ‘he augurs ill as to your chances of success; he opines that you have not well calculated the great cost of the venture, and that in all probability it has been suggested by some friend of questionable discretion. “At all events,”’ and here he read aloud – ‘"at all events, his Excellency says, ‘We should like to mark the Kilgobbin affair by some show of approbation; and though supporting young K. in a contest for his county is a “higher figure” than we meant to pay, see him, and hear what he has to say of his prospects – what he can do to obtain a seat, and what he will do if he gets one. We need not caution him against’” – ‘hum, hum, hum,’ muttered he, slurring over the words, and endeavouring to pass on to something else.

‘May I ask against what I am supposed to be so secure?’

‘Oh, nothing, nothing. A very small impertinence, but which Mr. Atlee found irresistible.’

‘Pray let me hear it. It shall not irritate me.’

‘He says, “There will be no more a fear of bribery in your case than of a debauch at Father Mathew’s.”’

‘He is right there,’ said Kearney. ‘The only difference is that our forbearance will be founded on something stronger than a pledge.’

Walpole looked at the speaker, and was evidently struck by the calm command he had displayed of his passion.

‘If we could forget Joe Atlee for a few minutes, Mr. Walpole, we might possibly gain something. I, at least, would be glad to know how far I might count on the Government aid in my project.’

‘Ah, you want to – in fact, you would like that we should give you something like a regular – eh? – that is to say, that you could declare to certain people – naturally enough, I admit; but here is how we are, Kearney. Of course what I say now is literally between ourselves, and strictly confidential.’

‘I shall so understand it,’ said the other gravely.

‘Well, now, here it is. The Irish vote, as the Yankees would call it, is of undoubted value to us, but it is confoundedly dear! With Cardinal Cullen on one side and Fenianism on the other, we have no peace. Time was when you all pulled the one way, and a sop to the Pope pleased you all. Now that will suffice no longer. The “Sovereign Pontiff dodge” is the surest of all ways to offend the Nationals; so that, in reality, what we want in the House is a number of Liberal Irishmen who will trust the Government to do as much for the Catholic Church as English bigotry will permit, and as much for the Irish peasant as will not endanger the rights of property over the Channel.’

‘There’s a wide field there, certainly,’ said Dick, smiling.

‘Is there not?’ cried the other exultingly. ‘Not only does it bowl over the Established Church and Protestant ascendency, but it inverts the position of landlord and tenant. To unsettle everything in Ireland, so that anybody might hope to be anything, or to own Heaven knows what – to legalise gambling for existence to a people who delight in high play, and yet not involve us in a civil war – was a grand policy, Kearney, a very grand policy. Not that I expect a young, ardent spirit like yourself, fresh from college ambitions and high-flown hopes, will take this view.’

Dick only smiled and shook his head.

‘Just so,’ resumed Walpole. ‘I could not expect you to like this programme, and I know already all that you allege against it; but, as B. says, Kearney, the man who rules Ireland must know how to take command of a ship in a state of mutiny, and yet never suppress the revolt. There’s the problem – as much discipline as you can, as much indiscipline as you can bear. The brutal old Tories used to master the crew and hang the ringleaders; and for that matter, they might have hanged the whole ship’s company. We know better, Kearney; and we have so confused and addled them by our policy, that, if a fellow were to strike his captain, he would never be quite sure whether he was to be strung up at the gangway or made a petty-officer. Do you see it now?’

‘I can scarcely say that I do see it – I mean, that I see it as you do.’

‘I scarcely could hope that you should, or, at least, that you should do so at once; but now, as to this seat for King’s County, I believe we have already found our man. I’ll not be sure, nor will I ask you to regard the matter as fixed on, but I suspect we are in relations – you know what I mean – with an old supporter, who has been beaten half-a-dozen times in our interest, but is coming up once more. I’ll ascertain about this positively, and let you know. And then’ – here he drew breath freely and talked more at ease – ‘if we should find our hands free, and that we see our way clearly to support you, what assurance could you give us that you would go through with the contest, and fight the battle out?’

‘I believe, if I engage in the struggle, I shall continue to the end,’ said Dick, half doggedly.

‘Your personal pluck and determination I do not question for a moment. Now, let us see’ – here he seemed to ruminate for some seconds, and looked like one debating a matter with himself. ‘Yes,’ cried he at last, ‘I believe that will be the best way. I am sure it will. When do you go back, Mr. Kearney – to Kilgobbin, I mean?’

‘My intention was to go down the day after to-morrow.’

‘That will be Friday. Let us see, what is Friday? Friday is the 15th, is it not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Friday’ – muttered the other – ‘Friday? There’s the Education Board, and the Harbour Commissioners, and something else at – to be sure, a visit to the Popish schools with Dean O’Mahony. You couldn’t make it Saturday, could you?’

‘Not conveniently. I had already arranged a plan for Saturday. But why should I delay here – to what end?’

‘Only that, if you could say Saturday, I would like to go down with you.’

From the mode in which he said these words, it was clear that he looked for an almost rapturous acceptance of his gracious proposal; but Dick did not regard the project in that light, nor was he overjoyed in the least at the proposal.

‘I mean,’ said Walpole, hastening to relieve the awkwardness of silence – ‘I mean that I could talk over this affair with your father in a practical business fashion, that you could scarcely enter into. Still, if Saturday could not be managed, I’ll try if I could not run down with you on Friday. Only for a day, remember, I must return by the evening train. We shall arrive by what hour?’

‘By breakfast-time,’ said Dick, but still not over-graciously.

‘Nothing could be better; that will give us a long day, and I should like a full discussion with your father. You’ll manage to send me on to – what’s the name?’

‘Moate.’

‘Moate. Yes; that’s the place. The up-train leaves at midnight, I remember. Now that’s all settled. You’ll take me up, then, here on Friday morning, Kearney, on your way to the station, and meanwhile I’ll set to work, and put off these deputations and circulars till Saturday, when, I remember, I have a dinner with the provost. Is there anything more to be thought of?’

‘I believe not,’ muttered Dick, still sullenly.

‘Bye-bye, then, till Friday morning,’ said he, as he turned towards his desk, and began arranging a mass of papers before him.

‘Here’s a jolly mess with a vengeance,’ muttered Kearney, as he descended the stair. ‘The Viceroy’s private secretary to be domesticated with a “head-centre” and an escaped convict. There’s not even the doubtful comfort of being able to make my family assist me through the difficulty.’

CHAPTER XXXIII

PLMNUDDM CASTLE, NORTH WALES

Among the articles of that wardrobe of Cecil Walpole’s of which Atlee had possessed himself so unceremoniously, there was a very gorgeous blue dress-coat, with the royal button and a lining of sky-blue silk, which formed the appropriate costume of the gentlemen of the viceregal household. This, with a waistcoat to match, Atlee had carried off with him in the indiscriminating haste of a last moment, and although thoroughly understanding that he could not avail himself of a costume so distinctively the mark of a condition, yet, by one of the contrarieties of his strange nature, in which the desire for an assumption of any kind was a passion, he had tried on that coat fully a dozen times, and while admiring how well it became him, and how perfectly it seemed to suit his face and figure, he had dramatised to himself the part of an aide-de-camp in waiting, rehearsing the little speeches in which he presented this or that imaginary person to his Excellency, and coining the small money of epigram in which he related the news of the day.

‘How I should cut out those dreary subalterns with their mess-room drolleries, how I should shame those tiresome cornets, whose only glitter is on their sabretaches!’ muttered he, as he surveyed himself in his courtly attire. ‘It is all nonsense to say that the dress a man wears can only impress the surrounders. It is on himself, on his own nature and temper, his mind, his faculties, his very ambition, there is a transformation effected; and I, Joe Atlee, feel myself, as I move about in this costume, a very different man from that humble creature in grey tweed, whose very coat reminds him he is a “cad,” and who has but to look in the glass to read his condition.’

On the morning he learned that Lady Maude would join him that day at dinner, Atlee conceived the idea of appearing in this costume. It was not only that she knew nothing of the Irish Court and its habits, but she made an almost ostentatious show of her indifference to all about it, and in the few questions she asked, the tone of interrogation might have suited Africa as much as Ireland. It was true, she was evidently puzzled to know what place or condition Atlee occupied; his name was not familiar to her, and yet he seemed to know everything and everybody, enjoyed a large share of his Excellency’s confidence, and appeared conversant with every detail placed before him.

That she would not directly ask him what place he occupied in the household he well knew, and he felt at the same time what a standing and position that costume would give him, what self-confidence and ease it would also confer, and how, for once in his life, free from the necessity of asserting a station, he could devote all his energies to the exercise of agreeability and those resources of small-talk in which he knew he was a master.

Besides all this, it was to be his last day at the castle – he was to start the next morning for Constantinople, with all instructions regarding the spy Speridionides, and he desired to make a favourable impression on Lady Maude before he left. Though intensely, even absurdly vain, Atlee was one of those men who are so eager for success in life that they are ever on the watch lest any weakness of disposition or temper should serve to compromise their chances, and in this way he was led to distrust what he would in his puppyism have liked to have thought a favourable effect produced by him on her ladyship. She was intensely cold in manner, and yet he had made her more than once listen to him with interest. She rarely smiled, and he had made her actually laugh. Her apathy appeared complete, and yet he had so piqued her curiosity that she could not forbear a question.

Acting as her uncle’s secretary, and in constant communication with him, it was her affectation to imagine herself a political character, and she did not scruple to avow the hearty contempt she felt for the usual occupation of women’s lives. Atlee’s knowledge, therefore, actually amazed her: his hardihood, which never forsook him, enabled him to give her the most positive assurances on anything he spoke; and as he had already fathomed the chief prejudices of his Excellency, and knew exactly where and to what his political wishes tended, she heard nothing from her uncle but expressions of admiration for the just views, the clear and definite ideas, and the consummate skill with which that ‘young fellow’ distinguished himself.