The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1

CHAPTER XIII. A TREATY REJECTED

Forester’s recovery was slow, at least so his friends in the capital thought it, for to each letter requiring to know when he might be expected back again, the one reply forever was returned, “As soon as he felt able to leave Gwynne Abbey.” Nor was the answer, perhaps, injudiciously couched.

From the evening of his first introduction to Lady Eleanor and her daughter, his visits were frequent, sometimes occupying the entire morning, and always prolonged far into the night. Never did an intimacy make more rapid progress; so many tastes and so many topics were in common to all, for while the ladies had profited by reading and study in matters which he had little cultivated, yet the groundwork of an early good education enabled him to join in discussions, and take part in conversation which both interested at the time, and suggested improvement afterward; and if Lady Eleanor knew less of the late events which formed the staple of London small-talk, she was well informed on the characters and passages of the early portion of the reign, which gave all the charm of a history to reminiscences purely personal.

With the wits and distinguished men of that day she had lived in great intimacy, and felt a pride in contrasting the displays of intellectual wealth, so common then, with the flatter and more prosaic habita since introduced into society. “Eccentricities and absurdities,” she would say, “have replaced in the world the more brilliant exhibitions of cultivated and gifted minds, and I must confess to preferring the social qualities of Horace Walpole to the exaggerations of Bagenal Daly, or the ludicrous caprices of Buck Whaley.”

“I think Mr. Daly charming, for my part,” said Helen, laughing. “I’m certain that he is a miracle of truth, as he is of adventure; if everything he relates is not strictly accurate and matter of fact, it is because the real is always inferior to the ideal. The things ought to have happened as he states.”

“It is, at least, ben trovato,” broke in Forester; “yet I go further, and place perfect confidence in his narratives, and truly I have heard some strange ones in our morning rides together.”

“I suspected as much,” said Lady Eleanor, “a new listener is such a boon to him; so, then, you have heard how he carried away the Infanta of Spain, compelled the Elector of Saxony to take off his boots, made the Doge of Venice drunk, and instructed the Pasha of Trebizond in the mysteries of an Irish jig.”

“Not a word of these have I heard as yet.”

“Indeed! then what, in all mercy, has he been talking of, – India, China, or North America, perhaps?”

“Still less; he has never wandered from Ireland and Irish life, and I must say, as far as adventure and incident are concerned, it would have been quite unnecessary for him to have strayed beyond it.”

“You are perfectly right there,” said Lady Eleanor, with some seriousness in the tone; “our home anomalies may shame all foreign wonders: he himself could scarcely find his parallel in any land.”

“He has a sincere affection for Lionel, Mamma,” said Helen, in an accent of deprecating meaning.

“And that very same regard gave the bias to Lionel’s taste for every species of absurdity! Believe me, Helen, Irish blood is too stimulating an ingredient to enter into a family oftener than once in four generations. Mr. Daly’s has been unadulterated for centuries, and the consequence is, that, although neither deficient in strong sense or quick perception, he acts always on the impulse that precedes judgment, and both his generosity and his injustice outrun the mark.”

“I love that same rash temperament,” said Helen, flushing as she spoke; “it is a fine thing to see so much of warm and generous nature survive all that he must have seen of the littleness of mankind.”

“There! Captain Forester, there! Have I not reason on my side? You thought me very unjust towards poor Mr. Daly, – I know you did; but it demands all my watchfulness to prevent him being equally the model for my daughter, as he is for my son’s imitation.”

“There are traits in his character any might well be proud to imitate,” said Helen, warmly; “his life has been a series of generous, single-minded actions; and,” added she, archly “if Mamma thinks it prudent and safe to warn her children against some of Mr. Daly’s eccentricities, no one is more ready to acknowledge his real worth than she is.”

“Helen is right,” said Lady Eleanor; “if we could always be certain that Mr. Daly’s imitators would copy the truly great features of his character, we might forgive them falling into his weaknesses; and now, can any one tell me why we have not seen him for some days past? He is in the Abbey?”

“Yes, we rode out together yesterday morning to look at the wreck near the Sound of Achill; strange enough, I only learned from a chance remark of one of the sailors that Daly had been in the boat, the night before, that took the people off the wreck.”

“So like him!” exclaimed Helen, with enthusiasm.

“He is angry with me, I know he is,” said Lady Eleanor, musingly. “I asked his advice respecting the answer I should send to a certain letter, and then rejected the counsel. He would have forgiven me had I run counter to his opinions without asking; but when I called him into consultation, the offence became a grave one.”

“I declare, Mamma, I side with him; his arguments were clear, strong, and unanswerable, and the best proof of it is, you have never had the courage to follow your own determination since you listened to him.”

“I have a great mind to choose an umpire between us. What say you, Captain Forester, will you hear the case? Helen shall take Mr. Daly’s side; I will make my own statement.”

“It’s a novel idea,” said Helen, laughing, “that the umpire should be selected by one of the litigating parties.”

“Then you doubt my impartiality, Miss Darcy?”

“If I am to accept you as a judge, I ‘ll not prejudice the Court against myself, by avowing my opinions of it,” said she, archly.

“When I spoke of your arbitration, Captain Forester,” said Lady Eleanor, “I really meant fairly, for upon all the topics we have discussed together, politics, or anything bordering on political opinions, have never come uppermost; and, up to this moment, I have not the slightest notion what are your political leanings, Whig or Tory.”

“So the point in dispute is a political one?” asked Forester, cautiously.

“Not exactly,” interposed Helen; “the policy of a certain reply to a certain demand is the question at issue; but the advice of any party in the matter might be tinged by his party leanings, if he have any.”

“If I judge Captain Forester aright, he has troubled his head very little about party squabbles,” said Lady Eleanor; “and in any case, he can scarcely take a deep interest in a question which is almost peculiarly Irish.”

Forester bowed, – partly in pretended acquiescence of this speech, partly to conceal a deep flush that mounted suddenly to his cheek; for he felt by no means pleased at a remark that might be held to reflect on his political knowledge.

“Be thou the judge, then,” said Lady Eleanor. “And, first of all, read that letter.” And she took from her work-box her cousin Lord Netherby’s letter, and handed it to Forester.

“I reserve my right to dispute that document being evidence,” said Helen, laughing; “nor is there any proof of the handwriting being Lord Netherby’s. Mamma herself acknowledges she has not heard from him for nearly twenty years.”

This cunning speech, meant to intimate the precise relation of the two parties, was understood at once by Forester, who could with difficulty control a smile, although Lady Eleanor looked far from pleased.

There was now a pause, while Forester read over the long letter with due attention, somewhat puzzled to conceive to what particular portion of it the matter in dispute referred.

“You have not read the postscript,” said Helen, as she saw him folding the letter, without remarking the few concluding lines.

Forester twice read over the passage alluded to, and at once whatever had been mysterious or difficult was revealed before him. Lord Netherby’s wily temptation was made manifest, not the less palpably, perhaps, because the reader was himself involved in the very same scheme.

“You have now seen my cousin’s letter,” said Lady Eleanor, “and the whole question is whether the reply should be limited to a suitable acknowledgment of its kind expressions, and a grateful sense of the Prince’s condescension, or should convey – ”

“Mamma means,” interrupted Helen, laughingly, – “Mamma means, that we might also avow our sincere gratitude for the rich temptation offered in requital of my father’s vote on the ‘nion.’”

“No minister would dare to make such a proposition to the Knight of Gwynne,” said Lady Eleanor, haughtily.

“Ministers are very enterprising nowadays, Mamma,” rejoined Helen; “I have never heard any one speak of Mr. Pitt’s cowardice, and Lord Castlereagh has had courage to invite old Mr. Hickman to dinner!”

Forester would gladly have acknowledged his relationship to the Secretary, but the moment seemed unpropitious, and the avowal would have had the semblance of a rebuke; so he covered his confusion by a laugh, and said nothing.

“We can scarcely contemn the hardihood of a Government that has made Crofton a bishop, and Hawes a general,” said Helen, with a flashing eye and a lip curled in superciliousness. “Nothing short of a profound reliance on the piety of the Church and the bravery of the Army would support such a policy as that!”

Lady Eleanor seemed provoked at the hardy tone of Helen’s speech; but the mother’s look was proud, as she gazed on the brilliant expression of her daughter’s beauty, now heightened by the excitement of the moment.

“Is it not possible, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, in a voice at once timid and insinuating, – “is it not possible that the measure contemplated by the Government may have results so beneficial as to more than compensate for evils like these?”

“A Jesuit, or a Tory, or both,” cried Helen. “Mamma, you have chosen your umpire most judiciously; his is exactly the impartiality needed.”

“Nay, but hear me out,” cried the young officer, whose cheek was crimsoned with shame. “If the measure be a good one, – well, let me beg the question, if it be a good one – and yet, the time for propounding it is either inopportune or unfortunate, and, consequently, the support it might claim on its own merits be withheld either from prejudice, party connection, or any similar cause, – you would not call a ministry culpable who should anticipate the happy working of a judicious Act, by securing the assistance of those whose convictions are easily won over, in preference to the slower process of convincing the men of more upright and honest intentions.”

“You have begged so much in the commencement, and assumed so much in the conclusion, sir, that I am at a loss to which end of your speech to address my answer; but I will say this much: it is but sorry evidence of a measure’s goodness when it can only meet with the approval of the venal. I don’t prize the beauty so highly that is only recognized by the blind man.”

“Distorted vision, Miss Darcy, may lead to impressions more erroneous than even blindness.”

“I may have the infirmity you speak of,” said she, quickly, “but assuredly I’ll not wear Government spectacles to correct it.”

If Forester was surprised at finding a young lady so deeply interested in a political question, he was still more so on hearing the tone of determination she spoke in, and would gladly, had he known how, have given the conversation a less serious turn.

“We have been all the time forgetting the real question at issue,” said Lady Eleanor. “I ‘m sure I never intended to listen to a discussion on the merits or demerits of the Union, on which you both grow so eloquent; will you then kindly return to whence we started, and advise me as to the reply to this letter.”

“I do not perceive any remarkable difficulty, madam,” said Forester, addressing himself exclusively to Lady Eleanor. “The Knight of Gwynne has doubtless strong opinions on this question; they are either in favor of, or adverse to, the Government views: if the former, your reply is easy and most satisfactory; if the latter, perhaps he would condescend to explain the nature of his objections, to state whether it be to anything in the detail of the measure he is adverse to, or to the principle of the Bill itself. A declaration like this will open a door to negotiation, without the slightest imputation on either side. A minister may well afford to offer his reasons for any line of policy to one as eminent in station and ability as the Knight of Gwynne, and I trust I am not indiscreet in assuming that the Knight would not be derogating from that station in listening to, and canvassing, such explanations.”

“Lord Castlereagh, ‘aut – ,’” said Helen, starting up from her seat, and making a low courtesy before Forester, who, feeling himself in a measure detected, blushed till his face became scarlet.

“My dear Helen, at this rate we shall never – But what is this? – who have we here?”

This sudden exclamation was caused by the appearance of a small four-wheeled carriage drawn up at the gate of the flower-garden, from which old Hickman’s voice could now be heard, inquiring if Lady Eleanor were at home.

“Yes, Sullivan,” said she, with a sigh, “and order luncheon.” Then, as the servant left the room, she added, “I am always better pleased when the visits of that family are paid by the old gentleman, whom I prefer to the son or the grandson. They are better performers, I admit, but he is an actor of nature’s own making.”

“Do you know him, Captain Forester?” asked Helen.

But, before he could reply, the door was opened, and Sullivan announced, by his ancient title, “Doctor Hickman.”

Strange and grotesque as in every respect he looked, the venerable character of old age secured him a respectful, almost a cordial, reception; and as Lady Eleanor advanced to him, there was that urbanity and courtesy in her manner which are so nearly allied to the expression of actual esteem. It was true, there was little in the old man’s nature to elicit such feelings towards him; he was a grasping miser, covetousness and money-getting filled up his heart, and every avenue leading to it. The passion for gain had alone given the interest to his life, and developed into activity any intelligence he possessed. While his son valued wealth as the only stepping-stone to a position of eminence and rank, old Hickman loved riches for their own sake. The bank was, in his estimation, the fountain of all honor, and a strong credit there better than all the reputation the world could confer. These were harsh traits. But then he was old; long years of infirmity were bringing him each hour closer to the time when the passion of his existence must be abandoned; and a feeling of pity was excited at the sight of that withered, careworn face, to which the insensate cravings of avarice lent an unnatural look of shrewdness and intelligence.

“What a cold morning for your drive, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, kindly. “Captain Forester, may I ask you to stir the fire? Mr. Hickman – Captain Forester.”

“Ah, Miss Helen, beautiful as ever!” exclaimed the old man, as, with a look of real admiration, he gazed on Miss Darcy. “I don’t know how it is, Lady Eleanor, but the young ladies never dressed so becomingly formerly. Captain Forester, your humble servant; I’m glad to see you about again, – indeed, I did n’t think it very likely once that you’d ever leave the library on your own feet; Mac-Donough ‘s a dead shot they tell me – ay, ay!”

“I hope your friends at ‘The Grove’ are well, sir?” said Lady Eleanor, desirous of interrupting a topic she saw to be particularly distressing to Forester.

“No, indeed, my Lady; my son Bob – Mr. Hickman O’Reilly, I mean – God forgive me, I’m sure they take trouble enough to teach me that name – he’s got a kind of a water-brash, what we call a pyrosis. I tell him it’s the French dishes he eats for dinner, things he never was brought op to, concoctions of lemon juice, and cloves, and saffron, and garlic, in meat roasted – no, but stewed into chips.”

“You prefer our national cookery, Mr. Hickman?”

“Yes, my Lady, with the gravy in it; the crag-end, – if your Ladyship knows what’s the crag-end of a – ”

“Indeed, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling, “I’m deplorably ignorant about everything that concerns the household. Helen affects to be very deep in these matters; but I suspect it is only a superficial knowledge, got up to amuse the Knight.”

“I beg, Mamma, you will not infer any such reproach on my skill in menage. Papa called my omelette à la curé perfect.”

“I should like to hear Mr. Hickman’s judgment on it,” said Lady Eleanor, with a sly smile.

“If it’s a plain joint, my Lady, boiled or roasted, without spices or devilment in it, but just the way Providence intended – ”

“May I ask, sir, how you suppose Providence intended to recommend any particular kind of cookery?” said Helen, seriously.

“Whatever is most natural, most simple, the easiest to do,” stammered out Hickman, not over pleased at being asked for an explanation.

“Then the Cossack ranks first in the art,” exclaimed Forester; “for nothing can be more simple or easier than to take a slice of a live ox and hang it up in the sun for ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Them’s barbarians,” said Hickman, with an emphasis that made the listeners find it no easy task to keep down a laugh.

“Luncheon, my Lady,” said old Tate Sullivan, as with a reverential bow he opened the folding-doors into a small breakfast parlor, where an exquisitely served table was laid out.

“Practice before precept, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor; “will you join us at luncheon, where I hope you may find something to your liking?”

As the old man seated himself at the table, his eye ranged over the cabinet pictures that covered the walls, the richly chased silver on the table, and the massive wine-coolers that stood on the sideboard, with an eye whose brilliancy betokened far more the covetous taste of the miser than the pleased expression of mere connoisseurship; nor could he recall himself from their admiration to hear Forester’s twice-repeated question as to what he would eat.