The Absentee (18 page)

Lady Isabel the while standing by, with the most amiable air of pity,
with expressions of the finest moral sensibility, softening all her
mother said, finding ever some excuse for the poor creatures, and
following with angelic sweetness to heal the wounds her mother
inflicted.

When Lady Dashfort thought she had sufficiently worked upon Lord
Colambre's mind to weaken his enthusiasm for his native country, and
when Lady Isabel had, by the appearance of every virtue, added to
a delicate preference, if not partiality, for our hero, ingratiated
herself into his good opinion and obtained an interest in his mind,
the wily mother ventured an attack of a more decisive nature; and so
contrived it was, that, if it failed, it should appear to have been made
without design to injure, and in total ignorance.

One day, Lady Dashfort, who in fact was not proud of her family, though
she pretended to be so, had herself prevailed on, though with much
difficulty, by Lady Killpatrick, to do the very thing she wanted to do,
to show her genealogy, which had been beautifully blazoned, and which
was to be produced as evidence in the lawsuit that brought her to
Ireland. Lord Colambre stood politely looking on and listening, while
her ladyship explained the splendid inter-marriages of her family,
pointing to each medallion that was filled gloriously with noble, and
even with royal names, till at last she stopped short, and covering one
medallion with her finger, she said—

'Pass over that, dear Lady Killpatrick. You are not to see that, Lord
Colambre—that's a little blot in our scutcheon. You know, Isabel, we
never talk of that prudent match of great-uncle John's; what could he
expect by marrying into THAT family, where you know all the men were not
SANS PEUR, and none of the women SANS REPROCHE.'

'Oh mamma!' cried Lady Isabel, 'not one exception?'

'Not one, Isabel,' persisted Lady Dashfort; 'there was Lady —, and the
other sister, that married the man with the long nose; and the daughter
again, of whom they contrived to make an honest woman, by getting her
married in time to a BLUE-RIBBAND, and who contrived to get herself into
Doctors' Commons the very next year.'

'Well, dear mamma, that is enough, and too much. Oh! pray don't go on,'
cried Lady Isabel, who had appeared very much distressed during her
mother's speech. 'You don't know what you are saying; indeed, ma'am, you
don't.'

'Very likely, child; but that compliment I can return to you on the
spot, and with interest; for you seem to me, at this instant, not to
know either what you are saying or what you are doing. Come, come,
explain.'

'Oh no, ma'am—Pray say so no more; I will explain myself another time.'

'Nay, there you are wrong, Isabel; in point of good-breeding, anything
is better than hints and mystery. Since I have been so unlucky as to
touch upon the subject, better go through with it, and, with all the
boldness of innocence ask the question, Are you, my Lord Colambre, or
are you not, related or connected with any of the St. Omars?'

'Not that I know of,' said Lord Colambre; 'but I really am so bad a
genealogist, that I cannot answer positively.'

'Then I must put the substance of my question into a new form. Have you,
or have you not, a cousin of the name of Nugent?'

'Miss Nugent!—Grace Nugent!—Yes,' said Lord Colambre, with as much
firmness of voice as he could command, and with as little change
of countenance as possible; but, as the question came upon him so
unexpectedly, it was not in his power to answer with an air of absolute
indifference and composure.

'And her mother was—' said Lady Dashfort.

'My aunt, by marriage; her maiden name was Reynolds, I think. But she
died when I was quite a child. I know very little about her. I never saw
her in my life; but I am certain she was a Reynolds.'

'Oh, my dear lord,' continued Lady Dashfort; 'I am perfectly aware that
she did take and bear the name of Reynolds; but that was not her maiden
name—her maiden name was; but perhaps it is a family secret that
has been kept, for some good reason from you, and from the poor girl
herself; the maiden name was St. Omar, depend upon it. Nay, I would not
have told this to you, my lord, if I could have conceived that it would
affect you so violently,' pursued Lady Dashfort, in a tone of raillery;
'you see you are no worse off than we are. We have an intermarriage
with the St. Omars. I did not think you would be so much shocked at
a discovery, which proves that our family and yours have some little
connexion.'

Lord Colambre endeavoured to answer, and mechanically said something
about, 'happy to have the honour.' Lady Dashfort, truly happy to see
that her blow had hit the mark so well, turned from his lordship without
seeming to observe how seriously he was affected; and Lady Isabel
sighed, and looked with compassion on Lord Colambre, and then
reproachfully at her mother. But Lord Colambre heeded not her looks, and
heard not of her sighs; he heard nothing, saw nothing, though his eyes
were intently fixed on the genealogy, on which Lady Dashfort was still
descanting to Lady Killpatrick. He took the first opportunity he could
of quitting the room, and went out to take a solitary walk.

'There he is, departed, but not in peace, to reflect upon what has been
said,' whispered Lady Dashfort to her daughter. 'I hope it will do him a
vast deal of good.'

'None of the women SANS REPROCHE! None!—without one exception,' said
Lord Colambre to himself; 'and Grace Nugent's mother a St. Omar!—Is it
possible? Lady Dashfort seems certain. She could not assert a positive
falsehood—no motive. She does not know that Miss Nugent is the person
to whom I am attached she spoke at random. And I have heard it first
from a stranger—not from my mother. Why was it kept secret from me?
Now I understand the reason why my mother evidently never wished that I
should think of Miss Nugent—why she always spoke so vehemently against
the marriages of relations, of cousins. Why not tell me the truth? It
would have had the strongest effect, had she known my mind.'

Lord Colambre had the greatest dread of marrying any woman whose mother
had conducted herself ill. His reason, his prejudices, his pride, his
delicacy, and even his limited experience, were all against it. All
his hopes, his plans of future happiness, were shaken to their very
foundation; he felt as if he had received a blow that stunned his mind,
and from which he could not recover his faculties. The whole of that
day he was like one in a dream. At night the painful idea continually
recurred to him; and whenever he was falling asleep, the sound of Lady
Dashfort's voice returned upon his ear, saying the words, 'What could
he expect when he married one of the St. Omars? None of the women SANS
REPROCHE.'

In the morning he rose early; and the first thing he did was to write a
letter to his mother, requesting (unless there was some important reason
for her declining to answer the question) that she would immediately
relieve his mind from a great UNEASINESS (he altered the word four
times, but at last left it UNEASINESS). He stated what he had heard, and
besought his mother to tell him the whole truth, without reserve.

One morning Lady Dashfort had formed an ingenious scheme for leaving
Lady Isabel and Lord Colambre TETE-A-TETE; but the sudden entrance of
Heathcock disconcerted her intentions. He came to beg Lady Dashfort's
interest with Count O'Halloran, for permission to hunt and shoot on his
grounds.—'Not for myself, 'pon honour, but for two officers who are
quartered at the next town here, who will indubitably hang or drown
themselves if they are debarred from sporting.'

'Who is this Count O'Halloran?' said Lord Colambre. Miss White, Lady
Killpatrick's companion, said 'he was a great oddity;' Lady Dashfort,
'that he was singular;' and the clergyman of the parish, who was at
breakfast, declared 'that he was a man of uncommon knowledge, merit, and
politeness.'

'All I know of him,' said Heathcock, 'is, that he is a great sportsman,
with a long queue, a gold-laced hat, and long skirts to a laced
waistcoat.' Lord Colambre expressed a wish to see this extraordinary
personage; and Lady Dashfort, to cover her former design, and, perhaps,
thinking absence might be as effectual as too much propinquity,
immediately offered to call upon the officers in their way, and carry
them with Heathcock and Lord Colambre to Halloran Castle.

Lady Isabel retired with much mortification, but with becoming grace;
and Captain Benson and Captain Williamson were taken to the count's.
Captain Benson, who was a famous WHIP, took his seat on the box of the
barouche, and the rest of the party had the pleasure of her
ladyship's conversation for three or four miles: of her ladyship's
conversation—for Lord Colambre's thoughts were far distant; Captain
Williamson had not anything to say; and Heathcock nothing but, 'Eh!
re'lly now!—'pon honour!'

They arrived at Halloran Castle—a fine old building, part of it
in ruins, and part repaired with great judgment and taste. When the
carriage stopped, a respectable-looking man-servant appeared on the
steps, at the open hall-door.

Count O'Halloran was out a-hunting; but his servant said 'that he would
be at home immediately, if Lady Dashfort and the gentlemen would be
pleased to walk in.'

On one side of the lofty and spacious hall stood the skeleton of an elk;
on the other side, the perfect skeleton of a moose-deer, which, as
the servant said, his master had made out, with great care, from the
different bones of many of this curious species of deer, found in the
lakes in the neighbourhood. The brace of officers witnessed their wonder
with sundry strange oaths and exclamations.—'Eh! 'pon honour—re'lly
now!' said Heathcock; and, too genteel to wonder at or admire anything
in the creation, dragged out his watch with some difficulty, saying, 'I
wonder now whether they are likely to think of giving us anything to eat
in this place?' And, turning his back upon the moose-deer, he straight
walked out again upon the steps, called to his groom, and began to make
some inquiry about his led horse. Lord Colambre surveyed the prodigious
skeletons with rational curiosity, and with that sense of awe and
admiration, by which a superior mind is always struck on beholding any
of the great works of Providence.

'Come, my dear lord!' said Lady Dashfort; 'with our sublime sensations,
we are keeping my old friend, Mr. Alick Brady, this venerable person,
waiting, to show us into the reception-room.'

The servant bowed respectfully—more respectfully than servants of
modern date.

'My lady, the reception-room has been lately painted—the smell of paint
may be disagreeable; with your leave, I will take the liberty of showing
you into my master's study.'

He opened the door, went in before her, and stood holding up his finger,
as if making a signal of silence to some one within. Her ladyship
entered, and found herself in the midst of an odd assembly: an eagle,
a goat, a dog, an otter, several gold and silver fish in a glass globe,
and a white mouse in a cage. The eagle, quick of eye but quiet of
demeanour, was perched upon his stand; the otter lay under the table,
perfectly harmless; the Angora goat, a beautiful and remarkably little
creature of its kind, with long, curling, silky hair, was walking about
the room with the air of a beauty and a favourite; the dog, a tall
Irish greyhound—one of the few of that fine race which is now almost
extinct—had been given to Count O'Halloran by an Irish nobleman,
a relation of Lady Dashfort's. This dog, who had formerly known her
ladyship, looked at her with ears erect, recognised her, and went to
meet her the moment she entered. The servant answered for the peaceable
behaviour of all the rest of the company of animals, and retired. Lady
Dashfort began to feed the eagle from a silver plate on his stand; Lord
Colambre examined the inscription on his collar; the other men stood in
amaze. Heathcock, who came in last, astonished out of his constant
'Eh! re'lly now!' the moment he put himself in at the door, exclaimed,
'Zounds! what's all this live lumber?' and he stumbled over the goat,
who was at that moment crossing the way. The colonel's spur caught in
the goat's curly beard; the colonel shook his foot, and entangled the
spur worse and worse; the goat struggled and butted; the colonel skated
forward on the polished oak floor, balancing himself with outstretched
arms.

The indignant eagle screamed, and, passing by, perched on Heathcock's
shoulders. Too well-bred to have recourse to the terrors of his beak,
he scrupled not to scream, and flap his wings about the colonel's ears.
Lady Dashfort, the while, threw herself back in her chair, laughing, and
begging Heathcock's pardon. 'Oh, take care of the dog, my dear colonel!'
cried she; 'for this kind of dog seizes his enemy by the back, and
shakes him to death.' The officers, holding their sides, laughed, and
begged—no pardon; while Lord Colambre, the only person who was not
absolutely incapacitated, tried to disentangle the spur, and to liberate
the colonel from the goat, and the goat from the colonel; an attempt in
which he at last succeeded, at the expense of a considerable portion
of the goat's beard. The eagle, however, still kept his place; and, yet
mindful of the wrongs of his insulted friend the goat, had stretched his
wings to give another buffet. Count O'Halloran entered; and the bird,
quitting his prey, flew down to greet his master. The count was a
fine old military-looking gentleman, fresh from the chace: his hunting
accoutrements hanging carelessly about him, he advanced, unembarrassed,
to the lady; and received his other guests with a mixture of military
ease and gentleman-like dignity.

Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous situation in which he
had found poor Heathcock, he apologised in general for his troublesome
favourites. 'For one of them,' said he, patting the head of the dog,
which lay quiet at Lady Dashfort's feet, 'I see I have no need to
apologise; he is where he ought to be. Poor fellow! he has never lost
his taste for the good company to which he was early accustomed. As to
the rest,' said he, turning to Lady Dashfort, 'a mouse, a bird, and
a fish, are, you know, tribute from earth, air, and water, for my
conqueror—'