The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (80 page)
Read The Complete Works of Stephen Crane Online
Authors: Stephen Crane
Tags: #Classic, #Fiction, #Historical, #Military, #Retail, #War
“Your ladyship has been misinformed,” I said with extreme deference. “The case is already in the hands of dignified men of law, who are mightily pleased with it.”
“Pleased with it, you idiot,” she cried. “They are pleased with it simply because they know somebody will pay them for their work, even it’s a beggar from Ireland, who has nothing on him but rags.”
“Your ladyship,” said I, not loath to call attention to my costume, “I assure you these rags cost golden guineas in London.”
“Well, you will not get golden guineas from Brede estate,” snapped her ladyship.
“Again your ladyship is misinformed. The papers are so perfect, and so well do they confirm my title to this beautiful domain, that the money-lenders of London simply bothered the life out of me trying to shovel gold on me, and both his lordship and your ladyship know that if a title is defective there is no money to be lent on it.”
“You’re a liar,” said the Countess genially, although the Earl looked up in alarm when I mentioned that I could draw money on the papers. Again I bowed deeply to her ladyship, and, putting my hands in my pockets, I drew out two handfuls of gold, which I strewed up and down the floor as if I were sowing corn, and each guinea was no more than a grain of it.
“There is the answer to your ladyship’s complimentary remark,” said I with a flourish of my empty hands; and, seeing Lady Mary’s eyes anxiously fixed on me, I dropped her a wink with the side of my face farthest from the Countess, at which Lady Mary’s eyelids drooped again. But I might have winked with both eyes for all the Countess, who was staring like one in a dream at the glittering pieces that lay here and there and gleamed all over the place like the little yellow devils they were. She seemed struck dumb, and if anyone thinks gold cannot perform a miracle, there is the proof of it.
“Is it gold?” cried I in a burst of eloquence that charmed even myself, “sure I could sow you acres with it by the crooking of my little finger from the revenues of my estate at the Old Head of Kinsale.”
“O’Ruddy, O’Ruddy,” said Father Donovan very softly and reprovingly, for no one knew better than him what my ancestral revenues were.
“Ah well, Father,” said I, “your reproof is well-timed. A man should not boast, and I’ll say no more of my castles and my acres, though the ships on the sea pay tribute to them. But all good Saints preserve us, Earl of Westport, if you feel proud to own this poor estate of Brede, think how little it weighed with my father, who all his life did not take the trouble to come over and look at it. Need I say more about Kinsale when you hear that? And as for myself, did I attempt to lay hands on this trivial bit of earth because I held the papers? You know I tossed them into your daughter’s lap because she was the finest-looking girl I have seen since I landed on these shores.”
“Well, well, well, well,” growled the Earl, “I admit I have acted rashly and harshly in this matter, and it is likely I have done wrong to an honourable gentleman, therefore I apologize for it. Now, what have you to propose?”
“I have to propose myself as the husband of your daughter, Lady Mary, and as for our dowry, there it is on the floor for the picking up, and I’m content with that much if I get the lady herself.”
His lordship slowly turned his head around and gazed at his daughter, who now was looking full at me with a frown on her brow. Although I knew I had depressed the old people, I had an uneasy feeling that I had displeased Lady Mary herself by my impulsive action and my bragging words. A curious mildness came into the harsh voice of the old Earl, and he said, still looking at his daughter:
“What does Mary say to this?”
The old woman could not keep her eyes from the gold, which somehow held her tongue still, yet I knew she was hearing every word that was said, although she made no comment. Lady Mary shook herself, as if to arouse herself from a trance, then she said in a low voice:
“I can never marry a man I do not love.”
“What’s that? what’s that?” shrieked her mother, turning fiercely round upon her, whereat Lady Mary took a step back. “Love, love? What nonsense is this I hear? You say you will not marry this man to save the estate of Brede?”
“I shall marry no man whom I do not love,” repeated Lady Mary firmly.
As for me, I stood there, hat in hand, with my jaw dropped, as if Sullivan had given me a stunning blow in the ear; then the old Earl said sternly:
“I cannot force my daughter: this conference is at an end. The law must decide between us.”
“The law, you old dotard,” cried the Countess, rounding then on him with a suddenness that made him seem to shrink into his shell. “The law! Is a silly wench to run us into danger of losing what is ours? He
shall
marry her. If you will not force her, then I’ll coerce her;” and with that she turned upon her daughter, grasped her by her two shoulders and shook her as a terrier shakes a rat. At this Lady Mary began to weep, and indeed she had good cause to do so.
“Hold, madam,” shouted I, springing toward her. “Leave the girl alone. I agree with his lordship, no woman shall be coerced on account of me.”
My intervention turned the Countess from her victim upon me.
“You agree with his lordship, you Irish baboon? Don’t think she’ll marry you because of any liking for you, you chattering ape, who resemble a monkey in a show with those trappings upon you. She’ll marry you because I say she’ll marry you, and you’ll give up those papers to me, who have sense enough to take care of them. If I have a doddering husband, who at the same time lost his breeches and his papers, I shall make amends for his folly.”
“Madam,” said I, “you shall have the papers; and as for the breeches, by the terror you spread around you, I learn they are already in your possession.”
I thought she would have torn my eyes out, but I stepped back and saved myself.
“To your room, you huzzy,” she cried to her daughter, and Mary fled toward the door. I leaped forward and opened it for her. She paused on the threshold, pretending again to cry, but instead whispered:
“My mother is the danger. Leave things alone,” she said quickly. “We can easily get poor father’s consent.”
With that she was gone. I closed the door and returned to the centre of the room.
“Madam,” said I, “I will not have your daughter browbeaten. It is quite evident she refuses to marry me.”
“Hold your tongue, and keep to your word, you idiot,” she rejoined, hitting me a bewildering slap on the side of the face, after which she flounced out by the way her daughter had departed.
The old Earl said nothing, but gazed gloomily into space from out the depths of his chair. Father Donovan seemed inexpressibly shocked, but my Lord Strepp, accustomed to his mother’s tantrums, laughed outright as soon as the door was closed. All through he had not been in the least deceived by his sister’s pretended reluctance, and recognized that the only way to get the mother’s consent was through opposition. He sprang up and grasped me by the hand and said:
“Well, O’Ruddy, I think your troubles are at an end, or,” he cried, laughing again, “just beginning, but you’ll be able to say more on that subject this time next year. Never mind my mother; Mary is, and always will be, the best girl in the world.”
“I believe you,” said I, returning his handshake as cordially as he had bestowed it.
“Hush!” he cried, jumping back into his seat again. “Let us all look dejected. Hang your head, O’Ruddy!” and again the door opened, this time the Countess leading Lady Mary, her long fingers grasping that slim wrist.
“She gives her consent,” snapped the Countess, as if she were pronouncing sentence. I strode forward toward her, but Mary wrenched her wrist free, slipped past me, and dropped at the feet of Father Donovan, who had risen as she came in.
“Your blessing on me, dear Father,” she cried, bowing her head, “and pray on my behalf that there may be no more turbulence in my life.”
The old father crossed his hands on her shapely head, and for a moment or two it seemed as if he could not command his voice, and I saw the tears fill his eyes. At last he said simply and solemnly: —
“May God bless you and yours, my dear daughter.”
* * * * *
We were married by Father Donovan with pomp and ceremony in the chapel of the old house, and in the same house I now pen the last words of these memoirs, which I began at the request of Lady Mary herself, and continued for the pleasure she expressed as they went on. If this recital is disjointed in parts, it must be remembered I was always more used to the sword than to the pen, and that it is difficult to write with Patrick and little Mary and Terence and Kathleen and Michael and Bridget and Donovan playing about me and asking questions, but I would not have the darlings sent from the room for all the writings there is in the world.
* * * * *