The Absentee (13 page)

'Yes, of Lord Colambre,' said Miss Nugent, ingenuously and sorrowfully.

'Then I can put your mind at ease, at once, my dear friend, by assuring
you that I shall think of him no more. That I have thought of him, I do
not deny—I have thought, that if, notwithstanding the difference in
our ages, and other differences, he had preferred me, I should have
preferred him to any person who has ever yet addressed me. On our first
acquaintance, I clearly saw that he was not disposed to pay court to my
fortune; and I had also then coolness of judgment sufficient to perceive
that it was not probable he should fall in love with my person. But I
was too proud in my humility, too strong in my honesty, too brave, too
ignorant; in short, I knew nothing of the matter. We are all of us, more
or less, subject to the delusions of vanity, or hope, or love—I—even
I!—who thought myself so clear-sighted, did not know how, with one
flutter of his wings, Cupid can set the whole atmosphere in motion;
change the proportions, size, colour, value, of every object; lead us
into a mirage, and leave us in a dismal desert.'

'My dearest friend!' said Miss Nugent, in a tone of true sympathy.

'But none but a coward, or a fool would sit down in the desert and
weep, instead of trying to make his way back before the storm rises,
obliterates the track, and overwhelms everything. Poetry apart, my dear
Grace, you may be assured that I shall think no more of Lord Colambre.'

'I believe you are right. But I am sorry, very sorry, it must be so.'

'Oh, spare me your sorrow!'

'My sorrow is for Lord Colambre,' said Miss Nugent. 'Where will he find
such a wife?—Not in Miss Berryl, I am sure—pretty as she is; a mere
fine lady! Is it possible that Lord Colambre! Lord Colambre! should
prefer such a girl—Lord Colambre!'

Miss Broadhurst looked at her friend as she spoke, and saw truth in
her eyes; saw that she had no suspicion that she was herself the person
beloved.

'Tell me, Grace, are you sorry that Lord Colambre is going away?'

'No, I am glad. I was sorry when I first heard it; but now I am glad,
very glad; it may save him from a marriage unworthy of him, restore him
to himself, and reserve him for—the only woman I ever saw who is
suited to him, who is equal to him, who would value and love him, as he
deserves to be valued and loved.'

'Stop, my dear; if you mean me, I am not, and I never can be, that
woman. Therefore, as you are my friend, and wish my happiness, as I
sincerely believe you do, never, I conjure you, present such an idea
before my mind again—it is out of my mind, I hope, for ever. It is
important to me that you should know and believe this. At least I will
preserve my friends. Now let this subject never be mentioned or alluded
to again between us, my dear. We have subjects enough of conversation;
we need not have recourse to pernicious sentimental gossipings. There is
a great difference between wanting a CONFIDANTE, and treating a friend
with confidence. My confidence you possess; all that ought, all that is
to be known of my mind, you know, and—Now I will leave you in peace to
dress for the concert.'

'Oh, don't go! you don't interrupt me. I shall be dressed in a few
minutes; stay with me, and you may be assured, that neither now, nor at
any other time, shall I ever speak to you on the subject you desire me
to avoid. I entirely agree with you about CONFIDANTES and sentimental
gossipings. I love you for not loving them.'

A thundering knock at the door announced the arrival of company.

'Think no more of love, but as much as you please of friendship—dress
yourself as fast as you can,' said Miss Broadhurst. 'Dress, dress is the
order of the day.'

Order of the day and order of the night, and all for people I don't care
for in the least,' said Grace. 'So life passes!'

'Dear me, Miss Nugent,' cried Petito, Lady Clonbrony's woman, coming in
with a face of alarm, 'not dressed yet! My lady is gone down, and
Mrs. Broadhurst and my Lady Pococke's come, and the Honourable Mrs.
Trembleham; and signor, the Italian singing gentleman, has been
walking up and down the apartments there by himself, disconsolate, this
half-hour, and I wondering all the time nobody rang for me—but my lady
dressed, Lord knows how! without anybody. Oh, merciful! Miss Nugent,
if you could stand still for one single particle of a second. So then I
thought of stepping in to Miss Nugent; for the young ladies are talking
so fast, says I to myself, at the door, they will never know how time
goes, unless I give 'em a hint. But now my lady is below, there's no
need, to be sure, to be nervous, so we may take the thing quietly,
without being in a flustrum. Dear ladies, is not this now a very sudden
motion of our young lord's for Ireland?—Lud a mercy! Miss Nugent, I'm
sure your motions is sudden enough; and your dress behind is all,
I'm sure, I can't tell how.'—'Oh, never mind,' said the young lady,
escaping from her; 'it will do very well, thank you, Petito.'

'It will do very well, never mind,' repeated Petito muttering to
herself, as she looked after the ladies, whilst they ran downstairs. 'I
can't abide to dress any young lady who says never mind, and it will
do very well. That, and her never talking to one confiDANtially, or
trusting one with the least bit of her secrets, is the thing I can't put
up with from Miss Nugent; and Miss Broadhurst holding the pins to me, as
much as to say, Do your business, Petito, and don't talk.—Now, that's
so impertinent, as if one wasn't the same flesh and blood, and had
not as good a right to talk of everything, and hear of everything, as
themselves. And Mrs. Broadhurst, too, cabinet-councilling with my
lady, and pursing up her city mouth when I come in, and turning off the
discourse to snuff, forsooth; as if I was an ignoramus, to think they
closeted themselves to talk of snuff. Now, I think a lady of quality's
woman has as good a right to be trusted with her lady's secrets as with
her jewels; and if my Lady Clonbrony was a real lady of quality, she'd
know that, and consider the one as much my paraphernalia as the other.
So I shall tell my lady to-night, as I always do when she vexes me,
that I never lived in an Irish family before, and don't know the ways of
it—then she'll tell me she was born in Hoxfordshire—then I shall say,
with my saucy look, "Oh, was you, my lady?—I always forget that you was
an Englishwoman:" then maybe she'll say, "Forget!—you forget yourself
strangely, Petito." Then I shall say, with a great deal of dignity,
"If your ladyship thinks so, my lady, I'd better go." And I'd desire no
better than that she would take me at my word; for my Lady Dashfort's is
a much better place, I'm told, and she's dying to have me, I know.'

And having formed this resolution, Petito concluded her apparently
interminable soliloquy, and went with my lord's gentleman into the
antechamber, to hear the concert, and give her judgment on everything;
as she peeped in through the vista of heads into the Apollo saloon—for
to-night the Alhambra was transformed into the Apollo saloon—she saw
that whilst the company, rank behind rank, in close semicircles, had
crowded round the performers to hear a favourite singer, Miss Broadhurst
and Lord Colambre were standing in the outer semicircle, talking to
one another earnestly. Now would Petito have given up her reversionary
chance of the three nearly new gowns she expected from Lady Clonbrony,
in case she stayed; or, in case she went, the reversionary chance of any
dress of Lady Dashfort's except her scarlet velvet, merely to hear what
Miss Broadhurst and Lord Colambre were saying. Alas! she could only
see their lips move; and of what they were talking, whether of music
or love, and whether the match was to be on or off; she could
only conjecture. But the diplomatic style having now descended to
waiting-maids, Mrs. Petito talked to her friends in the antechamber with
as mysterious and consequential an air and tone, as a CHARGE D'AFFAIRES,
or as the lady of a CHARGE D'AFFAIRES, could have assumed. She spoke
of HER PRIVATE BELIEF; of THE IMPRESSION LEFT UPON HER MIND; and her
CONFIDANTIAL reasons for thinking as she did; of her 'having had it
from the FOUNTAIN'S head;' and of 'her fear of any COMMITTAL of her
authorities.'

Notwithstanding all these authorities, Lord Colambre left London next
day, and pursued his way to Ireland, determined that he would see and
judge of that country for himself, and decide whether his mother's
dislike to residing there was founded on caprice or reasonable causes.

In the meantime, it was reported in London that his lordship was gone to
Ireland to make out the title to some estate, which would be necessary
for his marriage settlement with the great heiress, Miss Broadhurst.
Whether Mrs. Petito or Sir Terence O'Fay had the greater share in
raising and spreading this report, it would be difficult to determine;
but it is certain, however or by whomsoever raised, it was most useful
to Lord Clonbrony, by keeping his creditors quiet.

The tide did not permit the packet to reach the Pigeon-house, and the
impatient Lord Colambre stepped into a boat, and was rowed across the
bay of Dublin. It was a fine summer morning. The sun shone bright on the
Wicklow mountains. He admired, he exulted in the beauty of the prospect;
and all the early associations of his childhood, and the patriotic hopes
of his riper years, swelled his heart as he approached the shores of
his native land. But scarcely had he touched his mother earth, when
the whole course of his ideas was changed; and if his heart swelled,
it swelled no more with pleasurable sensations, for instantly he found
himself surrounded and attacked by a swarm of beggars and harpies,
with strange figures and stranger tones: some craving his charity, some
snatching away his luggage, and at the same time bidding him 'never
trouble himself,' and 'never fear.' A scramble in the boat and on shore
for bags and parcels began, and an amphibious fight betwixt men, who had
one foot on sea and one on land, was seen; and long and loud the battle
of trunks and portmanteaus raged! The vanquished departed, clinching
their empty hands at their opponents, and swearing inextinguishable
hatred; while the smiling victors stood at ease, each grasping his
booty—bag, basket, parcel, or portmanteau: 'And, your honour, where
WILL these go?—Where WILL We carry 'em all to, for your honour?' was
now the question. Without waiting for an answer, most of the goods were
carried at the discretion of the porters to the custom-house, where,
to his lordship's astonishment, after this scene of confusion, he found
that he had lost nothing but his patience; all his goods were safe,
and a few TINPENNIES made his officious porters happy men and boys;
blessings were showered upon his honour, and he was left in peace at
an excellent hotel in —Street, Dublin. He rested, refreshed himself,
recovered his good-humour, and walked into the coffee-house, where he
found several officers—English, Irish, and Scotch. One English officer,
a very gentleman-like, sensible-looking man, of middle age, was sitting
reading a little pamphlet, when Lord Colambre entered; he looked up from
time to time, and in a few minutes rose and joined the conversation; it
turned upon the beauties and defects of the city of Dublin. Sir James
Brooke, for that was the name of the gentleman, showed one of his
brother officers the book which he had been reading, observing that, in
his opinion, it contained one of the best views of Dublin which he had
ever seen, evidently drawn by the hand of a master, though in a slight,
playful, and ironical style: it was 'AN INTERCEPTED LETTER FROM CHINA.'
The conversation extended from Dublin to various parts of Ireland, with
all which Sir James Brooke showed that he was well acquainted. Observing
that this conversation was particularly interesting to Lord Colambre,
and quickly perceiving that he was speaking to one not ignorant
of books, Sir James spoke of different representations and
misrepresentations of Ireland. In answer to Lord Colambre's inquiries,
he named the works which had afforded him most satisfaction; and with
discriminative, not superficial celerity, touched on all ancient and
modern authors, from Spenser and Davies to Young and Beaufort. Lord
Colambre became anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of a gentleman
who appeared so able and willing to afford him information. Sir James
Brooke, on his part, was flattered by this eagerness of attention, and
pleased by our hero's manners and conversation; so that, to their mutual
satisfaction, they spent much of their time together whilst they were
at this hotel; and, meeting frequently in society in Dublin, their
acquaintance every day increased and grew into intimacy—an intimacy
which was highly advantageous to Lord Colambre's views of obtaining a
just idea of the state of manners in Ireland. Sir James Brooke had at
different periods been quartered in various parts of the country—had
resided long enough in each to become familiar with the people, and had
varied his residence sufficiently to form comparisons between different
counties, their habits, and characteristics. Hence he had it in his
power to direct the attention of our young observer at once to the
points most worthy of his examination, and to save him from the common
error of travellers—the deducing general conclusions from a few
particular cases, or arguing from exceptions as if they were rules.
Lord Colambre, from his family connexions, had of course immediate
introduction into the best society in Dublin, or rather into all the
good society of Dublin. In Dublin there is positively good company, and
positively bad; but not, as in London, many degrees of comparison: not
innumerable luminaries of the polite world, moving in different orbits
of fashion, but all the bright planets of note and name move and revolve
in the same narrow limits. Lord Colambre did not find that either his
father's or his mother's representations of society in Dublin resembled
the reality, which he now beheld. Lady Clonbrony had, in terms of
detestation, described Dublin such as it appeared to her soon after the
Union; Lord Clonbrony had painted it with convivial enthusiasm, such as
he saw it long and long before the Union, when FIRST he drank claret
at the fashionable clubs. This picture, unchanged in his memory, and
unchangeable by his imagination, had remained, and ever would remain,
the same. The hospitality of which the father boasted, the son found in
all its warmth, but meliorated and refined; less convivial, more social;
the fashion of hospitality had improved. To make the stranger eat or
drink to excess, to set before him old wine and old plate, was no
longer the sum of good breeding. The guest now escaped the pomp of grand
entertainments; was allowed to enjoy ease and conversation, and to taste
some of that feast of reason and that flow of soul so often talked of,
and so seldom enjoyed. Lord Colambre found a spirit of improvement, a
desire for knowledge, and a taste for science and literature, in most
companies, particularly among gentlemen belonging to the Irish bar;
nor did he in Dublin society see any of that confusion of ranks or
predominance of vulgarity of which his mother had complained. Lady
Clonbrony had assured him that, the last time she had been at the
drawing-room at the Castle, a lady, whom she afterwards found to be a
grocer's wife, had turned angrily when her ladyship had accidentally
trodden on her train, and had exclaimed with a strong brogue, 'I'll
thank you, ma'am, for the rest of my tail.'