The Absentee (25 page)

Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones.
'Good morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; and sorry they
did not call me up to be of SARVICE. Larry was telling us, this morning,
your honour's from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and I heard
talk that there was one on our mountain—maybe, you'd be CUROUS to see,
and so I brought the best I could, but I'm no judge.'

'Nor I, neither,' thought Lord Colambre; but he thanked the young
man, and determined to avail himself of Larry's misconception or false
report; examined the stones very gravely, and said, 'This promises well.
Lapis caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhomboidal, crystal,
blend, garrawachy,' and all the strange names he could think of,
jumbling them together at a venture.

'The LASE!—Is it?' cried the young man, with joy sparkling in his eyes,
as his mother held up the packet. 'Then all's safe! and he's an honest
man, and shame on me, that could suspect he meant us wrong. Lend me the
papers.'

He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover,—'It's the LASE, sure
enough. Shame on me!—But stay, where's the memorandum?'

'It's there, sure,' said his mother, 'where my lord's pencil writ it. I
don't read.—Grace, dear, look.'

The young man put it into her hands, and stood without power to utter a
syllable.

'It's not here! It's gone!—no sign of it.'

'Gracious Heaven! that can't be,' said the old woman, putting on her
spectacles; 'let me see—I remember the very spot.'

'It's taken away—it's rubbed clean out!—Oh, wasn't I fool? But who
could have thought he'd be the villain!' The young man seemed neither to
see nor hear; but to be absorbed in thought.

Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as death—'He'll
go—he's gone.'

'She's gone!' cried Lord Colambre, and the mother just caught her in her
arms as she was falling.

'The chaise is ready, PLASE your honour,' said Larry, coming into the
room. 'Death! what's here?'

'Air!—she's coming to,' said the young man—'Take a drop of water, my
own Grace.'

'Young man, I, promise you,' cried Lord Colambre (speaking in the tone
of a master), striking the young man's shoulder, who was kneeling at
Grace's feet; but recollecting and restraining himself, he added, in a
quiet voice—'I promise you I shall never forget the hospitality I have
received in this house, and I am sorry to be obliged to leave you in
distress.'

These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out of the house, and
into his carriage. 'Go back to them,' said he to the postillion; 'go
back and ask whether, if I should stay a day or two longer in this
country, they would let me return at night and lodge with them. And
here, man, stay, take this,' putting money into his hands, 'for the good
woman of the house.'

The postillion went in, and returned.

'She won't at all—I knew she would not.'

'Well, I am obliged to her for the night's lodging she did give me; I
have no right to expect more.'

'What is it?—Sure she bid me tell you—"and welcome to the lodging;
for," said she, "he is a kind-hearted gentleman;" but here's the money;
it's that I was telling you she would not have at all.'

'Thank you. Now, my good friend Larry, drive me to Clonbrony, and do not
say another word, for I'm not in a talking humour.'

Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. Clonbrony was now a
melancholy scene. The houses, which had been built in a better style of
architecture than usual, were in a ruinous condition; the dashing was
off the walls, no glass in the windows, and many of the roofs without
slates. For the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some measure
accounted by considering that it was Sunday; therefore, of course, all
the shops were shut up, and all the people at prayers. He alighted at
the inn, which completely answered Larry's representation of it. Nobody
to be seen but a drunken waiter, who, as well as he could articulate,
informed Lord Colambre that 'his mistress was in her bed since
Thursday-was-a-week; the hostler at the WASH-WOMAN'S, and the cook at
second prayers.'

Lord Colambre walked to the church, but the church gate was locked and
broken—a calf, two pigs, and an ass, in the churchyard; and several
boys (with more of skin apparent than clothes) were playing at hustlecap
upon a tombstone, which, upon nearer observation, he saw was the
monument of his own family. One of the boys came to the gate, and told
Lord Colambre 'there was no use in going into the church, becaase there
was no church there; nor had not been this twelvemonth; becaase there
was no curate; and the parson was away always, since the lord was at
home—that is, was not at home—he nor the family.'

Lord Colambre returned to the inn, where, after waiting a considerable
time, he gave up the point—he could not get any dinner—and in the
evening he walked out again into the town. He found several ale-houses,
however, open, which were full of people; all of them as busy and as
noisy as possible. He observed that the interest was created by an
advertisement of several farms on the Clonbrony estate, to be set by
Nicholas Garraghty, Esq. He could not help smiling at his being witness
incognito to various schemes for outwitting the agents and defrauding
the landlord; but, on a sudden, the scene was changed; a boy ran in,
crying out, that 'St. Dennis was riding down the hill into the town;
and, if you would not have the license,' said the boy, 'take care of
yourself.'

'IF YOU WOULDN'T HAVE THE LICENCE,' Lord Colambre perceived, by what
followed, meant, 'IF YOU HAVE NOT A LICENCE.' Brannagan immediately
snatched an untasted glass of whisky from a customer's lips (who cried,
Murder!) gave it and the bottle he held in his hand to his wife, who
swallowed the spirits, and ran away with the bottle and glass into some
back hole; whilst the bystanders laughed, saying, 'Well thought of,
Peggy!'

'Clear out all of you at the back door, for the love of heaven, if you
wouldn't be the ruin of me,' said the man of the house, setting a ladder
to a corner of the shop. 'Phil, hoist me up the keg to the loft,' added
he, running up the ladder; 'and one of YEES step up street, and give
Rose M'Givney notice, for she's selling too.'

The keg was hoisted up; the ladder removed; the shop cleared of all
the customers; the shutters shut; the door barred; the counter cleaned.
'Lift your stones, sir, if you plase,' said the wife, as she rubbed the
counter, 'and say nothing of what you SEEN at all; but that you're a
stranger and a traveller seeking a lodging, if you're questioned, or
waiting to see Mr. Dennis. There's no smell of whisky in it now, is
there, sir?'

Lord Colambre could not flatter her so far as to say this—he could only
hope no one would perceive it.

'Oh, and if he would, the smell of whisky was nothing,' as the wife
affirmed, 'for it was everywhere in nature, and no proof again' any one,
good or bad.'

'Now St. Dennis may come when he will, or old Nick himself!' So she tied
up a blue handkerchief over her head, and had the toothache, 'very bad.'

Lord Colambre turned to look for the man of the house.

'He's safe in bed,' said the wife.

'In bed! When?'

'Whilst you turned your head, while I was tying the handkerchief over my
face. Within the room, look, he is snug.'

And there he was in bed certainly, and his clothes on the chest.

A knock, a loud knock at the door.

'St. Dennis himself!—Stay, till I unbar the door,' said the woman; and,
making a great difficulty, she let him in, groaning, and saying—

'We was all done up for the night, PLASE your honour, and myself with
the toothache, very bad—And the lodger, that's going to take an egg
only, before he'd go into his bed. My man's in it, and asleep long ago.'

With a magisterial air, though with a look of blank disappointment, Mr.
Dennis Garraghty walked on, looked into THE ROOM, saw the good man
of the house asleep, heard him snore, and then, returning, asked Lord
Colambre 'who he was, and what brought him there?'

Our hero said he was from England, and a traveller; and now, bolder
grown as a geologist, he talked of his specimens, and his hopes of
finding a mine in the neighbouring mountains; then adopting, as well
as he could, the servile tone and abject manner in which he found Mr.
Dennis was to be addressed, 'he hoped he might get encouragement from
the gentleman at the head of the estate.'

'To bore, is it?—Well, don't BORE me about it. I can't give you any
answer now, my good friend; I'm engaged.'

Out he strutted. 'Stick to him up the town, if you have a mind to get
your answer,' whispered the woman. Lord Colambre followed, for he wished
to see the end of this scene.

'Well, sir, what are you following and sticking to me, like my shadow,
for?' said Mr. Dennis, turning suddenly upon Lord Colambre.

His lordship bowed low. 'Waiting for my answer, sir, when you are at
leisure.

Or, may I call upon you tomorrow?'

'You seem to be a civil kind of fellow; but, as to boring, I don't
know—if you undertake it at your own expense. I dare say there may be
minerals in the ground. Well, you may call at the castle to-morrow, and
when my brother has done with the tenantry, I'll speak to him FOR
you, and we'll consult together, and see what we think. It's too late
to-night. In Ireland, nobody speaks to a gentleman about business after
dinner—your servant, sir; anybody can show you the way to the castle
in the morning.' And, pushing by his lordship, he called to a man on
the other side of the street, who had obviously been waiting for him;
he went under a gateway with this man, and gave him a bag of guineas.
He then called for his horse, which was brought to him by a man whom
Colambre had heard declaring that he would bid for the land that
was advertised; whilst another, who had the same intentions, most
respectfully held St. Dennis's stirrup, whilst he mounted without
thanking either of these men. St. Dennis clapped spurs to his steed, and
rode away. No thanks, indeed, were deserved; for the moment he was out
of hearing, both cursed him after the manner of their country.

'Bad luck go with you, then!—And may you break your neck before you get
home, if it was not for the LASE I'm to get, and that's paid for.'

Lord Colambre followed the crowd into a public-house, where a new scene
presented itself to his view.

The man to whom St. Dennis gave the bag of gold was now selling this
very gold to the tenants, who were to pay their rent next day at the
castle.

The agent would take nothing but gold. The same guineas were bought and
sold several times over, to the great profit of the agent and loss of
the poor tenants; for, as the rents were paid, the guineas were
resold to another set, and the remittances made through bankers to the
landlord; who, as the poor man who explained the transaction to Lord
Colambre expressed it, 'gained nothing by the business, bad or good, but
the ill-will of the tenantry.'

The higgling for the price of the gold; the time lost in disputing about
the goodness of the notes, among some poor tenants, who could not read
or write, and who were at the mercy of the man with the bag in his hand;
the vexation, the useless harassing of all who were obliged to submit
ultimately—Lord Colambre saw; and all this time he endured the smell of
tobacco and whisky, and of the sound of various brogues, the din of men
wrangling, brawling, threatening, whining, drawling, cajoling, cursing,
and every variety of wretchedness.

'And is this my father's town of Clonbrony?' thought Lord Colambre. 'Is
this Ireland?—No, it is not Ireland. Let me not, like most of those
who forsake their native country, traduce it. Let me not, even to my own
mind, commit the injustice of taking a speck for the whole. What I have
just seen is the picture only of that to which an Irish estate and Irish
tenantry may be degraded in the absence of those whose duty and interest
it is to reside in Ireland to uphold justice by example and authority;
but who, neglecting this duty, commit power to bad hands and bad
hearts—abandon their tenantry to oppression, and their property to
ruin.'

It was now fine moonlight, and Lord Colambre met with a boy, who said
he could show him a short way across the fields to the widow O'Neill's
cottage.

All were asleep at the cottage, when Lord Colambre arrived, except the
widow, who was sitting up, waiting for him; and who had brought her dog
into the house, that he might not fly at him, or bark at his return. She
had a roast chicken ready for her guest, and it was—but this she never
told him the only chicken she had left; all the others had been sent
with the DUTY-FOWL as a present to the under-agent's lady. While he was
eating his supper, which he ate with the better appetite, as he had had
no dinner, the good woman took down from the shelf a pocket-book, which
she gave him: 'Is not that your book?' said she. 'My boy Brian found it
after you in the potato furrow, where you dropped it.'

'Thank you,' said Lord Colambre; 'there are bank notes in it, which I
could not afford to lose.'

'Are there?' said she; 'he never opened it—nor I.'

Then, in answer to his inquiries about Grace and the young man, the
widow answered, 'They are all in heart now, I thank ye kindly, sir, for
asking; they'll sleep easy to-night anyway, and I'm in great spirits for
them and myself—for all's smooth now. After we parted you, Brian saw
Mr. Dennis himself about the LASE and memorandum, which he never denied,
but knew nothing about. "But, be that as it may," says he, "you're
improving tenants, and I'm confident my brother will consider ye; so
what you'll do is, you'll give up the possession to-morrow to myself,
that will call for it by cock-crow, just for form's sake; and then go up
to the castle with the new LASE ready drawn, in your hand, and if all's
paid off clear of the rent, and all that's due, you'll get the new LASE
signed; I'll promise you that upon the word and honour of a gentleman."
And there's no going beyond that, you know, sir. So my boy came home
as light as a feather, and as gay as a lark, to bring us the good news;
only he was afraid we might not make up the rent, guineas and all; and
because he could not get paid for the work he done, on account of
the mistake in the overseer's tally, I sold the cow to a
neighbour—dog-cheap; but needs must, as they say, when old Nick
DRIVES,' said the widow, smiling. 'Well, still it was but paper we got
for the cow; then that must be gold before the agent would take or touch
it so I was laying out to sell the dresser, and had taken the plates and
cups, and little things off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy
the carpenter, that was agreeing for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy,
and out of breath—it's a wonder I minded her run out, and not missed
her. "Mother," says she, "here's the gold for you! don't be stirring
your dresser."—"And where's your gown and cloak, Grace?" says I. But I
beg your pardon, sir; maybe I'm tiring you?'