The Absentee (3 page)

Mordicai, waiting till the laugh was over, dryly observed that 'the law
is executed in another guess sort of way in England from what it is in
Ireland'; therefore, for his part, he desired nothing better than to set
his wits fairly against such SHARKS. That there was a pleasure in doing
up a debtor which none but a creditor could know.

'In a moment, sir; if you'll have a moment's patience, sir, if you
please,' said the slow foreman to Lord Colambre; 'I must go down the
pounds once more, and then I'll let you have it.'

'I'll tell you what, Smithfield,' continued Mr. Mordicai, coming close
beside his foreman, and speaking very low, but with a voice trembling
with anger, for he was piqued by his foreman's doubts of his capacity
to cope with Sir Terence O'Fay; 'I'll tell you what, Smithfield, I'll be
cursed, if I don't get every inch of them into my power. You know how?'

'You are the best judge, sir,' replied the foreman; 'but I would not
undertake Sir Terence; and the question is, whether the estate will
answer the LOT of the debts, and whether you know them all for certain?'

'I do, sir, I tell you. There's Green there's Blancham—there's
Gray—there's Soho—naming several more—and, to my knowledge, Lord
Clonbrony—'

'Stop, sir,' cried Lord Colambre in a voice which made Mordicai, and
everybody present, start—'I am his son—'

'The devil!' said Mordicai.

'God bless every bone in his body, then! he's an Irishman,' cried Paddy;
'and there was the RASON my heart warmed to him from the first minute he
come into the yard, though I did not know it till now.'

'What, sir! are you my Lord Colambre?' said Mr. Mordicai, recovering,
but not clearly recovering, his intellects. 'I beg pardon, but I did not
know you WAS Lord Colambre. I thought you told me you was the friend of
Mr. Berryl.'

'I do not see the incompatibility of the assertion, sir,' replied Lord
Colambre, taking from the bewildered foreman's unresisting hand the
account, which he had been so long FURNISHING.

'Give me leave, my lord,' said Mordicai. 'I beg your pardon, my lord,
perhaps we can compromise that business for your friend Mr. Berryl;
since he is your lordship's friend, perhaps we can contrive to
COMPROMISE and SPLIT THE DIFFERENCE.'

TO COMPROMISE and SPLIT THE DIFFERENCE, Mordicai thought were favourite
phrases, and approved Hibernian modes of doing business, which would
conciliate this young Irish nobleman, and dissipate the proud tempest
which had gathered and now swelled in his breast.

'No, sir, no!' cried Lord Colambre, holding firm the paper. 'I want no
favour from you. I will accept of none for my friend or for myself.'

'Favour! No, my lord, I should not presume to offer—But I should wish,
if you'll allow me, to do your friend justice.'

Lord Colambre recollecting that he had no right, in his pride, to ding
away his friend's money, let Mr. Mordicai look at the account; and, his
impetuous temper in a few moments recovered by good sense, he considered
that, as his person was utterly unknown to Mr. Mordicai, no offence
could have been intended to him, and that, perhaps, in what had been
said of his father's debts and distress, there might be more truth than
he was aware of. Prudently, therefore, controlling his feelings, and
commanding himself, he suffered Mr. Mordicai to show him into a parlour,
to SETTLE his friend's business. In a few minutes the account was
reduced to a reasonable form, and, in consideration of the partner's
having made the bargain, by which Mr. Mordicai felt himself influenced
in honour, though not bound in law, he undertook to have the curricle
made better than new again, for Mr. Berryl, for twenty guineas. Then
came awkward apologies to Lord Colambre, which he ill endured. 'Between
ourselves, my lord,' continued Mordicai—

But the familiarity of the phrase, 'Between ourselves'—this implication
of equality—Lord Colambre could not admit; he moved hastily towards the
door and departed.

Full of what he had heard, and impatient to obtain further information
respecting the state of his father's affairs, Lord Colambre hastened
home; but his father was out, and his mother was engaged with Mr. Soho,
directing, or rather being directed, how her apartments should be fitted
up for her gala. As Lord Colambre entered the room, he saw his mother,
Miss Nugent, and Mr. Soho, standing at a large table, which was covered
with rolls of paper, patterns, and drawings of furniture: Mr. Soho was
speaking in a conceited dictatorial tone, asserting that there was no
'colour in nature for that room equal to THE BELLY-O'-THE FAWN;' which
BELLY-O'-THE FAWN he so pronounced that Lady Clonbrony understood it to
be LA BELLE UNIFORME, and, under this mistake, repeated and assented to
the assertion till it was set to rights, with condescending superiority,
by the upholsterer. This first architectural upholsterer of the age, as
he styled himself, and was universally admitted to be by all the world
of fashion, then, with full powers given to him, spoke EN MAITRE. The
whole face of things must be changed—there must be new hangings, new
draperies, new cornices, new candelabras, new everything!

The upholsterer's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Glances from ceiling to
floor, from floor to ceiling; And, as imagination bodies forth The form
of things unknown, th' upholsterer's pencil Turns to shape and gives to
airy nothing A local habitation and a NAME.

Of the value of a NAME no one could be more sensible than Mr. Soho.

'Your la'ship sees—this is merely a scratch of my pencil—your
la'ship's sensible—just to give you an idea of the shape, the form
of the thing. You fill up your angles here with ECOINIERES—round your
walls with the TURKISH TENT DRAPERY—a fancy of my own—in apricot
cloth, or crimson velvet, suppose, or EN FLUTE, in crimson satin
draperies, fanned and riched with gold fringes, EN SUITE—intermediate
spaces, Apollo's heads with gold rays—and here, ma'am, you place four
CHANCELIERES, with chimeras at the corners, covered with blue silk and
silver fringe, elegantly fanciful—with my STATIRA CANOPY here—light
blue silk draperies—aerial tint, with silver balls—and for
seats here, the SERAGLIO OTTOMANS, superfine scarlet—your
paws—griffin—golden—and golden tripods, here, with antique
cranes—and oriental alabaster tables here and there—quite appropriate,
your la'ship feels.

'And—let me reflect. For the next apartment, it strikes me—as your
la'ship don't value expense—THE ALHAMBRA HANGINGS—my own thought
entirely. Now, before I unroll them, Lady Clonbrony, I must beg you'll
not mention I've shown them. I give you my sacred honour, not a soul has
set eye upon the Alhambra hangings, except Mrs. Dareville, who stole
a peep; I refused, absolutely refused, the Duchess of Torcaster—but I
can't refuse your la'ship. So see, ma'am—(unrolling them)—scagliola
porphyry columns supporting the grand dome—entablature, silvered and
decorated with imitative bronze ornaments; under the entablature, A
VALANCE IN PELMETS, of puffed scarlet silk, would have an unparalleled
grand effect, seen through the arches—with the TREBISOND TRELLICE
PAPER, would make a TOUT ENSEMBLE, novel beyond example. On that
Trebisond trellice paper, I confess, ladies, I do pique myself.

'Then, for the little room, I recommend turning it temporarily into
a Chinese pagoda, with this CHINESE PAGODA PAPER, with the PORCELAIN
border, and josses, and jars, and beakers to match; and I can venture
to promise one vase of pre-eminent size and beauty. Oh, indubitably! if
your la'ship prefers it, you can have the EGYPTIAN HIEROGLYPHIC PAPER,
with the IBIS BORDER to match! The only objection is, one sees it
everywhere—quite antediluvian—gone to the hotels even; but, to be
sure, if your la'ship has a fancy—At all events, I humbly recommend,
what her Grace of Torcaster longs to patronise, my MOON CURTAINS,
with candlelight draperies. A demisaison elegance this—I hit off
yesterday—and—true, your la'ship's quite correct—out of the common,
completely. And, of course, you'd have the SPHYNX CANDELABRAS, and the
Phoenix argands. Oh! nothing else lights now, ma'am! Expense! Expense of
the whole! Impossible to calculate here on the spot!—but nothing at all
worth your ladyship's consideration!'

At another moment, Lord Colambre might have been amused with all this
rhodomontade, and with the airs and voluble conceit of the orator; but,
after what he had heard at Mr. Mordicai's, this whole scene struck him
more with melancholy than with mirth. He was alarmed by the prospect of
new and unbounded expense; provoked, almost past enduring, by the jargon
and impertinence of this upholsterer; mortified and vexed to the heart
to see his mother the dupe, the sport of such a coxcomb.

'Prince of puppies!—insufferable!—My own mother!' Lord Colambre
repeated to himself, as he walked hastily up and down the room.

'Colambre, won't you let us have your judgment—your TEESTE' said his
mother.

'Excuse me, ma'am. I have no taste, no judgment, in these things.'

He sometimes paused, and looked at Mr. Soho with a strong inclination
to—But knowing that he should say too much, if he said anything, he
was silent never dared to approach the council table—but continued
walking up and down the room, till he heard a voice, which at once
arrested his attention, and soothed his ire. He approached the table
instantly, and listened, whilst Grace Nugent said everything he wished
to have said, and with all the propriety and delicacy with which he
thought he could not have spoken. He leaned on the table, and fixed his
eyes upon her—years ago, he had seen his cousin—last night, he had
thought her handsome, pleasing, graceful—but now, he saw a new person,
or he saw her in a new light. He marked the superior intelligence,
the animation, the eloquence of her countenance, its variety, whilst
alternately, with arch raillery or grave humour, she played off Mr.
Soho, and made him magnify the ridicule, till it was apparent even to
Lady Clonbrony. He observed the anxiety, lest his mother should expose
her own foibles—he was touched by the respectful, earnest kindness—the
soft tones of persuasion, with which she addressed his mother—the care
not to presume upon her own influence—the good sense, the taste she
showed, yet not displaying her superiority—the address, temper, and
patience, with which she at last accomplished her purpose, and
prevented Lady Clonbrony from doing anything preposterously absurd, or
exorbitantly extravagant.

Lord Colambre was actually sorry when the business was ended—when Mr.
Soho departed—for Grace Nugent was then silent; and it was necessary to
remove his eyes from that countenance, on which he had gazed unobserved.
Beautiful and graceful, yet so unconscious was she of her charms, that
the eye of admiration could rest upon her without her perceiving it—she
seemed so intent upon others as totally to forget herself The whole
train of Lord Colambre's thoughts was so completely deranged that,
although he was sensible there was something of importance he had to say
to his mother, yet, when Mr. Soho's departure left him opportunity to
speak, he stood silent, unable to recollect anything but—Grace Nugent.

When Grace Nugent left the room, after some minutes' silence, and some
effort, Lord Colambre said to his mother, 'Pray, madam, do you know
anything of Sir Terence O'Fay?'

'I!' Said Lady Clonbrony, drawing up her head proudly; 'I know he is a
person I cannot endure. He is no friend of mine, I can assure you—nor
any such sort of person.'

'I thought it was impossible!' cried Colambre, with exultation.

'I only wish your father, Colambre, could say as much,' added Lady
Clonbrony.

Lord Colambre's countenance fell again; and again he was silent for some
time.

'Does my father dine at home, ma'am?'

'I suppose not; he seldom dines at home.'

'Perhaps, ma'am, my father may have some cause to be uneasy about—'

'About?' said Lady Clonbrony, in a tone, and with a look of curiosity
which convinced her son that she knew nothing of his debts or
distresses, if he had any. 'About what?' repeated her ladyship.

Here was no receding, and Lord Colambre never had recourse to artifice.

'About his affairs, I was going to say, madam. But, since you know
nothing of any difficulties or embarrassments, I am persuaded that none
exist.'

Nay, I CAWNT tell you that, Colambre. There are difficulties for ready
money, I confess, when I ask for it, which surprise me often. I know
nothing of affairs—ladies of a certain rank seldom do, you know. But,
considering your father's estate, and the fortune I brought him,'
added her ladyship, proudly, 'I CAWNT conceive it at all. Grace Nugent,
indeed, often talks to me of embarrassments and economy; but that, poor
thing, is very natural for her, because her fortune is not particularly
large, and she has left it all, or almost all, in her uncle and
guardian's hands. I know she's often distressed for odd money to lend
me, and that makes her anxious.'

'Is not Miss Nugent very much admired, ma'am, in London?'

'Of course—in the company she is in, you know, she has every advantage.
And she has a natural family air of fashion—not but what she would have
got on much better, if, when she first appeared in Lon'on, she had taken
my advice, and wrote herself on her cards Miss de Nogent, which would
have taken off the prejudice against the IRICISM of Nugent, you know;
and there is a Count de Nogent.'

'I did not know there was any such prejudice, ma'am. There may be among
a certain set; but, I should think, not among well-informed, well-bred
people.'

'I BIG your PAWDON, Colambre; surely I, that was born in England, an
Henglish-woman BAWN! must be well INFAWMED on this PINT, anyway.'

Lord Colambre was respectfully silent.

'Mother,' resumed he, 'I wonder that Miss Nugent is not married!'