The Absentee (36 page)

In what words of polite circumlocution, or of cautious diplomacy, shall
we say, or hint, that the deceased ambassador's papers were found in
shameful disorder. His excellency's executor, Sir James Brooke, however,
was indefatigable in his researches. He and Lord Colambre spent two
whole days in looking over portfolios of letters and memorials, and
manifestoes, and bundles of paper of the most heterogeneous sorts; some
of them without any docket or direction to lead to a knowledge of their
contents; others written upon in such a manner as to give an erroneous
notion of their nature; so that it was necessary to untie every paper
separately. At last, when they had opened, as they thought, every paper,
and, wearied and in despair, were just on the point of giving up the
search, Lord Colambre spied a bundle of old newspapers at the bottom of
a trunk.

'They are only old Vienna Gazettes; I looked at them,' said Sir James.

Lord Colambre, upon this assurance, was going to throw them into the
trunk again; but observing that the bundle had not been untied, he
opened it, and within-side of the newspapers he found a rough copy of
the ambassador's journal, and with it the packet, directed to Ralph
Reynolds sen., Esq., Old Court, Suffolk, per favour of his excellency,
Earl —, a note on the cover, signed O'Halloran, stating when received
by him, and the date of the day when delivered to the ambassador—seals
unbroken. Our hero was in such a transport of joy at the sight of this
packet, and his friend Sir James Brooke so full of his congratulations,
that they forgot to curse the ambassador's carelessness, which had been
the cause of so much evil.

The next thing to be done was to deliver the packet to Ralph Reynolds,
Old Court, Suffolk. But when Lord Colambre arrived at Old Court,
Suffolk, he found all the gates locked, and no admittance to be had. At
last an old woman came out of the porter's lodge, who said Mr. Reynolds
was not there, and she could not say where he was. After our hero had
opened her heart by the present of half a guinea, she explained, that
she 'could not JUSTLY say where he was, because that he never let
anybody of his own people know where he was any day; he had several
different houses and places in different parts, and far-off counties,
and other shires, as she heard, and by times he was at one, and by times
at another.' The names of two of the places, Toddrington and Little
Wrestham, she knew; but there were others to which she could give no
direction. He had houses in odd parts of London, too, that he let; and
sometimes, when the lodgers' time was out, he would go, and be never
heard of for a month, maybe, in one of them. In short, there was no
telling or saying where he was or would be one day of the week, by where
he had been the last.'

When Lord Colambre expressed some surprise that an old gentleman, as he
conceived Mr. Ralph Reynolds to be, should change places so frequently,
the old woman answered, 'That though her master was a deal on the wrong
side of seventy, and though, to look at him, you'd think he was glued to
his chair, and would fall to pieces if he should stir out of it, yet was
as alert, and thought no more of going about, than if he was as young
as the gentleman who was now speaking to her. It was old Mr. Reynolds's
delight to come down and surprise his people at his different places,
and see that they were keeping all tight.'

'What sort of a man is he;—Is he a miser?' said Lord Colambre.

'He is a miser, and he is not a miser,' said the woman. 'Now he'd
think as much of the waste of a penny as another man would of a hundred
pounds, and yet he would give a hundred pounds easier than another would
give a penny, when he's in the humour. But his humour is very odd,
and there's no knowing where to have him; he's gross-grained, and more
POSITIVER-like than a mule; and his deafness made him worse in this,
because he never heard what nobody said, but would say on his own
way—he was very ODD but not CRACKED—no, he was as clear-headed, when
he took a thing the right way, as any man could be, and as clever, and
could talk as well as any member of Parliament,—and good-natured, and
kind-hearted, where he would take a fancy—but then, maybe, it would be
to a dog (he was remarkable fond of dogs), or a cat, or a rat even,
that he would take a fancy, and think more of 'em than he would of a
Christian. But, Poor gentleman, there's great allowance,' said she, 'to
be made for him, that lost his son and heir—that would have been heir
to all, and a fine youth that he doted upon. But,' continued the old
woman, in whose mind the transitions from GREAT to little, from serious
to trivial, were ludicrously abrupt, 'that was no reason why the old
gentleman should scold me last time he was here, as he did, for as long
as ever he could stand over me, only because I killed a mouse who was
eating my cheese; and, before night, he beat a boy for stealing a piece
of that same cheese; and he would never, when down here, let me set a
mouse-trap.'

'Well, my good woman,' interrupted Lord Colambre, who was little
interested in this affair of the mouse-trap, and nowise curious to
learn more of Mr. Reynolds's domestic economy, 'I'll not trouble you any
farther, if you can be so good as to tell me the road to Toddrington, or
to Little Wickham, I think you call it.'

Little Wickham!' repeated the woman, laughing—' Bless you, sir, where
do you come from?—It's Little Wrestham; surely everybody knows, near
Lantry; and keep the PIKE till you come to the turn at Rotherford, and
then you strike off into the by-road to the left, and then again turn at
the ford to the right. But, if you are going to Toddrington, you don't
go the road to market, which is at the first turn to the left, and the
cross-country road, where there's no quarter, and Toddrington lies—but
for Wrestham, you take the road to market.'

It was some time before our hero could persuade the old woman to stick
to Little Wrestham, or to Toddrington, and not to mix the directions for
the different roads together—he took patience, for his impatience only
confused his director the more. In process of time, he made out, and
wrote down, the various turns that he was to follow, to reach Little
Wrestham; but no human power could get her from Little Wrestham to
Toddrington, though she knew the road perfectly well; but she had, for
the seventeen last years, been used to go 'the other road,' and all the
carriers went that way, and passed the door, and that was all she could
certify.

Little Wrestham, after turning to the left and right as often as his
directory required, our hero happily reached; but, unhappily, he found
no Mr. Reynolds there; only a steward, who gave nearly the same account
of his master as had been given by the old woman, and could not guess
even where the gentleman might now be. Toddrington was as likely as any
place—but he could not say.

'Perseverance against fortune.' To Toddrington our hero proceeded,
through cross-country roads—such roads!—very different from the Irish
roads. Waggon ruts, into which the carriage wheels sunk nearly to the
nave—and, from time to time, 'sloughs of despond,' through which it
seemed impossible to drag, walk, wade, or swim, and all the time with a
sulky postillion. 'Oh, how unlike my Larry!' thought Lord Colambre.

At length, in a very narrow lane, going up a hill, said to be two miles
of ascent, they overtook a heavy laden waggon, and they were obliged to
go step by step behind it, whilst, enjoying the gentleman's impatience
much, and the postillion's sulkiness more, the waggoner, in his
embroidered frock, walked in state, with his long sceptre in his hand.

The postillion muttered 'curses not loud, but deep.' Deep or loud,
no purpose would they have answered; the waggoner's temper was proof
against curse in or out of the English language; and from their snail's
pace neither DICKENS nor devil, nor any postillion in England, could
make him put his horses. Lord Colambre jumped out of the chaise, and,
walking beside him, began to talk to him; and spoke of his horses, their
bells, their trappings; the beauty and strength of the thill-horse—the
value of the whole team, which his lordship happening to guess right
within ten pounds, and showing, moreover, some skill about road-making
and waggon-wheels, and being fortunately of the waggoner's own opinion
in the great question about conical and cylindrical rims, he was pleased
with the young chap of a gentleman; and, in spite of the chuffiness of
his appearance and churlishness of his speech, this waggoner's bosom
'being made of penetrating stuff,' he determined to let the gentleman
pass. Accordingly, when half-way up the hill, and the head of the
fore-horse came near an open gate, the waggoner, without saying one word
or turning his head, touched the horse with his long whip—and the horse
turned in at the gate, and then came—

'Dobbin!—Jeho!' and strange calls and sounds, which all the other
horses of the team obeyed; and the waggon turned into the farmyard.

'Now, master! while I turn, you may pass.'

The covering of the waggon caught in the hedge as the waggon turned
in; and as the sacking was drawn back, some of the packages were
disturbed—a cheese was just rolling off on the side next Lord Colambre;
he stopped it from falling; the direction caught his quick eye—'To
Ralph Reynolds, Esq.'—'TODDRINGTON' scratched out; 'Red Lion Square,
London,' written in another hand below.

'Now I have found him! And surely I know that hand!' said Lord Colambre
to himself, looking more closely at the direction.

The original direction was certainly in a handwriting well known to him
it was Lady Dashfort's.

'That there cheese, that you're looking at so cur'ously,' said the
waggoner, has been a great traveller; for it came all the way down from
Lon'on, and now it's going all the way up again back, on account of not
finding the gentleman at home; and the man that booked it told me as how
it came from foreign parts.'

Lord Colambre took down the direction, tossed the honest waggoner a
guinea, wished him good-night, passed, and went on. As soon as he could,
he turned into the London road—at the first town, got a place in the
mail—reached London—saw his father—went directly to his friend, Count
O'Halloran, who was delighted when he beheld the packet. Lord Colambre
was extremely eager to go immediately to old Reynolds, fatigued as
he was; for he had travelled night and day, and had scarcely allowed
himself, mind or body, one moment's repose.

'Heroes must sleep, and lovers too; or they soon will cease to be heroes
or lovers!' said the count. 'Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! this night;
and to-morrow morning we'll finish the adventure in Red Lion Square, or
I will accompany you when and where you will; if necessary, to earth's
remotest bounds.'

The next morning Lord Colambre went to breakfast with the count. The
count, who was not in love, was not up, for our hero was half an hour
earlier than the time appointed. The old servant Ulick, who had attended
his master to England, was very glad to see Lord Colambre again, and,
showing him into the breakfast parlour, could not help saying, in
defence of his master's punctuality—

'Your clocks, I suppose, my lord, are half an hour faster than ours; my
master will be ready to the moment.'

The count soon appeared—breakfast was soon over, and the carriage at
the door; for the count sympathised in his young friend's impatience.
As they were setting out, the count's large Irish dog pushed out of the
house door to follow them and his master would have forbidden him, but
Lord Colambre begged that he might be permitted to accompany them;
for his lordship recollected the old woman's having mentioned that Mr.
Reynolds was fond of dogs.

They arrived in Red Lion Square, found the house of Mr. Reynolds, and,
contrary to the count's prognostics, found the old gentleman up, and
they saw him in his red night-cap at his parlour window. After some
minutes' running backwards and forwards of a boy in the passage, and
two or three peeps taken over the blinds by the old gentleman, they were
admitted.

The boy could not master their names; so they were obliged reciprocally
to announce themselves—'Count O'Halloran and Lord Colambre.' The names
seemed to make no impression on the old gentleman; but he deliberately
looked at the count and his lordship, as if studying WHAT rather
than WHO they were. In spite of the red night-cap, and a flowered
dressing-gown, Mr. Reynolds looked like a gentleman, an odd
gentleman—but still a gentleman.

As Count O'Halloran came into the room, and as his large dog attempted
to follow, the count's voice expressed: 'Say, shall I let him in, or
shut the door?'

'Oh, let him in, by all means, sir, if you please! I am fond of dogs;
and a finer one I never saw; pray, gentlemen, be seated,' said he—a
portion of the complacency inspired by the sight of the dog, diffusing
itself over his manner towards the master of so fine an animal, and
even extending to the master's companion, though in an inferior degree.
Whilst Mr. Reynolds stroked the dog, the count told him that 'the dog
was of a curious breed, now almost extinct—the Irish greyhound, of
which only one nobleman in Ireland, it is said, has now a few of the
species remaining in his possession—Now, lie down, Hannibal,' said the
count. 'Mr. Reynolds, we have taken the liberty, though strangers, of
waiting upon you—'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' interrupted Mr. Reynolds; 'but did I
understand you rightly, that a few of the same species are still to
be had from one nobleman in Ireland? pray, what is his name?' said he,
taking out his pencil.

The count wrote the name for him, but observed, that 'he had asserted
only that a few of these dogs remained in the possession of that
nobleman; he could not answer for it that they were TO BE HAD.'

'Oh, I have ways and means,' said old Reynolds; and, rapping his
snuff-box, and talking, as it was his custom, loud to himself, 'Lady
Dashfort knows all those Irish lords; she shall get one for me—ay! ay!'