The Absentee (39 page)

'Assuredly you will, my dear count; if ever that wedding—'

'IF,' repeated the count.

'IF,' repeated Lord Colambre. 'Obstacles which, when we last parted,
appeared to me invincible, prevented my having ever even attempted to
make an impression on the heart of the woman I love; and if you knew
her, count, as well as I do, you would know that her love could "not
unsought be won."'

'Of that I cannot doubt, or she would not be your choice; but when her
love is sought, we have every reason to hope,' said the count, smiling,
'that it may, because it ought to be won by tried honour and affection.
I only require to be left in hope.'

'Well, I leave you hope,' said Lord Colambre; 'Miss Nugent—Miss
Reynolds, I should say, has been in the habit of considering a union
with me as impossible; my mother early instilled this idea into her
mind. Miss Nugent thought that duty forbad her to think of me; she told
me so: I have seen it in all her conduct and manners. The barriers
of habit, the ideas of duty, cannot, ought not, to be thrown down or
suddenly changed in a well-regulated female mind. And you, I am sure,
know enough of the best female hearts, to be aware that time—'

'Well, well, let this dear good charmer take her own time, provided
there's none given to affectation, or prudery, or coquetry; and from
all these, of course, she must be free; and of course I must be content.
ADIEU AU REVOIR.'

As Lord Colambre was returning home, he was overtaken by Sir Terence
O'Fay.

'Well, my lord,' cried Sir Terence, out of breath, 'you have led me a
pretty dance all over the town; here's a letter somewhere down in my
safe pocket for you, which has cost me trouble enough. Phoo! where is
it now?—it's from Miss Nugent,' said he, holding up the letter. The
direction to Grosvenor Square, London, had been scratched out; and it
had been re-directed by Sir Terence to the Lord Viscount Colambre, at
Sir James Brooke's, Bart., Brookwood, Huntingdonshire, or elsewhere,
with speed. 'But the more haste the worse speed; for away it went to
Brookwood, Huntingdonshire, where I knew, if anywhere, you was to be
found; but, as fate and the post would have it, there the letter went
coursing after you, while you were running round, and back and forwards,
and everywhere, I understand, to Toddrington and Wrestham, and where
not, through all them English places, where there's no cross-post; so I
took it for granted that it found its way to the dead-letter office,
or was sticking up across a pane in the d—d postmaster's window at
Huntingdon, for the whole town to see, and it a love-letter, and some
puppy to claim it, under false pretence; and you all the time without
it, and it might breed a coolness betwixt you and Miss Nugent.'

'But, my dear Sir Terence, give me the letter now you have me.'

'Oh, my dear lord, if you knew what a race I have had, missing you here
by five minutes, and there by five seconds—but I have you at last,
and you have it—and I'm paid this minute for all I liquidated of my
substance, by the pleasure I have in seeing you crack the seal and read
it. But take care you don't tumble over the orange woman—orange barrows
are a great nuisance, when one's studying a letter in the streets of
London, or the metropolis. But never heed; stick to my arm, and I'll
guide you, like a blind man, safe through the thick of them.'

Miss Nugent's letter, which Lord Colambre read in spite of the jostling
of passengers, and the incessant talking of Sir Terence, was as
follows:—

Let me not be the cause of banishing you from your home and your
country, where you would do so much good, and make so many happy. Let me
not be the cause of your breaking your promise to your mother; of your
disappointing my dear aunt, so cruelly, who has complied with all our
wishes, and who sacrifices, to oblige us, her favourite tastes. How
could she ever be happy in Ireland—how could Clonbrony Castle be a home
to her, without her son? if you take away all she had of amusement
and PLEASURE, as it is called, are not you bound to give her, in their
stead, that domestic happiness, which she can enjoy only with you, and
by your means? If, instead of living with her, you go into the army, she
will be in daily, nightly anxiety and alarm about you; and her son will,
instead of being a comfort, be a source of torment to her.

I will hope that you will do now, as you have always hitherto done, on
every occasion where I have seen you act, what is right, and just, and
kind. Come here on the day you promised my aunt you would; before that
time I shall be in Cambridgeshire, with my friend Lady Berryl; she is
so good as to come to Buxton for me—I shall remain with her, instead of
returning to Ireland. I have explained my reasons to my dear aunt—Could
I have any concealment from her, to whom, from my earliest childhood,
I owe everything that kindness and affection could give? She is
satisfied—she consents to my living henceforward with Lady Berryl. Let
me have the pleasure of seeing, by your conduct, that you approve of
mine.—Your affectionate cousin and friend, GRACE NUGENT.

This letter, as may be imagined by those who, like him, are capable
of feeling honourable and generous conduct, gave our hero exquisite
pleasure. Poor, good-natured Sir Terence O'Fay enjoyed his lordship's
delight; and forgot himself so completely, that he never even inquired
whether Lord Colambre had thought of an affair on which he had spoken
to him some time before, and which materially concerned Sir Terence's
interest. The next morning, when the carriage was at the door, and Sir
Terence was just taking leave of his friend Lord Clonbrony, and actually
in tears, wishing them all manner of happiness, though he said there was
none left now in London, or the wide world, even, for him—Lord Colambre
went up to him, and said, 'Sir Terence, you have never inquired whether
I have done your business?'

'Oh, my dear, I'm not thinking of that now—time enough by the post—I
can write after you; but my thoughts won't turn for me to business now
no matter.'

'Your business is done,' replied Lord Colambre.

'Then I wonder how you could think of it, with all you had upon your
mind and heart. When anything's upon my heart, good morning to my head,
it's not worth a lemon. Good-bye to you, and thank you kindly, and all
happiness attend you.'

'Good-bye to you, Sir Terence O'Fay,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'and, since
it's so ordered, I must live without you.'

'Oh! you'll live better without me! my lord; I am not a good liver, I
know, nor the best of all companions for a nobleman, young or old; and
now you'll be rich, and not put to your shifts and your wits, what would
I have to do for you?—Sir Terence O'Fay, you know, was only THE POOR
NOBLEMAN'S FRIEND, and you'll never want to call upon him again, thanks
to your jewel, your Pitt's-di'mond of a son there. So we part here, and
depend upon it you're better without me—that's all my comfort, or my
heart would break. The carriage is waiting this long time, and this
young lover's itching to be off. God bless you both!—that's my last
word.'

They called in Red Lion Square, punctual to the moment, on old Mr.
Reynolds, but his window-shutters were shut; he had been seized in the
night with a violent fit of the gout, which, as he said, held him fast
by the leg. 'But here,' said he, giving Lord Colambre a letter, 'here's
what will do your business without me. Take this written acknowledgment
I have penned for you, and give my grand-daughter her father's letter to
read—it would touch a heart of stone—touched mine—wish I could drag
the mother back out of her grave, to do her justice—all one now. You
see at last I'm not a suspicious rascal, however, for I don't suspect
you of palming a false grand-daughter upon me.'

'Will you,' said Lord Colambre, 'give your grand-daughter leave to come
up to town to you, sir? You would satisfy yourself, at least, as to
what resemblance she may bear to her father; Miss Reynolds will come
instantly, and she will nurse you.'

'No, no; I won't have her come. If she comes, I won't see her—shan't
begin by nursing me—not selfish. As soon as I get rid of this gout, I
shall be my own man, and young again, and I'll soon be after you across
the sea, that shan't stop me; I'll come to—what's the name of your
place in Ireland? and see what likeness I can find to her poor father
in this grand-daughter of mine, that you puffed so finely yesterday. And
let me see whether she will wheedle me as finely as Mrs. Petito would.
Don't get ready your marriage settlements, do you hear, till you have
seen my will, which I shall sign at—what's the name of your place?
Write it down there; there's pen and ink; and leave me, for the twinge
is coming, and I shall roar.'

'Will you permit me, sir, to leave my own servant with you to take care
of you? I can answer for his attention and fidelity.'

'Let me see his face, and I'll tell you.' Lord Colambre's servant was
summoned.

'Yes, I like his face. God bless you!—Leave me.'

Lord Colambre gave his servant a charge to bear with Mr. Reynolds's
rough manner and temper, and to pay the poor old gentleman every
possible attention. Then our hero proceeded with his father on his
journey, and on this journey nothing happened worthy of note. On his
first perusal of the letter from Grace, Lord Colambre had feared that
she would have left Buxton with Lady Berryl before he could reach it;
but, upon recollection, he hoped that the few lines he had written,
addressed to his mother AND Miss Nugent, with the assurance that he
should be with them on Wednesday, would be sufficient to show her that
some great change had happened, and consequently sufficient to
prevent her from quitting her aunt, till she could know whether such a
separation would be necessary. He argued wisely, more wisely than Grace
had reasoned; for, notwithstanding this note, she would have left Buxton
before his arrival, but for Lady Berryl's strength of mind, and positive
determination not to set out with her till Lord Colambre should arrive
to explain. In the interval, poor Grace was, indeed, in an anxious state
of suspense; and her uncertainty, whether she was doing right or wrong,
by staying to see Lord Colambre, tormented her most.

'My dear, you cannot help yourself; be quiet,' said Lady Berryl; 'I will
take the whole upon my conscience; and I hope my conscience may never
have anything worse to answer for.'

Grace was the first person who, from her window, saw Lord Colambre,
the instant the carriage drove to the door. She ran to her friend Lady
Berryl's apartment—'He is come!—Now, take me away!'

'Not yet, my sweet friend! Lie down upon this sofa, if you please; and
keep yourself tranquil, whilst I go and see what you ought to do; and
depend upon me for a true friend, in whose mind, as in your own, duty is
the first object.'

'I depend on you entirely,' said Grace, sinking down on the sofa; 'and
you see I obey you!'

'Many thanks to you for lying down, when you can't stand.'

Lady Berryl went to Lady Clonbrony's apartment; she was met by Sir
Arthur.

'Come, my love! come quick!—Lord Colambre is arrived.'

'I know it; and does he go to Ireland? Speak instantly, that I may tell
Grace Nugent.'

'You can tell her nothing yet, my love; for we know nothing. Lord
Colambre will not say a word till you come; but I know, by his
countenance, that he has good and extraordinary news.'

They passed rapidly along the passage to Lady Clonbrony's room.

'Oh, my dear, dear Lady Berryl, come! or I shall die with impatience,'
cried Lady Clonbrony, in a voice and manner between laughing and crying.
'There, now you have congratulated, are very happy, and very glad, and
all that—now, for mercy's sake, sit down, Lord Clonbrony! for Heaven's
sake, sit down—beside me here—or anywhere! Now, Colambre, begin; and
tell us all at once!'

But as nothing is so tedious as a twice-told tale, Lord Colambre's
narrative need not here be repeated. He began with Count O'Halloran's
visit, immediately after Lady Clonbrony had left London; and went
through the history of the discovery that Captain Reynolds was
the husband of Miss St. Omar, and the father of Grace; the dying
acknowledgment of his marriage; the packet delivered by Count O'Halloran
to the careless ambassador—how recovered, by the assistance of his
executor, Sir James Brooke; the travels from Wrestham to Toddrington,
and thence to Red Lion Square; the interview with old Reynolds, and its
final result; all was related as succinctly as the impatient curiosity
of Lord Colambre's auditors could desire.

'Oh, wonder upon wonder! and joy upon joy!' cried Lady Clonbrony. 'So my
darling Grace is as legitimate as I am, and an heiress after all. Where
is she? where is she? In your room, Lady Berryl?—Oh, Colambre! why
wouldn't you let her be by?—Lady Berryl, do you know, he would not
let me send for her, though she was the person of all others most
concerned!'

'For that very reason, ma'am; and that Lord Colambre was quite right, I
am sure you must be sensible, when you recollect, that Grace has no idea
that she is not the daughter of Mr. Nugent; she has no suspicion that
the breath of blame ever lighted upon her mother. This part of the story
cannot be announced to her with too much caution; and, indeed, her mind
has been so much harassed and agitated, and she is at present so far
from strong, that great delicacy—'

'True! very true, Lady Berryl,' interrupted Lady Clonbrony; 'and I'll
be as delicate as you please about it afterwards; but, in the first and
foremost place, I must tell her the best part of the story—that she's
an heiress, madam, never killed anybody!' So, darting through all
opposition, Lady Clonbrony made her way into the room where Grace was
lying—'Yes, get up! get up! my own Grace, and be surprised—well you
may!—you are an heiress, after all.'