Lord Colambre had waited with great impatience for an answer to the
letter of inquiry which he had written about Miss Nugent’s mother.
A letter from Lady Clonbrony arrived; he opened it with the greatest
eagerness—passed over ‘Rheumatism warm weather—warm bath—Buxton
balls—Miss Broadhurst—your FRIEND, Sir Arthur Berryl, very assiduous!’
The name of Grace Nugent he found at last, and read as follows:
Her mother’s maiden name was ST. OMAR; and there was a FAUX PAS,
certainly. She was, I am told (for it was before my time), educated at a
convent abroad; and there was an affair with a Captain Reynolds, a
young officer, which her friends were obliged to hush up. She brought an
infant to England with her, and took the name of Reynolds—but none of
that family would acknowledge her; and she lived in great obscurity,
till your uncle Nugent saw, fell in love with her, and (knowing her
whole history) married her. He adopted the child, gave her his name,
and, after some years, the whole story was forgotten. Nothing could
be more disadvantageous to Grace than to have it revived: this is the
reason we kept it secret.
Lord Colambre tore the letter to bits.
From the perturbation which Lady Dashfort saw in his countenance, she
guessed the nature of the letter which he had been reading, and for the
arrival of which he had been so impatient.
‘It has worked!’ said she to herself. ‘POUR LE COUP PHILIPPE JE TE
TIENS!’
Lord Colambre appeared this day more sensible, than he had ever yet
seemed, to the charms of the fair Isabel.
‘Many a tennis-ball, and many a heart is caught at the rebound,’ said
Lady Dashfort. ‘Isabel! now is your time!’
And so it was—or so, perhaps, it would have been, but for a
circumstance which her ladyship, with all her genius for intrigue, had
never taken into her consideration. Count O’Halloran came to return the
visit which had been paid to him; and, in the course of conversation,
he spoke of the officers who had been introduced to him, and told Lady
Dashfort that he had heard a report which shocked him much—he hoped
it could not be true—that one of these officers had introduced his
mistress as his wife to Lady Oranmore, who lived in the neighbourhood.
This officer, it was said, had let Lady Oranmore send her carriage for
this woman; and that she had dined at Oranmore with her ladyship and her
daughters.[1] ‘But I cannot believe it! I cannot believe it to be
possible, that any gentleman, that any officer, could do such a thing!’
said the count.
‘And is this all?’ exclaimed Lady Dashfort. ‘Is this all the terrible
affair, my good count, which has brought your face to this prodigious
length?’
The count looked at Lady Dashfort with astonishment.
‘Such a look of virtuous indignation,’ continued she, ‘did I never
behold, on or off the stage. Forgive me for laughing, count; but,
believe me, comedy goes through the world better than tragedy, and, take
it all in all, does rather less mischief. As to the thing in question, I
know nothing about it: I dare say, it is not true; but, now, suppose it
was—it is only a silly QUIZ, of a raw young officer, upon a prudish
old dowager. I know nothing about it, for my part; but, after all, what
irreparable mischief has been done? Laugh at the thing, and then it is
a jest—a bad one, perhaps, but still only a jest—and there’s an end
of it; but take it seriously, and there is no knowing where it might
end—in half a dozen duels, maybe.’
‘Of that, madam,’ said the count, ‘Lady Oranmore’s prudence and presence
of mind have prevented all danger. Her ladyship WOULD not understand the
insult. She said, or she acted as if she said, “JE NE VEUX RIEN
VOIR, RIEN ECOUTER, RIEN SAVOIR.” Lady Oranmore is one of the most
respectable—’
‘Count, I beg your pardon!’ interrupted Lady Dashfort; ‘but I must tell
you that your favourite, Lady Oranmore, has behaved very ill to me;
purposely omitted to invite Isabel to her ball; offended and insulted
me:—her praises, therefore, cannot be the most agreeable subject of
conversation you can choose for my amusement; and as to the rest, you,
who have such variety and so much politeness, will, I am sure, have the
goodness to indulge my caprice in this instance.’
I shall obey your ladyship, and be silent, whatever pleasure it might
give me to speak on that subject,’ said the count; ‘and I trust Lady
Dashfort will reward me by the assurance that, however playfully she may
have just now spoken, she seriously disapproves and is shocked.’
‘Oh, shocked! shocked to death! if that will satisfy you, my dear
count.’
The count, obviously, was not satisfied; he had civil, as well as
military courage, and his sense of right and wrong could stand against
the raillery and ridicule of a fine lady.
The conversation ended: Lady Dashfort thought it would have no further
consequences; and she did not regret the loss of a man like Count
O’Halloran, who lived retired in his castle, and who could not have
any influence upon the opinion of the fashionable world. However,
upon turning from the count to Lord Colambre, who she thought had been
occupied with Lady Isabel, and to whom she imagined all this dispute was
uninteresting, she perceived, by his countenance, that she had made a
great mistake. Still she trusted that her power over Lord Colambre
was sufficient easily to efface whatever unfavourable impression this
conversation had made upon his mind. He had no personal interest in the
affair; and she had generally found that people are easily satisfied
about any wrong or insult, public or private, in which they have no
immediate concern. But all the charms of her conversation were now tried
in vain to reclaim him from the reverie into which he had fallen.
His friend Sir James Brooke’s parting advice occurred to our hero; his
eyes began to open to Lady Dashfort’s character; and he was, from this
moment, freed from her power. Lady Isabel, however, had taken no part
in all this—she was blameless; and, independently of her mother, and
in pretended opposition of sentiment, she might have continued to retain
the influence she had gained over Lord Colambre, but that a slight
accident revealed to him her real disposition.
It happened, on the evening of this day, that Lady Isabel came into the
library with one of the young ladies of the house, talking very eagerly,
without perceiving Lord Colambre, who was sitting in one of the recesses
reading.
‘My dear creature, you are quite mistaken,’ said Lady Isabel, ‘he was
never a favourite of mine; I always detested him; I only flirted with
him to plague his wife. Oh that wife, my dear Elizabeth, I do hate!’
cried she, clasping her hands, and expressing hatred with all her soul
and with all her strength. ‘I detest that Lady de Cresey to such a
degree, that, to purchase the pleasure of making her feel the pangs of
jealousy for one hour, look, I would this moment lay down this finger
and let it be cut off.’
The face, the whole figure of Lady Isabel at this moment appeared to
Lord Colambre suddenly metamorphosed; instead of the soft, gentle,
amiable female, all sweet charity and tender sympathy, formed to love
and to be loved, he beheld one possessed and convulsed by an evil
spirit—her beauty, if beauty it could be called, the beauty of a fiend.
Some ejaculation, which he unconsciously uttered, made Lady Isabel
start. She saw him—saw the expression of his countenance, and knew that
all was over.
Lord Colambre, to the utter astonishment and disappointment of Lady
Dashfort, and to the still greater mortification of Lady Isabel,
announced this night that it was necessary he should immediately pursue
his tour in Ireland. We pass over all the castles in the air which the
young ladies of the family had built, and which now fell to the ground.
We pass all the civil speeches of Lord and Lady Killpatrick; all the
vehement remonstrances of Lady Dashfort; and the vain sighs of Lady
Isabel, To the last moment Lady Dashfort said—
‘He will not go.’
But he went; and, when he was gone, Lady Dashfort exclaimed, ‘That man
has escaped from me.’ And after a pause, turning to her daughter, she,
in the most taunting and contemptuous terms, reproached her as the cause
of this failure, concluding by a declaration that she must in future
manage her own affairs, and had best settle her mind to marry Heathcock,
since every one else was too wise to think of her.
Lady Isabel of course retorted. But we leave this amiable mother and
daughter to recriminate in appropriate terms, and we follow our hero,
rejoiced that he has been disentangled from their snares. Those who
have never been in similar peril will wonder much that he did not escape
sooner; those who have ever been in like danger will wonder more that
he escaped at all. Those who are best acquainted with the heart or
imagination of man will be most ready to acknowledge that the combined
charms of wit, beauty, and flattery, may, for a time, suspend the action
of right reason in the mind of the greatest philosopher, or operate
against the resolutions of the greatest of heroes.
Lord Colambre pursued his way to Castle Halloran, desirous, before he
quitted this part of the country, to take leave of the count, who had
shown him much civility, and for whose honourable conduct, and generous
character, he had conceived a high esteem, which no little peculiarities
of antiquated dress or manner could diminish. Indeed, the old-fashioned
politeness of what was formerly called a well-bred gentleman pleased him
better than the indolent or insolent selfishness of modern men of the
ton. Perhaps, notwithstanding our hero’s determination to turn his mind
from everything connected with the idea of Miss Nugent, some latent
curiosity about the burial-place of the Nugents might have operated to
make him call upon the count. In this hope he was disappointed; for a
cross miller to whom the abbey-ground was set, on which the burial-place
was found, had taken it into his head to refuse admittance, and none
could enter his ground.
Count O’Halloran was much pleased by Lord Colambre’s visit. The very day
of Lord Colambre’s arrival at Halloran Castle, the count was going to
Oranmore; he was dressed, and his carriage was waiting; therefore Lord
Colambre begged that he might not detain him, and the count requested
his lordship to accompany him.
‘Let me have the honour of introducing you, my lord, to a family,
with whom, I am persuaded, you will be pleased; by whom you will be
appreciated; and at whose house you will have an opportunity of seeing
the best manner of living of the Irish nobility.’ Lord Colambre accepted
the invitation, and was introduced at Oranmore. The dignified appearance
and respectable character of Lady Oranmore; the charming unaffected
manners of her daughters; the air of domestic happiness and comfort in
her family; the becoming magnificence, free from ostentation, in her
whole establishment; the respect and affection with which she was
treated by all who approached her, delighted and touched Lord Colambre;
the more, perhaps, because he had heard this family so unjustly abused;
and because he saw Lady Oranmore and her daughter, in immediate contrast
to Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel.’
A little circumstance which occurred during this visit increased his
interest for the family, When Lady de Cresey’s little boys came in after
dinner, one of them was playing with a seal, which had just been torn
from a letter. The child showed it to Lord Colambre, and asked him to
read the motto. The motto was,’Deeds, not words’—his friend Sir James
Brooke’s motto, and his arms. Lord Colambre eagerly inquired if this
family was acquainted with Sir James, and he soon perceived that they
were not only acquainted with him, but that they were particularly
interested about him.
Lady Oranmore’s second daughter, Lady Harriet, appeared particularly
pleased by the manner in which Lord Colambre spoke of Sir James. And the
child, who had now established himself on his lordship’s knee, turned
round, and whispered in his ear, ‘‘Twas Aunt Harriet gave me the seal;
Sir James is to be married to Aunt Harriet, and then he will be my
uncle.’
Some of the principal gentry of this part of the country happened
to dine at Oranmore one of the days Lord Colambre was there. He
was surprised at the discovery, that there were so many agreeable,
well-informed, and well-bred people, of whom, while he was at
Killpatrickstown, he had seen nothing. He now discerned how far he had
been deceived by Lady Dashfort.
Both the count, and Lord and Lady Oranmore, who were warmly attached to
their country, exhorted him to make himself amends for the time he
had lost, by seeing with his own eyes, and judging with his own
understanding, of the country and its own inhabitants, during the
remainder of the time he was to stay in Ireland. The higher classes, in
most countries, they observed were generally similar; but, in the lower
class, he would find many characteristic differences.
When he first came to Ireland, he had been very eager to go and see
his father’s estate, and to judge of the conduct of his agents, and
the condition of his tenantry; but this eagerness had subsided, and the
design had almost faded from his mind, whilst under the influence
of Lady Dashfort’s misrepresentations. A mistake, relative to some
remittance from his banker in Dublin, obliged him to delay his journey
a few days, and during that time Lord and Lady Oranmore showed him the
neat cottages, the well-attended schools, in their neighbourhood. They
showed him not only what could be done, but what had been done, by
the influence of great proprietors residing on their own estates, and
encouraging the people by judicious kindness.
He saw, he acknowledged the truth of this; but it did not come home to
his feelings now as it would have done a little while ago. His views
and plans were altered; he looked forward to the idea of marrying and
settling in Ireland, and then everything in the country was interesting
to him; but since he had forbidden himself to think of a union with
Miss Nugent, his mind had lost its object and its spring; he was
not sufficiently calm to think of the public good; his thoughts were
absorbed by his private concern. He knew, and repeated to himself,
that he ought to visit his own and his father’s estates, and to see the
condition of his tenantry; he desired to fulfil his duties, but they
ceased to appear to him easy and pleasurable, for hope and love no
longer brightened his prospects.
That he might see and hear more than he could as heir-apparent to
the estate, he sent his servant to Dublin to wait for him there. He
travelled INCOGNITO, wrapped himself in a shabby greatcoat, and took the
name of Evans. He arrived at a village, or, as it was called, a town,
which bore the name of Colambre. He was agreeably surprised by the air
of neat—ness and finish in the houses and in the street, which had
a nicely-swept paved footway. He slept at a small but excellent
inn—excellent, perhaps, because it was small, and proportioned to
the situation and business of the place. Good supper, good bed, good
attendance; nothing out of repair; no things pressed into services
for what they were never intended by nature or art; none of what are
vulgarly called MAKE-SHIFTS. No chambermaid slipshod, or waiter smelling
of whisky; but all tight and right, and everybody doing their own
business, and doing it as if it was their everyday occupation, not as
if it was done by particular desire, for first or last time this season.
The landlord came in at supper to inquire whether anything was wanted.
Lord Colambre took this opportunity of entering into conversation
with him, and asked him to whom the town belonged, and who were the
proprietors of the neighbouring estates.
‘The town belongs to an absentee lord—one Lord Clonbrony, who lives
always beyond the seas, in London; and never seen the town since it was
a town, to call a town.’
‘And does the land in the neighbourhood belong to this Lord Clonbrony?’
‘It does, sir; he’s a great proprietor, but knows nothing of his
property, nor of us. Never set foot among us, to my knowledge, since I
was as high as the table. He might as well be a West India planter, and
we negroes, for anything he knows to the contrary—has no more care, nor
thought about us, than if he were in Jamaica, or the other world. Shame
for him!—But there’s too many to keep him in countenance.’
Lord Colambre asked him what wine he could have; and then inquired who
managed the estate for this absentee.
‘Mr. Burke, sir. And I don’t know why God was so kind to give so good an
agent to an absentee like Lord Clonbrony, except it was for the sake of
us, who is under him, and knows the blessing, and is thankful for the
same.’
‘Very good cutlets,’ said Lord Colambre.
‘I am happy to hear it, sir. They have a right to be good, for Mrs.
Burke sent her own cook to teach my wife to dress cutlets.’
‘So the agent is a good agent, is he?’
‘He is, thanks be to Heaven! And that’s what few can boast, especially
when the landlord’s living over the seas: we have the luck to have got a
good agent over us, in Mr. Burke, who is a right bred gentleman; a snug
little property of his own, honestly made; with the good will and good
wishes, and respect of all.’
‘Does he live in the neighbourhood?’
‘Just CONVANIENT[2] At the end of the town; in the
house on the hill, as you passed, sir; to the left, with the trees about
it, all of his planting, finely grown too—for there’s a blessing on all
he does, and he has done a deal.—There’s salad, sir, if you are partial
to it. Very fine lettuce. Mrs. Burke sent us the plants herself.’
‘Excellent salad! So this Mr. Burke has done a great deal, has he? In
what way!’
‘In every way, sir—sure was not it he that had improved, and fostered,
and made the town of Colambre?—no thanks to the proprietor, nor to the
young man whose name it bears, neither!’
‘Have you any porter, pray, sir?’
‘We have, sir, as good, I hope, as you’d drink in London, for it’s the
same you get there, I understand, from Cork. And I have some of my own
brewing, which, they say, you could not tell the difference between it
and Cork quality—if you’d be pleased to try. Harry, the corkscrew.’
The porter of his own brewing was pronounced to be extremely good; and
the landlord observed it was Mr. Burke encouraged him to learn to brew,
and lent him his own brewer for a time to teach him.
‘Your Mr. Burke, I find, is APROPOS to porter, APROPOS to salad, APROPOS
to cutlets, APROPOS to everything,’ said Lord Colambre, smiling;
‘he seems to be a NON-PAREIL of an agent. I suppose you are a great
favourite of his, and you do what you please with him?’
‘Oh no, sir, I could not say that; Mr. Burke does not have favourites
anyway; but according to my deserts, I trust, I stand well enough with
him, for, in truth, he is a right good agent.’
Lord Colambre still pressed for particulars; he was an Englishman, and a
stranger, he said, and did not exactly know what was meant in Ireland by
a good agent.
‘Why, he is the man that will encourage the improving tenant; and show
no favour or affection, but justice, which comes even to all, and does
best for all at the long run; and, residing always in the country,
like Mr. Burke, and understanding country business, and going about
continually among the tenantry, he knows when to press for the rent, and
when to leave the money to lay out upon the land; and, according as they
would want it, can give a tenant a help or a check properly. Then no
duty-work called for, no presents, nor GLOVE-MONEY, nor SEALING-MONEY
even, taken or offered; no underhand hints about proposals, when land
would be out of lease, but a considerable preference, if desArved, to
the old tenant, and if not, a fair advertisement, and the best offer and
tenant accepted; no screwing of the land to the highest penny, just to
please the head landlord for the minute, and ruin him at the end, by the
tenant’s racking the land, and running off with the year’s rent; nor
no bargains to his own relations or friends did Mr. Burke ever give or
grant, but all fair between landlord and tenant; and that’s the thing
that will last; and that’s what I call the good agent.’
Lord Colambre poured out a glass of wine, and begged the innkeeper to
drink the good agent’s health, in which he was heartily pledged. ‘I
thank your honour;—Mr. Burke’s health! and long may he live over and
amongst us; he saved me from drink and ruin, when I was once inclined to
it, and made a man of me and all my family.’
The particulars we cannot stay to detail: this grateful man, however,
took pleasure in sounding the praises of his benefactor, and in raising
him in the opinion of the traveller.
‘As you’ve time, and are curious about such things, sir, perhaps you’d
walk up to the school that Mrs. Burke has for the poor children; and
look at the market-house, and see how clean he takes a pride to keep the
town; and any house in the town, from the priest to the parson’s, that
you’d go into, will give you the same character as I do of Mr. Burke:
from the brogue to the boot, all speak the same of him, and can say no
other. God for ever bless and keep him over us!’
Upon making further inquiries, everything the innkeeper had said
was confirmed by different inhabitants of the village. Lord Colambre
conversed with the shopkeepers, with the cottagers; and, without making
any alarming inquiries, he obtained all the information he wanted. He
went to the village school—a pretty, cheerful house, with a neat
garden and a play-green; met Mrs. Burke; introduced himself to her as
a traveller. The school was shown to him: it was just what it ought
to be—neither too much nor too little had been attempted; there was
neither too much interference nor too little attention. Nothing for
exhibition; care to teach well, without any vain attempt to teach in a
wonderfully short time. All that experience proves to be useful, in
both Dr. Bell’s and Mr. Lancaster’s modes of teaching, Mrs. Burke had
adopted; leaving it to ‘graceless zealots’ to fight about the rest.
That no attempts at proselytism had been made, and that no illiberal
distinctions had been made in this school, Lord Colambre was convinced,
in the best manner possible, by seeing the children of Protestants and
Catholics sitting on the same benches, learning from the same books, and
speaking to one another with the same cordial familiarity. Mrs. Burke
was an unaffected, sensible woman, free from all party prejudices, and,
without ostentation, desirous and capable of doing good. Lord Colambre
was much pleased with her, and very glad that she invited him to dinner.
Mr. Burke did not come in till late; for he had been detained portioning
out some meadows, which were of great consequence to the inhabitants of
the town. He brought home to dine with him the clergyman and the priest
of the parish, both of whom he had taken successful pains to accommodate
with the land which suited their respective convenience. The good terms
on which they seemed to be with each other, and with him, appeared to
Lord Colambre to do honour to Mr. Burke. All the favourable accounts his
lordship had received of this gentleman were confirmed by what he saw
and heard. After the clergyman and priest had taken leave, upon Lord
Colambre’s expressing some surprise, mixed with satisfaction, at seeing
the harmony which subsisted between them, Mr. Burke assured him that
this was the same in many parts of Ireland. He observed, that ‘as the
suspicion of ill-will never fails to produce it,’ so he had often
found, that taking it for granted that no ill-will exists has the most
conciliating effect. He said, to please opposite parties, he used no
arts; but he tried to make all his neighbours live comfortably together,
by making them acquainted with each other’s good qualities; by giving
them opportunities of meeting sociably, and, from time to time, of doing
each other little services and good offices. ‘Fortunately, he had so
much to do,’ he said, ‘that he had no time for controversy. He was a
plain man, made it a rule not to meddle with speculative points, and to
avoid all irritating discussions; he was not to rule the country, but to
live in it, and make others live as happily as he could.’
Having nothing to conceal in his character, opinions, or circumstances,
Mr. Burke was perfectly open and unreserved in his manner and
conversation; freely answered all the traveller’s inquiries, and took
pains to show him everything he desired to see. Lord Colambre said he
had thoughts of settling in Ireland; and declared, with truth, that he
had not seen any part of the country he should like better to live in
than this neighbourhood. He went over most of the estate with Mr. Burke,
and had ample opportunities of convincing himself that this gentleman
was indeed, as the innkeeper had described him, ‘a right good gentleman,
and a right good agent.’
He paid Mr. Burke some just compliments on the state of the tenantry,
and the neat and flourishing appearance of the town of Colambre.
‘What pleasure it will give the proprietor when he sees all you have
done!’ said Lord Colambre.
‘Oh, sir, don’t speak of it!—that breaks my heart, he never has shown
the least interest in anything I have done; he is quite dissatisfied
with me, because I have not ruined his tenantry, by forcing them to pay
more than the land is worth; because I have not squeezed money from them
by fining down rents; and—but all this, as an Englishman, sir, must be
unintelligible to you. The end of the matter is, that, attached as I am
to this place and the people about me, and, as I hope, the tenantry are
to me—I fear I shall be obliged to give up the agency.’
‘Give up the agency! How so?—you must not,’ cried Lord Colambre, and,
for the moment, he forgot himself; but Mr. Burke took this only for an
expression of good-will.
‘I must, I am afraid,’ continued he. ‘My employer, Lord Clonbrony, is
displeased with me—continual calls for money come upon me from England,
and complaints of my slow remittances.’
‘Perhaps Lord Clonbrony is in embarrassed circumstances said Lord
Colambre.
‘I never speak of my employer’s affairs, sir,’ replied Mr. Burke; now
for the first time assuming an air of reserve.
‘I beg pardon, sir—I seem to have asked an indiscreet question.’ Mrs.
Burke was silent.
‘Lest my reserve should give you a false impression, I will add, sir,’
resumed Mr. Burke, ‘that I really am not acquainted with the state
of his lordship’s affairs in general. I know only what belongs to the
estate under my own management. The principal part of his lordship’s
property, the Clonbrony estate, is under another agent, Mr. Garraghty.’
‘Garraghty!’ repeated Lord Colambre; ‘what sort of a person is he? But
I may take it for granted, that it cannot fall to the lot of one and the
same absentee to have two such agents as Mr. Burke.’
Mr. Burke bowed, and seemed pleased by the compliment, which he knew he
deserved—but not a word did he say of Mr. Garraghty; and Lord Colambre,
afraid of betraying himself by some other indiscreet question, changed
the conversation.
That very night the post brought a letter to Mr. Burke, from Lord
Clonbrony, which Mr. Burke gave to his wife as soon as he had read it,
saying—
‘See the reward of all my services!’
Mrs. Burke glanced her eye over the letter, and, being extremely fond
of her husband, and sensible of his deserving far different treatment,
burst into indignant exclamations—
‘See the reward of all your services, indeed!—What an unreasonable,
ungrateful man!—So, this is the thanks for all you have done for Lord
Clonbrony!’
‘He does not know what I have done, my dear. He never has seen what I
have done.’
‘More shame for him!’
‘He never, I suppose, looks over his accounts, or understands them.’
‘More shame for him!’
He listens to foolish reports, or misrepresentations, perhaps. He is at
a distance, and cannot find out the truth.’
‘More shame for him!’
‘Take it quietly, my dear; we have the comfort of a good conscience. The
agency may be taken from me by this lord; but the sense of having done
my duty, no lord or man upon earth can give or take away.’
‘Such a letter!’ said Mrs. Burke, taking it up again. ‘Not even
the civility to write with his own hand!—only his signature to the
scrawl—looks as if it was written by a drunken man, does not it, Mr.
Evans?’ said she, showing the letter to Lord Colambre, who immediately
recognised the writing of Sir Terence O’Fay.
‘It does not look like the hand of a gentleman, indeed,’ said Lord
Colambre.
‘It has Lord Clonbrony’s own signature, let it be what it will,’ said
Mr. Burke, looking closely at it; ‘Lord Clonbrony’s own writing the
signature is, I am clear of that.’
Lord Clonbrony’s son was clear of it also; but he took care not to give
any opinion on that point.
‘Oh, pray, read it, sir, read it,’ said Mrs. Burke, pleased by his tone
of indignation; ‘read it, pray; a gentleman may write a bad hand, but no
GENTLEMAN could write such a letter as that to Mr. Burke—pray read it,
sir; you who have seen something of what Mr. Burke has done for the town
of Colambre, and what he has made of the tenantry and the estate of Lord
Clonbrony.’
Lord Colambre read, and was convinced that his father had never written
or read the letter, but had signed it, trusting to Sir Terence O’Fay’s
having expressed his sentiments properly.
SIR, As I have no further occasion for your services, you will take
notice, that I hereby request you will forthwith hand over, on or before
the 1st of November next, your accounts, with the balance due of the
HANGING-GALE (which, I understand, is more than ought to be at this
season) to Nicholas O’Garraghty, Esq., College Green, Dublin, who in
future will act as agent, and shall get, by post, immediately, a power
of attorney for the same, entitling him to receive and manage the
Colambre as well as the Clonbrony estate, for, Sir, your obedient humble
servant, CLONBRONY.
‘GROSVENOR SQUARE.’
Though misrepresentation, caprice, or interest, might have induced Lord
Clonbrony to desire to change his agent, yet Lord Colambre knew that his
father never could have announced his wishes in such a style; and, as he
returned the letter to Mrs. Burke, he repeated, he was convinced that it
was impossible that any nobleman could have written such a letter; that
it must have been written by some inferior person; and that his lordship
had signed it without reading it.
‘My dear, I’m sorry you showed that letter to Mr. Evans,’ said Mr.
Burke; ‘I don’t like to expose Lord Clonbrony; he is a well-meaning
gentleman, misled by ignorant or designing people; at all events, it is
not for us to expose him.’
‘He has exposed himself,’ said Mrs. Burke; ‘and the world should know
it.’
‘He was very kind to me when I was a young man,’ said Mr. Burke; ‘we
must not forget that now, because we are angry, my love.’
‘Why, no, my love, to be sure we should not; but who could have
recollected it just at this minute but yourself?—And now, sir,’ turning
to Lord Colambre, ‘you see what kind of a man this is: now is it not
difficult for me to bear patiently to see him ill-treated?’
‘Not only difficult, but impossible, I should think, madam,’ said Lord
Colambre; ‘I know, even I, who am a stranger, cannot help feeling for
both of you, as you must see I do.’
‘And half the world, who don’t know him,’ continued Mrs. Burke, ‘when
they hear that Lord Clonbrony’s agency is taken from him, will think,
perhaps, that he is to blame.’
‘No, madam,’ said Lord Colambre; ‘that you need not fear; Mr. Burke may
safely trust to his character; from what I have within these two days
seen and heard, I am convinced that such is the respect he has deserved
and acquired, that no blame can touch him.’
‘Sir, I thank you,’ said Mrs. Burke, the tears coming into her eyes;
‘you can judge—you do him justice; but there are so many who don’t know
him, and who will decide without knowing any of the facts.’
‘That, my dear, happens about everything to everybody,’ said Mr. Burke;
‘but we must have patience; time sets all judgments right, sooner or
later.’
‘But the sooner the better,’ said Mrs. Burke. ‘Mr. Evans, I hope you
will be so kind, if ever you hear this business talked of—’
‘Mr. Evans lives in Wales, my dear.’
But he is travelling through Ireland, my dear, and he said he should
return to Dublin, and, you know, there he certainly will hear it talked
of; and I hope he will do me the favour to state what he has seen and
knows to be the truth.’
‘Be assured that I will do Mr. Burke justice—as far as it is in my
power,’ said Lord Colambre, restraining himself much, that he might not
say more than became his assumed character. He took leave of this worthy
family that night, and, early the next morning, departed.
‘Ah!’ thought he, as he drove away from this well-regulated and
flourishing place, ‘how happy I might be, settled here with such a wife
as—her of whom I must think no more.’
He pursued his way to Clonbrony, his father’s other estate, which was at
a considerable distance from Colambre; he was resolved to know what
kind of agent Mr. Nicholas Garraghty might be, who was to supersede Mr.
Burke, and by power of attorney to be immediately entitled to receive
and manage the Colambre as well as the Clonbrony estate.
Footnotes
Nguồn: Wikisource English — The Absentee/Chapter IX. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.