Two days after the last recorded interview between Lord Ballindine and his friend, Dot Blake, the former found himself once more sitting down to dinner with his mother and sisters, the Honourable Mrs O'Kelly and the Honourable Misses O'Kelly; at least such were the t.i.tular dignities conferred on them in County Mayo, though I believe, strictly speaking, the young ladies had no claim to the appellation.

Mrs O'Kelly was a very small woman, with no particularly developed character, and perhaps of no very general utility. She was fond of her daughters, and more than fond of her son, partly because he was so tall and so handsome, and partly because he was the lord, the head of the family, and the owner of the house. She was, on the whole, a good-natured person, though perhaps her temper was a little soured by her husband having, very unfairly, died before he had given her a right to call herself Lady Ballindine. She was naturally shy and reserved, and the seclusion of O'Kelly's Court did not tend to make her less so; but she felt that the position and rank of her son required her to be dignified; and consequently, when in society, she somewhat ridiculously aggravated her natural timidity with an a.s.sumed rigidity of demeanour.

She was, however, a good woman, striving, with small means, to do the best for her family; prudent and self-denying, and very diligent in looking after the house servants.

Her two daughters had been, at the instance of their grandfather, the courtier, christened Augusta and Sophia, after the two Princesses of that name, and were now called Guss and Sophy: they were both pretty, good-natured girls--one with dark brown and the other light brown hair: they both played the harp badly, sung tolerably, danced well, and were very fond of nice young men. They both thought Kelly's Court rather dull; but then they had known nothing better since they had grown up, and there were some tolerably nice people not very far off, whom they occasionally saw: there were the Dillons, of Ballyhaunis, who had three thousand a-year, and spent six; they were really a delightful family--three daughters and four sons, all unmarried, and up to anything: the sons all hunted, shot, danced, and did everything that they ought to do--at least in the eyes of young ladies; though some of their more coldly prudent acquaintances expressed an opinion that it would be as well if the three younger would think of doing something for themselves; but they looked so manly and handsome when they breakfasted at Kelly's Court on a hunt morning, with their bright tops, red coats, and hunting-caps, that Guss and Sophy, and a great many others, thought it would be a shame to interrupt them in their career.

And then, Ballyhaunis was only eight miles from Kelly's Court; though they were Irish miles, it is true, and the road was not patronised by the Grand Jury; but the distance was only eight miles, and there were always beds for them when they went to dinner at Peter Dillon's. Then there were the Blakes of Castletown. To be sure they could give no parties, for they were both unmarried; but they were none the worse for that, and they had plenty of horses, and went out everywhere.

And the Blakes of Morristown; they also were very nice people; only unfortunately, old Blake was always on his keeping, and couldn't show himself out of doors except on Sundays, for fear of the bailiffs. And the Browns of Mount Dillon, and the Browns of Castle Brown; and General Bourke of Creamstown. All these families lived within fifteen or sixteen miles of Kelly's Court, and prevented the O'Kellys from feeling themselves quite isolated from the social world. Their nearest neighbours, however, were the Armstrongs, and of them they saw a great deal.

The Reverend Joseph Armstrong was rector of Ballindine, and Mrs O'Kelly was his parishioner, and the only Protestant one he had; and, as Mr Armstrong did not like to see his church quite deserted, and as Mrs O'Kelly was, as she flattered herself, a very fervent Protestant, they were all in all to each other.

Ballindine was not a good living, and Mr Armstrong had a very large family; he was, therefore, a poor man. His children were helpless, uneducated, and improvident; his wife was nearly worn out with the labours of bringing them forth and afterwards catering for them; and a great portion of his own life was taken up in a hard battle with tradesmen and t.i.the-payers, creditors, and debtors. Yet, in spite of the insufficiency of his two hundred a-year to meet all or half his wants, Mr Armstrong was not an unhappy man. At any moment of social enjoyment he forgot all his cares and poverty, and was always the first to laugh, and the last to cease to do so. He never refused an invitation to dinner, and if he did not entertain many in his own house, it was his fortune, and not his heart, that prevented him from doing so. He could hardly be called a good clergyman, and yet his remissness was not so much his own fault as that of circ.u.mstances. How could a Protestant rector be a good parish clergyman, with but one old lady and her daughters, for the exercise of his clerical energies and talents? He constantly lauded the zeal of St. Paul for proselytism; but, as he himself once observed, even St. Paul had never had to deal with the obstinacy of an Irish Roman Catholic. He often regretted the want of work, and grieved that his profession, as far as he saw and had been instructed, required nothing of him but a short service on every Sunday morning, and the celebration of the Eucharist four times a-year; but such were the facts; and the idleness which this want of work engendered, and the habits which his poverty induced, had given him a character as a clergyman, very different from that which the high feelings and strict principles which animated him at his ordination would have seemed to ensure. He was, in fact, a loose, slovenly man, somewhat too fond of his tumbler of punch; a little lax, perhaps, as to clerical discipline, but very staunch as to doctrine. He possessed no industry or energy of any kind; but he was good-natured and charitable, lived on friendly terms with all his neighbours, and was intimate with every one that dwelt within ten miles of him, priest and parson, lord and commoner.

Such was the neighbourhood of Kelly's Court, and among such Lord Ballindine had now made up his mind to remain a while, till circ.u.mstances should decide what further steps he should take with regard to f.a.n.n.y Wyndham. There were a few hunting days left in the season, which he intended to enjoy; and then he must manage to make shift to lull the time with shooting, fishing, farming, and nursing his horses and dogs.

His mother and sisters had heard nothing of the rumour of the quarrel between Frank and f.a.n.n.y, which Mat Tierney had so openly alluded to at Handicap Lodge; and he was rather put out by their eager questions on the subject. Nothing was said about it till the servant withdrew, after dinner, but the three ladies were too anxious for information to delay their curiosity any longer.

"Well, Frank," said the elder sister, who was sitting over the fire, close to his left elbow--(he had a bottle of claret at his right)--"well, Frank, do tell us something about f.a.n.n.y Wyndham; we are so longing to hear; and you never will write, you know."

"Everybody says it's a brilliant match," said the mother. "They say here she's forty thousand pounds: I'm sure I hope she has, Frank."

"But when is it to be?" said Sophy. "She's of age now, isn't she? and I thought you were only waiting for that. I'm sure we shall like her; come, Frank, do tell us--when are we to see Lady Ballindine?"

Frank looked rather serious and embarra.s.sed, but did not immediately make any reply.

"You haven't quarrelled, have you, Frank?" said the mother.

"The match isn't off--is it?" said Guss.

"Miss Wyndham has just lost her only brother," said he; "he died quite suddenly in London about ten days since; she was very much attached to him."

"Good gracious, how shocking!" said Sophy.

"I'm sorry," said Guss.

"Why, Frank," said their mother, now excited into absolute animation; "his fortune was more than double hers, wasn't it?--who'll have it now?"

"It was, mother; five times as much as hers, I believe."

"Gracious powers! and who has it now? Why don't you tell me, Frank?"

"His sister f.a.n.n.y."

"Heavens and earth!--I hope you're not going to let her quarrel with you, are you? Has there been anything between you? Have there been any words between you and Lord Cashel? Why don't you tell me, Frank, when you know how anxious I am?"

"If you must know all about it, I have not had any words, as you call them, with f.a.n.n.y Wyndham; but I have with her guardian. He thinks a hundred and twenty thousand pounds much too great a fortune for a Connaught viscount. However, I don't think so. It will be for time to show what f.a.n.n.y thinks. Meanwhile, the less said about it the better; remember that, girls, will you?"

"Oh, we will--we won't say a word about it; but she'll never change her mind because of her money, will she?"

"That's what would make me love a man twice the more," said Guss; "or at any rate show it twice the stronger."

"Frank," said the anxious mother, "for heaven's sake don't let anything stand between you and Lord Cashel; think what a thing it is you'd lose!

Why; it'd pay all the debts, and leave the property worth twice what it ever was before. If Lord Cashel thinks you ought to give up the hounds, do it at once, Frank; anything rather than quarrel with him. You could get them again, you know, when all's settled."

"I've given up quite as much as I intend for Lord Cashel."

"Now, Frank, don't be a fool, or you'll repent it all your life: what does it signify how much you give up to such a man as Lord Cashel? You don't think, do you, that he objects to our being at Kelly's Court?

Because I'm sure we wouldn't stay a moment if we thought that."

"Mother, I wouldn't part with a cur dog out of the place to please Lord Cashel. But if I were to do everything on earth at his beck and will, it would make no difference: he will never let me marry f.a.n.n.y Wyndham if he can help it; but, thank G.o.d, I don't believe he can."

"I hope not--I hope not. You'll never see half such a fortune again."

"Well, mother, say nothing about it one way or the other, to anybody.

And as you now know how the matter stands, it's no good any of us talking more about it till I've settled what I mean to do myself."

"I shall hate her," said Sophy, "if her getting all her brother's money changes her; but I'm sure it won't." And so the conversation ended.

Lord Ballindine had not rested in his paternal halls the second night, before he had commenced making arrangements for a hunt breakfast, by way of letting all his friends know that he was again among them.

And so missives, in Guss and Sophy's handwriting, were sent round by a bare-legged little boy, to all the Mounts, Towns, and Castles, belonging to the Dillons, Blakes, Bourkes, and Browns of the neighbourhood, to tell them that the dogs would draw the Kelly's Court covers at eleven o'clock on the following Tuesday morning, and that the preparatory breakfast would be on the table at ten. This was welcome news to the whole neighbourhood. It was only on the Sunday evening that the sportsmen got the intimation, and very busy most of them were on the following Monday to see that their nags and breeches were all right--fit to work and fit to be seen. The four Dillons, of Ballyhaunis, gave out to their grooms a large a.s.sortment of pipe-clay and putty-powder. Bingham Blake, of Castletown, ordered a new set of girths to his hunting saddle; and his brother Jerry, who was in no slight degree proud of his legs, but whose nether trappings were rather the worse from the constant work of a heavy season, went so far as to go forth very early on the Monday morning to excite the Ballinrobe tailor to undertake the almost impossible task of completing him a pair of doeskin by the Tuesday morning. The work was done, and the breeches home at Castletown by eight--though the doeskin had to be purchased in Tuam, and an a.s.sistant artist taken away from his mother's wake, to sit up all night over the seams. But then the tailor owed a small trifle of arrear of rent for his potato-garden, and his landlord was Jerry Blake's cousin-german [34]. There's nothing carries one further than a good connexion, thought both Jerry and the tailor when the job was finished.

[FOOTNOTE 34: cousin-german--first cousin]

Among the other invitations sent was one to Martin Kelly,--not exactly worded like the others, for though Lord Ballindine was perhaps more anxious to see him than anyone else, Martin had not yet got quite so high in the ladder of life as to be asked to breakfast at Kelly's Court. But the fact that Frank for a moment thought of asking him showed that he was looking upwards in the world's estimation. Frank wrote him a note himself, saying that the hounds would throw off at Kelly's Court, at eleven; that, if he would ride over, he would be sure to see a good hunt, and that he, Lord Ballindine, had a few words to say to him on business, just while the dogs were being put into the cover. Martin, as usual, had a good horse which he was disposed to sell, if, as he said, he got its value; and wrote to say he would wait on Lord Ballindine at eleven. The truth was, Frank wanted to borrow money from him.

Another note was sent to the Glebe, requesting the Rector to come to breakfast and to look at the hounds being thrown off. The modest style of the invitation was considered as due to Mr Armstrong's clerical position, but was hardly rendered necessary by his habits; for though the parson attended such meetings in an old suit of rusty black, and rode an equally rusty-looking pony, he was always to be seen, at the end of the day, among those who were left around the dogs.

On the Tuesday morning there was a good deal of bustle at Kelly's Court. All the boys about the place were collected in front of the house, to walk the gentlemen's horses about while the riders were at breakfast, and earn a sixpence or a fourpenny bit; and among them, sitting idly on the big steppingstone placed near the door, was Jack the fool, who, for the day, seemed to have deserted the service of Barry Lynch.

And now the red-coats flocked up to the door, and it was laughable to see the knowledge of character displayed by the gossoons in the selection of their customers. One or two, who were known to be "bad pays," were allowed to dismount without molestation of any kind, and could not even part with their steeds till they had come to an absolute bargain as to the amount of gratuity to be given. Lambert Brown was one of these unfortunate characters--a younger brother who had a little, and but a very little money, and who was determined to keep that. He was a miserable hanger-on at his brother's house, without profession or prospects; greedy, stingy, and disagreeable; endowed with a squint, and long lank light-coloured hair: he was a bad horseman, always craning and shirking in the field, boasting and lying after dinner; nevertheless, he was invited and endured because he was one of the Browns of Mount Dillon, cousin to the Browns of Castle Brown, nephew to Mrs Dillon the member's wife, and third cousin of Lord Ballaghaderrin.

He dismounted in the gravel circle before the door, and looked round for someone to take his horse; but none of the urchins would come to him. At last he caught hold of a little ragged boy whom he knew, from his own side of the country, and who had come all the way there, eight long Irish miles, on the chance of earning sixpence and seeing a hunt.

"Here, Patsy, come here, you born little divil," and he laid hold of the arm of the brat, who was trying to escape from him--"come and hold my horse for me--and I'll not forget you."

"Shure, yer honer, Mr Lambert, I can't thin, for I'm afther engaging myself this blessed minute to Mr Larry Dillon, only he's jist trotted round to the stables to spake a word to Mick Keogh."

"Don't be lying, you little blackguard; hould the horse, and don't stir out of that."

"Shure how can I, Mr Lambert, when I've been and guv my word to Mr Larry?" and the little fellow put his hands behind him, that he might not be forced to take hold of the reins.

"Don't talk to me, you young imp, but take the horse. I'll not forget you when I come out. What's the matter with you, you fool; d'ye think I'd tell you a lie about it?"

Patsy evidently thought he would; for though he took the horse almost upon compulsion, he whimpered as he did so, and said:

"Shure, Mr Lambert, would you go and rob a poor boy of his chances?--I come'd all the way from Ballygla.s.s this blessed morning to 'arn a tizzy, and av' I doesn't get it from you this turn, I'll--" But Lambert Brown had gone into the house, and on his return after breakfast he fully justified the lad's suspicion, for he again promised him that he wouldn't forget him, and that he'd see him some day at Mr Dillon's.

"Well, Lambert Brown," said the boy, as that worthy gentleman rode off, "it's you're the raal blackguard--and it's well all the counthry knows you: sorrow be your bed this night; it's little the poor'll grieve for you, when you're stretched, or the rich either, for the matther of that."

Very different was the reception Bingham Blake got, as he drove up with his tandem and tax-cart: half-a-dozen had kept themselves idle, each in the hope of being the lucky individual to come in for Bingham's shilling.