The Absentee (10 page)

She well knew what dire offence has frequently been taken, what sad
disasters have occurred, in the fashionable world, from the neglect of
a porter in delivering, or of a footman in carrying up one of those
talismanic cards. But, in spite of all her manoeuvres, no invitation to
the party arrived next day. Pratt was next set to work. Miss Pratt was
a most convenient go-between, who, in consequence of doing a thousand
little services, to which few others of her rank in life would stoop,
had obtained the ENTREE to a number of great houses, and was behind the
scenes in many fashionable families. Pratt could find out, and Pratt
could hint, and Pratt could manage to get things done cleverly—and
hints were given, in all directions, to WORK ROUND to Lady St. James.
But still they did not take effect. At last Pratt suggested that,
perhaps, though everything else had failed, dried salmon might be tried
with success. Lord Clonbrony had just had some uncommonly good from
Ireland, which Pratt knew Lady St. James would like to have at her
supper, because a certain personage, whom she would not name, was
particularly fond of it.—Wheel within wheel in the fine world, as well
as in the political world!—Bribes for all occasions, and for all ranks!
The timely present was sent, accepted with many thanks, and understood
as it was meant. Per favour of this propitiatory offering, and of a
promise of half a dozen pair of real Limerick gloves to Miss
Pratt—a promise which Pratt clearly comprehended to be a conditional
promise—the grand object was at length accomplished. The very day
before the party was to take place came cards of invitation to Lady
Clonbrony and to Miss Nugent, with Lady St. James's apologies; her
ladyship was concerned to find that, by some negligence of her servants,
these cards were not sent in proper time. 'How slight an apology will do
from some people!' thought Miss Nugent; 'how eager to forgive, when
it is for our interest or our pleasure; how well people act the being
deceived, even when all parties know that they see the whole truth; and
how low pride will stoop to gain its object!'

Ashamed of the whole transaction, Miss Nugent earnestly wished that a
refusal should be sent, and reminded her aunt of her rheumatism; but
rheumatism and all other objections were overruled—Lady Clonbrony would
go. It was just when this affair was thus, in her opinion, successfully
settled, that Lord Colambre came in, with a countenance of unusual
seriousness, his mind full of the melancholy scenes he had witnessed in
his friend's family.

'What is the matter; Colambre?'

He related what had passed; he described the brutal conduct of Mordicai;
the anguish of the mother and sisters; the distress of Mr. Berryl. Tears
rolled down Miss Nugent's cheeks. Lady Clonbrony declared it was very
shocking; listened with attention to all the particulars; but never
failed to correct her son, whenever he said Mr. Berryl.

'Sir ARTHUR Berryl, you mean.'

She was, however, really touched with compassion when he spoke of Lady
Berryl's destitute condition; and her son was going on to repeat what
Mordicai had said to him, but Lady Clonbrony interrupted—

'Oh, my dear Colambre! don't repeat that detestable man's impertinent
speeches to me. If there is anything really about business, speak
to your father. At any rate, don't tell us of it now, because I've a
hundred things to do,' said her ladyship, hurrying out of the room,
'Grace—Grace Nugent! I want you!'

Lord Colambre sighed deeply.

'Don't despair,' said Miss Nugent, as she followed to obey her aunt's
summons. 'Don't despair; don't attempt to speak to her again till
to-morrow morning. Her head is now full of Lady St. James's party. When
it is emptied of that, you will have a better chance. Never despair.'

'Never, while you encourage me to hope—that any good can be done.'

Lady Clonbrony was particularly glad that she had carried her point
about this party at Lady St. James's; because, from the first private
intimation that the Duchess of Torcaster was to be there, her ladyship
flattered herself that the long-desired introduction might then be
accomplished. But of this hope Lady St. James had likewise received
intimation from the double-dealing Miss Pratt; and a warning note was
despatched to the duchess to let her grace know that circumstances had
occurred which had rendered it impossible not to ask THE CLONBRONIES.
An excuse, of course, for not going to this party was sent by the
duchess—her grace did not like large parties—she would have the
pleasure of accepting Lady St. James's invitation for her select party
on Wednesday the 10th. Into these select parties Lady Clonbrony had
never been admitted. In return for her great entertainments she was
invited to great entertainments, to large parties; but farther she could
never penetrate.

At Lady St, James's, and with her set, Lady Clonbrony suffered a
different kind of mortification from that which Lady Langdale and Mrs.
Dareville made her endure. She was safe from the witty raillery, the sly
innuendo, the insolent mimicry; but she was kept at a cold, impassable
distance, by ceremony—'So far shalt thou go, and no farther' was
expressed in every look, in every word, and in a thousand different
ways.

By the most punctilious respect and nice regard to precedency, even by
words of courtesy—'Your ladyship does me honour,' etc.—Lady St. James
contrived to mortify and to mark the difference between those with whom
she was, and with whom she was not, upon terms of intimacy and equality.
Thus the ancient grandees of Spain drew a line of demarcation between
themselves and the newly-created nobility. Whenever or wherever
they met, they treated the new nobles with the utmost respect, never
addressed them but with all their titles, with low bows, and with all
the appearance of being, with the most perfect consideration, anything
but their equals; whilst towards one another the grandees
laid aside their state, and omitting their titles, it was,
'Alcala-Medina-Sidonia-Infantado,' and a freedom and familiarity which
marked equality. Entrenched in etiquette in this manner, and mocked with
marks of respect, it was impossible either to intrude or to complain of
being excluded.

At supper at Lady St. James's, Lady Clonbrony's present was pronounced
by some gentleman to be remarkably high flavoured. This observation
turned the conversation to Irish commodities and Ireland. Lady
Clonbrony, possessed by the idea that it was disadvantageous to appear
as an Irishwoman, or as a favourer of Ireland, began to be embarrassed
by Lady St. James's repeated thanks. Had it been in her power to offer
anything else with propriety, she would not have thought of sending her
ladyship anything from Ireland. Vexed by the questions that were asked
her about HER COUNTRY, Lady Clonbrony, as usual, denied it to be her
country, and went on to depreciate and abuse everything Irish; to
declare that there was no possibility of living in Ireland; and that,
for her own part, she was resolved never to return thither. Lady St.
James, preserving perfect silence, let her go on. Lady Clonbrony,
imagining that this silence arose from coincidence of opinion, proceeded
with all the eloquence she possessed, which was very little,
repeating the same exclamations, and reiterating her vow of perpetual
expatriation; till at last an elderly lady, who was a stranger to her,
and whom she had till this moment scarcely noticed, took up the defence
of Ireland with much warmth and energy: the eloquence with which
she spoke, and the respect with which she was heard, astonished Lady
Clonbrony.

'Who is she?' whispered her ladyship.

'Does not your ladyship know Lady Oranmore—the Irish Lady Oranmore?'

'Lord bless me!—what have I said!—what have I done! Oh! why did not
you give me a hint, Lady St. James?'

'I was not aware that your ladyship was not acquainted with Lady
Oranmore,' replied Lady St. James, unmoved by her distress.

Everybody sympathised with Lady Oranmore, and admired the honest zeal
with which she abided by her country, and defended it against unjust
aspersions and affected execrations. Every one present enjoyed Lady
Clonbrony's confusion, except Miss Nugent, who sat with her eyes bowed
down by penetrative shame during the whole of this scene; she was glad
that Lord Colambre was not witness to it; and comforted herself with the
hope that, upon the whole, Lady Clonbrony would be benefited by the pain
she had felt. This instance might convince her that it was not necessary
to deny her country to be received in any company in England; and that
those who have the courage and steadiness to be themselves, and to
support what they feel and believe to be the truth, must command
respect. Miss Nugent hoped that in consequence of this conviction Lady
Clonbrony would lay aside the little affectations by which her manners
were painfully constrained and ridiculous; and, above all, she hoped
that what Lady Oranmore had said of Ireland might dispose her aunt
to listen with patience to all Lord Colambre might urge in favour of
returning to her home. But Miss Nugent hoped in vain. Lady Clonbrony
never in her life generalised any observations, or drew any but a
partial conclusion from the most striking facts.

'Lord! my dear Grace!' said she, as soon as they were seated in their
carriage, 'what a scrape I got into to-night at supper, and what
disgrace I came to!—and all this because I did not know Lady
Oranmore. Now you see the inconceivable disadvantage of not knowing
everybody—everybody of a certain rank, of course, I mean.'

Miss Nugent endeavoured to slide in her own moral on the occasion, but
it would not do.

'Yes, my dear, Lady Oranmore may talk in that kind of style of Ireland,
because, on the other hand, she is so highly connected in England; and,
besides, she is an old lady, and may take liberties; in short, she is
Lady Oranmore, and that's enough.'

The next morning, when they all met at breakfast, Lady Clonbrony
complained bitterly of her increased rheumatism, of the disagreeable,
stupid party they had had the preceding night, and of the necessity of
going to another formal party that night, the next, and the next,
and, in the true fine lady style, deplored her situation, and the
impossibility of avoiding those things,

Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.

Miss Nugent determined to retire as soon as she could from the
breakfast-room, to leave Lord Colambre an opportunity of talking over
his family affairs at full liberty. She knew by the seriousness of his
countenance that his mind was intent upon doing so, and she hoped that
his influence with his father and mother would not be exerted in vain.
But just as she was rising from the breakfast-table, in came Sir
Terence O'Fay, and, seating himself quite at his ease, in spite of Lady
Clonbrony's repulsive looks, his awe of Lord Colambre having now worn
off—

'I'm tired,' said he, 'and have a right to be tired; for it's no small
walk I've taken for the good of this noble family this morning. And,
Miss Nugent, before I say more, I'll take a cup of TA from you, if you
please.'

Lady Clonbrony rose, with great stateliness, and walked to the farthest
end of the room, where she established herself at her writing-table, and
began to write notes.

Sir Terence wiped his forehead deliberately.

'Then I've had a fine run—Miss Nugent, I believe you never saw me run;
but I can run, I promise you, when it's to serve a friend. And, my
lord (turning to Lord Clonbrony), what do you think I run for this
morning—to buy a bargain—and of what!—a bargain of a bad debt—a debt
of yours, which I bargained for, and up just in time—and Mordicai's
ready to hang himself this minute. For what do you think but that rascal
was bringing upon you—but an execution?—he was.'

'An execution!' repeated everybody present, except Lord Colambre.

'And how has this been prevented, sir?' said Lord Colambre.

'Oh! let me alone for that,' said Sir Terence. 'I got a hint from my
little friend, Paddy Brady, who would not be paid for it either, though
he's as poor as a rat. Well! as soon as I got the hint, I dropped the
thing I had in my hand, which was the DUBLIN EVENING, and ran for the
bare life—for there wasn't a coach—in my slippers, as I was, to get
into the prior creditor's shoes, who is the little solicitor that lives
in Crutched Friars, which Mordicai never dreamt of, luckily; so he was
very genteel, though he was taken on a sudden, and from his breakfast,
which an Englishman don't like particularly—I popped him a douceur of
a draught, at thirty-one days, on Garraghty, the agent; of which he must
get notice; but I won't descant on the law before the ladies—he handed
me over his debt and execution, and he made me prior creditor in a
trice. Then I took coach in state, the first I met, and away with me
to Long Acre—saw Mordicai. "Sir," says I, "I hear you're meditating an
execution on a friend of mine." "Am I?" said the rascal; "who told you
so?" "No matter," said I; "but I just called in to let you know there's
no use in life of your execution; for there's a prior creditor with his
execution to be satisfied first." So he made a great many black faces,
and said a great deal, which I never listened to, but came off here
clean to tell you all the story.'

'Not one word of which do I understand,' said Lady Clonbrony.

'Then, my dear, you are very ungrateful,' said Lord Clonbrony.

Lord Colambre said nothing, for he wished to learn more of Sir Terence
O'Fay's character, of the state of his father's affairs, and of the
family methods of proceeding in matters of business.

'Faith! Terry, I know I'm very thankful to you—but an execution's an
ugly thing—and I hope there's no danger—'

'Never fear!' said Sir Terence: 'Haven't I been at my wits' ends for
myself or my friends ever since I come to man's estate—to years of
discretion, I should say, for the deuce a foot of estate have I! But
use has sharpened my wits pretty well for your service; so never be in
dread, my good lord for look ye!' cried the reckless knight, sticking
his arms akimbo 'look ye here! in Sir Terence O'Fay stands a host that
desires no better than to encounter, single witted, all the duns in the
united kingdoms, Mordicai the Jew inclusive.'