AT KILGOBBIN CASTLE
The ‘Blue Goat’ at Moate was destined once more to receive the same travellers whom we presented to our readers at a very early stage of this history.
‘Not much change here,’ cried Lockwood, as he strode into the little sitting-room and sat down. ‘I miss the old fellow’s picture, that’s all.’
‘Ah! by the way,’ said Walpole to the landlord, ‘you had my Lord Kilgobbin’s portrait up there the last time I came through here.’
‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ said the man, smoothing down his hair and looking apologetically. ‘But the Goats and my lord, who was the Buck Goat, got into a little disagreement, and they sent away his picture, and his lordship retired from the club, and—and—that was the way of it.’
‘A heavy blow to your town, I take it,’ said the major, as he poured out his beer.
‘Well, indeed, your honour, I won’t say it was. You see, sir, times is changed in Ireland. We don’t care as much as we used about the “neighbouring gentry,” as they called them once; and as for the lord, there! he doesn’t spend a hundred a year in Moate.’
‘How is that?’
‘They get what they want by rail from Dublin, your honour; and he might as well not be here at all.’
‘Can we have a car to carry us over to the castle?’ asked Walpole, who did not care to hear more of local grievances.
‘Sure, isn’t my lord’s car waiting for you since two o’clock!’ said the host spitefully, for he was not conciliated by a courtesy that was to lose him a fifteen-shilling fare. ‘Not that there’s much of a horse between the shafts, or that old Daly himself is an elegant coachman,’ continued the host; ‘but they’re ready in the yard when you want them.’
The travellers had no reason to delay them in their present quarters, and taking their places on the car, set out for the castle.
‘I scarcely thought when I last drove this road,’ said Walpole, ‘that the next time I was to come should be on such an errand as my present one.’
‘Humph!’ ejaculated the other. ‘Our noble relative that is to be does not shine in equipage. That beast is dead lame.’
‘If we had our deserts, Lockwood, we should be drawn by a team of doves, with the god Cupid on the box.’
‘I’d rather have two posters and a yellow postchaise.’
A drizzling rain that now began to fall interrupted all conversation, and each sank back into his own thoughts for the rest of the way.
Lord Kilgobbin, with his daughter at his side, watched the car from the terrace of the castle as it slowly wound its way along the bog road.
‘As well as I can see, Kate, there is a man on each side of the car,’ said Kearney, as he handed his field-glass to his daughter.
‘Yes, papa, I see there are two travellers.’
‘And I don’t well know why there should be even one! There was no such great friendship between us that he need come all this way to bid us good-bye.’
‘Considering the mishap that befell him here, it is a mark of good feeling to desire to see us all once more, don’t you think so?’
‘May be so,’ muttered he drearily. ‘At all events, it’s not a pleasant house he’s coming to. Young O’Shea there upstairs, just out of a fever; and old Miss Betty, that may arrive any moment.’
‘There’s no question of that. She says it would be ten days or a fortnight before she is equal to the journey.’
‘Heaven grant it!—hem—I mean that she’ll be strong enough for it by that time. At all events, if it is the same as to our fine friend, Mr. Walpole, I wish he’d have taken his leave of us in a letter.’
‘It is something new, papa, to see you so inhospitable.’
‘But I am not inhospitable, Kitty. Show me the good fellow that would like to pass an evening with me and think me good company, and he shall have the best saddle of mutton and the raciest bottle of claret in the house. But it’s only mock-hospitality to be entertaining the man that only comes out of courtesy and just stays as long as good manners oblige him.’
‘I do not know that I should undervalue politeness, especially when it takes the shape of a recognition.’
‘Well, be it so,’ sighed he, almost drearily. ‘If the young gentleman is so warmly attached to us all that he cannot tear himself away till he has embraced us, I suppose there’s no help for it. Where is Nina?’
‘She was reading to Gorman when I saw her. She had just relieved Dick, who has gone out for a walk.’
‘A jolly house for a visitor to come to!’ cried he sarcastically.
‘We are not very gay or lively, it is true, papa; but it is not unlikely that the spirit in which our guest comes here will not need much jollity.’
‘I don’t take it as a kindness for a man to bring me his depression and his low spirits. I’ve always more of my own than I know what to do with. Two sorrows never made a joy, Kitty.’
‘There! they are lighting the lamps,’ cried she suddenly. ‘I don’t think they can be more than three miles away.’
‘Have you rooms ready, if there be two coming?’
‘Yes, papa, Mr. Walpole will have his old quarters; and the stag-room is in readiness if there be another guest.’
‘I’d like to have a house as big as the royal barracks, and every room of it occupied!’ cried Kearney, with a mellow ring in his voice. ‘They talk of society and pleasant company; but for real enjoyment there’s nothing to compare with what a man has under his own roof! No claret ever tastes so good as the decanter he circulates himself. I was low enough half an hour ago, and now the mere thought of a couple of fellows to dine with me cheers me up and warms my heart! I’ll give them the green seal, Kitty; and I don’t know there’s another house in the county could put a bottle of ‘46 claret before them.’
‘So you shall, papa. I’ll go to the cellar myself and fetch it.’
Kearney hastened to make the moderate toilet he called dressing for dinner, and was only finished when his old servant informed him that two gentlemen had arrived and gone up to their rooms.
‘I wish it was two dozen had come,’ said Kearney, as he descended to the drawing-room.
‘It is Major Lockwood, papa,’ cried Kate, entering and drawing him into a window-recess; ‘the Major Lockwood that was here before, has come with Mr. Walpole. I met him in the hall while I had the basket with the wine in my hand, and he was so cordial and glad to see me you cannot think.’
‘He knew that green wax, Kitty. He tasted that “bin” when he was here last.’
‘Perhaps so; but he certainly seemed overjoyed at something.’
‘Let me see,’ muttered he, ‘wasn’t he the big fellow with the long moustaches?’
‘A tall, very good-looking man; dark as a Spaniard, and not unlike one.’
‘To be sure, to be sure. I remember him well. He was a capital shot with the pistol, and he liked his wine. By the way, Nina did not take to him.’
‘How do you remember that, papa?’ said she archly.
If I don’t mistake, she told me so, or she called him a brute, or a savage, or some one of those things a man is sure to be, when a woman discovers he will not be her slave.’
Nina entering at the moment cut short all rejoinder, and Kearney came forward to meet her with his hand out.
‘Shake out your lower courses, and let me look at you,’ cried he, as he walked round her admiringly. ‘Upon my oath, it’s more beautiful than ever you are! I can guess what a fate is reserved for those dandies from Dublin.’
‘Do you like my dress, sir? Is it becoming?’ asked she.
‘Becoming it is; but I’m not sure whether I like it.’
‘And how is that, sir?’
‘I don’t see how, with all that floating gauze and swelling lace, a man is to get an arm round you at all—’
‘I cannot perceive the necessity, sir,’ and the insolent toss of her head, more forcibly even than her words, resented such a possibility.