“The distress, they say, is very great, he caused; but they might let his body rest any way—what good can that do them?”
“Bad or good, they sha’n’t touch it,” said the other: “by the blessing, we shall have him buried safe in the morning, afore they are stirring. We shall carry the coffin through the under ground passage, that goes to the stables, and out by the lane to the churchyard asy—and the gentleman, the clergyman, has notice all will be ready, and the housekeeper only attending.”
“Oh! the pitiful funeral,” said the eldest of the men, “the pitiful funeral for Sir Ulick O’Shane, that was born to better.”
“Well, we can only do the best we can,” said the other, “let what will happen to ourselves; for Sir Marcus said he wouldn’t take one of his father’s notes from any of us.”
Ormond involuntarily felt for his purse.
“Oh! don’t be bothering the gentleman, don’t be talking,” said the old man.
“This way, Master Harry, if you please, sir, the underground way to the back yard. We keep all close till after the burying, for fear—that was the housekeeper’s order. Sent all off to Dublin when Sir Ulick took to his bed, and Lady Norton went off.”
Ormond refrained from asking any questions about his illness, fearing to inquire into the manner of his death. He walked on more quickly and silently. When they were going through the dark passage, one of the men, in a low voice, observed to Mr. Ormond that the housekeeper would tell him all about it.
When they got to the house, the housekeeper and Sir Ulick’s man appeared, seeming much surprised at the sight of Mr. Ormond. They said a great deal about the unfortunate event, and their own sorrow and distress; but Ormond saw that theirs were only the long faces, dismal tones, and outward show of grief. They were just a common housekeeper and gentleman’s gentleman, neither worse nor better than ordinary servants in a great house. Sir Ulick had only treated them as such.
The housekeeper, without Ormond’s asking a single question, went on to tell him that “Castle Hermitage was as full of company, even to the last week, as ever it could hold, and all as grand as ever; the first people in Ireland—champagne and burgundy, and ices, and all as usual—and a ball that very week. Sir Ulick was very considerate, and sent Lady Norton off to her other friends; he took ill suddenly that night with a great pain in his head: he had been writing hard, and in great trouble, and he took to his bed, and never rose from it—he was found by Mr. Dempsey, his own man, dead in his bed in the morning—of a broken heart, to be sure!—Poor gentleman!—Some people in the neighbourhood was mighty busy talking how the coroner ought to be sent for; but that blew over, sir. But then we were in dread of the seizure of the body for debt, so the gates was kept locked; and now you know all we know about it, sir.”