It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle; the old woman, as she said herself, would not have been able for it, but for a LIFT given to her by a friendly carman, whom they met on the road with an empty car. This carman was Finnucan, who dissipated Lord Colambre's fears of meeting and being recognised by Mrs. Raffarty; for he, in answer to the question of, 'Who is at the castle?' replied, 'Mrs. Raffarty will be in it afore night; but she's on the road still. There's none but old Nick in it yet; and he's more of a NEGER than ever; for think, that he would not pay me a farthing for the carriage of his SHISTER'S boxes and bandboxes down. If you're going to have any dealings with him, God grant ye a safe deliverance!'
'Amen!' said the widow, and her son and daughter.
Lord Colambre's attention was now engaged by the view of the castle and park of Clonbrony. He had not seen it since he was six years old. Some faint reminiscence from his childhood made him feel or fancy that he knew the place. It was a fine castle, spacious park; but all about it, from the broken piers at the great entrance, to the messy gravel and loose steps at the hall-door, had an air of desertion and melancholy. Walks overgrown, shrubberies wild, plantations run up into bare poles; fine trees cut down, and lying on the gravel in lots to be sold. A hill that had been covered with an oak wood, in which, in his childhood, our hero used to play, and which he called the black forest, was gone; nothing to be seen but the white stumps of the trees, for it had been freshly cut down, to make up the last remittances.—'And how it went, when sold!—but no matter,' said Finnucan; 'it's all alike.—It's the back way into the yard, I'll take you, I suppose.'
And such a yard! 'But it's no matter,' repeated Lord Colambre to himself; 'it's all alike.'
In the kitchen a great dinner was dressing for Mr. Garraghty's friends, who were to make merry with him when the business of the day was over.
'Where's the keys of the cellar, till I get out the claret for after dinner,' says one; 'and the wine for the cook—sure there's venison,' cries another.—'Venison!—That's the way my lord's deer goes,' says a third, laughing.—'ay, sure! and very proper, when he's not here to eat 'em.'—'Keep your nose out of the kitchen, young man, if you PLASE,' said the agent's cook, shutting the door in Lord Colambre's face. 'There's the way to the office, if you've money to pay, up the back stairs.'
'No; up the grand staircase they must—Mr. Garraghty ordered,' said the footman; 'because the office is damp for him, and it's not there he'll see anybody to-day; but in my lady's dressing-room.'
So up the grand staircase they went, and through the magnificent apartments, hung with pictures of great value, spoiling with damp. 'Then, isn't it a pity to see them? There's my lady, and all spoiling,' said the widow.
Lord Colambre stopped before a portrait of Miss Nugent.—'Shamefully damaged!' cried he. 'Pass on, or let me pass, if you PLASE,' said one of the tenants; 'and don't be stopping the doorway.' 'I have business more nor you with the agent,' said the surveyor; 'where is he?'
'In the PRESENCE-CHAMBER,' replied another; 'where should the viceroy be but in the PRESENCE-CHAMBER?'