Charles Lever - Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

“Here is Mr. Cashel; here he is!” exclaimed a number of voices, as Roland, with a heart full of indignant anger, ascended the terrace upon which the great drawing-room opened, and at every window of which stood groups of his gay company. Cashel looked up, and beheld the crowd of pleased faces wreathed into smiles of gracious welcome, and then he suddenly remembered that it was he who had invited all that brilliant assemblage; that, for him , all those winning graces were assumed; and that his gloomy thoughts, and gloomier looks, were but a sorry reception to offer them.

With a bold effort, then, to shake off the load that oppressed him, he approached one of the windows, where Mrs. Kennyfeck and her two daughters were standing, with a considerable sprinkling of young dragoons around them.

“We are not to let you in, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, from within. “There has been a vote of the House against your admission.”

“Not, surely, to condemn me unheard,” said Roland; “I might even say, unaccused.”

“How so?” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck. “Is not your present position your accusation? Why are you there, while we are here?”

“I went out for a walk, and lost myself in the woods.”

“What does he say, my dear?” said Aunt Fanny, fearful of losing a word of the dialogue.

“That he lost himself, madam,” said one of the dragoons, dryly.

“So, indeed, we heard, sir,” said the maiden lady, piteously; “but I may say I foresaw it all.”

“You are an old fool, and, worse still, every one sees it,” whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck, in an accent that there was no mistaking, although only a whisper.

“We considered that you had abdicated, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. White, who, having in vain waited for Roland to approach the window she occupied, was fain at last to join the others, “and we were debating on what form of Government to adopt, – a Presidency, with Mr. Linton – ”

“I see you are no legitimist,” slyly remarked Miss Kenny-feck. But the other went on, —

“Or an open Democracy.”

“I ‘m for that,” said a jolly-looking cavalry captain. “Pray, Miss Olivia Kennyfeck, vote for it too. I should like nothing so much as a little fraternizing.”

“I have a better suggestion than either,” said Roland, gayly; “but you must admit me ere I make it.”

“A device of the enemy,” called out Mrs. White; “he wants to secure his own return to power.”

“Nay, on honor,” said he, solemnly; “I shall descend to the rank of the humblest citizen, if my advice be acceded to, – to the humblest subject of the realm.”

“Ye maunna open the window. Leddy Janet has the rheumatics a’ dandering aboot her back a’ the morning,” said Sir Andrew, approaching the group; and then, turning to Cashel, said, “Glad to see ye, sir; very glad indeed; though, like Prince Charlie, you’re on the wrang side o’ the wa’.”

“Dear me!” sighed Meek, lifting his eyes from the newspaper, and assuming that softly compassionate tone in which he always delivered the most commonplace sentiments, “how shocking, to keep you out of your own house, and the air quite damp! Do pray be careful, and change your clothes before you come in here.” Then he finished in a whisper to Lady Janet, “One never gets through a country visit without a cold.”

“Upon my word, I’ll let him in,” said Aunt Fanny, with a native richness of accent that made her fair nieces blush.

“At last!” said Cashel, as he entered the room, and proceeded to salute the company, with many of whom he had but the very slightest acquaintance, – of some he did not even remember the names.

The genial warmth of his character soon compelled him to feel heartily what he had begun by feigning, and he bade them welcome with a cordiality that spread its kindly influence over all.

“I see,” said he, after some minutes, “Lady Kilgoff has not joined us; but her fatigue has been very great.”

“They say my Lord ‘s clean daft,” said Sir Andrew.

“Oh, no, Sir Andrew,” rejoined Roland; “our misfortune has shaken his nerves a good deal, but a few days’ rest and quiet will restore him.”

“He was na ower wise at the best, puir man,” sighed the veteran, as he moved away.

“Her Ladyship was quite a heroine, – is n’t that so?” said Lady Janet, tartly.

“She held the rudder, or did something with the compass, I heard,” simpered a young lady in long flaxen ringlets.

Cashel smiled, but made no answer.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Meek, “and there was a dog that swam – or was it you that swam ashore with a rope in your mouth?”

“I grieve to say, neither man nor dog performed the achievement.”

“And it would appear that the horrid wretch – what’s his name?” asked Mrs. White of her friend Howie.

“Whose name, madam?”

“The man – the dreadful man, who planned it all. Sick – Sickamore – no, not Sickamore – ”

“Sickleton, perhaps,” said Cashel, strangely puzzled to make out what was coming.

“Yes, Sickleton had actually done the very same thing twice before, just to get possession of the rich plate and all the things on board.”

“This is too bad,” cried Cashel, indignantly; “really, madam, you must pardon my warmth, if it even verges on rudeness; but the gentleman whose name you have associated with such iniquitous suspicions saved all our lives.”

“That’s what I like in him better than all,” whispered Aunt Fanny to Olivia; “he stands by his friends like a trump.”

“You have compelled me,” resumed Cashel, “to speak of what really I had much rather forget; but I shall insist upon your patience now for a few minutes, simply to rectify any error which may prevail upon this affair.”

With this brief prelude, Cashel commenced a narrative of the voyage from the evening of the departure from Kingstown to the moment of the vessel’s sinking off the south coast.

If most of his auditors only listened as to an interesting anecdote, to others the story had a deeper meaning. The Kennyfecks were longing to learn how the excursion originated, and whether Lady Kilgoff’s presence had been a pre-arranged plan, or a mere accidental occurrence.

“All’s not lost yet, Livy,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck in her sister’s ear. “I give you joy.” While a significant nod from Aunt Fanny seemed to divine the sentiment and agree with it.

“And I suppose ye had na the vessel insured?” said Sir Andrew, at the close of the narrative; “what a sair thing to think o’!”

“Oh, dear, yes, to be sure!” ejaculated Meek, piteously; “and the cold, and the wetting, and the rest of it! for of course you must have met few comforts in that miserable fishing-hut.”

“How picturesque it must have been,” interposed Mrs. White; “and what a pity you had no means of having a drawing made of it. The scene at the moment of the yacht striking; the despair-struck seamen – ”

“Pardon me, madam, for destroying even a particle of so ingenious a fancy; but the men evinced nothing of the kind, – they behaved well, and with the calmest steadiness.”

“It is scarcely too late yet,” resumed the lady, unabashed; “if you would just describe it all carefully to Mr. Howie, he could made a sketch in oils one would swear was taken on the spot.”

“Quite impossible, – out of the question,” said Howie, who was always ashamed at the absurdities which compromised himself, although keenly alive to those which involved his neighbors.