Lewis Wingfield - My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3

She decided that it was not possible to stand aloof at this juncture. Tone-the hero, at whose shrine she worshipped-conjured her to act. She would meet at Crow Street, probably, several of the prominent United Irishmen, and must choose her opportunity to confer secretly with them. Who could be sent to Paris with safety? None but Cassidy. What a pity he was so stupid! He meant well-of that she felt assured; but he would plead poverty-that was little matter, for she had jewels which might be pledged. But might he claim something more? Love-making and conspiracy do not go well together. A certain scene at the kennels recurred to her mind; and it was with a flush, more due to displeasure than healthful exercise, that at length she shot her boat beside the landing-stage. An unaccustomed shadow caused her to start and look upwards. A man was looking at her, with his thin legs apart and his arms folded across his chest-a little man, with elf-locks hanging about his face, and a strange melancholy smile upon his lips.

'Faix! and ye're a grand boatwoman, Miss Doreen,' Mr. Curran said; 'and ye look mighty well fingering those planks. I've bin watching you this half-hour, and wondering too-wondering whether, if I had been out alone where you were, I could ever be coaxed to return.'

Doreen looked up quickly at him. Had something dreadful come to pass? Something dreadful was happening hourly with exasperating monotony. 'We didn't expect you over to-day. Is Sara with you?'

'No. I trotted over on my nag to see if Terence had returned; and must go back at once, as Sara wants to go to Crow Street.'

'Is there anything new?' the young lady inquired, with averted face, as she fastened up her boat. She was constantly fretting morbidly about the slowness of Tim's tread, as people will who are devoured with impatience, and yet half-dread the fulfilment of their wishes.

'New! No,' grunted the small lawyer. 'Would to heaven there were! No change could be for the worse. I have been engrossed these two days past in the Orr trial. Didn't Terence tell you? Well, well, he wouldn't shock ye. It's nothing new, faith! And there's no good talking of such things at home. They gave the verdict against us, despite all that I could urge; and the injustice was so glaring that Terence flew in a passion. Upon my word, he looked as fierce as his brother, the Prince of Cherokees! He vowed there was some mistake-that he would in person explain matters to the Viceroy (foolish lad-not to have learnt better by this time!); and so I trotted over to hear if he had succeeded in his suit.'

'What was the case?'

'Nothing particularly novel-another of the many evil results of the chancellor's Insurrection Bill,' grumbled Curran. 'One of its clauses breathes dire vengeance against such as administer illegal oaths. Rubbish! considering what you and I, young lady, know about a green bough in Britain's crown. Such oaths will be administered so long as this corrupt régime continues-just as they have been for five years and more. A fine would meet the case-and it should be a light one; for indeed the provocation is not slight. But now such administering has become penal. A soldier-a drunken fellow in the Fencibles-comes forward, swears that one Orr-a harmless, obscure farmer, against whom he probably has a grudge-has induced him to take the oath, "Are you straight? as straight as a rush," and the rest. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn't-that's not the point; the jury retire, and remain closed up for hours-all through last night-far into this morning, and by-and-by give in a verdict of guilty. That farmer, who, on my conscience, I believe was innocent, is swinging by this time unless Terence's mission has been successful.'

The two walked up the steep path, which led to the Abbey terrace, in silence. Doreen was thinking that her resolve was right. It should be no fault of hers if the French fleet failed to come with healing on its wings. Curran was plunged in sadness, for he was beginning to be convinced that the triumphal car of Government would bear him down-chosen champion, as he believed himself-with its overpowering weight, as it did others. Of what use was his eloquence as an advocate in presence of packed juries and bribed witnesses? It was talking to the wall-or worse, for at least the wall serves its purpose without shame, and is washed white, and receives no bribes; Major Sirr's juries and witnesses were accustomed, on the other hand, to arrange their affairs in a jovial fashion in the major's sanctum before coming into court. There was little of the whitewash about them!

When Doreen conducted the lawyer into the tapestry-saloon, my lady was concerned at her eccentric little friend's dejection; and easily prevailed on him to dine before returning to the Priory. Terence did not appear, which was of evil augury; so his chief took the opportunity of the ladies retiring to their toilet, to mount his nag and gallop homewards, with a leaden weight within his breast.

Neither the dowager nor her niece were theatre-going people. The former held dim uncomplimentary opinions about the private lives of actresses, and her pride of caste revolted at the familiar behaviour of the gallery, who were given to homely conversation with their betters in the boxes, and to making rude comments upon the proceedings on the stage. Miss Wolfe disliked the play, because mimic woes and mimic laughter were alike an insult to the soreness of her heart, and the too real sorrows of the world in which she lived. Yet both were compelled by fashion to show themselves in Crow Street whenever a specially prominent goddess of ton thought fit to command a night. On such occasions the auditorium was illuminated with wax candles; the rank of the metropolis in diamonds and feathers filled the boxes; pit-tickets were freely distributed among the tradespeople with whom the lady dealt, whilst she took up her own position at the extreme end of the refection-room (a fine gallery erected by Mr. Fred. Jones, the manager), bowing a welcome to all who rallied round her.

On this particular evening the Lady-Lieutenant herself had commanded the performance, so all the adherents of the Castle were there in state-members of the peerage in brand-new uniforms; the cabinet, consisting of the chancellor, the chief secretary, the speaker, and the attorney-and such a show of female beauty as Dublin can always boast. Lady Camden held quite a court in the refection-room, supported by Lord Clare, whose arrogant countenance beamed with the consciousness of strength. My Lord Camden had shuffled away to the curtained viceregal box, pretending to be engrossed with the wretchedness of Lucy Lockit; the fact being that his conscience began to worry him, and that he withdrew from public gaze as much as ceremony would permit.

My lord chancellor was not a man ever to lurk in corners, or to shun a few paltry hisses. He stood forward beside the Viceroy's wife, nodding to the crowds who bowed before him with a loathsome smirk, too coldly overbearing to reck what men thought of him, provided they bent the knee. He had reached at this time the acme of his power. His word was law. He browbeat his comrades in the cabinet till honest Arthur Wolfe quite winced. He had undertaken to mould into shape a corrupt upper class, and his first move had been to give a rein to their bad passions. His second was to cultivate an unusual urbanity; for it would be needful by-and-by to win the members of the Bar, and to lay in a good stock of promising raw material in the shape of young M.P.'s just rough from grass. He made a point, too, of being particularly civil to girls, for he said that if the confidence of the females in a house is won, the men may be counted on as gained. Satan found no footing in Paradise till he made sure of Eve.

So my Lord Clare tripped hither and thither in his natty attire, complimenting one, grinning at another; suggesting an ice to a young lady; confounding a sheepish youth by offering his jewelled snuff-box; laughing a hyena-laugh at some feeble joke; making himself so pleasant that folks stared in wonder. Ladies of highest rank rustled up and curtseyed, then formed into a parterre of shot silks and waving plumes behind my Lady Camden. It was a magnificent spectacle of brilliancy and wealth.