CHAPTER VI.
THE KANTURK HOTEL, SOUTH MAIN STREET, CORK.
All the world no doubt knows South Main Street in the city of Cork.In the "ould" ancient days, South and North Main Streets formed thechief thoroughfare through the city, and hence of course they derivedtheir names. But now, since Patrick Street, and Grand Parade, and theSouth Mall have grown up, Main Street has but little honour. It iscrowded with second-rate tobacconists and third-rate grocers; thehouses are dirty, and the street is narrow; fashionable ladies nevervisit it for their shopping, nor would any respectable commercialgent stop at an inn within its purlieus.
But here in South Main Street, at the time of which I am writing,there was an inn, or public-house, called the Kanturk Hotel. In dearold Ireland they have some foibles, and one of them is a passionfor high nomenclature. Those who are accustomed to the sort ofestablishments which are met with in England, and much more inGermany and Switzerland, under the name of hotels, might be surprisedto see the place in South Main Street which had been dignified withthe same appellation. It was a small, dingy house of three stories,the front door of which was always open, and the passage strewedwith damp, dirty straw. On the left-hand side as you entered wasa sitting-room, or coffee-room as it was announced to be by anappellation painted on the door. There was but one window to theroom, which looked into the street, and was always clouded by adingy-red curtain. The floor was uncarpeted, nearly black with dirt,and usually half covered with fragments of damp straw brought intoit by the feet of customers. A strong smell of hot whisky and wateralways prevailed, and the straggling mahogany table in the centreof the room, whose rickety legs gave way and came off whenever anattempt was made to move it, was covered by small greasy circles, theimpressions of the bottoms of tumblers which had been made by theoverflowing tipple. Over the chimney there was a round mirror, theframework of which was bedizened with all manner of would-be giltornaments, which had been cracked, and twisted, and mended till itwas impossible to know what they had been intended to represent; andthe whole affair had become a huge receptacle of dust, which fell inflakes upon the chimney-piece when it was invaded. There was a secondtable opposite the window, more rickety than that in the centre;and against the wall opposite to the fireplace there was an oldsideboard, in the drawers of which Tom, the one-eyed waiter, keptknives and forks, and candle-ends, and bits of bread, and dusters.There was a sour smell, as of old rancid butter, about the place,to which the guests sometimes objected, little inclined as theygenerally were to be fastidious. But this was a tender subject, andnot often alluded to by those who wished to stand well in the goodgraces of Tom. Many things much annoyed Tom; but nothing annoyed himso fearfully as any assertion that the air of the Kanturk Hotel wasnot perfectly sweet and wholesome.
Behind the coffee-room was the bar, from which Fanny O'Dwyerdispensed dandies of punch and goes of brandy to her father'scustomers from Kanturk. For at this, as at other similarpublic-houses in Irish towns, the greater part of the custom onwhich the publican depends came to him from the inhabitants of oneparticular country district. A large four-wheeled vehicle, calleda long car, which was drawn by three horses, and travelled over amountain road at the rate of four Irish miles an hour, came dailyfrom Kanturk to Cork, and daily returned. This public conveyancestopped in Cork at the Kanturk Hotel, and was owned by the owner ofthat house, in partnership with a brother in the same trade locatedin Kanturk. It was Mr. O'Dwyer's business to look after this concern,to see to the passengers and the booking, the oats, and hay, andstabling, while his well-known daughter, the charming Fanny O'Dwyer,took care of the house, and dispensed brandy and whisky to thecustomers from Kanturk.
To tell the truth, the bar was a much more alluring place than thecoffee-room, and Fanny O'Dwyer a more alluring personage than Tom,the one-eyed waiter. This Elysium, however, was not open to allcomers--not even to all comers from Kanturk. Those who had the rightof entry well knew their privilege; and so also did they who had not.This sanctum was screened off from the passage by a window, whichopened upwards conveniently, as is customary with bar-windows; butthe window was blinded inside by a red curtain, so that Fanny'sstool near the counter, her father's wooden arm-chair, and the oldhorsehair sofa on which favoured guests were wont to sit, were notvisible to the public at large.
Of the up-stair portion of this establishment it is not necessary tosay much. It professed to be an hotel, and accommodation for sleepingwas to be obtained there; but the well-being of the house dependedbut little on custom of this class.
Nor need I say much of the kitchen, a graphic description of whichwould not be pleasing. Here lived a cook, who, together with Tomthe waiter, did all that servants had to do at the Kanturk Hotel.From this kitchen lumps of beef, mutton chops, and potatoes didoccasionally emanate, all perfumed with plenteous onions; as also didfried eggs, with bacon an inch thick, and other culinary messes toohorrible to be thought of. But drinking rather than eating was thestaple of this establishment. Such was the Kanturk Hotel in SouthMain Street, Cork.
It was on a disagreeable, cold, sloppy, raw, winter evening--anevening drizzling sometimes with rain, and sometimes with sleet--thatan elderly man was driven up to the door of the hotel on a one-horsecar--or jingle, as such conveniences were then called in the south ofIreland. He seemed to know the house, for with his outside coat alldripping as it was he went direct to the bar-window, and as FannyO'Dwyer opened the door he walked into that warm precinct. There heencountered a gentleman, dressed one would say rather beyond themerits of the establishment, who was taking his ease at full lengthon Fanny's sofa, and drinking some hot compound which was to be seenin a tumbler on the chimney-shelf just above his head. It was now sixo'clock in the evening, and the gentleman no doubt had dined.
"Well, Aby; here I am, as large as life, but as cold as death. Ugh;what an affair that coach is! Fanny, my best of darlings, give me adrop of something that's best for warming the cockles of an old man'sheart."
"A young wife then is the best thing in life to do that, Mr.Mollett," said Fanny, sharply, preparing, however, at the same timesome mixture which might be taken more instantaneously.
"The governor's had enough of that receipt already," said the manon the sofa; or rather the man now off the sofa, for he had slowlyarisen to shake hands with the new comer.
This latter person proceeded to divest himself of his drippinggreatcoat. "Here, Tom," said he, "bring your old Cyclops eye to bearthis way, will you. Go and hang that up in the kitchen; not too nearthe fire now; and get me something to eat: none of your mutton chops;but a beefsteak if there is such a thing in this benighted place.Well, Aby, how goes on the war?"
It was clear that the elderly gentleman was quite at home in hispresent quarters; for Tom, far from resenting such impertinence, ashe would immediately have done had it proceeded from an ordinaryKanturk customer, declared "that he would do his honour's bidding avthere was such a thing as a beefsteak to be had anywhere's in thecity of Cork."
And indeed the elderly gentleman was a person of whom one mightpremise, judging by his voice and appearance, that he would probablymake himself at home anywhere. He was a hale hearty man, of perhapssixty years of age, who had certainly been handsome, and was evennow not the reverse. Or rather, one may say, that he would have beenso were it not that there was a low, restless, cunning legible inhis mouth and eyes, which robbed his countenance of all manliness.He was a hale man, and well preserved for his time of life; butnevertheless, the extra rubicundity of his face, and certainincipient pimply excrescences about his nose, gave tokens that helived too freely. He had lived freely; and were it not that hisconstitution had been more than ordinarily strong, and that constantexercise and exposure to air had much befriended him, those pimplyexcrescences would have shown themselves in a more advanced stage.Such was Mr. Mollett senior--Mr. Matthew Mollett, with whom it willbe soon our fate to be better acquainted.
The gentleman who had slowly risen from the sofa was his son, Mr.Mollett junior--Mr. Abraham Mollett, with whom
also we shall becomebetter acquainted. The father has been represented as not beingexactly prepossessing; but the son, according to my ideas, was muchless so. He also would be considered handsome by some persons--bywomen chiefly of the Fanny O'Dwyer class, whose eyes are capable ofrecognizing what is good in shape and form, but cannot recognizewhat is good in tone and character. Mr. Abraham Mollett was perhapssome thirty years of age, or rather more. He was a very smart man,with a profusion of dark, much-oiled hair, with dark, copiousmustachoes--and mustachoes being then not common as they are now,added to his otherwise rakish, vulgar appearance--with various ringson his not well-washed hands, with a frilled front to his not latelywashed shirt, with a velvet collar to his coat, and patent-leatherboots upon his feet.
Free living had told more upon him, young as he was, than upon hisfather. His face was not yet pimply, but it was red and bloated;his eyes were bloodshot and protruding; his hand on a morning wasunsteady; and his passion for brandy was stronger than that forbeefsteaks; whereas his father's appetite for solid food had neverflagged. Those who were intimate with the family, and were observantof men, were wont to remark that the son would never fill thefather's shoes. These family friends, I may perhaps add, weregenerally markers at billiard-tables, head grooms at race-courses, orother men of that sharp, discerning class. Seeing that I introducethese gentlemen to my readers at the Kanturk Hotel, in South MainStreet, Cork, it may be perhaps as well to add that they were bothEnglishmen; so that mistakes on that matter may be avoided.
The father, as soon as he had rid himself of his upper coat, hisdripping hat, and his goloshes, stood up with his back to thebar-room fire, with his hands in his trousers-pockets, and the tailsof his coat stuck inside his arms.
"I tell you, Aby, it was cold enough outside that infernal coach. I'mblessed if I've a morsel of feeling in my toes yet. Why the d----don't they continue the railway on to Cork? It's as much as a man'slife is worth to travel in that sort of way at this time of theyear."
"You'll have more of it then if you intend going out of townto-morrow," said the son.
"Well; I don't know that I shall. I shall take a day to consider ofit I think."
"Consideration be bothered," said Mollett junior; "strike when theiron's hot; that's my motto."
The father here turned half round to his son and winked at him,nodding his head slightly towards the girl, thereby giving tokenthat, according to his ideas, the conversation could not bediscreetly carried on before a third person.
"All right," said the son, lifting his joram of brandy and water tohis mouth; an action in which he was immediately imitated by hisfather, who had now received the means of doing so from the hands ofthe fair Fanny.
"And how about a bed, my dear?" said Mollett senior; "that's a matterof importance too; or will be when we are getting on to the littlehours."
"Oh, we won't turn you out, Mr. Mollett," said Fanny; "we'll find abed for you, never fear."
"That's all right then, my little Venus. And now if I had some dinnerI'd sit down and make myself comfortable for the evening."
As he said this, Fanny slipped out of the room, and ran down into thekitchen to see what Tom and the cook were doing. The Molletts, fatherand son, were rather more than ordinary good customers at the KanturkHotel, and it was politic therefore to treat them well. Mr. Mollettjunior, moreover, was almost more than a customer; and for the sakeof the son Fanny was anxious that the father should be well treated.
"Well, governor, and what have you done?" said the younger man in alow voice, jumping up from his seat as soon as the girl had left themalone.
"Well, I've got the usual remittance from the man in Bucklersbury.That was all as right as a trivet."
"And no more than that? Then I tell you what it is; we must be downon him at once."
"But you forget that I got as much more last month, out of the usualcourse. Come, Aby, don't you be unreasonable."
"Bother--I tell you, governor, if he don't--" And then Miss O'Dwyerreturned to her sanctum, and the rest of the conversation wasnecessarily postponed.
"He's managed to get you a lovely steak, Mr. Mollett," said Fanny,pronouncing the word as though it were written "steek." "And we'vebeautiful pickled walnuts; haven't we, Mr. Aby? and there'll bekidneys biled" (meaning potatoes) "by the time the 'steek's' ready.You like it with the gravy in, don't you, Mr. Mollett?" And as shespoke she drew a quartern of whisky for two of Beamish and Crawford'sdraymen, who stood outside in the passage and drank it at the bar.
The lovely "steek" with the gravy in it--that is to say, nearlyraw--was now ready, and father and son adjourned to the next room."Well, Tom, my lad of wax; and how's the world using you?" said Mr.Mollett senior.
"There ain't much difference then," said Tom; "I ain't no younger,nor yet no richer than when yer honour left us--and what is't to be,sir?--a pint of stout, sir?"
As soon as Mr. Mollett senior had finished his dinner, and Tom hadbrought the father and son materials for making whisky-punch, theyboth got their knees together over the fire, and commenced theconfidential conversation which Miss O'Dwyer had interrupted on herreturn to the bar-room. They spoke now almost in a whisper, withtheir heads together over the fender, knowing from experience thatwhat Tom wanted in eyes he made up in ears.
"And what did Prendergast say when he paid you the rhino?" asked theson.
"Not a word," said the other. "After all, I don't think he knowsany more than a ghost what he pays it for: I think he gets freshinstructions every time. But, any ways, there it was, all right."
"Hall right, indeed! I do believe you'd be satisfied to go on gettinga few dribblets now and then like that. And then if anything 'appenedto you, why I might go fish."
"How, Aby, look here--"
"It's hall very well, governor; but I'll tell you what. Since youstarted off I've been thinking a good deal about it, and I've made upmy mind that this shilly-shallying won't do any good: we must strikea blow that'll do something for us."
"Well, I don't think we've done so bad already, taking itall-in-all."
"Ah, that's because you haven't the pluck to strike a good blow.Now I'll just let you know what I propose--and I tell you fairly,governor, if you'll not hear reason, I'll take the game into my ownhands."
The father looked up from his drink and scowled at his son, but saidnothing in answer to this threat.
"By G---- I will!" continued Aby. "It's no use 'umbugging, and I meanto make myself understood. While you've been gone I've been down tothat place."
"You 'aven't seen the old man?"
"No; I 'aven't taken that step yet; but I think it's very likely Imay before long if you won't hear reason."
"I was a d---- fool, Aby, ever to let you into the affair at all.It's been going on quiet enough for the last ten years, till I letyou into the secret."
"Well, never mind about that. That mischief's done. But I thinkyou'll find I'll pull you through a deal better than hever you'd havepulled through yourself. You're already making twice more out of itthan you did before I knew it. As I was saying, I went down there;and in my quiet way I did just venture on a few hinquiries."
"I'll be bound you did. You'll blow it all in about another month,and then it'll be up with the lot of us."
"It's a beautiful place: a lovely spot; and hall in prime horder.They say it's fifteen thousand a year, and that there's not ashilling howing on the whole property. Even in these times thetenants are paying the rent, when no one else, far and near,is getting a penny out of them. I went by another place on theroad--Castle Desmond they call it, and I wish you'd seen thedifference. The old boy must be rolling in money."
"I don't believe it. There's one as I can trust has told me he's hardup enough sometimes. Why, we've had twelve hundred in the last eightmonths."
"Twelve hundred! and what's that? But, dickens, governor, where hasthe twelve hundred gone? I've only seen three of it, and part ofthat--. Well; what do you want there, you long-eared shark, you?"These last words were addressed to Tom, who h
ad crept into the room,certainly without much preparatory noise.
"I was only wanting the thingumbob, yer honour," said Tom, pretendingto search diligently in the drawer for some required article.
"Then take your thingumbob quickly out of that, and be d---- to you.And look here; if you don't knock at the door when next you come in,by heavens I'll throw this tumbler at your yead."
"Sure and I will, yer honour," said Tom, withdrawing.
"And where on hearth has the twelve hundred pounds gone?" asked theson, looking severely at the father.
Old Mr. Mollett made no immediate answer in words, but putting hisleft hand to his right elbow, began to shake it.
"I do wonder that you keep hon at that work," said Mollett junior,reproachfully. "You never by any chance have a stroke of luck."
"Well, I have been unfortunate lately; but who knows what's coming?And I was deucedly sold by those fellows at the October meeting. Ifany chap ever was safe, I ought to have been safe then; but hang meif I didn't drop four hundred of Sir Thomas's shiners coolly on thespot. That was the only big haul I've had out of him all at once; andthe most of it went like water through a sieve within forty-eighthours after I touched it." And then, having finished this patheticallittle story of his misfortune, Mr. Mollett senior finished his glassof toddy.
"It's the way of the world, governor; and it's no use sighing afterspilt milk. But I'll tell you what I propose; and if you don't likethe task yourself, I have no hobjection in life to take it into myown hands. You see the game's so much our own that there's nothing onhearth for us to fear."
"I don't know that. If we were all blown, where should we be--"
"Why, she's your own--"
"H-h-sh, Aby. There's that confounded long-eared fellow at thekeyhole, as sure as my name's Matthew; and if he hears you, thegame's all up with a vengeance."
"Lord bless you, what could he hear? Besides, talking as we are now,he wouldn't catch a word even if he were in the room itself. And nowI'll tell you what it is; do you go down yourself, and make your wayinto the hold gentleman's room. Just send your own name in boldly.Nobody will know what that means, except himself."
"I did that once before; and I never shall forget it."
"Yes, you did it once before, and you have had a steady incometo live on ever since; not such an income as you might have had.Not such an income as will do for you and me, now that we bothknow so well what a fine property we have under our thumbs. But,nevertheless, that little visit has been worth something to you."
"Upon my word, Aby, I never suffered so much as I did that day. Ididn't know till then that I had a soft heart."
"Soft heart! Oh, bother. Such stuff as that always makes me sick. IfI 'ate anything, it's maudlin. Your former visit down there did verywell, and now you must make another, or else, by the holy poker! I'llmake it for you."
"And what would you have me say to him if I did manage to see him?"
"Perhaps I'd better go--"
"That's out of the question. He wouldn't see you, or understand whoyou were. And then you'd make a row, and it would all come out, andthe fat would be in the fire."
"Well, I guess I should not take it quite quiet if they didn't treatme as a gentleman should be treated. I ain't always over-quiet if I'mput upon."
"If you go near that house at all I'll have done with it. I'll giveup the game."
"Well, do you go, at any rate first. Perhaps it may be well that Ishould follow after with a reminder. Do you go down, and just tellhim this, quite coolly, remember--"
"Oh, I shall be cool enough."
"That, considering hall things, you think he and you ought to--"
"Well?"
"Just divide it between you; share and share alike. Say it's fourteenthousand--and it's more than that--that would be seven for him andseven for you. Tell him you'll agree to that, but you won't take onefarthing less."
"Aby!" said the father, almost overcome by the grandeur of his son'sideas.
"Well; and what of Haby? What's the matter now?"
"Expect him to shell out seven thousand pounds a year!"
"And why not? He'll do a deal more than that, I expect, if he werequite sure that it would make all things serene. But it won't; andtherefore you must make him another hoffer."
"Another offer!"
"Yes. He'll know well enough that you'll be thinking of his death.And for all they do say he might pop off any day."
"He's a younger man than me, Aby, by full ten years."
"What of that? You may pop off any day too, mayn't you? I believe youold fellows don't think of dying nigh as hoften as we young ones."
"You young ones are always looking for us old ones to go. We all knowthat well enough."
"That's when you've got anything to leave behind you, which hain'tthe case with you, governor, just at present. But what I was sayingis this. He'll know well enough that you can split upon his sonhafter he's gone, every bit as well as you can split on him now."
"Oh, I always looked to make the young gentleman pay up handsome, ifso be the old gentleman went off the hooks. And if so be he and Ishould go off together like, why you'd carry on, of course. You'llhave the proofs, you know."
"Oh, I should, should I? Well, we'll look to them by-and-by. ButI'll tell you what, governor, the best way is to make all that safe.We'll make him another hoffer--for a regular substantial familyharrangement--"
"A family arrangement, eh?"
"Yes; that's the way they always manage things when great familyhinterests is at stake. Let him give us a cool seven thousand a yearbetween us while he's alive; let him put you down for twenty thousandwhen he's dead--that'd come out of the young gentleman's share of theproperty, of course--and then let him give me his daughter Hemmeline,with another twenty thousand tacked on to her skirt-tail. I should bemum then for hever for the honour of the family."
The father for a moment or two was struck dumb by the magnitudeof his son's proposition. "That's what I call playing the gamefirm," continued the son. "Do you lay down your terms before him,substantial, and then stick to 'em. 'Them's my terms, Sir Thomas,'you'll say. 'If you don't like 'em, as I can't halter, why in courseI'll go elsewhere.' Do you be firm to that, and you'll see how thegame'll go."
"And you think he'll give you his daughter in marriage?"
"Why not? I'm honest born, hain't I? And she's a bastard."
"But, Aby, you don't know what sort of people these are. You don'tknow what her breeding has been."
"D---- her breeding. I know this: she'd get a deuced pretty fellowfor her husband, and one that girls as good as her has hankeredhafter long enough. It won't do, governor, to let people as is intheir position pick and choose like. We've the hupper hand, and wemust do the picking and choosing."
"She'd never have you, Aby; not if her father went down on his kneesto her to ask her."
"Oh, wouldn't she? By heaven, then, she shall, and that without anykneeling at all. She shall have me, and be deuced glad to take me.What! she'd refuse a fellow like me when she knows that she and allbelonging to her'd be turned into the streets if she don't have me!I'm clear of another way of thinking, then. My opinion is she'd cometo me jumping. I'll tell you what, governor, you don't know the sex."
Mr. Mollett senior upon this merely shook his head. Perhaps the factwas that he knew the sex somewhat better than his son. It had beenhis fate during a portion of his life to live among people who were,or ought to have been, gentlemen. He might have been such himself hadhe not gone wrong in life from the very starting-post. But his sonhad had no such opportunities. He did know and could know nothingabout ladies and gentlemen.
"You're mistaken, Aby," said the old man. "They'd never suffer you tocome among them on such a footing as that. They'd sooner go forth tothe world as beggars."
"Then, by G----! they shall go forth as beggars. I've said it now,father, and I'll stick to it. You know the stuff I'm made of." As hefinished speaking, he swallowed down the last half of a third glassof hot spirits a
nd water, and then glared on his father with angry,blood-shot eyes, and a red, almost lurid face. The unfortunate fatherwas beginning to know the son, and to feel that his son would becomehis master.
Shortly after this they were interrupted; and what furtherconversation they had on the matter that night took place in theirjoint bedroom; to which uninviting retreat it is not now necessarythat we should follow them.