CHAPTER XIX. MR. DEMPSEY BEHIND THE SCENE
No very precise or determined purpose guided Mr. Dempsey's footsteps ashe issued from the hall and gained the corridor, from which the variousrooms of the cottage opened. Benevolent intentions of the vaguest kindtowards Lady Eleanor were commingled with thoughts of his own safety,and perhaps more strongly than either, an intense curiosity to inspectthe domestic arrangements of the family, not without the hope of findingsomething to eat.
He had now been about twenty-four hours without food, and to a man whohabitually lived in a boarding-house, and felt it a point of honor toconsume as much as he could for his weekly pay, the abstinence was farfrom agreeable. If then his best inspirations were blended with someselfishness, he was not quite unpardonable. Mr. Dempsey tried each dooras he went along, and although they were all unlocked, the interiorsresponded to none of his anticipations. The apartments were plainly butcomfortably furnished; in some books lay about, and an open piano toldof recent habitation. In one, which he judged rightly to be theKnight's drawing-room, a table was covered over with letters and lawpapers,--documents which honest Paul beheld with some feeling akin toAladdin, when he surveyed the inestimable treasures he had no means ofcarrying away with him from the mine. A faint gleam of light shonefrom beneath a door at the end of the corridor, and thither with silentfootsteps he now turned. All was still: he listened as he drew near; butexcept the loud ticking of a clock, nothing was to be heard. Paul triedto reconnoitre by the keyhole, but it was closed. He waited for sometime unable to decide on the most fitting course, and at length openedthe door, and entered. Stopping short at the threshold, Paul raised thecandle, to take a better view of the apartment. Perhaps any one savehimself would have returned on discovering it was a bedroom. A largeold-fashioned bed, with a deep and massive curtain closely drawn, stoodagainst one wall; beside it, on the table, was a night-lamp, from whichthe faint glimmer he had first noticed proceeded. Some well-stuffedarm-chairs were disposed here and there, and on the tables lay articlesof female dress. Mr. Dempsey stood for a few seconds, and perhapssome secret suspicion crept over him that this visit might be thoughtintrusive. It might be Lady Eleanor's, or perhaps Miss Darcy's chamber.Who was to say she was not actually that instant in bed asleep? Werethe fact even so, Mr. Dempsey only calculated on a momentary shock ofsurprise at his appearance, well assured that his explanation would beadmitted as perfectly satisfactory. Thus wrapped in his good intentions,and shrouding the light with one hand, he drew the curtain with theother. The bed was empty, the coverings were smooth, the pillowsunpressed. The occupant, whoever it might be, had not yet takenpossession. Mr. Dempsey's fatigue was only second to his hunger, andhaving failed to discover the larder, it is more than probable he wouldhave contented himself with the gratification of a sleep, had he notjust at that instant perceived a light flickering beside and beneath thefolds of a heavy curtain which hung over a doorway at the farthestend of the room. His spirit of research once more encouraged, hemoved towards it, and drawing it very gently, admitted his eye in theinterspace. A glass door intervened between him and a small chamber, butpermitted him to see without being heard by those within. Flatteninghis features on the glass, he stared at the scene; and truly one lessinspired by the spirit of inquiry might have felt shocked at being thusplaced. Lady Eleanor sat in her dressing-gown on a sofa, while, halfkneeling, half lying at her feet, was Helen, her head concealed inher mother's lap, and her long hair loosely flowing over her neck andshoulders. Lady Eleanor was pale as death, and the marks of recent tearswere ou her cheeks; but still her features wore the expression of deeptenderness and pity, rather than of selfish sorrow. Helen's face washidden; but her attitude, and the low sobbing sounds that at intervalsbroke the stillness, told how her heart was suffering.
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"My dear, dear child," said Lady Eleanor, as she laid her hand upon theyoung girl's head, "be comforted. Rest assured that in making me thepartner in your sorrow, I will be the happier participator in your joy,whenever its day may come. Yes, Helen, and it will come."
"Had I told you earlier--"
"Had you done so," interrupted Lady Eleanor, "you had been spared muchgrief, for I could have assured you, as I now do, that you are not toblame,--that this young man's rashness, however we may deplore it, hadno promptings from us."
Helen replied, but in so low a tone that Mr. Dempsey could not catch thewords; he could hear, however, Lady Eleanor uttering at intervals wordsof comfort and encouragement, and at last she said,--
"Nay, Helen, no half-confidence, my child. Acknowledge it fairly, thatyour opinion of him is not what it was at first; or if you will notconfess it, leave it to my own judgment And why should you not?" addedshe, in a stronger voice; "wiser heads may reprove his precipitancy,criticise what would be called his folly, but you may be forgiven forthinking that his Quixotism could deserve another and a fonder title.And I, Helen, grown old and chilly-hearted, each day more distrustfulof the world, less sanguine in hope, more prone to suspect,--even I feelthat devotion like his has a strong claim on your affection. And shallI own to you that on the very day he brought us that letter a kind ofvague presentiment that I should one day like him stole across me. Whatwas the noise? Did you not hear something stir?" Helen had heard it, butpaid no further attention, for there was no token of any one being near.
Noise, however, there really was, occasioned by Mr. Dempsey, who, inhis eagerness to hear, had pushed the door partly open. For some momentsback, honest Paul had listened with as much embarrassment as curiosity,sorely puzzled to divine of whom the mother and daughter were speaking.The general tenor of the conversation left the subject no matterof difficulty. The individual was the only doubtful question. LadyEleanor's allusion to a letter, and her own feelings at the moment, atonce reminded him of her altered manner to himself on the evening hebrought the epistle from Coleraine, and how she, who up to that time hadtreated him with unvarying distance and reserve, had as suddenly becomeall the reverse.
"Blood alive!" said he to himself, "I never as much as suspected it!"His eagerness to hear further was intense; and although he had contrivedto keep the door ajar, his curiosity was doomed to disappointment, forit was Helen who spoke, and her words were uttered in a low, faint tone,utterly inaudible where he stood. Whatever pleasure Mr. Dempsey mighthave at first derived from his contraband curiosity, was more thanrepaid now by the tortures of anxiety. He suspected that Helen wasmaking a full confession of her feelings towards him, and yet he couldnot catch a syllable. Lady Eleanor, too, when she spoke again, it was inan accent almost equally faint; and all that Paul could gather was thatthe mother was using expressions of cheerfulness and hope, ending withthe words,--
"His own fortunes look now as darkly as ours; mayhap the same brightmorning will dawn for both together, Helen. We have hope to cheer us,for him and for us."
"Ah! true enough," muttered Paul; "she's alluding to old Bob Dempsey,and if the Lord would take him, we 'd all come right again."
Helen now arose, and seated herself beside her mother, with her headleaning ou her shoulder; and Mr. Dempsey might have been pardoned ifhe thought she never looked more beautiful. The loose folds of hernight-dress less concealed than delineated the perfect symmetry of herform; while through the heavy masses of the luxuriant hair that fellupon her neck and shoulders, her skin seemed more than ever delicatelyfair. If Paul's mind was a perfect whirl of astonishment, delight,and admiration, his doubts were no less puzzling. What was _he_ to do?Should he at once discover himself, throw himself at Helen's feet in arapture, confessing that he had heard her avowal, and declare that thepassion was mutual? This, although with evident advantages on the scoreof dramatic effect, had also its drawback. Lady Eleanor, who scarcelylooked as well in dishabille as her daughter, might feel offended. Shemight take it ill, also, that he had been a listener. Paul had heard ofpeople who actually deemed eavesdropping unbecoming! Who knows,among her own eccentricities, if this one might not find place? Paul,therefore, resolved on a mo
re cautious advance, and, for his guidance,applied his ear once more to the aperture. This time, however, withoutsuccess, for they spoke still lower than before; nor, after a long andpatient waiting, could he hear more than that the subject was theirpresent embarrassment, and the necessity of immediately removing from"The Corvy," but where to, and how, they could not determine.
There was no time to ask Bicknell's advice; before an answer couldarrive, they would be exposed to all the inconvenience, perhaps insult,which Mr. Nickie's procedure seemed to threaten. The subject appearedone to which all their canvassing had brought no solution, and at lastLady Eleanor said,--
"How thankful I am, Helen, that I never wrote to Lord Netherby; morethan once, when our difficulties seemed to thicken, I half made up mymind to address him. How much would it add to my present distressof mind, if I had yielded to the impulse! The very thought is nowintolerable."
"Pride! pride!" muttered Paul.
"And I was so near it," ejaculated Lady Eleanor.
"Yes," said Helen, sharply; "our noble cousin's kindness would be a soreaggravation of our troubles."
"Worse than the mother, by Jove!" exclaimed Paul. "Oh dear! if I had acousin a lord, maybe he'd not hear of me."
Lady Eleanor spoke again; but Paul could only catch a stray word hereand there, and again she reverted to the necessity of leaving thecottage at once.
"Could we even see this Mr. Dempsey," said she, "he knows the countrywell, and might be able to suggest some fitting place for the moment, atleast till we could decide on better."
Paul scarcely breathed, that he might catch every syllable.
"Yes," said Helen, eagerly, "he would be the very person to assist us;but, poor little man! he has his own troubles, too, at this moment."
"She's a kind creature," muttered Paul; "how fond I'm growing of her!"
"It is no time for the indulgence of scruples; otherwise, Helen, I 'dnot place much reliance on the gentleman's taste."
"Proud as Lucifer," thought Paul.
"His good-nature, mamma, is the quality we stand most in need of, and Ihave a strong trust that he is not deficient there."
"What a situation to be placed in!" sighed Lady Eleanor: "that we shouldturn with a shudder from seeking protection where it is our due, and yetask counsel and assistance from a man like this!"
"I feel no repugnance whatever to accepting such a favor from Mr.Dempsey, while I should deem it a great humiliation to be suitor to theEarl of Netherby."
"And yet he is our nearest relative living,--with vast wealth andinfluence, and I believe not indisposed towards us. I go too fast,perhaps," said she, scornfully; "his obligations to my own father weretoo great and too manifold, that I should say so."
"What a Tartar!" murmured Paul.
"If the proud Earl could forget the services my dear father renderedhim, when, a younger son, without fortune or position, he had no otherrefuge than our house,--if he could wipe away the memory of benefitsonce received,--he might perhaps be better minded towards us; butobligation is so suggestive of ill-will."
"Dearest mamma," said Helen, laughing, "if your hopes depend upon hisLordship's forgetfulness of kindness, I do think we may afford to besanguine. I am well inclined to think that he is not weighed down bythe load of gratitude that makes men enemies. Still," added she, moreseriously, "I am very averse to seeking his aid, or even his counsel; Ivote for Mr. Dempsey."
"How are we to endure the prying impertinence of his curiosity? Have youthought of that, Helen?"
Paul's cheek grew scarlet, and his very fingers' ends tingled.
"Easily enough, mamma. Nay, if our troubles were not so urgent, it wouldbe rather amusing than otherwise; and with all his vulgarity--"
"The little vixen!" exclaimed Paul, so much off his guard that bothmother and daughter started.
"Did you hear that, Helen? I surely heard some one speak."
"I almost thought so," replied Miss Darcy, taking up a candle from thetable, and proceeding towards the door. Mr. Dempsey had but time toretreat behind the curtain of the bed, when she reached the spot wherehe had been standing. "No, all is quiet in the house," said she,opening the door into the corridor and listening. "Even our respectableguests would seem to be asleep." She waited for a few seconds, and thenreturned to her place on the sofa.
Mr. Dempsey had either heard enough to satisfy the immediate cravingsof his curiosity, or, more probably, felt his present position toocritical; for when he drew the curtain once more close over the glassdoor, he slipped noiselessly into the corridor, and entering the firstroom he could find, opened the window and sprang out.
"You shall not be disappointed in Paul Dempsey, anyhow," said he, as hebuttoned up the collar of his coat, and pressed his hat more firmlyon his head. "No, my Lady, he may be vulgar and inquisitive, though Iconfess it's the first time I ever heard of either; but he is not theman to turn his back on a good-natured action, when it lies fullin front of him. What a climate, to be sure! it blows from the fourquarters of the globe all at once, and the rain soaks in and delugesone's very heart's blood. Paul, Paul, you 'll have a smart twinge ofrheumatism from this night's exploit."
It may be conjectured that Mr. Dempsey, like many other gifted people,had a habit of compensating for the want of society by holding littledialogues or discourses with himself,--a custom from which he derived nosmall gratification, for, while it lightened the weariness of a lonelyway, it enabled him to say many more flattering and civil things tohimself than he usually heard from an ungrateful world.
"They talk of Demerara," said he; "I back Antrim against the world fora hurricane. The rainy season here lasts all the year round; and ifpractice makes perfect--There, now I 'm wet through, I can't be worse.Ah! Helen, Helen, if you knew how unfit Paul Dempsey is to play Paris!By the way, who was the fellow that swam the Hellespont for love ofa young lady? Not Laertes, no--that's not it-Leander, that's thename--Leander."
Paul muttered the name several times over, and by a train of thoughtwhich we will not attempt to follow or unravel, began humming to himselfthe well-known Irish ditty of--
"Teddy, ye gander, Yer like a Highlander."
He soon came to a stop in the words, but continued to sing the air, tillat last he broke out in the following version of his own:--
"Paul Dempsey, ye gander, You 're like that Leander Who for somebody's daughter--for somebody's daughter Did not mind it one pin To be wet to the skin, With a dip in salt water--a dip in salt water.
"Were you wiser, 'tis plain, You 'd be now in Coleraine, A nightcap on your head--a nightcap on your head, With a jorum of rum, Made by old Mother Fum, At the side of your bed--at the side of your bed.
"For tho' love is divine, When the weather is fine, And a season of bliss--a season of bliss, 'Tis a different thing For a body to sing On a night such as this--a night such as this.
"Paul Dempsey! remember, On the ninth of December You 'll be just forty-six--you 'll be just forty-six, And the world will say That at your time o' day You 're too old for these tricks--you 're too old for these tricks.
"And tho' water may show One's love, faith, I know I 'd rather prove mine--I 'd rather prove mine With my feet on the fender; 'T is then I grow tender, O'er a bumper of wine--o'er a bumper of wine!
"A bumper of wine!" sighed he. "On my conscience, it would be an uglytoast I 'd refuse to drink this minute, if the liquor was near.
"Ah! when warm and snog, With my legs on the rug, By a turf fire red--a turf fire red-- But how can I rhyme it? With this horrid climate, Destroying my head--destroying my head?
"With a coat full of holes, And my shoes without soles, And my hat like a teapot--my hat like a teapot--
"Oh, murther, murther!" screamed he, aloud, as his shins came in contactwith a piece of timber, and he fell full length to the ground, sorelybruised, and perfectly enveloped in snow
. It was some minutes before hecould rally sufficiently to get up; and although he still shouted forhelp, seeing a light in a window near, no one came to his assistance,leaving poor Paul to his own devices.
It was some consolation for his sufferings to discover that the objectover which he had stumbled was the shaft of a jaunting-car, such aconveyance being at that moment what he most desired to meet with. Thedriver at last made his appearance, and informed him that he had broughtNickie and his two companions from Larne, and was now only waiting theirsummons to proceed to Coleraine.
Paul easily persuaded the man that he could earn a fare in the meantime, for that Nickie would probably not leave "The Corvy" till lateon the following day, and that by a little exertion he could manage todrive to Coleraine and back before he was stirring. It is but fair toadd that poor Mr. Dempsey supported his arguments by lavish promises ofreward, to redeem which he speculated on mortgaging his silver watch,and probably his umbrella, when he reached Coleraine.
It was yet a full hour before daybreak, as Lady Eleanor, who had passedthe night in her dressing-room, was startled by a sharp tapping noiseat her window; Helen lay asleep on the sofa, and too soundly lockedin slumber to hear the sounds. Lady Eleanor listened, and while halffearing to disturb the young girl, wearied and exhausted as she was, shedrew near to the window. The indistinct shadow of a figure was all thatshe could detect through the gloom, but she fancied she could hear aweak effort to pronounce her name.
There could be little doubt of the intentions of the visitor; whoever heshould prove, the frail barrier of a window could offer no resistanceto any one disposed to enter by force, and, reasoning thus, Lady Eleanorunfastened the casement, and cried, "Who is there?"
A strange series of gestures, accompanied by a sound between a sneezeand the crowing of a cock, was all the reply; and when the question wasrepeated in a louder tone, a thin quivering voice muttered, "Pau-au-lDe-de-dempsey, my La-dy."
"Mr. Dempsey, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Eleanor. "Oh! pray come round tothe door at your left hand; it is only a few steps from where you arestanding."
Short as the distance was, Mr. Dempsey's progress was of the slowest,and Lady Eleanor had already time to awaken Helen, ere the half-frozenPaul had crossed the threshold.
"He has passed the night in the snow," cried Lady Eleanor to herdaughter, as she led him towards the fire.
"No, my Lady," stammered out Paul, "only the last hour and a half;before that I was snug under old Daly's blanket."
A very significant interchange of looks between mother and daughterseemed to imply that poor Mr. Dempsey's wits were wandering.
"Call Tate; let him bring some wine here at once, Helen."
"It's all drunk; not a glass in the decanter," murmured Paul, whosethoughts recurred to the supper-table.
"Poor creature, his mind is quite astray," whispered Lady Eleanor,her compassion not the less strongly moved, because she attributed hismisfortune to the exertions he had made in their behalf. By this timethe group was increased by the arrival of old Tate, who, in a flannelnightcap fastened under the chin, and a very ancient dressing-gown ofundyed wool, presented a lively contrast to the shivering condition ofMr. Dempsey.
"It's only Mr. Dempsey!" said Lady Eleanor, sharply, as the old butlerstood back, crossing himself and staring with sleepy terror at the whitefigure.
"May I never! But so it is," exclaimed Tate, in return to an attempt ata bow on Dempsey's part, which he accomplished with a brackling noiselike creaking glass.
"Some warm wine at once," said Helen, while she heaped two or three logsupon the hearth.
"With a little ginger in it, miss," grinned Paul. But the polite attemptat a smile nearly cut his features, and ended in a most lamentableexpression of suffering.
"This is the finest thing in life agin' the cowld," said Tate, ashe threw over the shivering figure a Mexican mantle, all worked andembroidered with quills, that gave the gentle Mr. Dempsey the air of anenormous porcupine. The clothing, the fire, and the wine, of which hepartook heartily, soon restored him, and erelong he had recounted toLady Eleanor the whole narrative of his arrival at "The Corvy," hisconcealment in the canoe, the burning of the law papers, and evendown to the discovery of the jaunting-car, omitting nothing, save theinterview he had witnessed between the mother and daughter.
Lady Eleanor could not disguise her anxiety on the subject of the burneddocuments, but Paul's arguments were conclusive in reply,--
"Who's to tell of it? Not your Ladyship, not Miss Helen; and as to Paul,meaning myself, my discretion is quite Spanish. Yes, my Lady," said he,with a tragic gesture that threw back the loose folds of his costume,"there is an impression abroad, which I grieve to say is widespread,that the humble individual who addresses you is one of those unstable,fickle minds that accomplish nothing great; but I deny it, deny itindignantly. Let the occasion but arise, let some worthy object presentitself, or herself,"--he gave a most melting look towards Helen, whichcost all her efforts to sustain without laughter,--"and then, madam, DonPaulo Dempsey will come out in his true colors."
"Which I sincerely hope may not be of the snow tint," said Lady Eleanor,smiling. "But pray, Mr. Dempsey, to return to a theme more selfish. Youare sufficiently aware of our unhappy circumstances here at this moment,to see that we must seek some other abode, at least for the present. Canyou then say where we can find such?"
"Miss Daly's neighborhood, perhaps," broke in Helen.
"Never do,-not to be thought of," interrupted Paul; "there's nothing forit but the Panther--"
"The what, sir?" exclaimed Lady Eleanor, in no small surprise.
"The Panther, my Lady, Mother Fum's! snug, quiet, and respectable;social, if you like,--selfish, if you please it. Solitary or gregarious;just as you fancy."
"And where, sir, is the Panther?" said Lady Eleanor, who in herinnocence supposed this to be the sign of some village inn.
"In the Diamond of Coleraine, my Lady, opposite M'Grotty's, next but oneto Kitty Black's hardware, and two doors from the Post-Office; centraland interesting. Mail-car from Newtown, Lim.,--takes up passengers,within view of the windows, at two every day. Letters given out atfour,--see every one in the town without stirring from your window.Huston's, the apothecary, always full of people at post hour. Gibbin'stobacco-shop assembles all the Radicals at the same time to read the'Patriot.' Plenty of life and movement."
"Is there nothing to be found more secluded, less--"
"Less fashionable, your Ladyship would observe. To be sure there is; butthere 's objections,--at least I am sure you would dislike the prying,inquisitive spirit--Eh? Did you make an observation, miss?"
"No, Mr. Dempsey," said Helen, with some difficulty preserving asuitable gravity. "I would only remark that you are perfectly in theright, and that my mother seeks nothing more than a place where we canremain without obtrusiveness or curiosity directed towards us."
"There will always be the respectful admiration that beauty exacts,"replied Paul, bowing courteously, "but I can answer for the delicacy ofColeraine as for my own."
If this assurance was not quite as satisfactory to the ladies asMr. Dempsey might have fancied it ought to be, there was really noalternative; they knew nothing of the country, which side to directtheir steps, or whither to seek shelter; besides, until they hadcommunicated with Bicknell, they could not with safety leave theneighborhood to which all their letters were addressed.
It was then soon determined to accept Mr. Dempsey's suggestion andsafe-conduct, and leaving Tate for the present to watch over such oftheir effects as they could not conveniently carry with them, to set outfor Coleraine. The arrangements were made as speedily as the resolve,and day had scarcely dawned ere they quitted "The Corvy."