CHAPTER IV. MAURICE SCANLAN, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW.
About an hour after the occurrence mentioned in our last chapter, thequiet little village of Kilkieran was startled by the sharp clatteringsounds of horses' feet, as Mr. Scanlan's tandem came slinging along; andafter various little dexterities amid stranded boats, disabled anchors,and broken capstans, drew up at the gate of the Osprey's Nest. When mendevise their own equipage, they invariably impart to it a stronginfusion of their own idiosyncrasy. The quiet souls who drag throughlife in chocolate-colored barouches, with horses indifferently matched,give no clew to their special characteristics; but your men of tax-cartsand tandems, your Jehus of four-in-hand teams, write their ownbiographies in every detail of the "turn-out."
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Maurice Scanlan was a sporting attorney, and from the group of gamecocks neatly painted on the hind panel, to the wiry, well-bred, andwell-looking screws before him, all was indicative of the man. Theconveyance was high and red-wheeled; the nags were a chestnut and agray; he drove them without winkers or bearing-reins, wearing his whitehat a very little on ope side, and gracefully tilting his elbow ashe admonished the wheeler with the "crop" of his whip. He was agood-looking, showy, vulgar, self-sufficient kind of fellow, withconsummate shrewdness in all business transactions, only marred by onesolitary weak point,--an intense desire to be received intimately bypersons of a station above his own, and to seem, at least, to be theadmitted guest of very fashionable society. It was not a very easymatter to know if this Lord-worship of his was real, or merely affected,since, certainly, the profit he derived from the assumption was veryconsiderable, and Maurice was intrusted with a variety of secret-servicetransactions, and private affairs for the nobility, which they wouldnever have dreamed of committing to the hands of their more recognizedadvisers.
If men would have been slow to engage his services in any grave orimportant suit, he was invaluable in all the ordinary and constantlyoccurring events of this changeful world. He knew every one'sdifficulties and embarrassments. There was not a hitch in a settlement,nor a spavin in your stables, could escape him. He seemed to possess akind of intuitive appreciation of a flaw; and he pounced upon a defectwith a rapidity that counterfeited genius. To these gifts he added aconsummate knowledge of his countrymen. He had emerged from the veryhumblest class of the people, and he knew them thoroughly; with alltheir moods of habitual distrust and momentary enthusiasm,--with alltheir phases of sanguine hopefulness he was familiar; and he could mouldand fashion and weld them to his will, as passive subjects as the heatedbar under the hammer of the smith.
As an electioneering agent he was unequalled. It was precisely thesphere in which his varied abilities were best exercised; and it was,besides, an arena in which he was proud of figuring.
For a while he seemed--at least in his own eyes--to stand on a highereminence than the candidate he represented, and to be a more prominentand far grander personage than his principal. In fact, it was only undersome tacit acknowledgment of this temporary supremacy that his serviceswere obtainable; his invariable stipulation being that he was to havethe entire and uncontrolled direction of the election.
Envious tongues and ungenerous talkers did, indeed, say that Mauriceinsisted upon this condition with very different objects in view,and that his unlimited powers found their pleasantest exercise in theinexplorable realms of secret bribery; however, it is but fair to saythat he was eminently successful, and that one failure alone in hiswhole career occurred to show the proverbial capriciousness of fortune.
With the little borough of Oughterard he had become so identified thathis engagement was regarded as one of the first elements of success.Hitherto, indeed, the battle had been always an easy one. The Liberalparty--as they pleasantly assumed to style themselves--had gone nofurther in opposition than an occasional burst of intemperate language,and an effort--usually a failure--at a street row during the election.So little of either energy or organization had marked their endeavors,that the great leader of the day had stigmatized their town with termsof heavy censure, and even pronounced them unworthy of the cause. Anemissary, deputed to report upon the political state of the borough,had described the voters as mere dependants on the haughty purse-proudproprietor of Cro' Martin, who seemed, even without an effort, tonominate the sitting member.
The great measure of the year '29--the Catholic Relief Bill--had now,however, suggested to even more apathetic constituencies the prospect ofa successful struggle. The thought of being represented by "one of theirown sort" was no mean stimulant to exertion; and the leading spirits ofthe place had frequently conferred together as to what steps shouldbe taken to rescue the borough from the degrading thraldom of anaristocratic domination. Lord Kilmorris, it is true, was rather popularwith them than the reverse. The eldest son of an Earl, who only caredto sit in Parliament on easy terms, till the course of time and eventsshould call him to the Upper House, he never took any very decidedpolitical line, but sat on Tory benches and gave an occasional vote toLiberal measures, as though foreshadowing that new school who were totake the field under the middle designation of Conservatives. Some veryremote relationship to Lady Dorothea's family had first introduced himto the Martins' notice; and partly from this connection, and partlybecause young Harry Martin was too young to sit in Parliament, they hadcontinued to support him to the present time.
Mr. Martin himself cared very little for politics; had he even caredmore, he would not have sacrificed to them one jot of that indolent,lazy, apathetic existence which alone he seemed to prize. He was rathergrateful than otherwise to Lord Kilmorris for taking upon him thetrouble of a contest, if there should be such a thing. His greatestexcuse through life, at least to himself, had ever been that he was"unprepared." He had been in that unhappy state about everything sincehe was born, and so, apparently, was he destined to continue to the verylast. With large resources, he was never prepared for any sudden demandfor money. When called on for any exertion of mind or body, when askedto assist a friend or rescue a relation from difficulty, he was quiteunprepared; and so convinced was he that this was a fatality under whichhe labored, that no sooner had he uttered the expression than he totallyabsolved himself from every shadow of reproach that might attach to hisluke-warmness.
The uncontrolled position he occupied, joined to the solitary isolationin which he lived, had doubtless engendered this cold and heartlesstheory. There was no one to dispute his will,--none to gainsay hisopinions. There was not for him any occasion for the healthful exertionwhich is evoked by opposition, and he sunk gradually down into a moping,listless, well-meaning, but utterly good-for-nothing gentleman, whowould have been marvellously amazed had any one arraigned him forneglect of his station and its great requirements.
That such an insolent possibility could be, was only demonstrated to himin that morning's newspaper. To be called a despot was bad enough, buta petty despot,--and to be told that such despotism was alreadydoomed--aroused in him a degree of indignation all the more painful thatthe sensation was one he had not experienced for many a year back. Whosefault was it that such an impertinence had ever been uttered? Doubtless,Kilmorris's. Some stupid speech, some absurd vote, some ridiculous partymove had brought down this attack upon him; or perhaps it was Mary, withher new-fangled ideas about managing the estate, her school-houses, andher model-farms. The ignorant people had possibly revolted against herinterference; or it might be Lady Dorothea herself, whose haughty mannerhad given offence; at all events, _he_ was blameless, and strangeto say, either he was not perfectly assured of the fact, or that theassumption was not pleasant, but he seemed very far from being satisfiedwith the explanation. In the agitated mood these feelings produced, aservant came to inform him that Mr. Scanlan had just arrived.
"Say I 'm out--I 'm unwell--I don't feel quite myself to-day. Call MissMary to him." And with an impatient gesture he motioned the servantaway.
"Miss Mary will be down in a few minutes, sir," said the man, enteringthe room where Mr. Scanlan stood arranging his
whiskers beforethe chimney-glass, and contemplating with satisfaction his generalappearance.
"It was Mr. Martin himself, Thomas, that I wanted to see."
"I know that, sir, but the Master is n't well this morning; he told meto send Miss Mary to you."
"All right," said Scanlan, giving a finishing touch to the tie of hiscravat, and then gracefully bestowing his person into an easy-chair. Tocommon observation he looked perfectly unconcerned in every gesture,and yet no man felt less at his ease at that moment than Mr. MauriceScanlan; and though the cause involves something like a secret,the reader shall know it. Mr. Scanlan had seen a good deal of theworld--that is, of _his_ world. He had mixed with barristers andsolicitors, "Silk Gowns," masters in Chancery, and even puisne judgeshad he come into contact with; he had mingled in turf experiences withcertain sporting lords and baronets, swapped horses, and betted andhandicapped with men of fortune; he had driven trotting-matches, andridden hurdle-races against young heirs to good estates, and somehowalways found himself not inferior in worldly craft and address to thosehe came in contact with,--nay, he even fancied that he was occasionallyrather a little more wide awake than his opponents; and what with alittle blustering here, a little blarney there, a dash of mock franknessto this man, or an air of impulsive generosity to the other,--anaccommodating elasticity, in fact, that extended to morals, manners,and principles,--he found that he was, as he himself styled it, "afair match with equal weights for anything going." There was butone individual alone in presence of whom he in reality felt his owninferiority deeply and painfully; strange to say, that was Miss Martin!At first sight this would seem almost unintelligible. She was not eithera haughty beauty, presuming on the homage bestowed upon her by high anddistinguished admirers, nor was she any greatly gifted and cultivatedgenius dominating over lesser intelligences by the very menace of heracquirements. She was simply a high-spirited, frank, unaffected girl,whose good breeding and good sense seemed alike instinctive, and whoread with almost intuition the shallow artifices by which such naturesas Scanlan's impose upon the world. She had seen him easily indolentwith her uncle, obsequiously deferential to my Lady, all in the samebreath, while the side-look of tyranny he could throw a refractorytenant appeared just as congenial to his nature.
It was some strange consciousness which told him he could not deceive_her_, that made Scanlan ever abashed in her presence, and by theself-same impulse was it that she was the only one in the world forwhose good esteem he would have sacrificed all he possessed.
While he waited for her coming, he took a leisurely survey of the room.The furniture, less costly and rich than at Cro' Martin, was all markedby that air of propriety and comfort so observable in rich men's houses.There were the hundred appliances of ease and luxury that show howcarefully the most trifling inconveniences are warded off, and thecourse of daily life rendered as untroubled as mere material enjoymentscan secure. Scanlan sighed deeply, for the thought crossed his mind howwas a girl brought up in this way ever to stoop to ally her fortune toa man like him? Was it, then, possible that he nourished such apresumption? Even so. Maurice was of an aspiring turn; he had succeededin twenty things that a dozen years past he had never dared to dream of.He had dined at tables and driven with men whose butlers and valets heonce deemed very choice company; he had been the guest at houses whereonce his highest ambition had been to see the interior as a matter ofcuriosity. "Who could say where he might be at last?" Besides this, heknew from his own knowledge of family matters that she had no fortune,that her father was infinitely more likely to leave debts than aninheritance behind him, and that her uncle was the last man in the worldever to think of a marriage-portion for one he could not afford to partwith. There was, then, no saying what turn of fortune might present himin an admissible form as a suitor. At all events, there was no rival inthe field, and Maurice had seen many a prize won by a "walk over" purelyfor want of a competitor in the race.
Notwithstanding all these very excellent and reassuring considerations,Maurice Scanlan could not overcome a most uncomfortable sense ofawkwardness as Mary Martin entered the room, and saluting him witheasy familiarity, said, "I'm quite ashamed of having made you wait, Mr.Scanlan; but I was in the village when I got my uncle's message. I findthat he is not well enough to receive you, and if I can--"
"I'm sure it's only too much honor you do me, Miss Mary; I neverexpected to have the pleasure of this interview; indeed, it will be veryhard for me to think of business, at all, at all."
"That would be most unfortunate after your coming so far on account ofit," said she, half archly, while she seated herself on a sofa at somedistance from him.
"If it were a question about the estate, Miss Mary," said he, in hismost obsequious manner, "there's nobody equal to yourself; or if it wereanything at all but what it is, I know well that you'd see your wayout of it; but the present is a matter of politics,--it 's about theborough."
"That weary borough," said she, sighing; "and are we about to haveanother election?"
"That 's it, Miss Mary; and Lord Kilmorris writes me to say that he 'llbe over next week, and hopes he 'll find all his friends here as welldisposed towards him as ever."
"Has he written to my uncle?" asked Mary, hastily.
"No; and that's exactly what I came about. There was a kind ofcoldness,--more my Lady's, I think, than on Mr. Martin's part,--and LordKilmorris feels a kind of delicacy; in fact, he doesn't rightly know howhe stands at Cro' Martin." Here he paused, in hopes that she would helphim by even a word; but she was perfectly silent and attentive, and hewent on. "So that, feeling himself embarrassed, and at the same timeknowing how much he owes to the Martin interest--"
"Well, go on," said she, calmly, as he came a second time to a deadstop.
"It isn't so easy, then, Miss Mary," said he, with a long sigh, "forthere are so many things enter into it,--so much of politics and partyand what not,--that I quite despair of making myself intelligible,though, perhaps, if I was to see your uncle, he 'd make out my meaning."
"Shall I try and induce him to receive you, then?" said she, quietly.
"Well, then, I don't like asking it," said he, doubtfully; "for, afterall, there's nobody can break it to him as well as yourself."
"Break it to him, Mr. Scanlan?" said she, in astonishment.
"Faith, it 's the very word, then," said he; "for do what one will, saywhat they may, it will be sure to surprise him, if it does no worse."
"You alarm me, sir; and yet I feel that if you would speak boldly outyour meaning, there is probably no cause for fear."
"I'll just do so, then, Miss Mary; but at the same time I 'd have you tounderstand that I 'm taking a responsibility on myself that his Lordshipnever gave me any warrant for, and that there is not another--" Mr.Scanlan stopped, but only in time; for, whether it was the fervor inwhich he uttered these words, or that Miss Martin anticipated whatwas about to follow, her cheek became scarlet, and a most unmistakableexpression of her eyes recalled the worthy practitioner to all hiswonted caution. "The matter is this, Miss Martin," said he, witha degree of deference more marked than before, "Lord Kilmorris isdissatisfied with the way your uncle supported him at the last election.He complains of the hard conditions imposed upon him as to his line ofconduct in the House; and, above all, he feels insulted by a letterLady Dorothea wrote him, full of very harsh expressions and hardinsinuations. I never saw it myself, but that's his account of it,--infact, he's very angry."
"And means to throw up the borough, in short," broke in Mary.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Mary," said the other, in a half whisper.
"What then?--what can he purpose doing?"
"He means to try and come in on his own interest," said Scanlan, whouttered the words with an effort, and seemed to feel relief when theywere out.
"Am I to understand that he would contest the borough with us?"
Scanlan nodded an affirmative.
"No, no, Mr. Scanlan, this is some mistake,--some misapprehension onyour part. His Lords
hip may very possibly feel aggrieved,--he may havesome cause, for aught I know,--about something in the last election,but this mode of resenting it is quite out of the question,--downrightimpossible."
"The best way is to read his own words. Miss Martin. There's hisletter," said he, handing one towards her, which, however, she made nomotion to take.
"If you won't read it, then, perhaps you will permit me to do so.It's very short, too, for he says at the end he will write more fullyto-morrow." Mr. Scanlan here muttered over several lines of the epistle,until he came to the following: "I am relieved from any embarrassmentI should have felt at breaking with the Martins by reflecting over thealtered conditions of party, and the new aspect politics must assume bythe operations of the Emancipation Act. The old ways and traditions ofthe Tories must be abandoned at once and forever; and though Martin inhis life of seclusion and solitude will not perceive this necessity, wehere all see and admit it. I could, therefore, no longer represent hisopinions, since they would find no echo in the House. To stand for theborough I must stand on my own views, which, I feel bold to say, includejustice to both of the contending factions."
"Admirably argued," broke in Mary. "He absolves himself from all ties ofgratitude to my uncle by adopting principles the reverse of all he everprofessed."
"It's very like that, indeed, Miss Mary," said Scanlan, timidly.
"Very like it, sir? it is exactly so. Really the thing would be toogross if it were not actually laughable;" and as she spoke she arose andpaced the room in a manner that showed how very little of the ludicrousside of the matter occupied her thoughts. "He will stand for theborough--he means to stand in opposition to us?"
"That's his intention--at least, if Mr. Martin should not come to theconclusion that it is better to support his Lordship than risk throwingthe seat into the hands of the Roman Catholics."
"I can't follow all these intrigues, Mr. Scanlan. I confess to you,frankly, that you have puzzled me enough already, and that I have foundit no small strain on my poor faculties to conceive a gentleman beingable to argue himself into any semblance of self-approval by suchsentiments as those which you have just read; but I am a poor countrygirl, very ignorant of great topics and great people. The best thing Ican do is to represent this affair to my uncle, and as early as may be."
"I hope he'll not take the thing to heart, miss; and I trust he 'llacquit _me_--"
"Be assured he'll despise the whole business most thoroughly, sir. Inever knew him take any deep interest in these themes; and if this bea fair specimen of the way they are discussed, he was all the wiserfor his indifference. Do you make any stay in the village? Will it beinconvenient for you to remain an hour or so?"
"I'll wait your convenience, miss, to any hour," said Scanlan, with anair of gallantry which, had she been less occupied with her thoughts,might have pushed her hard to avoid smiling at.
"I'll be down at Mrs. Cronan's till I hear from you, Miss Mary." Andwith a look of as much deferential admiration as he dared to bestow,Scanlan took his leave, and mounting to his box, assumed the ribbonswith a graceful elegance and a certain lackadaisical languor that, tohimself at least, appeared demonstrative of an advanced stage of thetender passion.
"Begad, she's a fine girl; devil a lie in it, but she has n't her equal!and as sharp as a needle, too," muttered he, as he jogged along theshingly beach, probably for the first time in his whole life forgettingthe effect he was producing on the bystanders.