Tales and Novels Volume VI Part 36

"Colambre."

The count, in the mean time, wrote a letter for him to Sir James Brooke, describing the packet which he had given to the amba.s.sador, and relating all the circ.u.mstances that could lead to its recovery.

Lord Colambre, almost before the wax was hard, seized the letter; the count seeming almost as eager to hurry him off as he was to set out.

He thanked the count with few words, but with strong feeling. Joy and love returned in full tide upon our hero's soul; all the military ideas, which but an hour before filled his imagination, were put to flight: Spain vanished, and green Ireland reappeared.

Just as they shook hands at parting, the good old general, with a smile, said to him, "I believe I had better not stir in the matter of Benson's commission till I hear more from you. My harangue, in favour of the military profession, will, I fancy, prove, like most other harangues, a waste of words."

CHAPTER XVI.

In what words of polite circ.u.mlocution, or of cautious diplomacy, shall we say, or hint, that the deceased amba.s.sador's papers were found in shameful disorder. His excellency's executor, Sir James Brooke, however, was indefatigable in his researches. He and Lord Colambre spent two whole days in looking over portfolios of letters, and memorials, and manifestoes, and bundles of paper of the most heterogeneous sorts; some of them without any docket or direction to lead to a knowledge of their contents; others written upon in such a manner as to give an erroneous notion of their nature; so that it was necessary to untie every paper separately. At last, when they had opened, as they thought, every paper, and, wearied and in despair, were just on the point of giving up the search, Lord Colambre spied a bundle of old newspapers at the bottom of a trunk.

"They are only old Vienna Gazettes; I looked at them," said Sir James.

Lord Colambre, upon this a.s.surance, was going to throw them into the trunk again; but observing that the bundle had not been untied, he opened it, and withinside of the newspapers he found a rough copy of the amba.s.sador's journal, and with it the packet directed to Ralph Reynolds, sen., Esq., Old Court, Suffolk, per favour of his excellency Earl *****--a note on the cover, signed O'Halloran, stating when received by him, and, the date of the day when delivered to the amba.s.sador--seals unbroken. Our hero was in such a transport of joy at the sight of this packet, and his friend Sir James Brooke so full of his congratulations, that they forgot to curse the amba.s.sador's carelessness, which had been the cause of so much evil.

The next thing to be done was to deliver the packet to Ralph Reynolds, Old Court, Suffolk. But when Lord Colambre arrived at Old Court, Suffolk, he found all the gates locked, and no admittance to be had.

At last an old woman came out of the porter's lodge, who said Mr.

Reynolds was not there, and she could not say where he was. After our hero had opened her heart by the present of half a guinea, she explained, that she "could not _justly_ say where he was, because that he never let any body of his own people know where he was any day; he had several different houses and places in different parts, and far off counties, and other s.h.i.+res, as she heard, and by times he was at one, and by times at another. The names of two of the places, Toddrington and Little Wrestham, she knew; but there were others to which she could give no direction. He had houses in odd parts of London, too, that he let; and sometimes, when the lodgers' time was out, he would go, and be never heard of for a month, may be, in one of them. In short, there was no telling or saying where he was or would be one day of the week, by where he had been the last."

When Lord Colambre expressed some surprise that an old gentleman, as he conceived Mr. Ralph Reynolds to be, should change places so frequently, the old woman answered, "that though her master was a deal on the wrong side of seventy, and though, to look at him, you'd think he was glued to his chair, and would fall to pieces if he should stir out of it, yet he was as alert, and thought no more of going about, than if he was as young as the gentleman who was now speaking to her.

It was old Mr. Reynolds' delight to come down and surprise his people at his different places, and see that they were keeping all tight."

"What sort of a man is he?--Is he a miser?" said Lord Colambre.

"He is a miser, and he is not a miser," said the woman. "Now he'd think as much of the waste of a penny as another man would of a hundred pounds, and yet he would give a hundred pounds easier than another would give a penny, when he's in the humour. But his humour is very odd, and there's no knowing where to have him; he's cross-grained, and more _positiver_-like than a mule; and his deafness made him worse in this, because he never heard what n.o.body said, but would say on his own way--he was very _odd_, but not _cracked_--no, he was as clear-headed, when he took a thing the right way, as any man could be, and as clever, and could talk as well as any member of parliament--and good-natured, and kind-hearted, where he would take a fancy--but then, may be, it would be to a dog (he was remarkably fond of dogs), or a cat, or a rat even, that he would take a fancy, and think more of 'em than he would of a Christian. But, poor gentleman, there's great allowance," said she, "to be made for him, that lost his son and heir--that would have been heir to all, and a fine youth that he doted upon. But," continued the old woman, in whose mind the transitions from great to little, from serious to trivial, were ludicrously abrupt, "that was no reason why the old gentleman should scold me last time he was here, as he did, for as long as ever he could stand over me, only because I killed a mouse who was eating my cheese; and, before night, he beat a boy for stealing a piece of that same cheese; and he would never, when down here, let me set a mouse-trap."

"Well, my good woman," interrupted Lord Colambre, who was little interested in this affair of the mouse-trap, and nowise curious to learn more of Mr. Reynolds' domestic economy, "I'll not trouble you any farther, if you can be so good as to tell me the road to Toddrington, or to Little Wickham, I think you call it."

"Little Wickham!" repeated the woman, laughing--"Bless you, sir, where do you come from? It's Little Wrestham: sure every body knows, near Lantry; and keep the _pike_ till you come to the turn at Rotherford, and then you strike off into the by-road to the left, and then turn again at the ford to the right. But, if you are going to Toddrington, you don't go the road to market, which is at the first turn to the left, and the cross country road, where there's no quarter, and Toddrington lies--but for Wrestham, you take the road to market."

It was some time before our hero could persuade the old woman to stick to Little Wrestham, or to Toddrington, and not to mix the directions for the different roads together--he took patience, for his impatience only confused his director the more. In process of time he made out, and wrote down, the various turns that he was to follow, to reach Little Wrestham; but no human power could get her from Little Wrestham to Toddrington, though she knew the road perfectly well; but she had, for the seventeen last years, been used to go "the other road," and all the carriers went that way, and pa.s.sed the door, and that was all she could certify.

Little Wrestham, after turning to the left and right as often as his directory required, our hero happily reached: but, unhappily, he found no Mr. Reynolds there; only a steward, who gave nearly the same account of his master as had been given by the old woman, and could not guess even where the gentleman might now be. Toddrington was as likely as any place--but he could not say.

"Perseverance against fortune." To Toddrington our hero proceeded, through cross country roads--such roads!--very different from the Irish roads. Waggon ruts, into which the carriage wheels sunk nearly to the nave--and, from time to time, "sloughs of despond," through which it seemed impossible to drag, walk, wade, or swim, and all the time with a sulky postilion. "Oh, how unlike my Larry!" thought Lord Colambre.

At length, in a very narrow lane, going up a hill, said to be two miles of ascent, they overtook a heavy laden waggon, and they were obliged to go step by step behind it, whilst, enjoying the gentleman's impatience much, and the postilion's sulkiness more, the waggoner, in his embroidered frock, walked in state, with his long sceptre in his hand.

The postilion muttered "curses not loud, but deep." Deep or loud, no purpose would they have answered; the waggoner's temper was proof against curse in or out of the English language; and from their snail's pace neither _d.i.c.kens_, nor devil, nor any postilion in England could make him put his horses. Lord Colambre jumped out of the chaise, and, walking beside him, began to talk to him; and spoke of his horses, their bells, their trappings; the beauty and strength of the thill-horse--the value of the whole team, which his lords.h.i.+p happening to guess right within ten pounds, and showing, moreover, some skill about road-making and waggon-wheels, and being fortunately of the waggoner's own opinion in the great question about conical and cylindrical rims, he was pleased with the young chap of a gentleman; and, in spite of the chuffiness of his appearance and churlishness of his speech, this waggoner's bosom being "made of penetrable stuff," he determined to let the gentleman pa.s.s. Accordingly, when half way up the hill, and the head of the fore-horse came near an open gate, the waggoner, without saying one word or turning his head, touched the horse with his long whip--and the horse turned in at the gate, and then came, "Dobbin!--Jeho!" and strange calls and sounds, which all the other horses of the team obeyed; and the waggon turned into the farm-yard.

"Now, master! while I turn, you may pa.s.s."

The covering of the waggon caught in the hedge as the waggon turned in; and as the sacking was drawn back, some of the packages were disturbed--a cheese was just rolling off on the side next Lord Colambre; he stopped it from falling: the direction caught his quick eye--"To Ralph Reynolds, Esq."--"_Toddrington_" scratched out; "Red Lion Square, London," written in another hand below.

"Now I have found him! And surely I know that hand!" said Lord Colambre to himself, looking more closely at the direction.

The original direction was certainly in a hand-writing well known to him--it was Lady Dashfort's.

"That there cheese, that you're looking at so cur'ously," said the waggoner, "has been a great traveller; for it came all the way down from Lon'on, and now its going all the way up again back, on account of not finding the gentleman at home; and the man that booked it told me as how it came from foreign parts."

Lord Colambre took down the direction, tossed the honest waggoner a guinea, wished him good night, pa.s.sed, and went on. As soon as he could, he turned into the London road--at the first town, got a place in the mail--reached London--saw his father--went directly to his friend, Count O'Halloran, who was delighted when he beheld the packet.

Lord Colambre was extremely eager to go immediately to old Reynolds, fatigued as he was; for he had travelled night and day, and had scarcely allowed himself, mind or body, one moment's repose.

"Heroes must sleep, and lovers too; or they soon will cease to be heroes or lovers!" said the count. "Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! this night; and to-morrow morning we'll finish the adventures in Red Lion Square, or I will accompany you when and where you will; if necessary, to earth's remotest bounds."

The next morning Lord Colambre went to breakfast with the count. The count, who was not in love, was not up, for our hero was half an hour earlier than the time appointed. The old servant Ulick, who had attended his master to England, was very glad to see Lord Colambre again, and, showing him into the breakfast parlour, could not help saying, in defence of his master's punctuality, "Your clocks, I suppose, my lord, are half an hour faster than ours: my master will be ready to the moment."

The count soon appeared--breakfast was soon over, and the carriage at the door; for the count sympathized in his young friend's impatience.

As they were setting out, the count's large Irish dog pushed out of the house-door to follow them; and his master would have forbidden him, but Lord Colambre begged that he might be permitted to accompany them; for his lords.h.i.+p recollected the old woman's having mentioned that Mr. Reynolds was fond of dogs.

They arrived in Red Lion Square, found the house of Mr. Reynolds, and, contrary to the count's prognostics, found the old gentleman up, and they saw him in his red night-cap at his parlour window. After some minutes' running backwards and forwards of a boy in the pa.s.sage, and two or three peeps taken over the blinds by the old gentleman, they were admitted.

The boy could not master their names; so they were obliged reciprocally to announce themselves--"Count O'Halloran and Lord Colambre." The names seemed to make no impression on the old gentleman; but he deliberately looked at the count and his lords.h.i.+p, as if studying _what_ rather than _who_ they were. In spite of the red night-cap, and a flowered dressing-gown, Mr. Reynolds looked like a gentleman, an odd gentleman--but still a gentleman.

As Count O'Halloran came into the room, and as his large dog attempted to follow, the count's look expressed--

"Say, shall I let him in, or shut the door?"

"Oh, let him in, by all means, sir, if you please! I am fond of dogs; and a finer one I never saw: pray, gentlemen, be seated," said he--a portion of the complacency, inspired by the sight of the dog, diffusing itself over his manner towards the master of so fine an animal, and even extending to the master's companion, though in an inferior degree. Whilst Mr. Reynolds stroked the dog, the count told him that "the dog was of a curious breed, now almost extinct--the Irish greyhound; only one n.o.bleman in Ireland, it is said, has a few of the species remaining in his possession--Now, lie down, Hannibal,"

said the count. "Mr. Reynolds, we have taken the liberty, though strangers, of waiting upon you--"

"I beg your pardon, sir," interrupted Mr. Reynolds; "but did I understand you rightly, that a few of the same species are still to be had from one n.o.bleman in Ireland? Pray, what is his name?" said he, taking out his pencil.

The count wrote the name for him, but observed, that "he had a.s.serted only that a few of these dogs remained in the possession of that n.o.bleman; he could not answer for it that they were _to be had_."

"Oh, I have ways and means," said old Reynolds; and, rapping his snuff-box, and talking, as it was his custom, loud to himself, "Lady Dashfort knows all those Irish lords: she shall get one for me--ay!

ay!"

Count O'Halloran replied, as if the words had been addressed to him, "Lady Dashfort is in England."

"I know it, sir; she is in London," said Mr. Reynolds, hastily. "What do you know of her?"

"I know, sir, that she is not likely to return to Ireland, and that I am; and so is my young friend here: and if the thing can be accomplished, we will get it done for you."

Lord Colambre joined in this promise, and added, that, "if the dog could be obtained, he would undertake to have him safely sent over to England."

"Sir--gentlemen! I'm much obliged; that is, when you have done the thing I shall be much obliged. But, may be, you are only making me civil speeches!"

"Of that, sir," said the count, smiling with much temper, "your own sagacity and knowledge of the world must enable you to judge."

"For my own part, I can only say," cried Lord Colambre, "that I am not in the habit of being reproached with saying one thing and meaning another."

"Hot! I see," said old Reynolds, nodding as he looked at Lord Colambre: "Cool!" added he, nodding at the count. "But a time for every thing; I was hot once: both answers good for their ages."