The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

“Did you hear the trick they played off on Joe Nelligan about it?” asked the Captain. “It was cleverly done. Magennis found out, some way or other, that Joe wanted to be engaged against him; and so what does he do but gets a servant dressed up in the Martin livery, and sends him to Joe’s house on the box of a coach, inside of which was a gentleman that begged a word with the Counsellor. ‘You ‘re not engaged, I hope, Counsellor Nelligan,’ says he, ‘in Magennis against Martin?’ ‘No,’ says Joe, for he caught a glimpse of the livery. ‘You’re quite free?’ says the other. ‘Quite free,’ says he. ‘That’s all I want, then,’ says he; ‘here’s your brief, and here’s your retainer;’ and he put both down on the table, and when Joe looked down he saw he was booked for Magennis. You may imagine how he felt; but he never uttered a word, for there was no help for it.”

“And do you mean to tell me,” cried Mrs. Clinch, “that the lawyers can’t help themselves, but must just talk and rant and swear for any one that asks them first?”

“It’s exactly what I mean, ma’am,” responded the Captain. “They ‘ve no more choice in the matter than the hangman has as to who be ‘ll hang.”

“Then I’d as soon be a gauger!” exclaimed the lady, with a contemptuous glance at poor Clinch, who winced under the observation.

“But I don’t see what they wanted young Nelligan for,” said Miss Busk; “what experience or knowledge has he?”

“He’s just the first man of the day,” said Bodkin. “They tell me that whether it be to crook out a flaw in the enemy’s case, to pick a hole in a statement, to crush a witness, or cajole the jury, old Repton himself is n’t his equal.”

“I suppose, from the airs he gives himself, he must be something wonderful,” said Mrs. Cronan.

“Well, now, I differ from you there, ma’am,” replied Bodkin. “I think Joe is just what he always was. He was cold, silent, and distant as a boy, and he ‘s the same as a man. Look at him when he comes down here at the Assizes, down to the town where his father is selling glue and hides and tenpenny-nails, and he ‘s just as easy and unconstrained as if the old man was Lord of Cro’ Martin Castle.”

“That’s the height of impertinence,” broke in Miss Busk; “it’s only real blood has any right to rise above the depreciating accidents of condition. I know it by myself.”

“Well, I wonder what he ‘ll make of this case, anyhow,” said feodkin, to escape a controversy he had no fancy for. “They tell me that no action can lie on it. It’s not abduction – ”

“For shame, Captain; you forget there are ladies here,” said Mrs. Clinch.

“Indeed I don’t,” sighed he, with a half-comic melancholy in his look.

“I’ll tell you how they do it, sir,” chimed in Father Maher. “Whenever there ‘s anything in law that never was foreseen or provided for, against which there is neither act nor statute, they ‘ve one grand and unfailing resource, – they charge it as a conspiracy. I ‘ve a brother an attorney, and he tells me that there is n’t a man, woman, or child in the kingdom but could be indicted for doing something by a conspiracy.”

“It’s a great comfort to know that,” said Bodkin, gravely.

“And what can they do to her if she’s found guilty?” asked Mrs. Cronan.

“Make her smart for the damages, ma’am; leave her something less to expend on perversion and interference with the people,” said the priest. “The parish isn’t the same since she began visiting this one and reading to that. Instead of respect and confidence in their spiritual guides, the people are running after a young girl with a head full of wild schemes and contrivances. We all know by this time how these things end, and the best receipt to make a Protestant begins, ‘First starve your Papist.’”

“I rise to order,” called out Bodkin. “We agreed we’d have no polemics nor party discussions.”

“Why am I appealed to, then, for explanations that involve them?” cried the priest, angrily. “I’m supported, too, in my observations by a witness none will dispute, – that Scotchman, Henderson – ”

“By the way, isn’t his daughter come home to him?” asked Bodkin, eager for a diversion.

“Indeed she is, sir; and a pretty story there is about it, too. Miss Busk knows it all,” said Mrs. Cronan.

“I have it in confidence, ma’am, from Jemima Davis, – Lady Dorothea’s second maid; but I don’t think it a fit subject for public conversation.”

“And ain’t we in committee here?” chimed in Bodkin; “have we any secrets from each other?” The racy laugh of the old fellow, as he threw a knowing glance around the table, rather disconcerted the company. “Let’s hear about Henderson’s daughter.”

“The story is soon told, sir. Lady Dorothea detected her endeavoring to draw young Martin into a private marriage. The artful creature, by some means or other, had obtained such an insight into the young man’s difficulties that she actually terrorized over his weak mind. She discovered, too, it is suspected, something rather more than indiscretions on his part.”

A long low whistle from the priest seemed to impart a kind of gratified surprise at this announcement.

“He had got into a habit of signing his name, they say; and whether he signed it to something he had no right to, or signed another name by mistake – ”

“Oh, for shame,” broke in Bodkin; “that wouldn’t be one bit like a Martin.”

“Perhaps you are acquainted with all the circumstances better than myself, sir?” said Miss Busk, bristling up with anger. “Maybe you ‘ve heard how the Henderson girl was turned away out of the French duke’s family, – how she was found in correspondence with the leaders of the mob in Paris? Maybe, sir, you are aware that she has some mysterious hold over her father, and he dares not gainsay one word she says?”

“I don’t know one word of it; and if it wasn’t thought rude, I’d say I don’t believe it, either,” said Bodkin, stoutly.

“I believe the worst that could be said of her,” said Mrs. Clinch.

“Well, well, make her as bad as you like; but how does that prove anything against young Martin? and if you can find nothing heavier to say of him than that he wanted to marry a very handsome girl – ”

“A low creature!” broke in Miss Busk.

“The lowest of the low!” chimed in Mrs. Cronan.

“An impudent, upsetting minx!” added Mrs. Clinch. “Nothing would serve her but a post-chaise the morning she arrived by the mail for Dublin; and, signs on it, when she got home she had n’t money to pay for it.”

“It was n’t that she left her place empty-handed, then,” said Miss Busk. “Jemima tells me that she managed the whole house, – paid for everything; and we all know what comes of that.”

Miss Busk, in delivering this sentiment, was seated with her back to the door, towards which suddenly every eye was now turned in mingled astonishment and confusion; she moved round to see the cause, and there beheld the very object of her commentary standing close behind her chair. Closely wrapped in a large cloak, the hood of which she wore over her head, her tall figure looked taller and more imposing in its motionless attitude.

“I have to ask pardon for this intrusion, ladies,” said she, calmly; “but you will forgive me when I tell the reason of it. I have just received very sad tidings, which ought to be conveyed to Miss Martin; she is at the islands, and I have no means of following her, unless Mr. Clinch will kindly lend me the revenue boat – ”

“And accompany you, I hope,” broke in Mrs. Clinch, with a sneer.

Kate did not notice the taunting remark, but went on, “You will be grieved to hear that Mr. Martin is no more.”

“Martin dead!” muttered the Captain.

“Dead! When did he die?” “Where did it happen?” “How?” “Of what malady?” “Are his remains coming home?” were asked in quick succession by several voices.

“This letter will tell you all that I know myself,” said she, laying it on the table. “May I venture to hope Mr. Clinch will so far oblige me? The fishermen say the sea is too rough for their craft.”

“It’s not exactly on the King’s service, I opine, ma’am,” broke in Mrs. Clinch; “but of course he is too gallant to oppose your wishes.”

“Faith! if you wanted any one with you, and would accept of myself,” broke in Bodkin, “I’m ready this minute; not that exactly salt water is my element.”

“The young lady is accustomed to travel alone, or she is much belied,” said Miss Busk, with a sneer.

“I suppose you’d better let her have the boat, Clinch,” said his wife, in a whisper. “There’s no knowing what might come of it if you refused.”

“I ‘ll go down and muster the crew for you, Miss Henderson,” said Clinch, not sorry to escape, although the exchange was from a warm cabin to the beating rain without.

“Poor Martin!” sighed Bodkin; “he was the first of the family for many a long year that did n’t breathe his last under his own roof. I ‘m sure it weighed heavily on him.”

“I trust his son will follow his example, nevertheless,” said the priest. “I don’t want to see one of the name amongst us.”

“You might have worse, Father Maher,” said Bodkin, angrily.

And now a lively discussion ensued as to the merits of him they had lost, for the most part with more of charity than many of their dissertations; from this they branched off into speculations about the future. Would the “present man” reside at home? would her Ladyship come back? what would be Mary’s position? how would Scanlan fare? what of Henderson, too? In fact, casualties of every kind were debated, and difficulties started, that they might be as readily reconciled. Meanwhile Kate was hastening down to the shore, followed, rather than escorted, by little Clinch, who even in the darkness felt that the conjugal eye was upon him.