Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“Well, I believe our friend here would n’t say he was the exception to that rule,” said Beecher, with an ironical laugh.

“Who is he? – what’s his name?”

“His name is Conway; he was a lieutenant in the 12th Lancers, but you will remember him better as the owner of Sir Aubrey.”

“I remember him perfectly,” replied Davis, with all his own composure, – “I remember him perfectly, – a tall, good-looking fellow, with short moustaches. He was – except yourself – the greatest flat I ever met in the betting-ring; and that’s a strong word, Mr. Annesley Beecher, – ain’t it?”

“I suspect you ‘d scarcely like to call him a flat to-day, at least, to his face,” said Beecher, angrily.

A look of mingled insolence and contempt was all the answer Davis gave this speech; and then half filling a tumbler with brandy, he drank it off, and said slowly, —

“What I would dare to do, you certainly would never suspect, – that much I ‘m well aware of. What you would dare is easily guessed at.”

“I don’t clearly understand you,” said Beecher, timidly.

“You ‘d dare to draw me into a quarrel on the chance of seeing me ‘bowled over,’” said Davis, with a bitter laugh. “You ‘d dare to see me stand opposite another man’s pistol, and pray heartily at the same time that his hand might n’t shake, nor his wrist falter; but I’ve got good business habits about me, Master Beecher. If you open that writing-desk, you ‘ll own few men’s papers are in better order, or more neatly kept; and there is no satisfaction I could have to offer any one would n’t give me ample time to deposit in the hands of justice seven forged acceptances by the Honorable Annesley Beecher, and the power of attorney counterfeited by the same accomplished gentleman’s hand.”

Beecher put out his hand to catch the decanter of brandy; but Davis gently removed the bottle, and said, “No, no; that’s only Dutch courage, man; nerve yourself up, and learn to stand straight and manfully, and when you say, ‘Not guilty,’ do it with a bold look at the jury box.’”

Beecher dropped into his seat, and buried his head between his hands.

“I often think,” said Davis, as he took out his cigar-case and proceeded to choose a cigar, – “I often think it would be a fine sight when the swells – the fashionable world, as the newspapers call them – would be pressing on to the Old Bailey to see one of their own set in the dock. What nobs there would be on the Bench! All Brookes’s and the Wyndham scattered amongst the bar. The ‘Illustrated News’ would have a photographic picture of you, and the descriptive fellows would come out strong about the way you recognized your former acquaintances in court. Egad! old Grog Davis would be quite proud to give his evidence in such company!’ How long have you been acquainted with the prisoner in the dock, Mr. Davis?’ cried he, aloud, imitating the full and imperious accents of an examining counsel. ‘I have known him upwards of fifteen years, my Lord. We went down together to Leeds in the summer of 1840 on a little speculation with cogged dice – ‘”

Beecher looked up and tried to speak, but his strength failed him, and his head fell heavily down again on the table.

“There, ‘liquor up,’ as the Yankees say,” cried Davis, passing the decanter towards him. “You ‘re a poor chicken-hearted creature, and don’t do much honor to your ‘order.’”

“You ‘ll drive me to despair yet,” muttered Beecher, in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Not a bit of it, man; there’s pluck in despair! You ‘ll never go that far!”

Beecher grasped his glass convulsively; and as his eyes flashed wildly, he seemed for a moment as if about to hurl it in the other’s face. Davis’s look, however, appeared to abash him, and with a low, faint sigh he relinquished his hold, while his head fell forward on his bosom.

Davis now drew near the fire, and with a leg on either side of it, smoked away at his ease.

CHAPTER XXVII. A VISIT OF CONDOLENCE

“I think she will see me,” said Davenport Dunn, to the old woman servant who opened the door to him at the Kelletts’ cottage, “if you will tell her my name: Mr. Dunn, – Mr. Davenport Dunn.”

“She told me she ‘d not see anybody, sir,” was the obdurate reply.

“Yes; but I think when you say who it is – ”

“She would not see that young man that was in the regiment with her brother, and he was here every day, wet or dry, to ask after her.”

“Well, take in my card now, and I ‘ll answer for it she’ll not refuse me.”

The old woman took the card half sulkily from his hand, and returned in a few minutes to say that Miss Kellett would receive him.

Dressed in mourning of the very humblest and cheapest kind, and with all the signs of recent suffering and sorrow about her, Sybella Kellett yet received Mr. Dunn with a calm and quiet composure for which he was scarcely prepared.

“If I have been importunate, Miss Kellett,” said he, “it is because I desire to proffer my services to you. I feel assured that you will not take ill this assistance on my part I would wish to be thought a friend – ”

“You were so to my father, sir,” said she, interrupting, while she held her handkerchief to her eyes.

Dunn’s face grew scarlet at these words, but, fortunately for him, she could not see it.

“I had intended to have written to you, sir,” said she, with recovered composure. “I tried to do so this morning, but my head was aching so that I gave it up. I wanted your counsel, and indeed your assistance. I have no need to tell you that I ‘m left without means of support. I do not want to burden relatives, with whom, besides, I have had no intercourse for years; and my object was to ask if you could assist me to a situation as governess, or, if not, to something more humble still. I will not be difficult to please,” said she, smiling sadly, “for my pretensions are of the very humblest.”

“I ‘m aware how much you underrate them. I ‘m no stranger to Miss Kellett’s abilities,” said Dunn, bowing.

She scarcely moved her head in acknowledgment of this speech, and went on: “If you could insure me immediate occupation, it would serve to extricate me from a little difficulty at this moment, and relieve me from the embarrassment of declining ungraciously what I cannot accept of. This letter here is an invitation from a lady in Wales to accept the hospitality of her house for the present; and however deeply the kindness touches me, I must not avail myself of it. You may read the letter,” said she, handing it to him.

Dunn perused it slowly, and, folding it up, laid it on the table again.

“It is most kindly worded, and speaks well for the writer,” said he, calmly.

“I feel all its kindness,” said she, with a slight quivering of the lip. “It comes when such is doubly precious, but I have my reasons against accepting it.”

“Without daring to ask, I can assume them, Miss Kellett. I am one of those who believe that all efforts in life to be either good or great should strike root in independence; that he who leans upon another parts with the best features of identity, and loses himself in suiting his tastes to another’s.”

She made no reply, but a slight flush on her cheek, and an increased brightness in her eye, showed that she gave her full concurrence to the words.

“It is fortunate, Miss Kellett,” said he, resuming, “that I am the bearer of a proposition which, if you approve of, meets the case at once. I have been applied to by Lord Glengariff to find a lady who would accept the situation of companion to his daughter. He has so far explained the requirements he seeks for, that I can answer for Miss Kellett being exactly everything to fulfil them.”

“Oh, sir!” broke she in, “this is in no wise what I desired. I am utterly unfitted for such a sphere and such associations. Remember how and where my life has been passed. I have no knowledge of life, and no experience of society.”

“Let me interrupt you. Lord Glengariff lives completely estranged from the world in a remote part of the country. Lady Augusta, his only unmarried daughter, is no longer young; they see no company; indeed, their fortune is very limited, and all their habits of the very simplest and least expensive. It was remembering this very seclusion, I was glad to offer you a retreat so likely to meet your wishes.”

“But even my education is not what such persons would look for. I have not one of the graceful accomplishments that adorn society. My skill as a musician is very humble; I cannot sing at all; and though I can read some modern languages, I scarcely speak them.”

“Do not ask me to say how much I am aware of your capacity and acquirements, Miss Kellett. It is about two months back a little volume came into my hands which had once been yours; how it ceased to be so I don’t choose to confess; but it was a work on the industrial resources of Ireland, annotated and commented on by you. I have it still. Shall I own to you that your notes have been already used by me in my reports, and that I have adopted some of the suggestions in my recommendations to Government? Nay, if you doubt me, I will give you the proof.”

“I left such a volume as you speak of at Mr. Hawkhaw’s, and believed it had been mislaid.”

“It was deliberately stolen, Miss Kellett, that’s the truth of it. Mr. Driscoll chanced to see the book, and happened to show it to me. I could not fail to be struck with it, the more as I discovered in your remarks hints and suggestions, coupled with explanations, that none had ever offered me.”

“How leniently you speak of my presumption, sir!”

“Say, rather, how sincerely I applaud your zeal and intelligence, – the book bespeaks both. Now, when I read it, I wished at once to make your acquaintance. There were points wherein you were mistaken; there were others in which you evidently see further than any of us. I felt that if time, and leisure, and opportunity of knowledge were supplied, these were the studies in which you might become really proficient. Lord Glengariff s proposal came at the very moment. It was all I could desire for you, – a quiet home, the society of those whose very breeding is acted kindliness.”

“Oh, sir! do not flatter me into the belief that I am worthy of such advantages.”

“The station will gain most by your association with it, take my word for that.”

How was it that these words sent a color to her cheek and a courage to her heart that made her for a moment forget she was poor and fatherless and friendless? What was it, too, that made them seem less flattery than sound, just, and due acknowledgment? He that spoke them was neither young, nor handsome, nor fascinating in manner; and yet she felt his praise vibrate within her heart strangely and thrillingly.

He spoke much to her about her early life, – what she had read, and how she was led to reflect upon themes so unlikely to attract a young girl’s thoughts. By degrees, as her reserve wore off, she ventured to confess what a charm the great men of former days possessed for her imagination, – how their devotion, their courage, their single-heartedness animated her with higher hopes for the time when Ireland should have the aid of those able to guide her destinies and make of her all that her great resources promised.