Part 46 (1/2)
”I have not time to do as other men do. I do not know that I ever said a word to her; and yet, G.o.d knows, that I have loved her dearly enough. She is hot tempered now, and there are feelings in her heart which fight against me. You will say a word in my favour?”
”Indeed, indeed I will.”
”There shall be nothing wrong between you and me. If she becomes my wife, you shall be my dearest sister. And I think she will at last.
I know,--I do know that she loves me. Poor Florian is dead and gone.
All his short troubles are over. We have still got our lives to lead.
And why should we not lead them as may best suit us? She talks about your father's present want of money. I would be proud to marry your sister standing as she is now down in the kitchen. But if I did marry her I should have ample means to keep her as would become your father's daughter.” Then he took his leave and went back to Galway.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
LORD CASTLEWELL'S LOVE-MAKING.
It was explained in the last chapter that Frank Jones was not in a happy condition because of the success of the lady whom he loved.
Rachel, as Christmas drew nigh, was more and more talked about in London, and became more and more the darling of all musical people.
She had been twelve months now on the London boards, and had fully justified the opinion expressed of her by Messrs. Moss and Le Gros.
There were those who declared that she sang as no woman of her age had ever sung before. And there had got abroad about her certain stories, which were true enough in the main, but which were all the more curious because of their truth; and yet they were not true altogether. It was known that she was a daughter of a Landleaguing Member of Parliament, and that she had been engaged to marry the son of a boycotted landlord. Mr. Jones' sorrows, and the death of his poor son, and the murder of the sinner who was to have been the witness at the trial of his brother, were all known and commented on in the London press; and so also was the peculiar vigour of Mr.
O'Mahony's politics. Nothing, it was said, could be severed more entirely than were Mr. Jones and Mr. O'Mahony. The enmity was so deep that all ideas of marriage were out of the question. It was, no doubt, true that the gentleman was penniless and the lady rolling in wealth; but this was a matter so grievous that so poor a thing as money could not be allowed to prevail. And then Mr. Moss was talked about as a dragon of iniquity,--which, indeed, was true enough,--and was represented as having caused contracts to be executed which would bind poor Rachel to himself, both as to voice and beauty. But Lord Castlewell had seen her, and had heard her; and Mr. Moss, with all his abominations, was sent down to the bottom of the nethermost pit.
The fortune of ”The Embankment” was made by the number of visitors who were sent there to see and to hear this wicked fiend; but it all redounded to the honour and glory of Rachel.
But Rachel was to be seen a _feted_ guest at all semi-musical houses. Whispers about town were heard that that musical swell, Lord Castlewell, had been caught at last. And in the midst of all this, Mr. O'Mahony came in for his share of popularity. There was something so peculiar in the connection which bound a violent Landleaguing Member of Parliament with the prima donna of the day. They were father and daughter, but they looked more like husband and wife, and it always seemed that Rachel had her own way. Mr. O'Mahony had quite achieved a character for himself before the time had come in which he was enabled to open his mouth in the House of Commons. And some people went so far as to declare that he was about to be the new leader of the party.
It certainly was true that about this time Lord Castlewell did make an offer to Rachel O'Mahony.
”That I should have come to this!” she said to the lord when the lord had expressed his wishes.
”You deserve it all,” said the gallant lord.
”I think I do. But that you should have seen it,--that you should have come to understand that if I would be your wife I would sing every note out of my body,--to do you good if it were possible. How have you been enlightened so far as to see that this is the way in which you may best make yourself happy?”
Lord Castlewell did not quite like this; but he knew that his wished-for bride was an unintelligible little person, to whom much must be yielded as to her own way. He had not given way to this idea before he had seen how well she had taken her place among the people with whom he lived. He was forty years old, and it was time that he should marry. His father was a very proud personage, to whom he never spoke much. He, however, would be of opinion that any bride whom his son might choose would be, by the very fact, raised to the top of the peerage. His mother was a religious woman, to whom any matrimony for her son would be an achievement. Now, of the proposed bride he had learned all manner of good things. She had come out of Mr. Moss's furnace absolutely unscorched; so much unscorched as to scorn the idea of having been touched by the flames. She was thankful to Lord Castlewell for what he had done, and expressed her thanks in a manner that was not grateful to him. She was not in the least put about or confused, or indeed surprised, because the heir of a marquis had made an offer to her--a singing girl; but she let him understand that she quite thought that she had done a good thing. ”It would be so much better for him than going on as he has gone,” she said to her father.
And Lord Castlewell knew very well what were her sentiments.
It cannot be said that he repented of his offer. Indeed he pressed her for an answer more than once or twice. But her conduct to him was certainly very aggravating. This matter of her marriage with an earl was an affair of great moment. Indeed all London was alive with the subject. But she had not time to give him an answer because it was necessary that she should study a part for the theatre. This was hard upon an earl, and was made no better by the fact that the earl was forty. ”No, my lord earl,” she said laughing, ”the time for that has not come yet. You must give me a few days to think of it.” This she said when he expressed a not unnatural desire to give her a kiss.
But though she apparently made light of the matter to him, and astonished even her father by her treatment of him, yet she thought of it with a very anxious mind. She was quite alive to the glories of the position offered to her, and was not at all alive to its inconveniences. People would a.s.sert that she had caught the lover who had intended her for other purposes. ”That was of course out of the question,” she said to herself. And she felt sure that she could make as good a countess as the best of them. With her father a Member of Parliament, and her husband an earl, she would have done very well with herself. She would have escaped from that brute Moss, and would have been subjected to less that was disagreeable in the encounter than might have been expected. She must lose the public singing which was attractive to her, and must become the wife of an old man. It was thus in truth that she looked at the n.o.ble lord. ”There would be an end,” she said, ”and for ever, of 'Love's young dream.'” The dream had been very pleasant to her. She had thoroughly liked her Frank.
He was handsome, fresh, full of pa.s.sion, and a little violent when his temper lay in that direction. But he had been generous, and she was sure of him that he had loved her thoroughly. After all, was not ”Love's young dream” the best?
An answer was at any rate due to Lord Castlewell. But she made up her mind that before she could give the answer, she would write to Frank himself. ”My lord,” she said very gravely to her suitor, ”it has become my lot in life to be engaged to marry the son of that Mr.
Jones of whom you have heard in the west of Ireland.”
”I am aware of it,” said Lord Castlewell gravely.