Macdermots of Ballycloran — The M'Keons Part 2

"But suppose she won't come?"

"Then it won't be your fault;--you can tell her it's just for the races and the ball you're asking her--that she may see Mr. McKeon's horse win the race, and dance with Ussher at the ball afterwards.

Oh!

if you mean her to come, she'll come fast enough;--let you alone for carrying your point when you're in earnest.

I know your way of asking, when you don't mean to take a refusal;--and to give you your due this day, I never heard you give an invitation you didn't mean to be accepted."

"Well, Father John, as you think it will be of so much service to Feemy, and as, as you say, she has no mother, poor girl, of her own, and no female friend that she can look to, I'll ask her over here.

But it mustn't be for a week or a fortnight, but till the affair of Captain Ussher is finally settled.

And if the girl behaves herself as she ought, when once she is here, Tony won't see her wronged by any man."

"That's my own friend!"

said Father John with tears in his eyes.

"What could any poor priest like me do in a parish, if it wasn't that there were such women as yourself to help him?"

"But, Father John--whisper here," and she took him aside into the window, and spoke in a low voice; "you can't have helped hearing the stories people have been talking about Feemy.

As I have heard them, of course you must."

"Heard them!

of course I have--but you know what lies get talked abroad."

"But they say she walks with him after dark; and goes in and out there at Ballycloran, at all hours, just as she pleases.

Of course I can have none of those doings here."

"Of course not; it is because she has no one there to tell her what is right or wrong that I wish her to be here.

Of course you have regular hours here, and you'll find you'll have no difficulty with her that way."

"Well, Father John, I've only one more thing to say, and you'll answer me that as a priest and a Christian.

God knows, I wouldn't believe any ill-natured story against any poor girl situated as Feemy is; but you know, such things will get about:--people say Ussher speaks of her as his mistress, instead of as his wife.

Now, Father John, if this unfortunate girl, whom I'm ready and willing to help, has done anything really wrong, you would not be the means of bringing her into the house with my own dear girls!

Have you, Father John, told me all you know about her attachment to this man?"

"Indeed then if she was unfit to associate with your girls, Mrs. McKeon, I'd be the last man on earth to ask you to invite her here.

If Feemy has been imprudent in going out too much alone with Ussher, it's the most that with truth can be said against her; and as you ask me to tell you all, I'll tell you one thing I didn't wish to mention before the girls."

And Father John told her how Thady had got drunk, and insulted Ussher, telling him not to come to Ballycloran again, and all that: but he did not tell her how strongly he suspected that Thady was right in his fears for his sister, and that his chief object in getting Feemy away from Ballycloran was to remove her as far as possible from Ussher's influence.

"Well, Father John, I'll go to Ballycloran, and ask her here; I suppose she'll hardly be ready to come to-day, but if she pleases, I'll drive over again for her after to-morrow.

I'll go now and talk Louey over, for you and she seem to have quarrelled somehow."

"And God bless you, Mrs. McKeon; it's yourself is a good woman; and you never did a kinder action than the one you're going to do this morning!"

and Father John took his leave.

The breakfast party at Ballycloran the morning after the wedding was not a very lively one; indeed the meals at Ballycloran seldom were very gay, but this was more than usually sombre.

Larry was brooding over Keegan's threats, his fears that Thady meant to betray him into the attorney's hands, and his determination never from that day forth to stir from his fireside, lest the horrid myrmidons of the law should pounce upon him.

Feemy was intent on the insults which had been offered to her lover, and her temper was somewhat soured by the remembrance that she had not effected her purpose of questioning Ussher about his intentions.

Thady, however, was the blackest looking of the family.

Everything was dark within his breast.

He thought of the ruffians with whom he had leagued himself; and though previously he had only considered them as poor, hard used, somewhat lawless characters, they now appeared to him everything that was iniquitous and bad.

Secret murder was their object--black, foul, midnight murder--and he was sworn, or soon would be sworn, not only to help them, but to lead them on.

What he had already done might hang him.

He felt his life to be in the power of each of those blackguards, with whom, in wretched equality, he had been drinking on the previous evening.

And what had led him to this?

If he had been wronged and injured, why could not he redress himself like other injured men?

If revenge were necessary to him, why could he not avenge himself like a man, instead of leaguing with others to commit murder in the dark, like a coward and a felon?

And then he thought of his position with Keegan and Ussher.

There was something manly in his original disposition; he would have given anything for a stand up fight with the attorney with equal weapons;

if it had been sure death to both, he would have fought him to the death; but he had no such opportunity; the dastardly brute had trampled on him when he could not turn against him.

And then with rancorous hatred he thought of the blow that Keegan had struck him,--of the manner in which he had insulted his father, and worse than all, of the name he had applied to his sister; and, remembering all this, he almost reconciled himself to the only means he had of punishing the wretch that had inflicted all these injuries on him.

Then he thought of Ussher, and the scene which had passed between them last night; he knew he had been drunk, and had but a very confused recollection of what he had done or said.

He remembered, however, that he had insulted Ussher; this did not annoy him; but he had a faint recollection of having committed his sister's name, by talking of her in his drunken brawl, and of having done, or said something, he knew not what, to Father John.

Though Thady had never known the refinements of a gentleman, or the comforts of good society, still he felt that the fall, even from his present station to that in which he was going to place himself, would be dreadful.

But it was not the privations which he might suffer, but the disgrace, the additional disgrace which he would bring on his family, which afflicted him.

How could he now presume to prescribe to Feemy what her conduct should be, or to his father in what way he should act respecting the property?

He already felt as though he was unworthy of either of them, and was afraid to look them in the face.

After breakfast he wandered forth, striving to attend to his usual work, but the incentives to industry were all gone; he had no longer any hope that industry would be of service to him; he walked along the hedges and ditches, unconsciously planning in his mind the different ways of committing the crimes which he really so abhorred, but in which he was about to pledge himself to join.

He thought, if it should be his lot to murder Keegan, how he would accomplish it.

Should it be at night?

--or in the day?

--would he shoot him?

--and if he did, would not the powder or the gun be traced home to him?

--would not his footsteps in the bog be tracked and known?

--if he struck him down on the road, would not the blood be found on his coat, or his shirt be torn in the struggle?

--and, above all, would not his own comrades betray him?

He had, some short time since, heard the whole of a trial for murder at Carrick assizes, and though he had not then paid particular attention to it, all the horrid detail and circumstances of the case now came vividly before his mind's eye.

He planned and plotted how, had he in that case been the murderer, he would have foreseen and provided against the different things, the untoward accidents, which then came in evidence against the prisoner;

he thought how much more wary he would be than the poor wretch who was then tried, and of what benefit the experience he had gained would be to him.

Then he remembered that the principal witness in the case was an ill-featured, sullen-looking fellow, who had been called king's evidence--one who, in answering the tormenting questions put to him, had appeared almost more miserable than the prisoner himself;--that this man had been the friend and assistant of the murderer--the sharer and promoter of all his plans--the man who had led him on to the murder--his sworn friend.

He remembered how it had come out on the trial, that the two had for months shared the same bed--tilled in the same field--eat from the same mess--and had sinned together in the same great sin.

Yet this man had come forward to hang his friend!

--and Thady shuddered coldly as he thought how likely it might be that his associates would betray him.

He had not slept, eat, and worked with them--he was not leagued to them by equal rank, equal wants, and equal sufferings.

If that wretched witness had been induced to give evidence against the man so strongly bound to him, how much more likely that Byrne or Reynolds should hang him!

or Pat Brady!

And as Brady's name occurred to him, he remembered Ussher's caution respecting that man, and his assurance that he was in Keegan's pay.

If this were true, he had already committed the oversight to guard against which he had calculated that his superior cunning would be sufficient; and then the cold perspiration trickled from his brow, and he abruptly stopped, leaning against a bank, to meditate again on the position in which he stood.

It was not that during this time Thady had been absolutely planning murder.

He had not been making any definite scheme, to be carried into immediate execution against any individual.

He was not a murderer, even in mind or wish; he would have given anything to have driven the idea from his mind, but he could not; he could not avoid thinking what he would do, if he had resolved to do the deed--how the crime would be most safely perpetrated--how the laws most cunningly evaded.

Then he half resolved to have nothing more to do with Reynolds and his followers, and to quiet his conscience while yet he possibly could; but the insolence of Keegan, the injuries of Ussher, and the sure enmity of those whom he had sworn to join, and now scarcely dared to desert, stifled his remorse, and destroyed the resolution before it was half made.

He thought of enlisting--but he could not desert his sister; of going to Father John, and confessing all; but would Father John befriend him after his late conduct to him?

Thus he wandered on, through the whole long morning.

Twice he returned to the house, and creeping in through the back door, got himself a glass of spirits, which he swallowed, and again sallied forth, to find if movement would give him comfort, or his thoughts suggest anything to him in mitigation of his sorrows.

As he was returning, the third time, for the same bad purpose,--for the short stimulus of the dram was the only relief he could find to the depression which seemed to weigh him down and make his heart feel like a cold lump within him,--and just as he was turning from the avenue to the back of the house, he met Ussher walking down.

He did not know what to do; he remembered that the evening before he had defied this man; he even recollected that he had arrogantly declared that he should not again set his foot on Ballycloran; he had forbad him the house, as if he had been the master; and at the present moment he felt as though he did not dare address him, for it seemed to him as if every one now would look down on him, as he looked down on himself,--as if every one could see what was in his breast, as plainly as he saw it himself.

This annoyance, however, was of short duration, for Ussher passed him with a slight unembarrassed nod, as if nothing had passed between them on the previous evening--as if they were still good friends, and had met and been talking together but a short time before.

Ussher had walked by quickly, and there was a look of satisfaction or rather gratified vanity in his face; he seemed, also, absorbed with the subject of his thoughts; Thady, however, as soon as he had passed, took but little notice of him, but walked on into the kitchen, at the rear of the house.

Here, on a small settle by the fireside, where he had been placed out of the way by Biddy or Katty, sat a ragged bare-legged little boy, known as Patsy, the priest's gossoon; he was the only assistant Judy had in the management of Father John's _ménage_.

He ran on errands to Drumsna, and occasionally to Carrick-on-Shannon--fetched the priest's letters--dug his potatoes--planted his cabbages, and cleaned his horse Paul.

He had now come up to Ballycloran with a message to Thady, and having been desired to stay there till he could see him himself, he had been quietly sitting in the kitchen since a little after Thady had first left the house; he now jumped up to give his message.

"Misther Thady, yer honer, Father John says as how he'll be glad av yer honer'll come down to dinner with him at six; and he says as how you must come, Mr. Thady, because divil a bit he'll ate himself, he says, till you're in it."

"For shame, Patsy!"

interposed Biddy, "putting those words into his riverence's mouth.

I'm sure thin Father John wasn't cursing that way."

"Faix thin, ma'am, thim wor his very words--'Tell Mr. Thady, av he don't come down to the cottage to his dinner this day, divil a bit will I ate till he does.'

" "Well, to hear the brat!"

continued Biddy, shocked at the indecorous language which was put into her priest's mouth.

"And who's to be at Father John's else?"

said Thady.

"Sorrow a one av me rightly knows thin, for I wasn't hearing; all I wor told wor, I warn't to come out of this widout yer honer."

"But I can't go to-night, Patsy."

"But Father John says you must, Mr. Thady."

"Tell Father John, Patsy, that I am very much obliged to him, but that I'm not just well enough to come out to-night.

I couldn't go to-night, do you hear; go down and tell him so, or he'll be waiting dinner."

"But, Mr. Thady," said the boy, half sobbing, "Father John said as how I warn't to come at all widout you."

"Do as I tell you, you fool; but mind you tell Father John I'm very much obliged to him, only I'm ill."

"Well," muttered the boy, at length taking his departure, "I know Father John 'll be very mad, but any way it ain't my fault."

Thady was gratified with the priest's invitation, for it showed that he at least had forgiven him; but he did not dare to face him by accepting it.

He got himself another glass of whiskey, and lighting his pipe, sat down to smoke by the kitchen fire; after he had been some time sitting there, Pat Brady came into the kitchen.

Thady, however, took no notice, except muttering something in answer to Pat's usual salutation.

They remained both some time silent, till at last Brady observed that, "They'd all of them had ilegant divarsion last night--most of them stayed a power later nor you, Mr. Thady."

This allusion to last night was not at present the subject most likely to make Thady talk freely, so he still continued silent.

At last Pat said, "Could I spake to you a moment, Mr. Thady?"

"Spake out--what is it?"

"Oh, it's business, yer honer; it's something about money--wouldn't you step out to the rint-office?"

"Don't you see I'm just going to dinner; besides, I ain't well--it'll keep till to-morrow, I suppose?"

"But it won't keep, Mr. Thady."

At this moment, Biddy, who had been taking some smoking viands out of a big black pot and transferring them to a dish, went out of the kitchen with them on her road to the dining-room, and Pat took the opportunity of whispering to his master that, "the boys wor to meet at Mulready's on the next evening."

"What of that?"

answered Thady; "I suppose some of them meet there mostly every night?"

"But to-morrow's the night, Mr. Thady, when yer honer's to be inisheated among us sworn brothers."

"I shan't be in it at all to-morrow, then."

"Not be in it!

why you promised; and the boys is all noticed now.

Didn't you take the oath, Mr. Thady?"

and he whispered down close to his ear.

"I took no oath about any day.

I suppose I needn't come before I choose?"

Biddy now returned, and Thady got up to go to his dinner; Pat followed him, and renewed the conversation in the passage.

Thady, however, would give no definite promise to come to-morrow, or the next day, but said he meant to come some day.

Pat observed that the boys would be furious--that they would think themselves deceived and betrayed--then urged the necessity of taking steps to prevent their paying the rent to Keegan--hinted that Ussher had been with Miss Feemy that morning--and at last departed when he found that his master was not in a proper mood to be persuaded, remarking that "he would come up again in the morning, when perhaps his honer would be thinking better of it, and not break his promised word to the boys, as there would be a great ruction among them, av he didn't go down jist to spake a word to them afther what had passed; besides, Mr. Thady," he added, "av you wor to go back now, some of thim boys as wor in it last night, would be going to Jonas Brown's, thinking to get the first word agin you--thinking, you know, as how you would 'peach agin thim, may be."

After this threat, Pat took his leave, and Thady, with a sad heart, and low spirits, which even three glasses of whiskey had not raised, went in to dinner.

After swallowing a few hasty morsels, without speaking either to his father or his sister, he returned to the kitchen and again sat there smoking, till one of the girls came in, telling him that Father John was on the steps of the hall-door waiting for him--that he couldn't come in, but that he said he had important business to speak of, and must see Mr. Thady.

"Confound you," muttered Thady, in a low voice, "why didn't you say I was out?"

"Shure, you niver told me, Mr. Thady."

Thady considered a moment, whether he should escape through the back door; at last, however, he plucked up his courage, and went out to meet the priest.

CHAPTER XVI.