The Two Fairies. A novel

Front matter

A NOVE L BY OLIVE GREY ('GUANAPOO') REMINGTON & CO., LIMITED LONDON AND SYDNEY 1893 All rights reserved CONTENTS CHAP. PACE I. THE o'NEILS, ....... I II. THE HOUSE OF KERRY, 12 III. OTTO CLIVE, 30 IV. a mother's sorrow, 46 V. THE BRAND OF CAIN, 59 VI. THE HEIR OF KERRY, 7 1 VII. DAVID AND GOLIATH, 93 VIII. love's MADNESS, . . . . . .119 IX. MURDER, . . . . . . .140 X. A MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, . . . -165 xi. sir John's story, . !79 ROY OR ROLAND, WHICH ? . . . I Sq XII XIII. STILL A MURDERER, . . . . .214 XIV. LADY ISOBEL. 232 XV. ARRESTED FOR MURDER, .... 250 XVI. AMID THE ITALIAN FLOWERS, . . .272 XVII. DOOLAN'S CONFESSION, ..... 284 XVIII. WRONGS RIGHTED, ......

Chapter I The O'neils

The year 1886 found Ireland suffering far greater horrors than those of '47, not through any failure in the potato crops, but by the wild uprising of the tenantry against their landlords, labour against capi tal, poor against rich. And, as usual, the canaille, when they tasted the novelty of power, slaughtered indiscriminately; innocent and guilty fell alike. The rich treated them first as unmanageable children by trying to overawe them, or by cold indifference ; but the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish awoke them to the fact that not children but desperate men were abroad. The clamour for Home Rule grew louder and louder, until it was taken up as by a mighty wind, and borne far over land and sea. It was heard by soldier and citizen in the New World ; the shingle splitters in the deep, dark forests of Australia heard it, and sent on the refrain, until it reached the ears of all who could help or sympathise with those who were fighting for their liberty.

In watching or listening from afar to this great struggle for rights W- A that all men love, and if possible claim, one cannot stop to think whether they were wise or foolish or even criminal. One only feels those outstretched arms, however blindly groping, are striving to be free. And methinks no air, however sweet or fresh — aye, though blowing from the top of the loftiest mountain that ever waved its trees among the clouds — would blow in vain if it only fanned a prisoner's cheek. The peddling Jew, the merchant ringing the changes on tallow, hides, or some other commodity, the publican laughing over the fool's pence, or the snivelling hypocrite cringing at the footstool of opulence, may be content and crawl thus to the grave ; but never does one lament such ; for such carrion no song is ever sung, but every feeling heart goes out to those who venture their all as they spring over the Rubicon.

But this story has nothing to do with the rights or wrongs of the case, only with a few who suffered terribly through the chaos resulting from it. It was most disastrous (financially) both to tenant and landlord. The latter had for centuries past cared little or nothing for the comfort and wel fare of the former, placing hard task-masters over them called bailiffs or overseers : hard and unfeeling, some of them, as the metal they ground out of the almost famishing poor, little less hard than the task masters Egypt's Pharoah placed over the enslaved Israelites. The money that should have been spent in improving their estates and making their people happy, was squandered in England, Paris, or some other place. One of the greatest sufferers in those days of no rent and no landlord was Sir John O'Neil, whose estate lay in the county of Antrim and not far from the celebrated city of Belfast.

Boyne House, as his residence was called, was a stately pile of buildings once ; but at the beginning of eighty-six was fast falling into decay The 0' Neils 3 owing to extravagance and mismanagement, and at the commencement of this story had little but a shadow of its former glory left. A high stone wall surrounded it, forming a court-yard that in langsyne echoed back the shout of armed men and impatient neigh and tramp of war-horses. No such echoes resound now, no sprightly steed or war-like men disturb its quiet ; nothing is to be seen or heard save a few lazy hangers-on or the neigh of a broken-down screw for the meagre bundle of oats that forms his daily allowance, the poor creature seeming more fit for the block of the boiler-down than to carry the stately master of Boyne House. Near the entrancegate was a deep ditch or moat ten feet or more wide and some fourteen or fifteen deep, partially filled with rubbish and rocks, an ugly spot, and dangerous as ugly. which did not much enhance the beauty of the place.

But the most desolate feature in the whole landscape was the neglected or half-cultivated lands lying round. Ill-drained marshes, over which hung a thick mist like a funeral pall, made Ireland look as if sheeted for burial, whilst the houses or rather huts of the tenants were not fit for cow-sheds — in fact, no man valuing the health and comfort of the said cow would subject her to the chance of catching bronchitis or some such complaint in those ill-ventilated rookeries. But the housing of cows seems a matter of more weight in all lands, Christian and heathen, than that of men, women, and children. I suppose it is because they are coin of the realm in lump, whilst men and women can be had cheap, and, if they should be so ungrateful as to die, you have scarcely time to feel the inconvenience, as the place is filled almost immediately.

In Boyne House this bright May morning great excitement prevailed. One of those horrid wretches whom Sir John had graciously permitted to till his ill-drained lands at rack-rent price had actually refused to pay his rent. O'Donovon was his name, a very giant in stature, and the terror of all iron hearted bailiffs and needy landlords. And this Saul among men had not only refused to pay his rent but had actually laid profane hands, anything but gently, on that useful functionary called bailiff, and cruelly, regardless of prayers and tears, had used his hobnail boots to such spots on his sacred person as necessi tated the aforesaid bailiff rolling himself in linen and sweet oil ; and there he lay with glaring eyes and disfigured nose telling over his beads (for men will pray no matter what dirty work they are at), and mingling his paternoster with threats deep and awful, which, if carried into effect, would reduce the terrible O'Donovon to half his usual bulk.

Visions of the Philistines poking Samson's eyes out rose before his mental sight, and he thought with a saintly fervour how he should like to assist in the removal of O'Donovon's, if his hands were only tied. All Sir John could urge or say would not pacify him ; it seemed but adding insult to injury, so he left him feeling worried and perplexed. What was to be the end of it all ? This man be ing laid up at this particular time and threatening to leave as soon as well, was a source of great trouble to Sir John, who was desirous of going to England ; but it would be impossible now, so this outrage on the part of Dan was particularly galling, and a refusal from some of the other tenants to pay their rents had stirred up a gale in Boyne House that threatened to annihilate all within its stormy pre cincts.

Sir John had called his only son Terrence to a consultation in the library, where, while they are seated, I shall endeavour to describe them. Sir John was about fifty years of age, his son just The O'Neils 5 merging from boy's to man's estate ; both were hand some, one with the ripe mellow glow of autumn, the other with the early sunlight of spring ; both were tall and straight of limb, the elder with chest and shoulders that would delight an athlete, the younger giving promise of even greater muscular powers. Young Terry had the sunny open brow and clear blue eyes that are so seldom seen after early childhood ; on his forehead no line of passion, care, or pain had as yet marred its smoothness ; his soft fair curls clung in rings over his head, half shading his handsome face, and through their sunny masses was a tinge of red that glistened like gold when the sun or lamplight fell on it, lighting up a face already bright with the frankness of unspoiled youth.

A ringing joyous laugh told of a heart as yet untouched by eating of the tree of worldly knowledge. It was a brave face, one that children love and trust, and old age gazes on with delight. Such was young O'Neil, and such had been his father some thirty years previously. Sir John had risen and was pacing the floor in a state of great perturbation, heartily wishing his un ruly tenants had but one neck and he their executioner ; not that he was a cruel man or natu rally bad at heart — nay ! far from being such, if he saw a lame dog he would have it fed and attended to ; but his early training had ill-fitted him to sympathise or govern with equity the men and women in social ranks so far below him. He had been taught by an over-indulgent mother to consider the lower classes as merchandise to be bought and paid for, or as so many animals raised up for his (Sir John's) use and pleasure.

His father had married the haughty English dame during one of his tours through England, and brought her to his Irish home, where she looked down with the utmost contempt on all that was Irish, teaching her only son, Sir John, to do likewise, forgetting in her proud arrogance (as many professing Christians of our day seem to do) that God gave man only dominion over the beasts of the fields and fowls of the air ; but man He made, after His own image, up right ; his neck was never meant to bear a yoke like an ox. And yet how many, alas ! old and young, are bowed down, bearing not on them the impress of their Maker, but of toil and servitude imposed upon them by their fellow-man. The poet has aptly said : — ' Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn.' If Sir John's lands had been properly drained, comfortable cottages erected, and a good kind over seer put in charge, reasonable rents fixed, and the tenants made to feel he cared for their comfort and interest, he would not have suffered so keenly in mind or pocket.

As he paced up and down chew ing the bitter cud of his wrath, trying vainly to think out some plan, he turned to young Terry, whose eyes had been following his father's restless figure for the last half-hour, yet not daring to disturb his thoughts, and asked him if he had anything to suggest that would be likely to help them out of their present embarrassing position. Terry thus appealed to, promptly answered : ' Would it not be best to write to our agent in Dublin to procure at once the services of a gentleman thoroughly acquainted with agriculture, a good practi cal manager, one that will act as manager, friend, and counsellor in one, whose birth, education, and abilities place him on a par with ourselves ? Don't let us have any more of those cringing bailiffs who harass the heart and courage out of our poor tenantry, and bring crime and shame on our land.' The 0' Neils 7 Whilst speaking his face lit up with all the generous warmth that makes youth so fresh and sweet, and emulates the chill blood of age.

Sir John gazed in the deepest astonishment at his fair son. Such sentiments about a people he had been taught to look upon as raised solely to ad minister to his ease and comfort surprised him. ' Why, Terry, you are a Radical ! ' he exclaimed. Yet the warm glow that lit up the handsome young face gave additional weight to the suggestion. After a few moments he said : 'Well, lad, I think you are right; your advice anyway has a breath of wisdom well diluted with humanity. A rare sprinkling in our days,' he added grimly ; ' and if such a Solomon can be found no doubt Johnston is the man to unearth him. I have been somewhat troubled lately,' he said gravely, as he looked at the manly face before him, ' about my duty as a landlord. One entrusted with the lives, comforts, and happiness of others, should see to them personally or else place such a person over them as we could trust our own children with.

I feel I have not done my duty.' ' I think, dear father, you have only been thought less/ Terry said in tones of sympathy. ' Yes, Terry, that's it, and I begin to believe that thoughtlessness is the key to more cruelty and in humanity than any other vice that a man or woman possesses, and I trust such a charge will never be laid at your door.' Terry did not answer with his tongue, but his eyes looked eloquently at his father. This handsome, spoiled man was always a hero in his son's eyes. At last he said : ' It has ever grieved me to see the condition of our people, and I have longed to ameliorate their wretchedness in some way or other. I cannot help thinking that if treated like men they would act as such.' ' Well, Terry, I am ashamed to acknowledge that I never looked upon them in any other light than as animals necessary to the cultivation of my lands and to administer to my wants.

But I will write this very day to Johnston and try humanity versus nigger driving. I have been thinking of the desirability of leaving this land for a year or so and going to England until some change takes place, or until the tenants have slaughtered us all or we landlords gained the day, which I trust we speedily will. And this would be a good opportunity of putting your novel theory into practice, by placing a gentleman in full charge of the whole concern, at least for a year or two, giving him carte blanche in all matters. Lord Paul Vere, my dearest friend, who was shot by his tenants last week, died this morning. I have received a wire which will necessitate my leaving sooner than I anticipated, so the sooner we get this prodigy the better.' Terry felt shocked at the tidings, though he only remembered the late Lord Vere as a cold, haughty man more feared than loved by those around him.

But he had been his father's dearest friend and boyhood's companion, while he (Terry) had known him in childhood and played with his only daughter, the little Lady Isobel, and he had ofttimes ventured his young neck to scale a cliff to get a sea-bird's egg for the wilful damsel. She was but a small maiden of six summers then, he a boy of ten ; still he would do her bidding like any sworn knight of chivalry. But ten long years had sunk into the past since then, and golden-haired Isobel can count sixteen summers, and perchance when she sees her fair-haired knight and defender will not care to acknowledge him as such. She in cold England has been getting drilled The 0' Neils 9 into a grande dame, whilst he has left Queen's College where drill, coach, riding, and fencing masters have for the last eight years been putting him in proper form to take his place as heir of the O'Neils.

Like a flash the past with its lights and shadows, the present with its darkling aspect swept before his mental sight, and he strove to pierce the veil that hid the future, but in vain. It was just as well that he could not, else even his strong untried heart would have fainted within him. Sir John broke in on his sad musings with ' O Terry ! this has been a terrible blow to me. He, the great, the gifted, to be taken, whilst I, who would have gladly died for him, am still left. I loved him with a love passing that of brother. Neither of us had brothers or sisters ; we did not miss them. We were all in all to each other. We grew up together from an early age, attended the same school, graduated at the same college, leaving for our separate homes on the same day, he to his lordly domains in the south, I to this heavily encumbered estate, which, by the bye, has been getting worse year by year.

He was one of the most brilliant orators I ever listened to, and a thorough logician. He had a spirit too lofty to stoop to any dishonourable act to gain his own ends, treating all that was false and ignoble with the haughty contempt that made him more feared than loved except by those who knew him, the few he permitted to call him friend. A patrician from the top of his shapely head to his foot, holding birth above gold, honour above life, the poorer or rather lower classes were to him as his dogs or horses, things that served or administered to his pleasures. Such was my friend. We made a compact when boys together that if one died before the other leaving children under age, whoever survived should act the father's part to the child or children of the other ; and so I am appointed guardian in conjunction with his sister, Lady Nevill, to his only child and heiress, Lady Isobel.

And I hear she takes after her haughty father and is just as imperious an aristocrat, yet lovely enough, they tell me, and fascinating enough to make a monk forswear himself. If we can arrange satisfactorily about a manager, we will spend two years in England, then bring Lady Isobel and her aunt here until Lady Isobel's majority, which will not take place until she's twenty-one, then she passes from under my care. She is the last of the Veres, so the main bulk of their vast fortune falls to her lot, and with her wealth and beauty she is sure to be besieged by lovers and fortune-hunters. We shall during her minority give up our quiet bachelor days, and throw open the hall so that she may meet all the eligible people round about of a suitable age and rank, as one so young and lovely will require other companions beside her stately aunt.

Her term of mourning will have expired by the time we revisit here, and we must do our best to make all bright and cheerful, so that nothing may remind her of her father's tragic end and her own desolate orphanage. If we could persuade the Duchess of Kerry to let Lady Jessie come over occasionally, it would be an advantage to both. The young life that has been so saddened and shut up in the castle would be cheered by the presence of beautiful bright Isobel, and she in turn would be benefited by the pure and exalted character of Kerry's daughter. Lady Jessie is very accomplished, though that would not be such an in ducement in my eyes as her goodness and singular purity. She has been brought up in such an atmo sphere of goodness, so carefully taught, so judiciously trained, that truth and modesty seem to have grown with her growth, and her lovely face is but an index to her mind, which is a rich storehouse of wisdom The 0' Neils 11 and knowledge — knowledge whose depths few ladies would care to sound.

Added to this she is a rare musician and linguist. I think,' he said, with a sad smile, ' that Lady Jessie at her birth had some good fairy standing by, for truly Nature's choicest gifts have been prodigally poured upon her, leaving no thing undone, but in her was fulfilled all that woman was meant to be, Nature's masterpiece.' When Sir John paused, Terry said, 'That's high praise. I have heard much of sweet Lady Jessie, the Rose of Kerry, as she is called by the peasantry ; but never had the pleasure of meeting her, owing to my having been at school so long and the castle being closed to visitors for so many years, ever since the tragedy that took place there when I was a boy. I must have been very young, as I have but a dim recollection of it. One brother killed the other over some servant girl, I think, then drowned her.' Deep lines had been gathering round Sir John's handsome mouth as Terry spoke.

When he had finished he said, ' Not a servant girl, but Lord Roy's foster-sister.' ' I confess I should like to hear the story if you will have time before luncheon to relate it, and per haps I may, or rather, we may, rescue dark-eyed Lady Jessie from her gloomy prison.' ' Well, it was in this wise,' and Sir John paused a moment as his mind swept back over a vista of sixteen years.

Chapter II The House Of Kerry

' The present Duke of Kerry some thirty years ago was only a younger son of a distant branch of the then reigning house, with no expectations, and nothing but his army pay to supply his wants. He had joined a crack regiment, entering the service at an early age. The army or church, you see,' he added, ' is generally the refuge for younger sons, where, if they are not killed or die of fever, they are bound to rise, and the Honourable Roland Roy was no exception to the rule. And one season whilst his regiment was quartered in Spain he met the beautiful but portionless daughter of Count Alva at a reception given by the officers of the garrison. The imprudent young captain went almost mad over her lovely face ; but his fears were vain; the love was mutual, and the following year the young couple were united.

They were very happy in each other's society in spite of their straitened means. But the year that opened so brightly for them brought darkness to others. A terrible epidemic broke out, and one by one all who stood between Roland Roy and the Kerry titles and estates were swept away, strong men and fair women alike. And so he awoke one morning to find himself Baron of Inverlay and Duke of Kerry, one of the oldest and wealthiest dukedoms in the land. He was like his race, proud, with forget-me not eyes, fair face, and golden hair ; a handsome, dashing fellow, with a good deal of the soldier about him, and soon he became one of the most popular Dukes of Kerry. And what young fellow would not with fifty thousand a year, and none to dispute his word ? And it became a red-letter day in many a young fellow's life when he got an invitation to Castle Kerry, where the beautiful duchess did the honours of the house with such winning grace that she won all hearts, and many a gallant man lived and died single for the sake of Elva Roy, Duchess of Kerry.' ' And you, father, did you love her too ? ' ' Yes, Terry, she was and ever will be the one love of my life, the only woman in the world for me ; but she was a wife and mother, and your mother, Terry, was my promised bride, so no breath of mine ever tainted her pure cheek or word of love sullied her ear ; for I hold when a man truly loves a woman he holds her too sacred to even dishonour her in thought.

He places her upon a pedestal, as it were, above his grosser nature, and there worships her, treasuring up every commonplace remark as though weighted with the wisdom of a Solomon or the brilliancy of a Pericles. Every gesture, every look and trick of voice becomes printed on his memory.' Terry looked at his father's handsome face, and wondered if the dark-eyed Lady Elva ever thought of him, or had she eyes and ears for none save the haughty man who called her by that most sacred of all names, ' wife.' Then he thought of his own gentle mother. Did she guess it all ? Was this the reason she so seldom smiled, but always wandered alone ? Did she know the heart of her husband was in another woman's keeping, one that knew no peer, though many fair ladies graced the land ? And a sigh escaped his lips as he thought of all the heart-aches in the world, heart-aches he had never dreamt of before, but the depths of which he was soon to learn.

After a few moments' silence Sir John resumed the thread of his narrative. ' Shortly after their arrival at the castle a son was born to the house of Kerry. The flag of their race floated proudly above the battlements. Nothing was heard but mirth and rejoicing. Such feasting, such music never awoke the old hall for many a day, filling it with the sound of their echoing glee. But the duchess's life was almost despaired of, and so a nurse had to be procured, and young Roy, as he was called, received his nourishment from a stranger's breast. But Mrs O'Donovon proved a tender mother to the little mite with its great sombre eyes, so like its Spanish mother's, and so unlike the proud blue eyed Kerrys'. Mrs O'Donovon was the gate-keeper's wife, and being so near, took Roy home with her. And so a solemn hush fell where a few days before there had been naught heard but mirth and music.

But the spring soon brought back the lost roses to the lady's pale cheeks, and light to her glorious eyes. Thus two years told their course, to some bringing misery, to others joy, to some homes death, to others life, and to the house of Kerry another son. He came not like the first, dark-eyed and swarth-skinned, but bearing on every feature of his baby face the look of the proud Kerrys — eyes blue as forget-me-nots, hair that seemed to have stolen its tint from the sun. Such was Roland. The same rejoicings hailed his birth as Roy's — but prolonged. The same proud ensign spread its silken folds on the morning breeze or gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. But from the moment his father beheld him, Roland became his idol — blue-eyed Roland — and the duke began to look with dislike and coldness on dark-haired Roy with his girlish face and shy dark eyes, this Spanish boy who held the proud position he coveted for his youngest son.

And as the years rolled by little Roy felt the unmerited coldness and neglect keenly, and in consequence shrank from his father's presence, lavishing all the wealth of his young heart upon his peerless mother, foster-mother, brother, and sister, and with those his childhood days were spent. But the duchess's whole heart went out to her little orphan, as she called him, went out with all the passionate love of her southern nature, and the sweet shy face with its glowing cheeks and wind-tossed curls seemed the fairest and sweetest picture on earth to the loving mother : whilst the duke's dislike grew into aversion towards him, his love for Roland out weighed all other passions till it became idolatry. Lord Roland knew he had but to express a wish to have it gratified ; soon his wayward exacting dis position became so imperious that the servants were afraid to contradict him, whether right or wrong, his father indulging and pandering to his every desire, however absurd, with a weakness that was almost criminal.

The haughty boy was not slow to learn his own importance, and to make others feel it too ; and though Lord Roy was the heir, it was Lord Roland who assumed all the airs of his brother's position. Lord Roy seldom came into his father's presence, but spent his time with Dan O'Donovon ; and at the cottage some of the happiest hours of the duchess's life were spent. Each evening, as the sun sank behind Castle Kerry, little Roy would watch at the keeper's gate for the coming of his beautiful mother. His tiny hands were generally full of wild flowers culled from cliff and ledge for the mother whose beautiful lips were ever wreathed in smiles for him : no cold glance from those dark eyes ever Jell on him. Thus he stood at eventide, his heart beating, his cheeks flushing, and his eyes glowing with expec tation ; he made a lovely picture to look at, the most beautiful on earth in his mother's eyes.

Whilst Roland from over - indulgence grew selfish and tyrannical, Lord Roy and his hardy foster-brother grew strong, manly, and self-reliant Lord Roy was thoughtful for one so young, and generous to a fault. He early learned to breast the roughened wave, and ere he had counted twelve summers, could ply an oar with the hardiest fisherman, and could with ease bring down a bird on the wing. His slender form became inured to fatigue, and not a spot along the coast but had been explored by the adventurous boy. The rocky cliffs he scaled with a reckless daring that paled even his foster-brother's cheek. What a con trast those two boys were ! Dan, though a year younger, was more than twice the size of Lord Roy ; he was a veritable young Hercules in strength as well as stature. He had bold blue eyes that looked out with a sunny frankness from beneath his tawny hair, a handsome fellow, broad of shoulder, and straight of limb.