Tivoli

Chapter I

Deer Park, a pleasant detached rambling old house, standing among the sunny slopes of Tivoli, one of the most delightful suburbs of Cork, and approached by a long drive from the lodge. The grounds are extensive, with good fruit gardens and conservatories. Near the house, lawns and well-arranged flower-beds please the æsthetic taste. The whole is well-sheltered from the north by hills rising one above another, and to the rear by a thick belt of woodland. From the front the scene is charming. Heathery hills and flowery dells meet the gaze on all sides; Lough Mahon's waters laving the emerald banks ; pretty picturesque Black rock and castle, the lowing kine in the meadows, and the lovely winding Lee ; — a pleasing landscape on all sides, ex tending south to the fine harbour of Cork. A rose-covered piazza with balustrade, a tempting retreat on a summer's day, embraces the front and one end of the house ; passing this is the front entrance from the drive.

On to the piazza the dining-room windows open, and the window of Philip Des mond's smoking room at one end ; beyond this are the stables, and beyond these again is a paddock abutting on the woodland. The interior of Deer Park is roomy and commodious, and TIVOLI. excellently appointed, yet hardly as modern as its exterior would warrant. There is a mellowness about house and furniture that proclaims age as unmistakably as crow's-feet around our mouth and eyes ; yet, withal, it savoured of gentility, elegance, and wealth. Tradition says the one time owner, a gay Irish youth, gambled away at a Parisian gaming table this bit of property, at that time a ruin, to Reginald de Brooke, a stranger, rich and gay and reckless as himself. Reginald de Brooke visited Cork. He took an irresistible liking to the romantic situation of his lately acquired property, and married and settled there ; and named his new home Deer Park, from the few fallow deer he imported to roam the limited demesne, until they were surreptitiously turned into mutton by his neighbours.

Tradition says also the young Irishman uttered a terrible curse at his loss, as he rose from the table and fled wildly from the room. Gerald de Brooke was used to such scenes, and heeded not then the young spendthrift's mood. Superstition got abroad — Deer Park was not lucky. The neighbours whispered to each other cunningly, mysteriously. That poor young man it became known had committed suicide. His spirit would not rest, and was supposed to influence the De Brooke family fortunes. Reginald heard these rumours. He grew morbid. The young man at the Parisian gaming table was always before him. He could bear it no longer. After a few years spent in his new possessions, he was missed suddenly. He had fled from the land of his adoption back to his old gay reckless life, and died in a brawl in London, leaving both sons and daughters at Deer Park.

TIVOLI. 7 A gay reckless spirit has been invariably the De Brooke family inheritance. Few of them have lived and died worthy citizens in the land, and every slip from the path of rectitude was excused by that young Irishman's curse. Yet through several generations there has always been an heir to Deer Park, always a Reginald. The present heir, Captain Reginald de Brooke, of the Royal Navy, is a departure from the old stock, insomuch that he is a very proper man. Tall, grave, and dignified ; fearless as a lion in the cause of right, believing implicitly in fate, and greatly influenced through the traditions of his house. When off duty he lives at Deer Park, with his wife, his two young children, and his only sister Kate, a small sized, dark, dreamy eyed loving girl of twenty-two summers, who is betrothed to Philip Desmond, the eldest son of the rich Cork banker.

The wedding is expected to take place shortly. Captain Reginald was about starting on a long cruise. The traditions of his house haunted him, agitated his bosom, and made him as silly as an old woman. He magnified greatly the perils he must pass through before meeting his family again. Strange ! all his fears were centred in himself; he never dreamed of danger in the safety of home for his darlings. Yet, when he returned, his hearth was empty. A fearful epidemic had left his house desolate. His sister, now Mrs. Desmond, nursed him back to life through a long and painful illness, with an occasional visit from Gerald, their vounger brother, a gay youth at college in England. These three are the last descendants of the old Reginald. Captain Reginald on his recovery begged Kate and her husband to live at Deer Park, to take the onus of the TIVOLI. ill-omened property.

Philip Desmond, a fair, genial, warm hearted young fellow on whom the world has always smiled, raised no objection, if Captain Reginald continued to make Deer Park his home also. To this he agreed. His health was shattered. He resigned his commission, and as his means were good indulged largely his taste for philanthropy and spoiling his sister's children. The spirit so dead against luck at Deer Park apparently was not appeased by this change. Life was not all sunshine. Philip Desmond argued matters would be the same anywhere, and maintained it ; nevertheless, it was with a sigh all his philosophy could not combat. He found himself a bald headed man and senior partner in a splendid money making concern, a growing aldermanic rotundity under his vest, and and a gout for good dinners. But he is not satisfied.

After twenty years of married life Philip Desmond has no son and only one daughter, his first-born Bessie, and muses sadly over several little coffins resting peacefully one above the other at Shandon. Bessie Desmond, a fair, charming, lily-like girl, fresh from boarding school, instituted a new order of things at Deer Park. Philip Desmond grew thoughtful over his brandy and soda, and pondered a probable son-in-law, a subject Bessie has not yet considered and enjoyed life with butterfly incon stancy. Mr. Desmond brightened : he began to look about him. Bessie was heart whole, and in such a case he argued one eligible party was as good as another. With due consideration to the requirements of the bank he selected a very proper person, the son of an old friend in excellent circumstances, with a good capacity for banking, rubbed his hands gleefully TIVOLI. 9 with pleasurable anticipation, and picnics and parties forth with became the order of the day at Deer Park.

The banker smiled pleasantly ; everything seemed drifting merrily towards marriage bells, when he started later with his family for a three months' tour on the Continent. At a Parisian ball Bessie met her fate in Stanley Bourne, a handsome, dashing young Englishman, twenty-five years of age, the son of a rising millionaire, who had conceived higher views for Stanley than marriage with this out of the wDrld Irish maid, however charming. It was love at first sight with the young people, reciprocal, overwhelming. Both families after a wordy war all round succumbed to circumstances ; the only course open, unless paterfamilias cut the undutiful one off with the proverbial shilling or subject themselves to the annoyance of an elope ment. The banker with a sigh deposed his eligible party. Mr. Bourne also in like manner the beautiful Lady Edith Barry, who had refused the fashionable Stanley three months ago.

Mr. Bourne was not one to ' forego a speculation easily ; his iron will had a habit of forcing circumstances. To join two houses, to form an alliance with his noble neighbour at Deadcome Abbey, was a long cherished scheme which Bessie's advent in Paris dissipated. In the end both families agreed to finish their tour together, and, when they parted later, an early day in the following spring was fixed for the nuptials. TIVOLI.

Chapter II

" Will Philip's crotchets upset the whole thing again ?" So soliloquized Gerald de Brooke, a florid, well formed man of forty years of age, gazing perplexed on Gordon St. George, a handsome child of ten, with long brown curling hair and bright intelligent chestnut eyes, beside whom stood Joe Hea'h a lad of fifteen, in buttons, the child's attendant. The trio look tired and fagged, especially the child. They have just arrived in Cork from London, and a jaunting car approached on which to finish the long journey to Deer Paik. Over this child's life hangs a mystery his guardian Gerald de Brooke will not solve. Two years ago there was a stormy meeting at Deer Park on this very subject. Then Gerald had to place his ward otherwise than he desired, and left home in a huff, and has not been there since.

Gordon is again the object of this journey home. Less than a fortnight ago De Brooke was summoned hastily to London by the Miss Churchills to resume the charge of his ward. Mrs. Churchill was dead. Mr. Churchill was away, his family knew not where, which was not unusual. The busy round of pleasure abroad, and squabbles at home to make both ends meet, came suddenly to an end in Hyde Park Gardens, and Gordon is again adrift. The Miss Churchills have an annuity, a matter of three hundred a year each. Polly the youngest went to live with TIVOLI. 11 her aunt Somerton at Highgate, a rich old maiden lady the girls use every means to conciliate, and through whom they have great expectations. The two elder sisters purpose visiting Baden, and other continental cities where their father is likely to be found.

Now it happened Gerald's coming home was on the even ing of Bessie's wedding day, and as he neared Deer Park he could not but be struck with its festive appearance. The reason was not far to seek. Gerald like every one else in society had heard much on the subject of his niece's marriage. But his sister's letters full of the immediate news have been waiting for him a fortnight at Lausanne, and are laying there still. The festive appearance made him pause and dismiss the jarvey at the lodge. He felt how mal apropos everything had happened. However, he was at home, and determined to have the matter out. With tightly pressed lips and very few words he left Gordon and Joe with Maggie Twomey at the lodge, and strode rapidly along the drive, and passed through the open window to his own room unnoticed.

After his bath he descended to the banker's smoking room, and ordered dinner. Driscoll the housekeeper, privileged from long service and full of the great event of the day, grew loquacious. Gerald was hardly in a mood for small talk, and cut her short by telling her to let Mrs. Desmond know of his arrival, and sat moody till his brother and sister and the banker burst ex citedly into his presence together, with exclamations of surprise and disappointment. " I did not get your letters Kate," he said, apologetically, looking from one happy face to the other, with a sort of constraint. TIVOLI. " It was not my Bessie's wedding brought you home then, Gerald ? " said the banker, rather chagrined at the avowal, and his anything but genial manner. " Hardly, Philip," Gerald smiled honestly, " though I would go twice as far to please the child.

My time is limited," he continued hesitatingly, after a pause ; " I leave Cork in a couple of hours, and these countries as early as possible, probably for ever." " Gerald dear," cried Mrs. Desmond imploringly, " what is wrong now ? " " Everything, Kate," he answered, resting his face in his hands. " Is it to say good bye you come to us like this ? " said Captain Reginald, gravely. " Not exactly, Reggy, it is that matter of Gordon ; he is on my hands again. Think better of it, Philip. I pray you take charge of the child before I leave." " No one objects, Gerald," said the banker complacently ; "it is you who are unreasonable." "And must be so still, Philip." " Oh, Gerald dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Desmond. "You have great assurance, Gerald," said the banker, " to come here again, and wish us to take this boy, with no knowledge of his birth or antecedents.

Why his life will be ruined ; he will be a never ending source of trouble to us ; his life will be an anomaly, cast on the world a 'nobody,' with no name. Is he your own son — a child of shame ? " " Philip Desmond," cried Gerald, starting up with awful calmness, " listen to me. I could easily frame a tale to satisfy you. I prefer not to do so, and refuse you absolutely all knowledge of Gordon. He is my ward, the son of an old TIVOLI. ■3 friend. Dissolute and reckless I am — it is our inheritance. Gordon is honest. To keep him so is my only reason for wishing to leave him with you. He has an annuity of five hundred a year ; enough to be independent on. I am no graceful maid to sue for favours ; a Times advertisement will find him a home somewhere." " Philip is right, Gerald," said Captain Reginald sternly ; " in the boy's interest some satisfactory evidence should be lodged somewhere."

" It cannot be, Reggy," said Gerald, simply but decisively. " Will you take the boy, aye or nay ? " he said, rising abruptly. The sudden demand was paralyzing for a moment. Mrs. Desmond raised her hands to stay her younger brother, tears in her eyes and pity in her heart. Bessie's absence, the day itself, was favourable for Gerald's demand. Captain Reginald and the banker were both moved to grant his request, the banker saying reluctantly : " Aye, if Reggy and Kate choose, Gerald, though much against my sense of honour and right." Gerald grasped his hand fervently in mute thankfulness. Mrs. Desmond's face became all smiles again, and she said pleasantly : " Now that is all settled, Gerald dear, come with me and see your old friend Selina Dobbs, and our new rela tions Mr. and Mrs. Bourne." " Forgive me, Kate," staying her kindly, " I have no mind for gaieties."

" You have your own way now, Gerald," said Captain Reginald, smiling content on the arrangement. " On what terms does the boy come amongst us ? Is he likely to remain, and how long ? What position in life do you wish him reared for ? " " Practical Reggy," said Gerald, reflectively, " I do not TIVOLI. 14 know. I hold no control over Gordon's future, and his stay among you may be long or short. I particularly wish, as long as he remains with you, that he should be reared and educated as befits a gentleman. I engaged a ' buttons' in London. You may prefer a maid, Kate," turning to his sister, " in that case Joe can be sent home." Rising again abruptly, without further comment, to their great wonder he hurried from the room, followed at once by Mr. Desmond, who saw him disappearing rapidly down the drive, and thought he had taken leave of his senses. .

"Where can Gerald be going?" asked Mrs. Desmond and Captain Reginald, coming up beside him on the piazza. " How do I know, Kate," said Mr. Desmond in amaze ment. " By Jove ! this is the best joke at all." " Do you think, Reggy dear, the boy is Gerald's ? " said Mrs. Desmond, peering thoughtfully over the rose covered balustrade into the darkness. " It is impossible to say, Kate ; Gerald inferred not," said Captain Reginald, thoughtfully. " It is nice to think of him so. What can have happened to Gerald ? " she mused dreamily. Captain Reginald did not reply. His eyes rested afar on Woodhill* yonder, and he pondered the simile of another love in which his brother had played a part. Approaching footsteps disturbed his reverie ; and almost immediately Gerald, holding Gordon's hand, and followed by Joe, was at his side.

Captain Reginald started, his nerves were shaken; his hands trembled as he drew the child into the light, pushed back his hat, and scanned curiously the tired handsome face beneath. * The home of Curran's daughter, the beloved of Robert Emmett. Immortalised by Moore in " She is far from the land." TIVOLI. 15 Mrs. Desmond, hearing the arrival, hurried on the scene. She stood a moment on the threshold, her face wreathed with welcome smiles, gazing on her protege, then ran forward and embraced him warmly. Her warm-hearted sympathy touched the child, as neglect and harsh treatment never could. With the ardour of a shipwrecked sailor who sights safety from the perils of the deep, Gordon clung, sobbing convulsively, to her bosom. " Cheer up, sonny," said Mr. Desmond, whose heart was tender for suffering, " and listen : — Captain, a splendid pony, gentle as a lamb, is in the stable waiting for you to learn to ride.

And get up early, man, to-morrow morning for a run before breakfast in the gardens, and I'll warrant that pale face will wear another pattern at the breakfast table," patting his long curls. Gordon smiled through the tears he was half ashamed of, and clinging to Mrs. Desmond as he was about to be sent away in charge of Driscoll, whispered : " Shall I live here always ? Could you love me, and be my mother ? " " Please God, yes," she answered fervently. He kissed her, murmuring " Mother," with much devotion in his brown eyes. To his childish mind she had entered into a solemn, sacred compact. Gerald's great anxiety, now this affair was settled, was to be gone. Every argument for him to remain was met by a pained expression, and " it cannot be," or " these peaceful scenes, your quiet happy life, would drive me mad. I must be stirring to forget — and if that is impossible, to bury in the hardships and perils of life in the New World — the past." TIVOLI.

Chapter III

Gordon was physically exhausted. Even the promise of the pony and other boyish delights were not proof against the tears he scorned but could not restrain. Approval was strange to the isolated child. The petty tyranny, the keeping under, he had been subjected to by Mrs. Churchill and her daughters was fast warping his better nature. As if doubting Mrs. Desmond's promises and repeated assurances, he begged pitifully not to be taken back to Hyde Park Gardens. Mrs. Desmond, tender soul, wept with him. She promised everything her heart could conceive to please a child, and sat beside him in the blue room, Gerald's room, and held his little hand till he fell asleep. The lark sprang up to the broad heavens with a loud pean of praise ; the twitter of the young birds in the tall trees, and the hum of insects, filled the air around Deer Park.

Gordon was awakened the following morning by these, to him, un wonted sounds, and a confused recollection of something strange. " Am I in London ? " he soliloquized. " If I move shall I see Polly, or Belinda, or nurse ? Am I in Ireland, that Joe tells such tales about ? I must be in Ireland, or how should I know Joe ? I'll get up now, a servant might be grooming the pony." With this charming hypothesis, he awoke Joe. After a TIVOLI. 17 hasty toilet the two boys made their way to the piazza and gardens unmolested, and were not long in finding the stables. Gordon shook the doors, he pounded them with his fists, and leaped for joy as a loud whinny reached his ears from within. " Arrah, me young gintleman, what may be yer pleasure at this early hour ? " said Patsy, the stable boy, brought forth by the noise.

" Is it a horse ye want to attend a mating, or the carriage to fetch the docther ? " " I want to see my pony," said Gordon, his eyes glis tening. " Maybe 'tis Miss Bessie's pony ye be afther me young gintleman?" said Patsy, leading forth Captain. Gordon did not bandy words about what he was ignorant of. The pony was the pony, and stood before him a larger specimen than his mind had pictured. Nevertheless, he was satisfied, and placing himself in Patsy's hands took his first ride round the paddock, and across the woodland, followed by Joe. He became better acquainted with Twomey the gardener, and his numerous family at the lodge, several of whom he had not seen while waiting Gerald's return last night. Nora, a flaxen-haired barefooted child, with bright winning Irish eyes, attracted both boys greatly, and in a few minutes Gordon was over head and ears in love with this pretty novelty.

With glowing cheeks and a hearty appetite he reached home. The family were still seated at the breakfast table, though the meal was well over. " My darling ! " said Mrs. Desmond, drawing him to her side, pleased to see him looking so happy. "Ah! Gordon had a fine run," said Mr. Desmond, look- E TIVOLI. ing up carelessly. He was chatting merrily, and was about bidding farewell to his guests. The hour was late. James appeared at the door with a rug on his arm ; the banker's trap was on the drive ; a maid servant stood near to do his bidding. Mrs. Desmond was on the qui vive in a moment. There was always a mildfurore at Deer Park when the banker was about starting for the city, he liked it. Gave orders benignly for his six o'clock dinner, and hurriedly bade his guests farewell, who were leaving Cork at mid-day.

Mr. and Mrs. Bourne were anxious to get home to Wood leigh Hall, to put in hand improvements and have them completed before Stanley and his bride's return from their honeymoon, when their abode will be at Woodleigh Hall. Mr. Bourne is a successful speculator — a new man, we might almost say " brand new." His humble origin did not warp his ambition, which took deep root a few years ago, when, as he termed it, he "commenced to live." Every investment proved a success. He grew more daring. Success followed him ; good fortune poured her bounties on him ; his coffers overflowed ; he seemed to possess the philosopher's stone. His ventures grew wider ; he began to be a wonder, and obtain a notoriety among a class quite different to that in which he had been reared. Inflated with success and adulation, he gave up his partner ship in his father's modest grocery store ; which was conferred on the head clerk, who married into the family, among whom a coldness sprang up ; and in a short time the successful speculator and his family became entirely estranged from his father's house.

About this time Woodleigh Hall was in the market, de scribed as a spacious red brick mansion, with every modern TIVOLI. 19 appliance, situated in a fine hunting district, bounded on the rear by Deadcome Abbey and Park, and facing, a mile distant, the pretty village of Woodleigh. Mr. Bourne saw it. It suited his ambition to a T. Such an opportunity might not occur again. He closed at once. The Woodleigh estate became his, and he moved there as early as possible with his family. At first they were looked upon coldly by their neighbours. The chic of trade was on their tongues, and its odour in their garments. Chagrined to find money here of less value than he had anticipated, he, nevertheless, with an iron will determined to live down the disagreeables, and this he did. At the time of Bessie Desmond's marriage with Stanley the Bourne family were highly respected, and generally accepted everywhere in the county ; and in London also, where during the season their equipage vied daily with others on the Row.

Mr. Bourne's first disappointment arose from his only daughter's elopement with a German officer. The lady in question is now married, and living with her husband in Germany. Stanley is an only son, as Letitia was an only daughter, and a full soft languishing girl of twenty when she left her father's home. If Mr. Bourne was disappointed in Letitia, it was nothing compared to the bitterness caused by Stanley choosing Bessie Desmond. He had mapped out a programme for his family long ago. Letitia's deviation from the fixed path he got over, and pushed on bravely towards a magistracy for himself. That was his ambition personally. Stanley must become a member of parliament. That with an alliance with his noble neighbour through Lady Edith would be easy. They were high stakes he went in for, and he greatly underrated the difficulties that lay in his way.

TIVOLI. Stanley's dashing attentions to the handsome, sprightly Lady Edith were accepted with sweet girlish pleasure. But when he proposed for her hand honestly, which he did with his father's approbation, and with no doubt of his acceptance, she refused him point blank, and what was more laughed openly at his presumption. Stanley fled London society, and it was during this time he met Bessie Desmond in Paris. Stanley Bourne's chief characteristics lay in his fair effeminate face, fine physique, and fashionable appearance. After his return home from the honeymoon with his pretty wife, he renewed his penchant for the handsome vivacious Lady Edith's society. Mr. Bourne watched furtively this closing of old wounds, and cursed the day that blighted his hopes, and brought his empty headed son and Bessie Desmond together.

However, that was irremediable now, but he still has the effeminate Stanley under his eye at Woodleigh Hall, and it will not be his (Mr. Bourne's) fault if he is not pushed into parliament somehow for the snug little borough of Woodleigh. TIVOLI. 21

Chapter IV

It is now nearly ten years since that soft June evening of Bessie's wedding day, when Gerald de Brooke brought his ward, an innocent winsome child, to Deer Park, and left his home none knew whither ; and neither letter, message, nor any news whatever of the exile have been heard of by his friends from that day to this. On a Sunday evening in the sweet spring time, the cooing of birds, soft murmurs of love, sounded drowsily through the open dining room windows at Deer Park, and the sweet perfumes of wood violet and primrose were wafted on the air like a benison. The family were quite alone this evening. Dinner has been removed. Brandy and soda have lost their zest for Mr. Desmond to-day, and stand before him unnoticed. In these past ten years he has grown balder and more portly than ever. Captain Reginald looked abstractedly on the ingre dients for brewing his after-dinner punch, and sighed.

Mrs. Desmond, with her mittened hands folded, and with that sweet smile on her face that defied time, is seated beside Gordon, as handsome, genial, intelligent a young fellow as any parent's heart could desire. Like the other members of the family he is distraite to-day ; his brow wears a frown ; anon he tosses back his brown hair impatiently, his habit when moved. TIVOLI. Just what the banker and Captain Reginald so much dreaded has come to pass. The boy is of a quick haughty disposition ; he resents, and bitterly, the injustice that has left him to the world a " nobody." It has made him reckless ; he has formed unworthy associates ; he has given great anxiety to his dearest friends ; — in fact, as the banker says, " the boy is fast drifting to the devil." Everything that reason, common-sense, and money could devise has been done in his interest, and diligent search made to clear away the mists that hang around him, but all without result.

The crumb of comfort, the bread of life his soul craves, is denied him ; nothing else is satisfying. The annuity Gerald spoke of has always been paid regularly, and to the chagrin of all concerned, telling of intrigue — but where ? — and of somebody somewhere interested in Gordon's welfare. What can his dearest friends do in this case ? Gordon is not altogether bad ; he has his hours of remorse, when he is again their loving, docile boy, and dear as ever to the hearts that wish him well, and have guarded and cherished him through all these years. Mr. Desmond's straight-laced notions of propriety are getting shocked, still something must be done. Mr. Desmond and Captain Reginald«bave talked over the subject till they are dead from it, and have come as it were to the last straw, to offer Gordon a partnership in the bank.

It goes against the banker to do this, for he considers Gordon unworthy the honour ; but his circumstances are peculiar, and with all his faults his instincts are good. With the best intentions Mr. Desmond could not prevent a trifling pomposity to creep into his manner. The offer was a good one, and one many a valued servant in the bank TIVOLI. 23 would be proud to accept. Gordon conceived all this, and more ; but he is not grateful. Indeed, he is rather ashamed to feel Mr. Desmond thought so meanly of him as to think he would accept it. With a burning spot on either cheek he rose from his seat and refused at once, without a moment's hesitation. "Gordon dear," sobbed Mrs. Desmond, taking hold of his hand in sudden fear. " Hush ! mother," he whispered hoarsely. " I could not do this." Captain Reginald rested his elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands, at his wit's end.