The duchess / by Mrs. Hungerford, author of "Molly Bawn."

Front matter

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Chapter I

“ Except wind stands as never it stood It is an ill wind turns none to good.”

But who is it, dad ? ” asks she, leaning her elbows on the breakfast-table and smiling at him over the teapot; who is the writer of that voluminous letter? As a rule they don’t take so much ink to ask for their just dues.”

Who should it be but your own first cousin, my dear, Denis Delaney, my own brother’s only son, and the head of all the family.”

Bless me ! What titles to honour,” says the girl, with a soft, low laugh. “ And what may /' our distinguished relative have to say for himself in those four closely-written pages ? . Judg-

I ing by your face ” saucily — nothing pleasant. I quite thought it was a bill.”

“ 'Tis worse ! ” says the Squire, solemnly. In his turn he leans towards her from his seat at the foot of the table, and as the latter is small, their faces nearly meet. He’s coming here to stay some days ! ” he whispers, with fine impressiveness.

'' What ! To stay some Oh, nonsense !

Give me the letter,” says Miss Delaney, rising with much characteristic force from her seat; but her father waves her back imploringly.

Now can’t you be patient, my dear ? Can’t you, now ? You know if you flurry me. Duchess, I’ll never be able to explain. Wait till I read it to you. Where is it now ? ” — glancing again at the letter he holds, with its big, crimson crest, and its bold, handsome handwriting. “ H’m ! hah ! ‘To see you after all these years.’ ‘ Make acquaintance with you and my cousin.’ Hah !

‘ Am on my way here.’ Norah,” says the Squire, laying down the letter, and regarding his daughter with a tragic air, “ that means that he’ll be here in about two hours ! ”

“ Two hours ! Oh, dad, no ! ” says the

Duchess, lifting her lovely face and gazing at her father with undisguised dismay. All the admirable spirit that had distinguished her a moment since is gone, and abject fear has taken its place.

“ Well, my dear, that’s just how I feel,” says Mr. Delaney, with open sympathy. ** I keep on saying it, but here I’m convinced he’s coming all the same,” with a rather depressed glance round the large, poorly-furnished, comfortless room. '' He says he’s on his way, and I’ve no doubt he’ll finish his journey. And why shouldn’t he, too ? ” with quite a startling change of front and a reproachful glance at his daughter. Who should be welcome here. I’d like to know, if it wasn’t our own kith and kin ? Tut ! I’m astonished at you. Duchess, to be so inhospitable— and your own first cousin, too, my dear.”

Is he very rich, dad ? ” asks the Duchess, in a rather forlorn tone, though she has shown no surprise at all at the sharp alteration of his sentiments. Perhaps she is used to it.

'' As Croesus ! ” with all the noble air of one determined to face the worst whatever the consequences. '' My poor brother, The Delaney — a proud title, Norah, as good as any duke’s — well, never mind ; but my poor brother — as fine a man, my dear, as ever stepped in shoe leather, though I daresay it isn’t modest of me to say so, considering, ahem ! we were considered much alike. However, as I was saying— ”

I wonder you never told me all this before.”

“ Well, my dear, he died a great many years ago, more than you can remember, and ’tis hard to talk to the young of those who are past and gone; but before- he died he married an English girl with a pot of money and jewels without number ” — ' Jools ’ I’m afraid the dear old Squire called those precious gems — ‘‘ Poor Terence, your uncle, had a very handsome property of his own, and he hadn’t been married to Madam three years when she fell in for two large fortunes, left her by some kinsfolk in her own country, over the water. And all this has come already, or at least will come, to Denis.”

It will be dreadful ! ” says the girl, looking round the room in her turn ; her voice is low and melancholy. Is he young ? ” she asks presently.

About twenty-seven, I should say, though

Tm not much at a guess. He was very young indeed when my poor brother died ; quite a little chap in breeches. Though, indeed, for the matter of that,” says the Squire, thoughtfully, bent, as it were, on wrestling with the truth and forcing it to the front at all hazards, he was out of them when that unhappy event happened, as Terence died at midnight; so the child must have been in bed.”

What is his mother like ? ” asks the Duchess, still melancholy.

'' Very handsome she was then, and very charming. ‘ Bong tong,’ you know, and all that ; and a good soul, too,” says the Squire, relapsing into a less fashionable manner. For she nearly broke her heart when Terence died. She took the boy away then — carried him off to England and had him educated there, and in fact has kept him there ever since, except on such occasions as he has gone abroad.”

Has he gone much ? ” asks Norah, timidly — already she is desperately afraid of this half- English cousin.

I believe so. I hear he has seen a great deal of the world in his time. The last we heard of

S him he was in Pekin. You remember that how, don't you, Norah ? ”

'' I don't. I don't believe I ever gave him a thought," says Norah, petulantly. “ But I expect I'll have to give him several now,” with a little pout. '' Dad," anxiously, how long do you think he will stay ? "

“ Let's see," says the Squire. Once again he adjusts his spectacles upon his rather pronounced nose, and takes up the bombshell that politeness calls a letter. “ Ah ! here it is — ‘ I hope to stay a day or two.' Now, Duchess, don't you be taken in by that,” says the Squire, looking at her knowingly over the sheet he holds.

He'll stay a week, to a moral ! ”

I shouldn't be surprised at anything he'd do," disgustedly. It's as good to say a month when you're about it. But no ! ” with a sudden pang of remembrance, “ a day in our ‘ menage ' will, I daresay, more than suffice him."

''Nonsense, now, Norah; your cousin isn't that sort, I should hope,” says the Squire. " But, indeed, I agree with you ; I'm afraid he’ll find it — er — a bit rough.”

" He'll hate it," says Norah.

I wouldn’t care if I was sure of the dinner,” says the Squire, nervously. “ But what the jeuce will we do if that butcher of ours doesn’t give us meat fit to eat ? His mutton, I allow you, is all very well, but his beef,” says the Squire, with profound dejection, '' his beef is the very ”

'' Quite so, I entirely agree with you,” says Norah, with admirable promptitude. ‘‘ But never mind,” conscious pride in her tone, I have a fowl in the yard as fat as fat can be, and as to the beef, I think I’ll go to Mickey myself and tell him it’s a matter of life and death, and that he must give it us good for once in his life.”

Do ! ” with enthusiastic belief in her plan. “ There’s nothing like a woman’s tongue for bringing a man to reason, and as for yours, I

know by experience that you could ”

Oh ! daddy, now ! Come ! Am I such a shrew ? ”

‘‘ Coax the birds off the bushes, my dear, I was going to say. Ha ! ha ! I had you there,” laughs the Squire.

“ Turncoat ! ” says she, shrugging her pretty shoulders at him. Well, don’t get into mischief whilst I’m away, for I’m off to the village this instant to secure a loin of mutton and warn him about the beef.”

'' I say, Norah. 1 say, Duchess, darling, don’t go off at a tangent like that,” says the Squire, making an ineffectual grab at her gown as she passes him on her way to the door. IVe a great deal to say to you yet. This young man will be expecting things grander, no doubt, than we can have them. We can’t help that, of course; but I’d — I’d like him to see us as well as we can be, eh ? ” He colours a little as he says this, and glances deprecatingly at, his daughter. Flowers, now,” diffidently, ‘‘ flowers on a dinner-table give it quite a little air, eh ? And there’s some of the old silver locked up, isn’t there, in the oak chest ? And if you have a white gown, sweetheart, just put it on you for dinner, won’t you, now ? I wouldn’t have him think we didn’t know about things even though we can’t have them, eh ? ”

Just so ! ” says Norah, taking fire at once, from the brilliant scene he has just conjured up.

I’m quite clever at arranging flowers, and I’ll give the old silver a rub myself this afternoon while you take him out for a walk. Make it a long one, daddy. And — you think a loin of mutton best — don’t you ? A leg sits up so high, and there’s so much of it, and, of course,” with a sigh, “ he’s dainty ; and — and do you think — but no,” despondently, I — I don’t think I am much of a hand at soup.”

You are excellent, my dear, excellent,” protests her father — may Heaven forgive him — but I don’t think we’ll mind the soup. Just a loin and a pudding. That was a glorious pudding you gave us last Sunday.”

Custard ? Very good. And I can make him a jam roll for the next day — and for the day after that — Oh ! but I hope he’ll go away the day after that. That is, of course,” mindful of her hospitality, “if he wants to. He’s ” — hopefully — “ sure to want to.”

“ I trust,” says the Squire, anxiously, “ that Bridget won’t be drunk.”

“ Certainly that habit of hers is a great drawback. At all events, if she does have one of her — attacks, I hope it won’t be a noisy one. Last time — you remember, dad ? — she was so abusive that Mary went into hysterics in the kitchen stairs, and said she couldn’t attend table.”

‘‘ Yes, yes. Mary’s a very poor creature,” says the Squire, with the utmost gentleness. His manner is abstracted ; it is plain his fertile brain is running on some other matter far remote from Mary. “ Now where the dickens are they, I wonder ? ” he said at last.

What, dear ? ” asked the Duchess, at once interested.

“ The waistcoat I can lay my hand on at once, because I wore it the last time Lord Kilgarriff called, not being able just then to find my Sunday one, and I know the coat is hanging up behind my door; but where on earth are the trousers ? ”

Is it your evening suit you are thinking of ? Do you mean to say you are going to dress for dinner every day ? ” She is so overcome by the magnitude of this thought that she sinks into the nearest chair.

‘‘Of course,” says the Squire, with great dignity. “ D’ye think I’d let him believe we weren’t up to so much ? Tut, Norah, you haven’t a spark of genius.”

“You’ll be miserable,” declares she, eyeing lO him with deep commiseration ; ‘‘ they are so dreadfully tight.”

Pride feels no pain,” courageously. ‘‘ And if I suffer it will be in a good cause. And mind you, Duchess, dinner not a minute before seven.”

'' Seven ! Why, Bridget will be hopeless by that time, and Mary will think it is supper.”

It can’t be helped,” says the Squire, drawing himself up with quite a superb air. “ It is absolutely necessary that we should hold up our heads now, and let him see that we, too, are conversant with the niceties of fashionable life ! ” This last is too much for the Duchess. Crushed by it, she walks with a depressed air to the door, and beats a hasty retreat.

CHAPTER II ** A proper man as one shall see in a summer’s day.”

Her interview with the butcher must have been stormy and prolonged, because she is late for the important arrival of the head of the Delaneys. That young man, entirely ignorant of the sensation his coming has provoked, drives up to the door about half-past eleven, to be welcomed by the Squire solus.”

The Squire, who has been fussing and fuming all the morning, and leading the hysterical Mary a horrible life; insisting on the threadbare carpets being brushed over and over again ; marching in upon them with muddy boots to enforce this command, and deaf to Mary’s whimper that much more brushing would leave nothing but the floor beneath. It is indeed a reprieve to the long-suffering maid when wheels are heard crunching upon the gravel outside, and the Squire, forgetful now of all but the approaching guest, rushes forth to greet him.

The guest seems very willing to be greeted. He springs off the outside car, and comes quickly up to this unknown uncle, a pleasant smile upon his face. As for the Squire, after the first glance all is forgotten — the meagreness of his household, the fear of discomfort for the stranger — there is only left the desire to make heartily at home this young man who is so like the dead brother, and who is so tall, so aristocratic in bearing, so well set up, and so — which always comes first to an Irish eye — handsome.

“ My dear boy, Fm delighted to see you. *Tis new life to me. Well, well, but you’re like your poor father. My dear fellow, ’twas very good of you to think of coming to see an old man like me.”

His own handsome old head is well thrown up, and he smiles an almost tender welcome on his nephew, who, though a good six feet, is yet half an inch below him in height.

‘‘ Come in, come in,” says he; ‘‘ and as for you, Larry Fin,” addressing the driver of the outsider, who is well known to him, as indeed is every soul in the country, ‘'go round to the kitchen and wait for your dinner. My dear Denis,” leading the way up the stone steps and into the large, bare, comfortless apartment called by courtesy the drawing-room at Ballyhinch, “ what years have rolled by since last I saw you. A little fellow you were then, but not so unlike either. And how is Madam ? How’s your mother ? ”

“ Quite well, thank you. She sent the very kindest remembrances to you and my cousin, and desired me to say she hopes, now we have agreed to stay in Ireland for some time, that we shall no longer continue strangers to each other.”

“ She was always charming,” says the Squire, with a rather old-fashioned but very admirable air. “ And you,” laying his hand upon the younger man’s shoulders and surveying him with affectionate scrutiny — “ how old are you now, eh ? I should know, I suppose, but, faith, things slip me. Twenty-seven, eh?”

“ Not so bad a guess, and a flattering one into the bargain, as I happen to be twenty-eight. At that age one begins to wish a year off rather than a year on.”

H

'^Tut! What’s twenty-eight? When I was that age I called myself a boy — and the broth of a boy, too,” says the Squire, with his jolly laugh, than which there was. nothing more musical in the next four parishes. ‘‘ But you must be thoroughly done, my dear boy, and hungry, too, of course. If” — looking rather helplessly around him — if one only knew where the Duchess — er — Noddlekins — that is — Norah, your cousin, I mean,” floundering hopelessly over the many loving sobriquets belonging

to his darling, was, we might ”

Nothing for me,” says Denis, quickly. “ Nothing at all, thank you. I slept in Cork, and breakfasted there, about an hour ago as it seems to me. It is really nothing of a journey here from there. I feel as fresh as a daisy and as fit as a fiddle. A walk to stretch my legs I should like after the train work, that is if you are thinking of going out.”

'' Well, I generally do take a look round me about this hour to see that the men are keeping up to their work,” says the Squire, hazily. “Desperate lazy fellows, most of them; and if you would really like to join me — but positively you must have something first; a brandy and soda, now ”

No, thank you,'' said Denis, laughing and tucking his arm into his uncle's and leading him towards the open window through which it is but a simple thing to drop on the grass below. At this moment it is borne in upon him that it is a possible thing to feel very intimate with the Squire in the space of five minutes or so.

Outside there is a blaze of yellow sunshine, and the wild, sweet singing of innumerable birds. A meadow with long grass still standing— because of the heavy rains that had deluged the earth in the early summer- — although it is now mid July, is making gentle obeisance to the soft wind that rushes over it.

The short grass on which they were walking widens presently into a garden rather lower down, protected on one side by a high beech hedge. Not an everyday garden, trim and ribbon-bordered, but a gay, delicious mass of all flowers, old and new, jumbled up together in a delicate confusion — one harmonious whole — thus forming ‘‘ a very wilderness of sweets."

'' What an exquisite bit," says Denis, standing i6 still and honestly admiring. You have a gardener with a fine sense of taste.”

The Squire laughs aloud.

Say that to the Duchess,” cried he, “ and you’ll make her your friend for life. Gardener there is none; all you see there is her own work. No hand but hers sows or reaps in that little garden. I tell her the flowers must know and love her, or they would not bloom so ; that she must breathe some cunning spell upon them to make them flourish as they do.”

'' What ! Does she do it all herself ? ”

“ Every scrap,” says the Squire, with loving pride.

'' A muscular young woman with a vengeance,” thinks Delaney, and pictures to himself with a shudder the tall, largely-boned girl with — in all probability — fiery locks, with whom he will have to claim cousinship presently. With many fears, too, he calls to mind the errand on which he has been sent by his mother, to capture and bring back to her for a long visit this young Amazon. He thinks of his mother’s patient despair over the entertainment of such a guest, and of Katherine’s cultured stare and educated lifting of the brows.

‘‘ She has talent,” he says, politely, stifling a sigh.

Striking across the fields, and getting beyond the trees, a larger view is given to the eyes. The stretching plains, now ripening to their death, the yellowing corn, the waving barley falling wave on wave, the cloud-flecked sky, and beyond all, the silent, glittering ocean, on which the sun-god’s hottest rays are falling, all blend together to form a scene, the beauty of which enters into the very soul of the new comer.

He is indeed somewhat lost in contemplation of it, when the wild barkings of a whole kennel, as it seemed to him, breaks in upon his tranquil reverie. Barkings they are of the most agonised description, suggestive of a desire for suicide on the part of the performers.

By Jove, the dogs ! IVe forgotten them, and they’ve found out I’ve started,” says the Squire, conscience stricken. Then a smile irradiates his jovial countenance. “ Aren’t they clever ? ” says he, with a sort of possessive admiration. The deuce wouldn’t be up to them ! My dear boy, if you’ll go on I’ll go back, and I’ll catch you up in no time. But perhaps they’ll be reasonable. Sh ! ”

i8

Here the bowlings break forth again with renewed vigour, and the Squire, with a remorseful face, gives in.

You see ! I must go back for them — the creatures ! ” he says, distractedly. “ And if you’ll just walk straight on up that hill before you, you’ll find as fine a view as ever you saw in your life, and I’ll be after you before you can say Jack Robinson.”

Away he sails, coat tails flying behind him, as light and active as any schoolboy, in spite of his fifty years; and Denis, with an amused smile, continues his walk alone.

He is half-way up the hill pointed out to him, gazing idly from side to side at the clumps of golden furze that deck the hill in isolated patches here and there, when something on the top of a high stone wall that stands on his left catches and keeps his eyes.

It is a slender, brown hand.

CHAPTER III “ Is she not passing fair?”

He has scarcely time to wonder at that before a face follows it. Such a face ! And then there is a swift pressure of the hands on th€ stone wall, and with a movement full of youth, and strength, and grace, a slight figure springs into the sunlight and runs eagerly up and down the top of the wall, as if in nervous haste, and anxious to find some easy spot from which to jump to Mother Earth beneath.

A slender, childish figure, gowned in a simple cotton frock that beyond all question had seen the washtub many a time and oft, but yet a gown that is fresh and crisp, and cannot, in spite of the eccentricities of the village dressmaker, altogether hide the grace of the form it covers. Just as little can the rough, countrymade shoe conceal the beauty of the small, highly-arched, patrician foot it holds.

To Delaney this latter knowledge comes farther on. Just now he is blind to all save her face.

Were ever eyes so clear, so grey, so deep ? With what a delicate touch do the purple shadows— those alluring supplements to all true Irish eyes — lie beneath them ! How long the curling lashes grow ! The rippling chestnut hair, showing beneath the huge poke bonnet, hardly hides the wide, low, capable brow, or the pretty cheeks flushed like the wild rose. But above and beyond all, the exquisite sweetness of her mouth reigns queen; so “riante,” tender, loving, all in one; so arch, too, and so soft, and red as roses in fair June.

All this picture is caught, as it were, in a breath ; the breathing time it has taken her to decide on where she shall jump. Now she bends forward, at a rather impossible place it seems to Denis, who has had very little to do with any except town-bred girls, and pauses as if about to spring.

A sharp exclamation broke from him.

'' Don’t attempt it. It is far higher than it looks ! ”

She starts violently. His voice coming suddenly from nowhere, as it seems to her, has nearly the effect of making her lose her balance. Turning her head quickly ,in his direction she meets his eyes, and stares at him for a full minute, as if fascinated. Who is he, and what has brought him here? For the time she has forgotten the expected cousin, but even as she looks at him she remembers.

Slowly, very slowly, a rich crimson blush rises and dyes her cheek. Is this tall, handsome, kindly young man the cousin she has so dreaded ? Impulsively she bends towards him, a smile quivering on her lovely lips.

'' You are Denis,” she says in a voice very clear, very low, perhaps a little plaintive; at all events, whatever it is, it is a voice that suits her.

'' A creditable inspiration,” laughing and looking up at her to where she stands on her very superior ground. He has lifted his hat, and it occurs to her even at this immature stage that he is, if possible, better to look at without, than with it.

I knew it,” says she, shyly, if triumphantly. '' I saw it at once. You — you are like dad — only so very different.”

This lucid description she delivers with a charming smile.

“ You didn’t know me, though,” she goes on, nodding her head reproachfully at him. ** I am

it

'' Her Grace of Ballyhinch ! ” interposes he. “ You wronged me ! Am I so lacking in intelligence that I could not see that at a glance ? ”

'' But how — how ? ” eagerly. ''Of course, there are many reasons why I should guess at you successfully. The fact that you were expected ; that there isn’t a young man in the country except the doctor’s apprentice and the organist; and your likeness to dad. But how did you know me ? ”

“ Am I a mere mole, then, that I should be blind to the natural dignity that distinguishes you ? Are duchesses so numerous that one need

" Oh, nonsense ! ” interrupts she, with a little indignant side glance. " If you won’t tell ”

Well, I expect I knew you because you first knew me,” confessed he, smiling.

“ Ah ! Was that it ? Fm sorry now I spoke,” says she, mischievously, her lovely eyes full of an innocent coquetry. ‘‘ I could have led you such a dance ! ” She seems to pine over this lost opportunity.

‘‘You couldn^t have led it up there,” says he, “ there isn’t room.”

“ That reminds me,” growing earnest again, “ dad must be wondering where I am. There, stand out of my way until I jump.”

“ Pray don’t try to take that wall,” entreats he,

anxiously. “ Let me help you. Come ”

going nearer and resting one foot on a projecting stone that lifts him closer to her. “ Trust yourself to me, and I will take you down.”

“ Am I china that I should break ? ” making a little ‘ moue.’ “ Well, if you will,” shrugging her shoulders. “ Let me place my hands upon your arms, so, and that will perhaps save me from a sudden and terrible death. Now, are you ready ? ”

The charming eyes are smiling with a mocking gaiety into his without the smallest touch of embarrassment, although the two faces are very close together; and then there is the slightest pressure possible on his arms, and the next moment she is beside him on the soft turf.

No bones broken after all,” she says, saucily glancing at him from under the big bonnet. Then all at once, as though suddenly recollecting something, she grows grave and extends to him her hand.

Welcome ! ” she says, sweetly ; and again, very impressively, '' do you know that I am very, very glad you have come.”

Thank you,” pleasantly, though indeed he is a little surprised at her earnestness. '' That is the very kindest thing you could say to me. I

have been so afraid I should bore you, or ”

" Oh, no ! ”

Do you mean,” says he, still puzzled by her manner, which has something behind it, '' that you, yourself, are glad of my coming ? ”

‘‘ More than I can say,” promptly, and with quite a serious smile at him.

This exceeding frankness almost overpowers him. Does she mean it ? Is she really so enraptured, as her words imply, at having him here ? This charming, pretty, fascinating child, who

''For dad^s sake,” says she, softly, knocking all his fine sentiment to pieces in an instant. " He has always been so longing to see again some of his own people, and you especially, the only son of his only brother.” She is silent awhile, and then looking at him intently, "What brought you?” she asks, gently.

" A longing to see him, I suppose,” returns he, smiling ; " I should have come before, but, as you doubtless know, ever since my father’s death my mother and I have lived in England, and of late years I have travelled a good deal. Three months ago, however, hearing that affairs in Ireland were going with a steady briskness to the bad, I threw up my intention of going to the East again, and came over here instead.”