Castle Richmond by Anthony Trollope (best memoirs of all time txt) 📕

of Ireland. He seemed to know the house, for with his outside coat all dripping as it was he went direct to the bar-window, and as Fanny O'Dwyer opened the door he walked into that warm precinct. There he encountered a gentleman, dressed one would say rather beyond the merits of the establishment, who was taking his ease at full length on Fanny's sofa, and drinking some hot compound which was to be seen in a tumbler on the chimney-shelf just above his head. It was now six o'clock in the evening, and the gentleman no doubt had dined.

"Well, Aby; here I am, as large as life, but as cold as death. Ugh; what an affair that coach is! Fanny, my best of darlings, give me a drop of something that's best for warming the cockles of an old man's heart."

"A young wife then is the best thing in life to do that, Mr. Mollett," said Fanny, sharply, preparing, however, at the same time some mixture which might be taken more instantaneously.

"The governor's had enough of that receipt already," said the man on the sofa; or rather the man now off the sofa, for he had slowly arisen to shake hands with the new comer.

This latter person proceeded to divest himself of his dripping greatcoat. "Here, Tom," said he, "bring your old Cyclops eye to bear this way, will you. Go and hang that up in the kitchen; not too near the fire now; and get me something to eat: none of your mutton chops; but a beefsteak if there is such a thing in this benighted place. Well, Aby, how goes on the war?"

It was clear that the elderly gentleman was quite at home in his present quarters; for Tom, far from resenting such impertinence, as he would immediately have done had it proceeded from an ordinary Kanturk customer, declared "that he would do his honour's bidding av there was such a thing as a beefsteak to be had anywhere's in the city of Cork."

And indeed the elderly gentleman was a person of whom one might premise, judging by his voice and appearance, that he would probably make himself at home anywhere. He was a hale hearty man, of perhaps sixty years of age, who had certainly been handsome, and was even now not the reverse. Or rather, one may say, that he would have been so were it not that there was a low, restless, cunning legible in his mouth and eyes, which robbed his countenance of all manliness. He was a hale man, and well preserved for his time of life; but nevertheless, the extra rubicundity of his face, and certain incipient pimply excrescences about his nose, gave tokens that he lived too freely. He had lived freely; and were it not that his constitution had been more than ordinarily strong, and that constant exercise and exposure to air had much befriended him, those pimply excrescences would have shown themselves in a more advanced stage. Such was Mr. Mollett senior—Mr. Matthew Mollett, with whom it will be soon our fate to be better acquainted.

The gentleman who had slowly risen from the sofa was his son, Mr. Mollett junior—Mr. Abraham Mollett, with whom also we shall become better acquainted. The father has been represented as not being exactly prepossessing; but the son, according to my ideas, was much less so. He also would be considered handsome by some persons—by women chiefly of the Fanny O'Dwyer class, whose eyes are capable of recognizing what is good in shape and form, but cannot recognize what is good in tone and character. Mr. Abraham Mollett was perhaps some thirty years of age, or rather more. He was a very smart man, with a profusion of dark, much-oiled hair, with dark, copious mustachoes—and mustachoes being then not common as they are now, added to his otherwise rakish, vulgar appearance—with various rings on his not well-washed hands, with a frilled front to his not lately washed shirt, with a velvet collar to his coat, and patent-leather boots upon his feet.

Free living had told more upon him, young as he was, than upon his father. His face was not yet pimply, but it was red and bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and protruding; his hand on a morning was unsteady; and his passion for brandy was stronger than that for beefsteaks; whereas his father's appetite for solid food had never flagged. Those who were intimate with the family, and were observant of men, were wont to remark that the son would never fill the father's shoes. These family friends, I may perhaps add, were generally markers at billiard-tables, head grooms at race-courses, or other men of that sharp, discerning class. Seeing that I introduce these gentlemen to my readers at the Kanturk Hotel, in South Main Street, Cork, it may be perhaps as well to add that they were both Englishmen; so that mistakes on that matter may be avoided.

The father, as soon as he had rid himself of his upper coat, his dripping hat, and his goloshes, stood up with his back to the bar-room fire, with his hands in his trousers-pockets, and the tails of his coat stuck inside his arms.

"I tell you, Aby, it was cold enough outside that infernal coach. I'm blessed if I've a morsel of feeling in my toes yet. Why the d—— don't they continue the railway on to Cork? It's as much as a man's life is worth to travel in that sort of way at this time of the year."

"You'll have more of it then if you intend going out of town to-morrow," said the son.

"Well; I don't know that I shall. I shall take a day to consider of it I think."

"Consideration be bothered," said Mollett junior; "strike when the iron's hot; that's my motto."

The father here turned half round to his son and winked at him, nodding his head slightly towards the girl, thereby giving token that, according to his ideas, the conversation could not be discreetly carried on before a third person.

"All right," said the son, lifting his joram of brandy and water to his mouth; an action in which he was immediately imitated by his father, who had now received the means of doing so from the hands of the fair Fanny.

"And how about a bed, my dear?" said Mollett senior; "that's a matter of importance too; or will be when we are getting on to the little hours."

"Oh, we won't turn you out, Mr. Mollett," said Fanny; "we'll find a bed for you, never fear."

"That's all right then, my little Venus. And now if I had some dinner I'd sit down and make myself comfortable for the evening."

As he said this, Fanny slipped out of the room, and ran down into the kitchen to see what Tom and the cook were doing. The Molletts, father and son, were rather more than ordinary good customers at the Kanturk Hotel, and it was politic therefore to treat them well. Mr. Mollett junior, moreover, was almost more than a customer; and for the sake of the son Fanny was anxious that the father should be well treated.

"Well, governor, and what have you done?" said the younger man in a low voice, jumping up from his seat as soon as the girl had left them alone.

"Well, I've got the usual remittance from the man in Bucklersbury. That was all as right as a trivet."

"And no more than that? Then I tell you what it is; we must be down on him at once."

"But you forget that I got as much more last month, out of the usual course. Come, Aby, don't you be unreasonable."

"Bother—I tell you, governor, if he don't—" And then Miss O'Dwyer returned to her sanctum, and the rest of the conversation was necessarily postponed.

"He's managed to get you a lovely steak, Mr. Mollett," said Fanny, pronouncing the word as though it were written "steek." "And we've beautiful pickled walnuts; haven't we, Mr. Aby? and there'll be kidneys biled" (meaning potatoes) "by the time the 'steek's' ready. You like it with the gravy in, don't you, Mr. Mollett?" And as she spoke she drew a quartern of whisky for two of Beamish and Crawford's draymen, who stood outside in the passage and drank it at the bar.

The lovely "steek" with the gravy in it—that is to say, nearly raw—was now ready, and father and son adjourned to the next room. "Well, Tom, my lad of wax; and how's the world using you?" said Mr. Mollett senior.

"There ain't much difference then," said Tom; "I ain't no younger, nor yet no richer than when yer honour left us—and what is't to be, sir?—a pint of stout, sir?"

As soon as Mr. Mollett senior had finished his dinner, and Tom had brought the father and son materials for making whisky-punch, they both got their knees together over the fire, and commenced the confidential conversation which Miss O'Dwyer had interrupted on her return to the bar-room. They spoke now almost in a whisper, with their heads together over the fender, knowing from experience that what Tom wanted in eyes he made up in ears.

"And what did Prendergast say when he paid you the rhino?" asked the son.

"Not a word," said the other. "After all, I don't think he knows any more than a ghost what he pays it for: I think he gets fresh instructions every time. But, any ways, there it was, all right."

"Hall right, indeed! I do believe you'd be satisfied to go on getting a few dribblets now and then like that. And then if anything 'appened to you, why I might go fish."

"How, Aby, look here—"

"It's hall very well, governor; but I'll tell you what. Since you started off I've been thinking a good deal about it, and I've made up my mind that this shilly-shallying won't do any good: we must strike a blow that'll do something for us."

"Well, I don't think we've done so bad already, taking it all-in-all."

"Ah, that's because you haven't the pluck to strike a good blow. Now I'll just let you know what I propose—and I tell you fairly, governor, if you'll not hear reason, I'll take the game into my own hands."

The father looked up from his drink and scowled at his son, but said nothing in answer to this threat.

"By G—— I will!" continued Aby. "It's no use 'umbugging, and I mean to make myself understood. While you've been gone I've been down to that place."

"You 'aven't seen the old man?"

"No; I 'aven't taken that step yet; but I think it's very likely I may before long if you won't hear reason."

"I was a d—— fool, Aby, ever to let you into the affair at all. It's been going on quiet enough for the last ten years, till I let you into the secret."

"Well, never mind about that. That mischief's done. But I think you'll find I'll pull you through a deal better than hever you'd have pulled through yourself. You're already making twice more out of it than you did before I knew it. As I was saying, I went down there; and in my quiet way I did just venture on a few hinquiries."

"I'll be bound you did. You'll blow it all in about another month, and then it'll be up with the lot of us."

"It's a beautiful place: a lovely spot; and hall in prime horder. They say it's fifteen thousand a year, and that there's not a shilling howing on the whole property. Even in these times the tenants are paying the rent, when no one else, far and near, is getting a penny out of them. I went by another place on the road—Castle Desmond they call it, and I wish you'd seen the difference. The old boy must be rolling in money."

"I don't believe it. There's one as I can trust has told me he's hard up enough sometimes. Why, we've had twelve hundred in the last eight months."

"Twelve hundred! and what's that? But, dickens, governor, where has the twelve hundred gone? I've only seen three of it, and part of that—. Well; what do you want there, you long-eared shark, you?" These last words were addressed to Tom, who had crept into the room, certainly without much preparatory noise.

"I was only wanting the thingumbob, yer honour," said Tom, pretending to search diligently in the drawer for some required article.

"Then take your thingumbob quickly out of that, and be d—— to you. And look here; if you don't knock at the door when next you come in, by heavens I'll throw this tumbler at your yead."

"Sure and I will, yer honour," said Tom, withdrawing.

"And where on hearth has the twelve hundred pounds gone?" asked the son, looking severely at the father.

Old Mr. Mollett made no immediate answer in words, but putting his left hand to his right elbow, began to shake it.

"I do wonder