Meg Blake. The Story of an Old Maid

Irish Jesuit Province

Meg Blake. The Story of an Old MaidAuthor(s): Mary ConnollySource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 21, No. 244 (Oct., 1893), pp. 531-541Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20498586 .

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Meg Blake. 531

Ml EG BLAKE.

THE STORY OF AN OLD MAID.

CHAPTER XII.

READING THE WILL.

C~ C M[EG, it was awfully good of youto think of making those for

my birthday; it was really, especially as my toes, 'in respect to you, ma'am' (mimicking Peter) were making their appear

ance through the old ones."

"'Now, that will do, Charlie. I know all you would say, and I will take the willfor the deed. What other presents did you get? Let

me see them."

";Vic gave this; it is a painting of a bird, but what bird I can't make out unless it be a magpie, ' one for sorrow.' She might have

done two-' two for joy.' This pouch is from Florence. Very useless, as I don't smoke, but I suppose she thought of the future when T shall be an old man, sitting by the fire with no other pleasures than those

afforded by my pipe, my paper, and my glass of punch. Oh, there

are loads of others-a gun from Mr. Howard, an elaborately-bound book of devotions-I never looked at the name-from her ladyship. Aunt Anna sent these handsomely-framed portraits of father and

mother, which she says were done the year before I was born, and are

remarkably good ones. Strange there are no copies of them here.

Vincent Blake is a downright good fellow; he writes to say that he is

sedfing me a splendid young horse I admired when down there last

summer, a son of Bajazet's; they were training him then; he was a

magnificent beast, an& had spl&ndid action. It would take me half a

day to count them all for you, but if you go into my room, you will

find the most of them there and all the letters." " But stay, Charlie, what is that hanging from your watch chain ?

Such a pretty ornament! Was it to-day you got it? Does it open ?

0, yes, it does. Who is inside? Ah, you sly boy, who ip the owner of that lovely face ? flow is it that you were forgetting to show me

this? What colour is red, Charlie ?"

"It's red, I suppose; what else-would it be? Don't be a fool, Meg."

(Brathers are sometimes very flattering.) "What would make me red?

I got that birthday present from Pauline Gower, Arthur's sister. Why

should she not send me one as well as every other body? Mrs. Gower



632 The Irtsh Monthly.

sent some books, and Arthur a very curious walking-stick. 'Wonder where he picked it up. I must be off now. Run into my room and see all'the things."

Charlie's sanctum was a very untidy room; be never allowed any one to put it in order. It was littered with all kinds of imaginable things-walking-sticks, guns, fishing-rods and tackle, skins of cats,

dogs, foxes, badgers, &c. I used to hate to go in there, for I was

always a great stickler for order and neatness, two "1 old-maid virtues," Charlie took pleasure in reminding me.

The morning on which this conversation took place was the morning .of Charlie's twenty-first birthday. I was sitting in the old schoolroom,

waiting to be summoned to the library for the reading of the will, when Charlie burst in with his awkwardly expressed thanks for, the

slippers I had worked for him. I did not stir after he left. The " things" could wait a while; my thoughts wouldn't. They were busy

with that watch chain ornament and the sweet face of Pauline Gower, with my brother's confusion and blush. What could it mean? My thoughts had only got as far as this when Charlie entered.

"I I have' been down to see what they are about, Meg. Mrs.

Howard says the reading of the will won't take placq till after luncheon. So considerate of her; she does not want our digestions to be injured. Old Martyn has arrived; I met him in the ball, looking hale and hearty. Uncle Stephen and Father Pat have not come yet-slow but sure as usual. Are you superstitious always about the magpies? Turn and see the flock outside, one, two, three-seven, by Jove What are

seven for, Meg ?"

I laughed. "c Nan says that if they do not cross yolr path they cannot bring you any luck, ill or good. How many did you say were

in it? Seven. Oh, there's luck in odd numbers."

"1 Hlope so. Ding-dong, ding-doug. There goes the lunch-bell.

Gather yourself together, Meg, and hurry down. The Bete nowr waits for no one." And he went whistling and waltzing out of the room.

"Y You seem in high good humour, to-day, Charlie," I called after

him. " Is it because you will soon be your own master, or because a

pretty young lady has sent you a pretty little present ? "

Immediately after luncheon we repaired to the library, Mr. and Mrs. Hloward, UTncle Stephen, Mr. Martyn, Father Pat, Charlie, and I.

When we were all seated, Mr. Howard unlocked a large writing table, and taking out a small tin box, handed it ancd the key to Mr.

Martyn. It contained the will, which he took out. It was carefully sealed and tied. Mr. MIartyn, after examining the seals, broke

them, undid the tape, and spread the manuscript out before him on



.Meg Blake. 533

the table. Amid the dead silence, after a short pause, he commenced

tm read in a deep, sonorous voice., The very first sentence sent a thrill -an unpleasant thrill-through all there except the Jowards. When

it was finished, I was speechless, Charlie deathly pale and silent, Uncle

Stephen red with anger. He stood up, and, striking the table +with

his clenched hant, exclaimed, ' That will is a forgery. I know it; Ii

h]ow it."' ' Take care of what you say, sir," answered Mr. Howard. "For

gery is an ugly word. Mr. Martyn will be able to tell you if it be a

forgery or not." "Pray compose yourself, SWephen," said the old lawyer," "this

document, unfortunately, is perfectly legal."

"I'll dispute that will, " Uncle Stephen thundered forth, "on tha grounds of undue influence."

" 1 Mr. Martyn," my stepmother said quietly, turning to the lawyer

and ignoring Uncle Stephen, "there was nobody to exercise that

iufluence but me, and I did not do it. Of course I don't expect prejudiced people to believe my word, but all right-minded people

will, There was not time or opportunity for such wickedness after the

dreadful accident. Mr. Howard was my husband's guest, a stranger to me. You all know Mr. Blake was not a man easily influenced."

She spoke very calmly, keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Martyn's face the while. Uncle Stephen got ashtmed of himself ; he rose and

walked towards her. " Madam," he said, rather brusquely. "I take back the charges;

the words were spoken in a moment of passion." "1 Mr. Martyn,"-it was Charlie who spoke-" what does it all

mean? I don't understand it."

"Listen to me, Charlie," the lawyer replied. "I am sorry to

have to tell you the property no longer belongs to you, it passes to

your stepmother. It appears that, whet your father married Mrs.

Howard here, he was so much in debt that the property, if sold, would not have beeh able to realise the amount he owed. What the

devil he did with all the money is a mystery to me. I never took

him to be such a nincompoop as he appears to have been. Shortly alter his marriage, the credtors began to press very hard for pay

ment. Who they were nobody knows; he seems to have kept tha

whole thing very secret. Bitt they were probably some wily London

Jews, and he was obliged to borrow the requisite sum from your

stepmother. She it seems had it all with the exception of a few

thousand-I find on consulting her bank bodk it is five thousand-in

gold and notes, money which had been left her by an eccentric old

relative who died a week before her marriage, and she had not had



534 The Irish Monthly.

time to invest it up to that. I must say, indeed, it was rather a

foolish thing for her to carry so much money about with her. Your

father always m4ant to pay this back to her, but he was not able to do so before before he died, and so he was obliged to leave her the

property in lieu of it. If you could pay the debt now, you would get the property, but of course you can't, Charlie. Your sister, Margaret,

comes in for her mother's fortune, which will be able to keep you

both; that was so tied that your father could never touch it." "Mr. Martyn," I interrupted, "let my portion be given to Mrs.

Howard in payment of the debt, and let Charlie be left his own." ' " My dear young lady," he replied, " your fortune would not be a

drop in the ocean. Where I find fault with Mr. and Mrs. Howard is that they did not tell you of this before, and insist on Charlie following

some profession, which would be means of support for him now."

"4But, Mr- Martyn," my stepmother said, " both I and Mr.

Howard did all we could to make him follow sbme profession, but he

wouldn't; and we could not give plainer hints than we did without

breaking our faith with the dead."

"' Perhaps," said Father Reilly, speaking for the first time, " Mr.

and Mrs. Howard might be kind enough to make Charlie some allowance."

" No," exclaimed Charlie, rising, "I will have nothing of the sort. I think we might separate now, Mr. Martyn. No good can come of

any further discussion. I wish to have a few words with you before you leave."

" Charlie," said Uncle Stephen, by way of consolation, "I never

thought your father was such a d-d ass. I always took him to be a

sensible, wide-awake fellow. This ought to be a good lesson for you:

don't follow in his footsteps; never get into debt. You needn't fear

starvation while I have a penny, but it would be well if you tried to

do something for yourself. Meg will some day want her own money."' Before leaving that day, Mr. Martyn, on Charlie's behalf, rented

the Black Cottage and all the lands that went with it, from the

Iowards, and thither we intended to go as soon as ever it was fit to

receive us. Charlie went away that evening with Father Pat; he

would not stay another night under his old roof Father Pat had a

room to spare, which kind-hearted Peggy made as comfortable as she

could; and the poor creature used to tax her brains trying to devise

dainties to tempt Charlie's appetite while he remained with them. I

stayed on at Blakescourt. There was a great hubbub among our friends, and indeied among

all the people around, and especially the tenants, when the terms of the will became known. Vincent Blake and Aunt French came down



Meg Blake. 535

together in a state of great wrath, and demanded to see the will, in which of course they could find no flaw, though they declared it was a monstrous shame, an injustice, which no law should allow. It was nothing short of robbery.

It was surely verv hard on us after all our expectations and plans; it was a terrible disappointment from which we took a long time to

recover. Our father had treated us cruelly, in forbidding the will to

be read until this time, for if we had heard this after his death we should have been too young to understand our position; and as we grew older we should also have grown accustomed to it. We should not have, been expecting anything, and Charlie would have been independent of others; now he was dependent on me for his dailv bread. It was for him I felt; I was provided for; but he, poor sensitive Charlie, was

penniless, and I knew he was feeling it dreadf ully, though he tried not to show it. He knew himself that he was not forward enough nor

haid enough to battle miith the -world. My poor darling, it was a

terrible fall for him.

In a week the Black Cottage was ready, painted, cleaned, and aired, and furnished in the simple manner our limited means could afford. On a Friday we went to live there-Friday, you know, is the

lucky day-and nobody in our country would think of changing into a

new residence on any other day in the week. I was not sorry to leave

Blakescourt. Our household, sta:ff consisted of Nan, who was delighted to come

with us, Bridget, Peter, and Miss Thyme, no longer wanted, as the

' youlng ladies' were now finished. It was a new experience to me to

be mistress of a house, and I felt very important and proud of my new

dignity, and anxious to do the honours to all my friends. We had a

"house warming " the week after going there; Aunt French and Vincent, Blake remained for it (they were staying at the only hotel the village

could boast of, a very primitive one), Mr Martyn and his very prett,y daughter Ida came over for it. We had also -Dr. and Mrs. Ryan, Father Reilly, Robert Derrick, and a few other neighbours. There

was a little gate-lodge at the entrance, and we induced Shamus and

Cauth-bave you forgotton our friends on the mountain ?-to leave their brmoky cabln and take up their abode ia the lodge. Cauth was to mind the gate and take charge of the poultry, and Shamus was to

work in the garden. I was very hopeful of reforming Shamus; he

would be tinder my constant supervision in the garden, and I meant to try and make a new man of him; I felt sure I could, but, alas, I was

reckoning without my host. Shamus did not want to change; habit, was second nature to him now. lie had, since he married, left all the

drudgery to his hardworking wife, and now he could not work, even if



536 The IisIt Monthly.

he wished: to; I believe that now he could not shake off the indolence

and laziness which 'seemed inborn in him, but which were habits he had

acquired onlt since he married a woman who was so industrious and

active that it was merely child's play to her to do herself what little

work they had. She spoilt her husband. Having no family, Shamus

could not see the necessity of seeking labour elsewhere; he cared not

for, money or luxries; he was satisfied if he had sufficient bread for

to-day. "Let to-morrow take care of itself." And in this way he

developed into what his wife often called him, and what she surely

helped to make him, an " ould litchanarse." I do not know the English

equivalent for that, but I have always heard it applied to idle, lazy

persons who were good for nothing but spinning yarns and telling tales of their neighbours. Such was poor Shamus.

CHAPTER XIII.

A BIT OF ROMANCE.

WE had been about a fortnight in our new residence, and feeling quite content there, at least I was, when Cbarlie one day burst into

the sittingroom, where I was reading, exclaiming-" 0 Meg, the

horse, Vincent's birthday present to me, has come. Do come out to

see him; he is in the paddock here."

Of course I wexnt. Peter was walking him up and down, holding him by the bridle.

"tIsn't he a beauty, Meg ? A splendid colour, Peter, real chest

nut. Ho, ho, my beauty. See how he pricks his ears. Think you are among strangers; never mind, old boy, yo-u'll know us all soon.

Look, Meg, look, what a splendid arched neck he has, and his head is so well shaped. There's mettle in him, eh Peter? His eyes show that; he is not one of those half-bred, half alive humdrums that are to be met down here. He has the finest' coat I ever saw, so silky, so glossy; shows he has been well cared; you must keep him in that style, Peter. I say, Meg, why aren't you talking? You've never said what

you think of him." " My dear Charlie, you don't remember that you haven't given me

time to say a word; you address a question to me or to Peter, but,

before we can answer you, you ramble oil into something else; you are quite excited over that beast."

"Well, and no wonder. Isn't he a magnificent animal? But,

Meg, he has no name yet. What shall we call him ?" 9 Really I don't know, Charlie. Why not call him Bajazet II.T' "Oh ! no; I don't like that."



Meg Blake. 537

Derrick," I blurted out, then almost wished I had bitten off my tongue before I said the words. It was a most unhappy remark to make,

" Yes, I am making some changes. I should be very pleased if you would comb over some evening with Charlie and tell me what you think of them."

, I, Mr. Derrick? What in the world do I know of such things ?"

"But, Margaret-"' Oh, what could I say to stop him? I must find something. A

thousand thoughts passed through my mind with the rapidity of lightning, but not one to which I could give expres'Wion. What should I do ? Oh, blessed relief; before he could get any farther, I broke out:

"Whose car is this coming towards us, Mr. Derrick?"

"It is the doctor's," he answered. "There is nobody on it, but himself and Mrs. Ryan."

They pulled up when they met us; I was delighted at the inter ruption. We remained chatting with them for about a few minutes.

Mrs. Ryan, a buxom lady, with match-making propensities, threw many little shafts at us and gave me many significant glances, to my great annoyanee. When they started off again, we resumed our walk in silence. I never saw anybody so abstracted as he was.

" Are not the doctor and his wife very like brother and sister?" I ventured, feeling sure I was on safe ground.

"Very, indeed."

"They are both stout, good-natured, jovial p6ople." "Yes."

Laconic! It certainly was depressing and very tiresome trying to keep up a conversation with a person who would not talk, but it was the only' safe thing to do. I was afraid to remain silent to give him time to say what I did not want to hear; so I went on:

" They are very fond of one another; the doctor will go nowhere without her, and he ascribes all his good fortune to her."

", Yes. They always look happy and content with one another. I

envy them. Margaret-2" Oh, I thought it is coming again, and no escape this time.

" You understood Mrs. Ryan's hints, I know. She spoke only the

truth. I wa4t-' "4 Miss Marget 1 Miss Marget ! Granny wantsto see you, she's a wful

bad to-day." The sound of that child's voice then was more pleasing to my ears

than the sweetest music; not so with my companion, for I heard hIim

mutter-" Confound you, you littlebrat." The childhadrun out of a house wo had just passed by. Her grandmother was one of my



538 The Irtsh Monthlu.

(I pensioners " and I was in the habit of often going to see her. She

was a garrulous old woman, and I knew if I went in to her it would be long before I could come out. So much the better. I went, leaving

him outside; he said he would wait my return, though I told him I

feared that would be long. Old Maurya was worse than I expected, she certainly was " awful bad." She had a bag load of complaints to

make to me of her daughter-in-law-a quiet, industrious woman,

who, though standing by and hearing all, never said a word-of her son, a hard-working man, and of each of her grandchildren, the terror of whose life she was; then the neighbours came in for their share of

the abuse. She was never so valuable as she was that evening. I really

thought she would not let me go before night came on. When I arose,

in the middle of one of her tirades, I found I had spent a considerable

time with her. Surely Mr. Derrick's patience must have long ago been

exhausted, and he has gone away, I said to myself. But alas! no, for there he was, walking up and down the road. What was I to do

now ? Home alone with him I would not go, for I could not expect to

be favoured again as I had been. No doctor's trap, no harsh-voiced

child, would turn up in the nick of time and keep back the words trembling on his lips, the words I did not want to hear. I must have

recourse to some stratagem, but what could it be ? Ah ! yes, that will

just do. I really clapped my, hands with delight.

"c Maurya," I said, turning to the old crone, " I have not been able

to send you anything lately, so busy have we all been kept; but there are some little dainties at the house which I intended for you, but

forgot to bring with me. If little Nannie can be spared, she might come now with me and bring them back to you."

"Let her go, let her go, the stumph, she 's good for nothing else.

God bless you, Miss Marget, 'tis you that never forgets the poor, an'

sure me ould heart is burnin' for somethin' good," old Mauyra replied, while the child's mother hurried her into her Sunday clothes to make her "1 decent enough to walk with a lady."

Nannie, poor child, was only too glad to get the chance of coming. I told her to keep close to me all the way, andc on no account to linger

behind, I feared she might be shy of Mr. Derric:k, but she wasn't in the least. When we came out he looked sharply at her, and inquired

where she was going. I replied, and he said he thought I was too

kind-hearted, and that I ought not to bother myself so much about

those people, the one-half of them were not so badly off as they pre tended. We drifted into conversation after that about local news and

affairs, and when we got home we found Charlie lounging in the

garden. He took MrJ. Derrick to the stables to see the horse, and I

went into the house to get the things for the child.



Meg Bla ke. 539

I game out shortly afterwards to see what work Shamus had done in my absence-he and Cauth were already installed in their new home-the two gentlemen were there before me, having returned from the stables, where I thought they were safe for the evening. When

I came up, Charlie said-the thief, it was all a plan of his-that he

should go in to write some letters which he could post, when going

out with Derrick. I was therefore obliged to remain with the latter;

very reluctantly, you may be sure. I took him aroulnd the garden pointing out all the improvements we had effected in so short a time The garden, certainly, was looking splendid, but you must remember

that I had been setting it to rights ever since the first day I discovered it. Thinking we were alone, he commenced again, but he had only

got so far as-" What I was going to say to you when we were inter

rupted twice this evening-" when Shamus called out: " Come pqver here, Miss Marget, and see the cut of this bed. Troth

it's a credit to you. There's a lawacngh in it. Look how straight an'

nice is the wans I done." It was only the day before I found him

putting some of them all out of shape, and planting bulbs and roots upside down; but Shamus never remembers his own mistakes and

faults.

"What does he mean by a lawangh?" Mr. Derrick turned to

ask me. "'I thought you knew all those Irish words," I answered laughing.

"Shamus means that I did not plant the flowers straight; they are all

to one side. It is partly true. Never mind, Shamus; 't will do very

well." "0 'twill do, will it? An' every visitor' think 'tis my fault."

"But I'll be sure to tell them Shamus that it is not. Will that

satisfy you'?" C" It is getting late," Mr. Derrick said at this moment, " and 1 shall

not have time to say what I want to before Charlie comes oaut, but I

think there is no oecasion. You ought to know what it is by this "4 No, indeed, Mr. Derrick, how could I ? " [another fib] " Let us

go down this walk, we are sure to be free from interruption."

We turned to go down it, and came face to face with Nan, who was

standing behind a -lump of rhododendrons, which haa hidden her

from our view. She was in the habit of saying her beads every even

ing in the garden. Robert Derrick, being one of her favourites, she

came to meet us. I could have laughed at all the disappointments; It have always felt sure that he thought it was purposely I brought him

down that path, but it was not. I had never thought of Nan.

They chatted for a while; he was always very friendly with her.

She was really an old woman you could not but like. She was a



540 The Irish Xonthly.

wonderful creature, so neat and clean, so active and straight in spit.

of her weight of years; for She was, as she would proudly tell you, ' four score and a half and a quarter less by two years,' and she hardly

knew what it was to be sick for a day even. She had been all her life very healthy, and had had no serious illness since she was a baby, when she had nearly died of a bad attack of the measles, as she often told

me.

Oharlie came out with two letters in his hand; one I saw was *addressed to "1 Miss Gower; " and he and Derrick went away to the

village. Charlie was back in an hour. I was reading when he came in, and, being deeply interested in my book, never spoke to or looked

at him, He sat down in silence on the other side of the fireplace, and after about five minutes startled me by drawling out:

" Well? " I I

"Well!" I repeated after him. "What's the matter, Charlie!" "Have you no news to tell, Meg? "

"No news! Why no. What do you expect?" "Wasn't Derrick with you all the time you were out this evening ?"

"Ye-es-nearly. I met him at the cliffs." "And you have nothing to tell me."

"Well, he wasn't very communicative, he didn't speak much, but he said Howard was trying to buy Slievebocha from Armstrong."

"1 That's not the news I want. I want to hear something about yourself."

"Ah-h." "He told me some time ago, that he wished to ask you to be his

wife, and I was delighted, because ho is an uncommonly good fellow.

Did he ask you ?" " Well no, Charlie, but I suppose he meant to, but every time he

tried something would turn up to prevent the words being said-" with

a short laugh as I remembered the many interruptions. I went on more seriously: " and I want you, if he ever again speaks of it to you

to say I don't intend to get married." "Meg. What do you mean? Will you pain him by a refusal,

You don't surely mean to develop into a sour old maid?" " I mean what I have said, It matters nothing to anybody whether

I am a sweet matron or a sour old maid." " Oh, of course not. Have your way, but you'll repent yet, when

it's too late. Bob Derrick is far too good for you." "Perhaps so."

And he went out of the room, banging the door after him. He

was sorry the next morning and made me an humble apology for his rude words. I do not know if he told Mr. Derrick 'of my intention,



The Critics on Songs of Hemembrance. 541

bat certainly the often interrupted sentence was never' finished. Ohaxlie tried frequently to alter my resolution and did not relinquish the hope of doing so for many and many a day; all in vain, how ever.

(To be concluded next month.)

THE CRITICS ON "SONGS OF REMEMRJRANCE."

THAT very estimable member of the human race, our constant reader, is by this time fully aware that it has become a traditional

custom with this Magazine, when a book in which it is specially

interested, such as a first book by one of its own contributors, has been before the public for a sufficient time, to sum up the opinions passed upon it by the vhrious organs of criticism. For instance, this opera tion was performed on '- The Lectures of a Certain Professor"-those delightful essays with which the Rev. Joseph Farrell (cujus animae propitietur Deus!) enriched some half dozen of our _earliest volumes. So was it also with regard to three poetical volumes of very great worth-" Poems Original and Translated," by Father Ignatius Dudley

Ryder, who has since succeeded Cardinal Newman as Provost of the Birmingham Oratory; Rosa Mulholland's "Vagrant Verses," and

Katherine Tynan's " Louise la Valliere and Other Poems." In these last three instances a very small number only of the poems

gathered into these volumes had made their first appearance in our

pages. Very much stronger claims, therefore, on the parental in terest of this Magazine can be urged by the fourth volume of verse

towards which we are now about to pursue a similar policy. Strange to say, every line of Miss Margaret Ryan's "Songs of Remembrance" is

reprinted from our pages, although there the poems were generally assigned to a fictitious Alice Esmonde, who was invented as a con

venient substitute for the equivocal initials M. B., already identified

with another very faithful contributor. e Perhaps our present object will be gained most readily by tabu

lating in the first instance some of the opinions published about Miss Ryan's volume on both sides of the Atlantic. We make no attempt at

order or classification: Miss Ryan's volume is true and pure poetry of " words that weep

and tears that speak. "-Truth.



Documents

Meg Blake. The Story of an Old Maid