The Story of Bawn | Page 9

I have no time
for babies."
That was the way with Lady Ardaragh. Her moods changed from one
minute to another with incredible swiftness.
I had always had a great admiration for her, the pretty creature, and
when she had spoken of the illuminated manuscript I had a sudden
vision of her with her head of curls, and her pink, babyish face against

a background of pale gold.
To be sure her diversions, as even I knew, were something of the talk
of the countryside; and I have heard ladies say when they visited my
grandmother that it was a wonder Sir Arthur permitted it, but they
would be silent when they saw me. Yet my grandmother loved Lady
Ardaragh, and before my presence was noticed I have heard her say in
a rebuking way that her ladyship's ways were only the ways of a girl
married to an elderly, grave scholar.
I was tolerably sure that some time or other we should meet the
Dawsons in Lady Ardaragh's drawing-room, and I looked forward with
horror to seeing Richard Dawson again.
But as it chanced, I was to meet him otherwise, and in no very pleasant
fashion.
CHAPTER V
THE NURSE
It was a few days later that, coming in one afternoon, I found Miss
Champion with my grandmother and noticed that there was something
odd in the manner of both of them. Nor was I kept long in suspense
about it, for Miss Champion, who was the most candid person alive,
could not long keep a secret.
"Would you like to go to Dublin, Bawn?" she asked.
To Dublin! I could hardly have been more bewildered if she had asked
me would I like to go to the North Pole. Indeed, I had never
contemplated going so far. It would have been a great adventure to
have gone even so far as Quinn, our fair and market town, which lies
on the other side of the Purple Hill, seven miles away.
I stammered out that I should like to go to Dublin, looking from Mary
Champion's face to my grandmother's, for I could hardly believe that
the latter would consent to so tremendous an adventure.

"It is time for her to see and be seen," my godmother went on. "You are
twenty years old, are you not, Bawn? Why, at twenty I had seen a deal
of the world, had travelled far away from Castle Clody and the valley
of the Moy. Next season she ought to be presented, Lady St. Leger. I
shall take her up and do it myself, if you will not. She ought not to be
hidden away."
At this my grandmother looked alarmed, and said something under her
breath of which I caught but a name or two, my Uncle Luke's and
Theobald's.
From whatever my grandmother had said Miss Champion seemed to
dissent even violently.
"It is all forgotten," she said, "and if any remembered it they would
take my view of it and not yours. He should have stayed and faced it
out. No jury would have brought in a worse verdict than manslaughter,
and if it had been tried outside Dublin, in Irish Ireland, no jury would
have convicted at all. I know the people adore Luke's memory because
he struck that blow in defence of a woman. Why will you behave as
though you held him guilty, Lady St. Leger?"
She gained heat as she proceeded, and although she spoke hastily, and
hardly above her breath I heard every word.
It was not the first indication I had had that my Uncle Luke's
disappearance was connected somehow with a deed of violence,
although the details had never been told to me. Now I spoke up.
"I am sure that Uncle Luke did nothing we need be ashamed of, Gran,"
I said. "I remember him well, and he was very kind. I can see him now
putting my canary's little leg in splints when it had broken it, and the
dogs adored him. Old Dido yet listens for his return."
My grandmother began to weep softly.
"I did not want Bawn to know anything about those dreadful
happenings, Mary," she said. "And whatever I believe or feel about

Luke would not stand in the eyes of the law, since I am only his mother
and why should I not believe in my son?"
"It is my quarrel with you and Lord St. Leger that you will act as
though you believed him guilty," my godmother said. "As for Bawn,
Lady St. Leger, you must let me tell her the story. It is time that she
should know it. Not now, but another time when it will not grieve you.
And you will let her come with me to Dublin?"
"If her grandfather consents, Mary.