My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'Leedies on a party of pleasure?' he jeered. 'Faix, Miss Doreen, ye're
fond of singing-birds. I'd bring ye insoide, but 'tisn't clean enough.
'Deed it's not, now. I'll have it swept to-morrow. Is it Councillor
Crosbie ye're afther trying to peep at? I wouldn't, if I were you, for
he's not the purty boy at whom ye used to lower your eyelids.'
Doreen replied with studied calmness: 'You do well to drop disguise,
Mr. Cassidy, since I know you as you are. If they are in your care,
God help them!'
The marble beauty! Her scorn ate into his flesh like vitriol. He had,
with long patience, shown a fictitious better side to her in vain. It
was with fiendish pleasure that he exposed the real one.
But the contempt which knitted the maiden's brow and distended her
finely-cut nostrils proved too much for the giant's pot-valour. He
tried to wink with the slyness which used to keep supper-tables in a
roar, but shrank under her steady glance, and retiring with a growl,
discomfited, slammed the door. Then, the spell removed, cursing
himself and her, he went through a pantomime of anathema, battering
the panels from within with heavy fists till the turnkeys ran out,
supposing him to have been attacked.
'She treats me like dirt!' he gnashed out between foul oaths. 'Yet,
plaze the Lord, I'll brand myself on her memory till her dying day.
Damn her! A fight, is it? A fight be it--deadly--to the last gasp.
We'll see if her ladyship will be so hoity-toity then!'
The frown passed not from the maiden's face with the vanishing of
Cassidy. _He_ there, in apparent authority! His presence boded little
good to either of the dear prisoners.
What a queer character was Cassidy's! Outwardly merry and
good-humoured, he was by nature coldly fierce, calculating, callous.
Reckless of life himself, its value to others made no impression on
him. Playful and unpitying, commanding the smile and heeding not the
sigh, he was a human paradox. The more Doreen considered him the less
could she understand such a person, being herself true and impulsive
and open as the day.
'We will go to Ely Place at once,' she said hurriedly. 'Lord Clare
must and shall help us.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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