Dorothy Eden (19 page)

“There’ll be no scandal, Willie will think it his.”

The bald words were out. She supposed she could have softened them. But at this moment she was incapable of doing so, and no matter how it was expressed the fact remained.

“So you’ve done what was necessary.” After a long silence the flat dry words were without expression. Only his eyes blazing at her out of a white face betrayed his emotion.

“Perhaps we could say that it was I who fought that duel,” she said in a voice that trembled.

Abruptly he left her side and strode away down the path, some compulsion driving him, his umbrella held aloft so that he looked a perfectly respectable gentleman out for a walk in the rain. His tall form seemed gradually to dissolve in the soft curtain of rain. Presently he turned a bend and was lost to sight.

She stood appalled, not knowing what to do. Would he come back? Had he been so shocked he had left her forever? Had he forgotten she had no umbrella and her hat was wilting round her face, and trickles of rain running icily down her back? Her wry laugh at her plight turned to a sob, and her sob to a great wave of anger. How dare he walk off like that and leave her! Wasn’t this predicament as much his fault as hers? Would he have wanted her—or Willie—to announce to the world that Mrs. O’Shea was expecting the child of the leader of the Irish party? And now what was she to do, climb ignominiously into the waiting cab and drive back to town alone? With the driver speculating interestedly on her soaking wet condition, and her desertion by her friend.

Picking up her skirts, Katharine began to run down the path in the direction Charles had taken. She would catch him up and tell him what she thought of him. She would spare him nothing. He had yet to see his dear Kate in a temper. Well, now he would.

But round the bend in the path she almost collided with him, coming back.

He dropped his umbrella and wrapped her in his arms.

“Kate, my darling, you’re crying.”

“No, I’m not, it’s only the rain.”

“Well, I am.”

She saw the runnels of water on his cheeks. His face looked hollow and haunted, full of an impotent anger and bewilderment. Her own anger vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Charles, it will be all right. It really will.”

“I can’t bear him touching you. I told you that once before.”

“Don’t think of that. Think of the baby.”

“Do you want it, Katie?”

“Very much.”

His eyes burned through their tears. “You’re wonderful, and I love you.”

He kissed her, his lips cool with rain, his wet cheek against hers. A small flurry of wind lifted the unfurled umbrella and deposited it on the grey stream of the river where it floated gently away. Now they would get very wet. But they were wet already. It was much too late to worry about that.

A month later she nearly fainted when she was with Aunt Ben, and came back to her senses to see the old lady regarding her speculatively.

“What is it, Katharine? Another child?”

“Yes.”

“Does Willie know?”

“Not yet. I mean to tell him on Sunday, if he comes down.”

“Do you want it?”

“Very much. Very much, Aunt Ben.”

She had spoken with unguarded warmth, and saw the old periwinkle blue eyes on her.

“What will Mr. Parnell say?”

“Mr. Parnell?”

The old lady paused just long enough to observe the colour mounting in her cheeks.

“I thought you were being his intermediary with Mr. Gladstone. I hardly think Mr. Gladstone will be diverted by a pregnant young woman.”

“Oh, no, Aunt Ben, I can just see his disapproving stare.” Katharine was laughing as she tried to scowl in imitation of Mr. Gladstone’s fiery gaze beneath snow-white brows. “I’m to see him next week. I must tell Mr. Parnell to try to accomplish all the business he can in the next two or three months.”

“When am I to meet your Mr. Parnell?”

Aunt Ben was full of surprises this morning. Katharine wasn’t feeling well enough to parry her.

“
My
Mr. Parnell? The Irish people would have something to say about that. They think he’s theirs. But I didn’t know you wanted to meet him, Aunt Ben.”

“And why not? I’m not in my dotage. I’m quite abreast of the times. Bring him here one afternoon soon.”

The opportunity to do this occurred very soon, for Charles wanted to see her about arranging another interview with Mr. Gladstone. The Land Bill had been passed, and now was the time, when the Government was feeling reasonably pleased with itself, to press for the ultimate object of Home Rule. Charles had been making Katharine, on one of their long drives, learn by heart what she was to say. He didn’t want to put anything in writing. He didn’t trust the English, even the Prime Minister.

But he agreed willingly to take time to call on old Mrs. Wood.

The visit was a great success. Aunt Ben was charmed with her good-looking courteous guest. She liked his appearance, his quiet manners, his soft voice. She took his arm and made him pace up and down the tapestry room as they talked.

“I once met your Daniel O’Connell. That was when my husband was a Member of Parliament. I heard his greatest speech. But I prefer your voice, Mr. Parnell.”

After he had gone she looked at Katharine musingly. Finally she said, “Yes, I believe he’s a man worth following. Bring him again some time. I’ve enjoyed my talk with him.”

Katharine’s next meeting with Mr. Gladstone coincided with news of more outrages in Ireland. Mr. Gladstone was bitterly disappointed. He was no longer the indulgent host greeting a good-looking young woman, but an old man with a tightened face, and furious eyes.

“You must tell your friend, Mrs. O’Shea, that I’m not interested in anything he has to say about Home Rule while he is encouraging this violence. Tell him to stop it. If he arrests the operation of the Land Act then other measures will have to be taken.” He took Katharine’s arm and began walking her up and down the long room, talking rapidly.

“We’ve given him a great deal. The Government won’t stand for much more. And I keep getting complaints from the Palace. The Queen isn’t overfond of her Irish subjects. To tell the truth, no more am I. I got the Land Act through, and now Mr. Parnell seems determined to wreck it.”

“He wants a great deal more than a Land Act, Mr. Gladstone.”

The old eagle face was turned to her.

“Will he never be satisfied?”

“Yes. He will. One day.”

“I doubt it.”

“When he attains his object.”

“Yes,” said the old man thoughtfully. “I imagine he is a man who doesn’t rest until he attains whatever object he has in mind, wise or not. Isn’t that true, Mrs. O’Shea?”

Katharine kept her eyes downcast.

“You must have discovered his mettle by now, Mr. Gladstone.”

Her arm was suddenly flung away.

“Yes, by God, I have, but my patience will come to an end. Tell him to keep his Irish outlaws in check, or I won’t be able to keep Mr. Forster in check. Mr. Forster, I might tell you, won’t be happy until Mr. Parnell is safely under lock and key.”

“You mean he’ll be arrested after all!”

Mr. Gladstone looked down at her, then abruptly patted her hand.

“The resources of civilisation are not yet exhausted.”

She repeated all of this conversation to Charles next time he was in London, and part of it to Willie.

Willie was completely on Mr. Gladstone’s side.

“If you ask me, Parnell’s lost control of his people. He’s stirred up such a flood of hatred against the English that now he can’t stop it. He’ll find it will consume him, too, if he’s not careful. He’s an odd intense fellow, I must say. But you like him, don’t you, Kate?”

“You know I do. I like and admire him.”

Willie looked at her broodingly.

“Just so long as he hasn’t been leaving his things lying round here again. The O’Gorman Mahon thought I let him get out of that affair too easily.”

“The O’Gorman Mahon can look after his own business.”

Willie, about to retort, changed his mind, and kissed her good-temperedly.

“I did behave a bit wildly, I suppose. It’s a good thing my mother didn’t hear anything of it. She’d have been shocked to death. She’s never approved of you as my wife, but she’s never questioned your morals.”

“As you have,” Katharine said.

“I told you, I was a bit impulsive. After all, you might like Mr. Parnell, but you’re much too conventional to do anything foolish. I should never have mistrusted you. It was only that you were so confoundedly cold to me for so long. But I’ve scotched those rumours about Kitty O’Shea. You won’t hear them again.” He was looking at her more closely. “What’s the matter? You’re looking a bit white.”

If only she never heard those rumours again! She was praying silently that they were finished forever.

She put her hand to her forehead.

“I’m all right, Willie. Just a little tired. It’s not unusual in my condition.”

“Your condition!” he shouted. “What the devil do you mean?”

“There’s only one thing I can mean.” She was determined to smile. “Norah and Carmen will be delighted. They’ve been begging me to have a baby for them. I don’t know about Gerard. He might feel rather too grown-up.”

She had to endure his arms round her and seem to welcome them.

“Well, well, what a secretive puss you’ve become. Not a word to the person most interested, the jolly old father. When is it to be?”

“Oh—the spring.”

He was making a rapid calculation. “Late spring, it must be. Well, that will keep you quiet, eh?”

Formal letters came from Charles from time to time.

“My dear Mrs. O’Shea,

I had arranged to go to a meeting at Durham today, but was unable to do so at the last moment. I think you have some books of mine at Eltham which I propose going down to look for on Monday about ten or twelve unless I hear from you that you can’t find them for me. Please reply to House of Commons where I shall call for my letters on Monday morning.”

She showed them to Willie, diplomatically, and he managed to overcome his dislike for Mr. Parnell very well, by frequently meeting him and discussing political manoeuvres. Willie was beginning to hold his head high and strut about with his fingers in his waistcoat pockets. It seemed that he was beginning to indulge in grandiose dreams about one day being made Chief Secretary to Ireland. He was getting on famously with Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, too, and other members of the Cabinet. It was shrewd and far-seeing to have friends on both sides of the fence. This could not fail to forward the career of Captain O’Shea. Wasn’t Kate pleased that he was at last settling down and taking his career seriously? Perhaps one day he, too, would be drawn in triumph through the streets of Dublin.

Reading of Charles’ triumphant progress through Ireland, Katharine was not overjoyed but deeply alarmed. He was continuing to do all the things Mr. Gladstone had warned him against. Inciting the people, making seditious speeches. The one he had made at Wexford in October was the culminating one. Standing on an improvised platform in the marketplace, looking down at his intent audience, he said,

“You have gained something by your exertions during the last twelve months, but I am here today to tell you that you have gained but a fraction of that to which you are justly entitled. And the Irishman who thinks he can now throw away his arms will find to his sorrow and destruction that he has placed himself in the power of a perfidious, cruel, unrelenting English enemy.

“It is a good sign that this masquerading knight-errant, this pretended champion of the liberties of every other nation except those of the Irish nation, should be obliged to throw off the mask today and to stand revealed as the man who, by his own utterances, is prepared to carry fire and sword into your homesteads unless you humble and abase yourselves before him and before the landlords of this country. In the opinion of an English statesman, no man is good to Ireland until he is buried and unable to strike a blow for Ireland, and perhaps the day may come when I may get a good word from English statesmen as a moderate man when I am dead and buried.

“When people talk of public plunder they should first ask themselves and recall to mind who were the first public plunderers in Ireland. The land of Ireland has been confiscated three times over by the men whose descendants Mr. Gladstone is supporting in the fruits of their plunder by his bayonets and buckshot.

“Mr. Gladstone admits that the English Government has failed in Ireland, he admits the contention that Grattan and the volunteers of ’82 fought for, he admits the contention that the men of ’98 lost their lives for, he admits the contention that O’Connell argued for, he admits the contention that the men of ’48 staked their all for, he admits the contention that the men of ’65 after a long period of depression and of apparent death of all national life in Ireland cheerfully faced the dungeon and the horrors of penal servitude for, and admits the contention that today you in your overpowering multitudes have re-established, and, please God, will bring to a successful and final issue, namely, that England’s mission in Ireland has been a failure, and that Irishmen have established their right to govern Ireland by laws made by themselves on Irish soil …”

It was after this speech that Mr. Forster wrote to Mr. Gladstone saying that Mr. Parnell must be arrested under the Coercion Act. He would have liked to have arrested every single Irishman suspected of revolutionary practices.

Mr. Gladstone, in an agonising dilemma, summoned his Cabinet, and Mr. Parnell, completely cool and unruffled, seemingly indifferent to the threats of the despised English, said that if he were arrested Captain Moonlight would take his place. The dreaded phantom who struck by night, and in a dozen counties at once. There would be fires and pillaging and death from Cork to Dublin City.

In spite of this threat Mr. Forster continued with his intention. He instructed Sir Thomas Steele, the Commander in Chief of police in Ireland, that should the Cabinet agree to arrest Mr. Parnell, he would receive a telegram of one word “Proceed.”

Katharine, awaiting events in desperate anxiety, received another letter, a secret one enclosed in a formal one.