Dorothy Eden (30 page)

They were talking of her as if she were a street girl, a common and shameless baggage. She supposed they would be considerably surprised if they saw her as she was now, a woman over forty, with lines in her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. She had taken a long time to recover fully from the birth of her last baby, and this, added to the constant tension and strain, had given her a gaunt look, her eyes too large, her cheekbones too prominent. The skin beneath her jaw was beginning to sag slightly. Her throat was still smooth and white, and her mouth kept its soft warm curve, the corners tilted upwards, but her face was the face of a middle-aged woman. If those people who shouted her name so mockingly were to see her they would certainly wonder what it was that made her so irresistible. And especially to a man who was beginning to show alarming signs of his own mortality, although he was still comparatively young. Young indeed compared with the seventy-seven years of his Prime Minister.

But sometimes Mr. Gladstone, with his flashing imperious eyes, showed more vitality than Mr. Parnell, although Mr. Parnell, when whipped to the height of his emotion was more vigorous and dynamic than anybody.

Katharine was deeply worried about his health. She was afraid he was seriously ill. She intended to persuade him to see a specialist when he was next in London. This last trouble with Willie and the Galway election would have drained all his frail reserves of energy. She couldn’t rest until he was back so that she could see for herself what had happened to him.

She sat in Aunt Ben’s quiet bedroom, the only sound the gentle snoring of the old lady in the bed, and clenched her fists, wishing Ireland at the bottom of the Atlantic. She had never seen it and never wished to. It loved and it crucified.

But don’t you do the same yourself, a voice in her head said. Aren’t you both between you, the calm English woman and the old hag in blood-draggled skirts across the Irish Channel, tearing this sensitive man to pieces?

“Katharine!” That was Aunt Ben’s voice from the bed. “Why are you looking so sad?”

“Am I, Aunt Ben? I was only thinking.”

“But it has turned out all right, hasn’t it? Willie will be happy now he has his seat in Parliament again.”

Aunt Ben was constantly amazing. Her body might be failing, but her mind seemed, in compensation, to have grown doubly acute and intuitive. One must be careful what thoughts one indulged in, in her presence.

“Yes, I hope he will.”

“But you’re worrying about what this might have done to Mr. Parnell? He’s a strong man. He’ll bear it.”

Katharine came to stand by the bed.

“You know, don’t you, Aunt Ben?” and for one blessed moment she felt as if, in making this admission, she had dropped her burden.

“My dear child, what do you take me for? I was never stupid, and I’m not yet blind. I’m only sorry that you’re being hurt so much. It makes me begin to dislike all men.”

“Oh, no, Aunt Ben. It’s my fault as much as his. I hurt him, too. Terribly.”

“Then I can only say he must think it worth it. And I suppose if you work that out, it comes to the fact that that’s the only kind of love worth having.”

“How long have you known?” Katharine asked.

“Long enough. You’re very foolish, Katharine, but brave. You’re the daughter I always wanted. Someone who’s not afraid to be a real woman. But I won’t always be here to protect you, even in my small way. I can make you financially independent, no more.”

“Aunt Ben, don’t talk like that.”

The old lady was pursuing her thoughts.

“But I fancy that will suit your husband rather too well. I must think about this. Our laws need revising. A husband shouldn’t have so many rights over his wife. It takes away a woman’s dignity.”

Especially when that husband stooped to blackmail, Katharine thought privately. But a good wife, of course, would not find herself in a position to be blackmailed. Willie had most legitimate grievances. Or so the world would think, the world not having discovered his failings as a husband.

She was remembering suddenly that pretty frivolous hat she had worn on her wedding day, and her apprehension when the minister had said, “
From this day forth …
”

“Have those privet bushes grown thick enough?” Aunt Ben asked abruptly.

“Yes.” Katharine didn’t add that people still peered through the hedge, sometimes breaking branches in their destructive curiosity. But they saw little enough. Old Benson cutting the lawn or the children playing. Norah and Carmen, big girls now, were very sweet with their little sisters and loved them dearly. It would be a great shock to them if their home were broken, and they found that the babies were to be separated from them. But this must not be allowed to happen. Willie had Galway. What else would he want? Aunt Ben’s death, and a fortune to play with?

“Mr. Parnell enjoys having his horses here. He goes for long rides down the country lanes. It does him good after all the strain he goes through. People don’t need to look through the hedge to see him,” she added. “He doesn’t try to hide.”

“What an extraordinary situation! It can’t go on.”

“It must until the Home Rule Bill is through,” Katharine said vehemently. “After that—we can face mere scandal. I believe Charles will give up politics. He will have done what he set himself to do. But until then—and it won’t be long now—”

“Are you so sure the Bill will go through?”

“It must!” Katharine’s voice was low and intense. “Because neither of us can go on like this forever.”

Charles came home from Ireland. He was nervous, thin, drawn in the face, preoccupied. He spent almost all his time in the new room off the conservatory working on clauses for the Home Rule Bill. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened at Galway, and when Katharine mentioned Willie he said that they must only be thankful he was staying away from Eltham. Apparently, having got what he wanted, he was going to relax for the present. There were more important things to worry about than the state of Willie’s temper. It looked as if the Home Rule Bill would be introduced during the present session of Parliament. Nothing must now stand in its way.

Katharine must write letters to Gladstone constantly with amendments, new clauses, propositions. It was a pity the old man still thought it unwise to see her, especially at this vital stage, but letters would do as well. The long, long road Charles had travelled seemed at last to be coming to an end.

One April morning Mr. Gladstone’s private secretary arrived at Wonersh Lodge with a letter for Katharine asking her to telegraph the one word “Yes”, if he was to introduce the Home Rule Bill that night. Charles said briefly, “This Bill will do as a beginning.” His eyes were burning with controlled excitement. “Send him the word, Kate. Will you be up?”

“If I can leave Aunt Ben. She’s quite poorly.” Because Jane was hovering with his hat and coat she could do no more than squeeze his hand and whisper good luck. Then he was gone, and she had nothing to do but wait.

Mr. Gladstone’s speech on the Bill lasted three and a half hours, a
tour de force
for such an old man. He, and the Irish leader sitting listening so intently and impassively, were both on the verge of realising their ambitions.

But a wearying debate lasted for sixteen days, and the second reading of the bill did not take place until the middle of May.

By this time Mr. Chamberlain had shown his hand. He did not intend to support the Bill. He threatened to split the ranks of the Liberals. This was exactly what happened, for when the division over the Home Rule Bill was finally called in June, the Bill was defeated.

All the efforts had been in vain.

Led by Chamberlain, the Conservatives leapt from their seats and cheered. Gladstone seemed to shrink in his seat. He was suddenly very old, very alone, bewildered by failure. In vain the Irish members (with one important dissident, Captain O’Shea, who had refused to vote—was not Chamberlain his friend and mentor?) stormily and noisily applauded the defeated Prime Minister. With their lack of inhibitions they turned on the sallow-faced imperturbable Chamberlain and shouted, “Judas! Traitor!” But what was the use now? There was the whole thing to do all over again, and who now had the strength for it? The aged Prime Minister whose Government would be compelled to resign? Their own leader who seemed to have expended his last strength and sat with a ravaged face and burning eyes, contemplating the ruin of his hopes.

But Mr. Parnell continually surprised. On the first reading of the Bill he had said those memorable words, “No man has the right to set a boundary to the onward march of a nation,” and on the day after the defeat (and after a sleepless night about which only the woman who loved him knew), he sprang to his feet, and full of fire and nervous energy made one of his most poignant speeches.

“During the last five years I know there have been very severe and drastic Coercion Bills, but it will require an even severer and more drastic measure of coercion now. You have had during those five years the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act. You have had a thousand of your Irish fellow subjects held in prison without specific charge, many of them for long periods of time without trial and without any intention of placing them upon trial, you have had the Arms Act, you have had the suspension of trial by jury. You have authorised your police to enter the domicile of a citizen of your fellow subject in Ireland at any hour of the day or night and search any part of this domicile, even the beds of the women, without warrant. You have fined the innocent for offences committed by the guilty, you have taken power to expel aliens from the country, you have revived the curfew laws and the blood money of your Norman conquerors, you have gagged the Press, and seized and suppressed newspapers, you have manufactured new crimes and offences and applied fresh penalties unknown to your law for these crimes and offences. All this you have done for five years and all this and much more you will have to do again …

“I am convinced there are a sufficient number of wise and just members in this House to cause it to disregard appeals made to passion, and to choose the better way of founding peace and goodwill among nations, and when the numbers in the division lobby come to be told it will also be told, for the admiration of all future generations, that England and her Parliament, in this nineteenth century, was wise enough, brave enough and generous enough to close the strife of centuries and to give peace and prosperity to suffering Ireland …”

He did not wait for the applause to end. He did not even resume his seat. He simply turned and walked out of the House to Katharine, who was waiting.

She had the carriage, and Partridge on the box. He had orders to drive to Harley Street. She had at last persuaded Charles to see Sir Henry Thompson about his failing health.

They talked very little on the way. They were both too dispirited.

Finally Charles said, “Don’t look so mournful, darling. We haven’t given up.”

She turned to him despairingly.

“This is killing you. How can you begin all over again?”

“If Gladstone can do so, who am I to complain?”

“But there’s going to be another election. The Conservatives are bound to win.”

“We can work just as well with the opposition. That’s our strength. Eighty-six members of the Irish Nationalist party, and the Government has to woo them for their vote. We’ll keep them constantly on the jump.”

Katharine bit her lip.

“I was dreaming of being able to forget politics.”

“You wouldn’t expect me to give up with my task half-done?”

She hated his cold surprised voice. Couldn’t he see that any other man in his position would retire on the grounds of ill health? Any other man, not Charles Stewart Parnell …

“Do you expect me to sit at your deathbed?”

He faced her with blazing eyes.

“Never say that! Never say that!”

Her lip trembled. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. But will you take Sir Henry Thompson’s advice? If he tells you you must retire, will you do so?”

“No.”

He seemed to realise his cruelty for after a moment he took her face and turned it to him, making her look into his eyes.

“You know me, Kate. You know I have to go on to the bitter end. Try to put up with me, if you can.”

“And if I can’t?” she managed to say.

“Then I shall have to try to survive without you, and that is presenting me with an impossibility. Ah, Kate, have patience.”

“Patience!” she whispered. Reluctantly she said, “You know I will never leave you.”

He looked so moved that he had to be a little flippant.

“That’s capital, because Gladstone’s already talking of the next Home Rule Bill. He has invited me to go up to Hawarden.”

“Oh, Charles! And he never has before.”

The carriage was coming to a halt. They had drawn up outside one of the tall Harley Street houses. Partridge leapt off the box and opened the door. Katharine got out, and waited for Charles to alight. The Home Rule Bill had vanished from her mind, the more immediate worry was with her. The man beside her was so gaunt, so thin. He trembled as he stood. His nerves seemed to have gone completely. She thought of their conversation with incredulity. As if she could ever leave him!

They were ushered into a well-furnished room and told to wait. The maid seemed doubtful whether Sir Henry Thompson would see them. He was at his dinner. What name should she give?

They had decided on this beforehand.

“Mr. Charles Stewart,” Katharine said.

She looked anxiously at Charles who had collapsed into a chair as if all his strength had forsaken him. She made a quick decision.

“Let me see the doctor first. I’ll explain your case. It will save you the energy.”

He opened his eyes and made an attempt at a smile.

“Forgive me, Kate. It’s reaction, I think. I held up in the House to finish my speech. It about finished me.”

And yet he intended to begin again.

The maid came back to say that the doctor would see them, Katharine followed her into the consulting room, and saw the elderly man with impatient face behind his desk.