Dorothy Eden (10 page)

After his second stay at Eltham he wrote from Dublin:

“My stay with you has been so pleasant that I was almost beginning to forget my other duties, but Ireland seems to have gotten on very well without me in the interval.”

He had not been idle, however, or the Land League had not been idle on his behalf. But by persuading tenants to stop paying rent it had overstepped the mark and Mr. Forster, the Irish Secretary, whose rage had been simmering ever since the boycott affair, had taken an extreme step. An information was sworn against the Land League. There was to be a trial by jury of Parnell, and fourteen others.

There was no word from Charles. Katharine waited in an agony of anxiety, day by day. She read his speech in Dublin, with its echoes of cool irony, when he expressed regret that Forster was degenerating from a statesman into a tool of the landlords, but for more news she had to wait.

Willie could give her little, for he was furious about the whole affair. He was a landlord himself, with his property at Limerick, and this was one thing about which he did not see eye to eye with Parnell.

“He may be able to afford to give up his rents, but I can’t. He’s letting the Land League get away with too much altogether. He’ll regret it.”

“But what about the trial? What will happen?”

“What do you think? Will any jury in Ireland convict them? You may be sure they won’t.”

Parliament reopened and the Queen, in her speech from the Throne, said, “I grieve to state that the social condition of Ireland has assumed an alarming character.” She lifted her pale blue eyes and looked round the floor of the House, hoping perhaps that her indignant royal survey would arouse remorse in the breasts of the recalcitrant Irish members. Perhaps she was thinking of the exploits of Captain Moonlight.

This was the latest outrage. A band of men would go silently about their evil errands at night, to maim cattle, burn landlords’ homes, even to dig a grave at the doorway so that the appalled owner would look into its mocking macabre black depths when he opened his door in the morning. These crimes were attributed to the mythical Captain Moonlight who was never visible, never in the same place twice, but who had instituted a reign of terror that must be brought to an end.

Mr. Forster was to urge the suspension of the law of Habeas Corpus so that suspected evil-doers could be thrown into prison without all the expensive and slow machinery of a trial. If he could convict the organisers of that villainous association, the Land League, he would have scored a real triumph. The whole of the English Parliament was on his side. The Land League was responsible for a conspiracy to impoverish landlords, and they must pay for their audacity.

Christmas went by and all that Katharine knew was that Charles was spending it at Avondale. He dared not leave Ireland in this state of crisis, and anyway his sisters Anna and Fanny begged him to stay and the servants were delighted that Master Charlie was home. He was there so little nowadays. Even his dogs had almost forgotten him.

Katharine herself tried to be gay for the sake of the children. Gerard was home from school, lording it over his sisters, and naughtily making fun of poor Miss Glennister behind her back. Aunt Ben had one of the young fir trees cut in her park, and brought into the tapestry room to be erected in a tub and decorated. Willie found, at the last minute, that he had urgent affairs in London. Was it simply a grander Christmas party, or a small intimate one with a female friend that kept him, Katharine wondered, and was enormously relieved to have him away.

Aunt Ben had made an exception of Christmas this year. Usually she liked to sleep through it. She was too old for festivities and left such foolish junketings to her servants. But dear Katharine was there with the children, and since it seemed that Willie intended to do nothing about them, she must. So candles were lighted on the tree, and there were gifts, and the younger house-maids were encouraged to romp with the children.

It was all gay enough, and Katharine hoped no one noticed her abstraction. She sat at the window watching the early dusk beginning to fall, and wondered incessantly what the new year would bring.

“Katharine,” Aunt Ben called, “why are you looking out into the dark? Are you watching for someone?”

“No, Aunt Ben.” (Only the person I can’t expect to see, that tall straight figure with the high-held head …)

“Then come to the fire. There’s only ghosts and goblins outdoors on Christmas Eve. I believe that’s what you’ve been seeing. You look quite starry-eyed. Pour a little of the mulled wine, and let us wish ourselves a happy new year.”

Katharine obeyed, and drank the wine, and smiled, and thought that it would be a miracle if her wish came true.

Willie came down on Sunday and she asked as casually as possible when the Land League trial was to take place.

“Soon, I daresay. Why do you want to know?”

“I was wondering when to expect Mr. Parnell back in England.”

“Oh, that’s hard to say. He may be clapped in jail. There are plenty who would dearly like to jail him on one pretext or another.”

“But they couldn’t!”

“My dear Kate, if Habeas Corpus is suspended they can do what they like.”

“You don’t seem to care!”

“Well, you seem to be doing a lot of worrying on Parnell’s behalf,” Willie said aggrievedly. “I wish you’d start doing some on mine. I’ve been troubled with gout on and off since Christmas.”

“I expect you ate too much plumduff and drank too much port.”

He glared at her angrily. He liked to have his indispositions taken seriously.

“You’ve got hard, Kate. I don’t know what’s happened to you.”

“Don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, blame me for changing your nature, of course. But you used to be sympathetic and kind. You’ve still got the same gentle face. It doesn’t seem right. To look at you, no one could guess how hard you’ve got.”

Katharine turned away rapidly to hide the tears in her eyes. Was it true that she was getting miserly with her sympathy, saving it all for one person? But where was Willie’s, except for himself? He had over-indulged and now wanted to be petted. Because his foot hurt, he could not spare a thought for anyone else.

He ended by going back to London in a huff. It was very cold and had begun to blow a gale. After the children had gone to bed Miss Glennister excused herself, saying she had letters to write. The two women often spent the evening by the fire together, although Katharine found Miss Glennister dull company, and was always glad when she had gone upstairs.

But tonight the house seemed particularly lonely. It was probably because the wind was crying outside, and she kept thinking of the same gale blowing across the sea and battering at the poor dark miserable cottages and cabins in Ireland. She prayed that Charles was safely at Avondale, and not sheltering in one of the comfortless cottages himself. Would he be put in jail, as Willie had so blithely suggested? She could not bear the thought. His last letter had been written before Christmas. There hadn’t been a word since. Where was he? Why didn’t he write?

Ellen came in to ask if the mistress would like a hot drink before going upstairs. It was such a cold stormy night, a body froze going from one room to another.

“It’s going to snow, I feel it in my bones. Then shall I just be getting you a wee drop of hot milk, ma’am—” She stopped abruptly as the front door bell rang. “Mercy, who can that be at this hour?”

Katharine started up. Was it Willie back in a more congenial frame of mind?

“Now, ma’am, don’t you come out in the cold, I’ll see to it.”

But Katharine, possessed by uneasiness, followed her, and was standing just inside the hall when Ellen flung open the door to reveal the tall figure with the first flakes of snow on his shoulders.

“Charles!” Katharine whispered.

She would never know how she stopped herself from running into his arms. Probably it was because Ellen, belatedly realising who the visitor was, had fallen on her knees and impulsively kissed his hand. It was Mr. Parnell, praise be to God. She had his picture hanging round her neck, and now there he was in front of her, escaped from all those courtrooms and trials that the bloody English had devised.

“Close the door, Ellen,” Katharine heard herself saying calmly. “Mr. Parnell, what a surprise. Do come in to the fire. You must be frozen, travelling on such a night. You haven’t crossed the Irish Channel?”

“I have indeed, and it isn’t a thing I would care to repeat in this weather. May I trespass on your hospitality tonight, Mrs. O’Shea?”

“But of course. Your room is always ready, as you know. Willie was here earlier but went back to town. And I was sitting alone by the fire wondering how the trial was going. They let you free?”

“You see me here.”

“Yes, I do.” Ellen was still gaping. Katharine said, “Ellen, tell Jane to light the fire in Mr. Parnell’s room. And prepare a tray. Something hot.”

Ellen bustled off and she drew him into the sitting room, closing the door, and, with a sigh, going into his arms.

“Oh, my love, you’re safe. I’ve worried so.”

He kissed her, holding her closely.

“Kate! Let me look at you. Are you a little thin?”

“It would be no wonder.”

“But I was never in danger. You should have known that.”

“I feel as if you’re always in danger. And anyway jail would have been bad enough.”

“But there was no likelihood of jail. There may be later. But not this time.” He laughed. “Did you think a jury of my own people would convict me?”

“Then what happened?”

“The jury retired, and when they came back after a very long time the clerk of the crown asked, ‘Have you agreed to your verdict, gentlemen?’ ‘No,’ said the foreman. The Judge then had to have a word. ‘Is there any likelihood of your agreeing?’ ‘Not a bit, my lord. We are unanimous that we can’t agree.’”

Katharine laughed helplessly. “You Irish! So what happened?”

“The Judge said that he couldn’t force an agreement, and I was only grateful that I had time to catch the steamer. I had been willing the jury not to embark on their usual long discussion of politics and hold me up unnecessarily.”

“But what did people say?”

“I didn’t stay to listen. I only wanted to get back to you. Oh, they were jubilant, of course. I believe there were going to be bonfires lit on all the hills. We won’t let the English forget this mistake.” He sighed deeply. “I’m tired. It will be so good to have a rest. But am I to stay, Kate?”

“What else would you do?” she asked in reproach.

“You said Willie was not here. I was afraid he might not be. But I couldn’t stay away. Just for tonight, Kate. Tomorrow I must be in the House. Forster is carrying out his threat to introduce a Bill suspending Habeas Corpus. We’ve got to fight it with every means we’ve got.”

“But you look so tired. You need rest.”

“Just tonight, Kate.”

“Food, shelter, rest. You treat me like an innkeeper.”

“You know me better than that.”

She nodded, ashamed of her moment of pique. He had been away so long, he was to go so soon. Although he looked ready to drop, she was going to grudge every minute he spent in sleep.

As it happened he was not inclined to want to sleep either. When the servants had gone to bed, he told her to stay with him, by the fire.

She sat on the floor, her head against his knees. She felt his fingers in her hair as he began to talk.

Presently he was telling her everything. The winter rains in Ireland were very cold. They found their way through thatched roofs, through windows stuffed with bits of sacking and straw. The children who never minded running barefoot in summer were pinched and frozen. If they were turned on to the roads with their evicted parents they were so cold, hungry and miserable they didn’t even cry any longer. To dry up tears was the worst thing of all. There was the mother dragged to watch her son hanged. He was a skinny undersized lad of only sixteen, he had been found near the barracks with a loaded gun. When questioned he had been perky, cheeky, defiant. But on the gallows he had no defence left. He had gone into a kind of catalepsy of terror, and his watching mother had the horror of it written on her face for ever.

A grand ball had been given in Dublin Castle. There had been enough food to feed a regiment. Statistics showed that over a hundred had died that bitterly cold night in Dublin alone, of cold, malnutrition, and the attendant diseases, typhus, consumption, lung fever.

In the country people who had never locked a window or bolted a door now did both at nightfall, and were fearful to stir outdoors not only because of the military but because of the depredations of their own kith and kin who had lost all reason and nightly, by their forays, risked the gallows.

Yet there were the immense crowds who listened and hung on Mr. Parnell’s words as he begged them not to throw away all that was being achieved, to have patience, to trust him to make a fair but peaceful settlement with the English. He hated the English, too, but he did not intend to slaughter them one by one, he would defeat them without bloodshed in their own Houses of Parliament in their own city …

He will stop soon, she thought. It’s good for him to talk, but he will stop soon and kiss me again, and the servants have all gone to bed. It’s as if we were alone in the house … Is this the night that neither of us is going to be sane?

The heat of the fire was making her cheeks and her body burn. She felt languorous and heavy limbed. As his fingers moved in her hair she trembled.

“Gladstone will have to do something with his Land Bill this session,” the weary voice was saying. “If he doesn’t I won’t be responsible for my men. I’ll have to make him, Kate. I’ll have to use every ounce of my strength—and that—isn’t as much—as it was …”

His hand had slid heavily off her head. She turned sharply. She thought he had collapsed. But he had only lost consciousness. He was sound asleep!

She had to throw off her languorous feelings and be practical. She was half-laughing, ruefully, as she lifted his long legs on to the couch and settled his head on a cushion. Even then his eyelids remained firmly closed.