Dorothy Eden (17 page)

“Do let us, Mamma.”

“Let you what, darlings?”

“Go to Mademoiselle Brancone’s,” Norah said. “Mamma you’re not listening.”

“Yes, I am. Yes, I do think it might be a good idea. We’ll discuss it with Papa on Sunday.”

Miss Glennister’s observant eyes were on the wrapping paper Katharine still clutched. She quietly put it on her lap, and went on, “Dancing lessons could take the place of drawing in the meantime, Miss Glennister. Or perhaps you think that could be fitted in, too. But I don’t want the children’s playtime cut short. I don’t believe in long hours of study, especially in the summer.”

The warm July sunshine and the scent of roses was drifting in the open window. Katharine felt the heat, even this early in the morning, a little trying. She hadn’t felt very well just lately. With mingled fear and joy she thought she might be pregnant.

“Mamma, I said could we go to the village this morning?”

“This morning? Don’t speak rudely like that, Norah.”

“But you were not listening again! What are you
thinking
about?”

“I was thinking perhaps you ought to have piano lessons, too. If Papa thinks we can manage it.”

Papa, indeed! If dancing and piano lessons were arranged, it would be Aunt Ben who paid for them. But the façade of a father who provided for his family must be kept up. As must the façade of a mother who constantly had her children’s good at heart … Was she being a very bad mother, forgetful, inattentive, absent too frequently?

“Then may we, Mamma?”

Both children, in their white pinafores, with their hair tied with blue ribbons, their gingham skirts growing a little too short on their long legs (remember to go to Debenham & Freebody’s and order more clothes for children, Katharine noted), stood impatiently in front of her.

“Why do you so particularly want to go to the village this morning?”

“Oh, Mamma! We’ll have to tell her, Carmen, if she doesn’t remember herself. It’s your birthday tomorrow, Mamma. We want to buy our present.”

Tears filled Katharine’s eyes. She gathered the soft slender bodies into her arms.

“I’d
quite
forgotten! That shows how old I’m growing. Of course you may go to the village. If Miss Glennister doesn’t mind accompanying you.”

“Certainly, Mrs. O’Shea,” said Miss Glennister primly. “Will you be going to London today?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I noticed in the paper that there was to be a debate on the new Land Bill for Ireland.” The young woman’s voice was perfectly polite and expressionless.

“I was aware of that, Miss Glennister,” Katharine answered smoothly. “It’s a Bill that interests Captain O’Shea particularly. But I think it’s too hot a day to go to the city. I intend spending the afternoon in the garden, and catching up with Mr. Parnell’s mail. There’s a great deal to send on to him.”

She would like to have been in the House for this particular debate, but to tell the truth she really didn’t feel up to it. She wanted to lie in the garden chair out of the sun and dream, and make plans. If there were to be a baby she must begin facing what had to be done …

Perhaps it would look like that aristocratic high-browed dark-eyed face in the photograph she studied so intently and lovingly in the privacy of her bedroom …

In another two weeks she was as certain about the baby as she could be without seeing a doctor. She was in a state of alternate joy and despair. In a very short time she would have to take some definite action, but at present she couldn’t shake herself out of her dreamy indecision. She didn’t once go to the House although she knew that Charles would be looking for her and wondering what kept her away. The progress of the Land Bill and Ireland’s future were temporarily of little concern to her. She was going to bear the child of the man she loved. How could any other thought be in her head?

But one other thought had to be there, and that urgently. Willie.

She had quite coldly and ruthlessly to take steps not only to protect her child, but also her lover.

Humiliation, distaste, treachery, would have to be emotions she ignored. She had to go to bed with Willie as soon as possible. Her purpose was dedicated. Guilt scarcely came into it.

The event finally happened very differently from the way she had intended.

Willie burst into the house one afternoon and scarcely listening to her exclamation of surprise that it was not Sunday, he made his way to the stairs.

“I know very well it’s not Sunday. Are you alone?”

“Except for the children and the servants. Why? Who did you expect to find here?”

“I’ll soon tell you.”

He went leaping up the stairs, leaving her to follow more slowly, even then conscious that she must avoid hurry or agitation for the sake of the child she carried.

Very red in the face, his hair dishevelled, not at all the picture of sartorial excellence that he usually liked to be, Willie moved swiftly about her bedroom. He opened wardrobes, and even looked under the bed.

“Willie, what
is
this?” she asked incredulously. “Are you expecting to find a man under my bed?”

Not answering her, he left the room and went along the passage to the back bedroom which he himself had suggested should be put to the use of Mr. Parnell.

Katherine’s heart stopped. She was suddenly remembering the portmanteau Charles had left after his last visit. It was still there. He had forgotten to come for it.

And that was precisely what Willie was looking for. He dragged it out of the wardrobe and said with angry satisfaction, “So it is true.”

“
What
is true? I wish you would pay me the courtesy of telling me why you are behaving like a bull in a china shop.”

Willie kicked the portmanteau viciously, then looked at her, breathing heavily.

“It’s all over London that you and Parnell are seeing each other frequently. As usual the husband is the last to hear. I find I’m a laughing stock. A cuckold! What a damnable thing to do to me!”

Katharine heard her own voice speaking with a miraculous icy calm.

“Willie, what malicious nonsense is this?”

“And this isn’t Parnell’s bag? Why, his own initials are on it. Can’t you read? Are you blind as well as untruthful?”

“I know it’s Mr. Parnell’s bag. He left it here for convenience, just as his mail comes here. And if you forget that the whole thing was your suggestion, then there must be something very much wrong with your memory.”

“And the bag walked here alone?” said Willie, heavily sarcastic.

“Of course it did not. Mr. Parnell left it after calling one day—for his mail, and to see if you were at home.”

“And was very glad I was not, so that he could stay all night.”

“Who says this?”

“I don’t need to tell you who says it. Isn’t it true? What about the morning the children found him sleeping on the couch? Are you going to deny that?”

Miss Glennister, Katharine thought. She had always suspected the young woman had sly ways, and a foolish admiration for Willie. Probably she was in love with him. Probably she had been looking for something concrete, like the portmanteau, to report to him. She must have found it when Katharine was at Brighton.

“No, I’m not going to be so stupid as to deny something that actually happened,” Katharine said calmly. “It’s perfectly true that Mr. Parnell spent a night on the couch. He had crossed from Ireland in a gale and was exhausted. It was just after the Land League trial. He fell asleep on the couch so I covered him up. What would you have liked me to do? Turn him outdoors?”

“And you swear this was the only time he was here?”

“No, I don’t swear to any such thing. He has called on several occasions to go through his mail and to discuss my visit to Mr. Gladstone. While you were in Spain I suppose he called three or four times. He did expect to find you on some occasions. I’m afraid he’s beginning to think your interest in politics is rather superficial.”

Willie began to splutter with rage.

“He dares to criticise me while he makes love to my wife!”

“Willie!”

Katharine’s voice was so angry that he had the grace to look a little uncertain.

“Well, doesn’t he?”

“I refuse to talk to you in this mood. You’re determined to quarrel. Question the servants if you don’t mind asking them to spy on your wife. Question the children.”

“I have,” said Willie, unabashed. “Norah says you’re never at home.”

Katharine was white with anger.

“I don’t believe she says that at all.”

“She says you go to London a great deal and come home late at night.”

“A great deal? Perhaps twice a week. Wasn’t it you who told me I mustn’t stagnate in the country?”

“What do you do in London?”

“I go to Anna’s, or to the Hatherleys’. Occasionally I go to the Ladies’ Gallery of the House, as you very well know. Willie, what is this? I won’t be cross-examined.”

“Well, word’s got around that Parnell has an illicit friendship with a lady and the name mentioned, God forgive you, is yours.”

“We have a friendship,” said Kate with dignity. “I have the greatest admiration and liking for Mr. Parnell. But,” her voice was full of distaste, “I don’t like the word illicit. I think you will have to apologise for that.”

“Do you know what they’re calling you? Kitty O’Shea. How do you think I like that, my wife’s name bandied about like a music hall strumpet?”

Kitty O’Shea. A tremor of distaste and apprehension went over her.

“Who calls me this?”

“How do I know where it started? Among the Irish party, no doubt. They’re not all loyal followers of Parnell. Some of them call him a damned Protestant. But I’m not interested in his religion. I’m only interested in what he’s doing to my wife.”

Willie gave the portmanteau another vicious kick.

“That thing there. Evidence, if ever I saw it. Making me a cuckold. I’m going to call him out for it.”

Katharine’s hand went to her throat.

“You couldn’t do anything so crazy!”

“Couldn’t I, indeed?” Willie saw her flash of fear and was instantly gleefully sadistic. “My old friend, The O’Gorman Mahon, will back me up in this.”

“That braggart,” Katharine said contemptuously. “So that’s all you’re doing. Trying to emulate him.”

“No, I am not!” Willie shouted. Her contempt had been a mistake. Now, whether he had meant his picturesque threat or not, he intended to carry it out. She saw that by the lowering dogged look that came into his face.

“Willie, please don’t be so foolish. You won’t only ruin Mr. Parnell’s career, but your own, too.”

“Who cares about my career? You? Of course you don’t. Not the faintest iota. As for your precious Mr. Parnell—let him get out of this scandal if he can.”

Kitty O’Shea, Kitty O’Shea … Faint and exhausted after Willie’s departure, she lay on her bed and in a half-doze the ribald words seemed to be shouted at her. Kitty O’Shea. A name, as Willie had said, that might belong to a music-hall performer free with her favours. What wicked malicious person had thought it up? Someone in Charles’ own party? There had been that day when he was afraid they had been seen as they went into the Cannon Street hotel. He had admitted himself that they suspected he had “a woman somewhere”.

What irreparable damage would this threat of Willie’s do to him? Almost all of his party were Catholics and under the thumb of their priests, and bishops. Also, apart from religious intolerance, the party, as any political one was, must be full of jealousies and ambition. How many would be glad to see Charles Stewart Parnell topple from his high place? How quickly would they forget what he was doing and would do for their country, more than any other man for a half century or perhaps more than any other man at all.

Ireland. The country that loved martyrs.

Katharine sat up vigorously. Charles Stewart Parnell was not going to take his place in that long tortured line. Not if she could do anything on earth to stop it.

And the first thing to do was to dismiss Miss Glennister with her sly tittle tattle.

“But, Mamma, why must Miss Glennister go?” Norah asked. Carmen, with her gentle heart, had been distressed, but Norah was only deeply interested. It appeared that she had not liked Miss Glennister much either.

“I want to find a more suitable person, my darling.” (Who would come to a notorious household?)

“Why isn’t she suitable, Mamma?”

“She cried,” whispered Carmen.

“Why did you put on your best dress to dismiss her?” Norah asked.

“It isn’t my best dress.”

“Well, I like it best. And your hat with the ostrich feather. Are you going to London?”

“Yes, but I won’t be away very long. Be good girls, and go to bed when Miss Glennister tells you.”

“But she’ll be packing.”

“Since she isn’t leaving for a week, I hardly think so.”

“Mamma, you do look beautiful. Are you going to see Papa?”

“That’s exactly what I am going to do, as it happens.”

“Are you going to tell him about Miss Glennister?” Norah tossed her curls. “He won’t mind because he doesn’t like her.”

“He does so,” said Carmen.

“No, he doesn’t. I saw him pinch her last Sunday on the way to church.”

Katharine had not been to Willie’s rooms since the night they had dined with Mr. Chamberlain. She was afraid she might find him out, and if so intended to stay until he returned. But he was in. He was even ironically pleased to see her, and looking so well, too. She had evidently taken trouble with her appearance, which was considerate of her since she was only visiting her husband.

“Willie, I’ve come to persuade you not to be so hasty. When you left, I really thought you intended to carry out that crazy threat of a duel.”

“But I do intend to. I’ve just finished writing a letter to Parnell. Do you want to see it?”

He held it out, and she took it from him and read it unbelievingly.

“Sir,

Will you be so kind as to be at Lille, or at any other town in the north of France which may suit your convenience on Saturday morning, 10th instant. Please let me know by one p.m. today so that I may be able to inform you as to the sign of the inn at which I should stay. I want your answer in order to lose no time in arranging for a friend to accompany me.”