Dorothy Eden (29 page)

It was a terrible dilemma. She knew the harm it would do Charles in his own party if he showed this sudden strange partisanship for such a discredited member as Captain O’Shea.

If only she could have found an answer to the problem without worrying Charles with it. But there was none. She had to welcome him with the news when he came down to Eltham a few days later.

It was a great pity because he was in such good spirits. They had talked of the nuisance it was that he had no good horse to ride when he was in England, and after a discussion with Aunt Ben the arrangement had been made that he should bring his own over from Ireland and keep it in the stables at Wonersh Lodge. Partridge could take care of it along with the children’s ponies.

Charles arrived with the news that he was having not one but three horses shipped over, Dictator, President and Home Rule. He couldn’t wait to take Kate driving with Dictator. She would find him the fastest horse she had ever been behind.

“But what’s the matter, Kate? Aren’t you pleased?”

“Of course. I’m delighted. But we have another problem, I’ll have to talk to you about it at once. I can’t stop worrying about it.”

He listened closely as she related the conversation between herself and her husband. A frown deepened between his eyes. Otherwise he betrayed no emotion. When she had finished, he said quietly, “I had anticipated this. I’m afraid it’s something we’ll have to face.”

“But it will do you so much harm.”

“If I have to do it, yes. What’s more, the residents of Galway may be less easily managed than my own party. Twisting politics to serve the ends of an individual is bad. Even the most uninformed will see through that. But perhaps I can talk Willie out of this. Get him down. We must have a meeting.”

He walked up and down, his frown deepening.

“What I do know is that there must be no scandal until the Home Rule Bill is passed. After that, you and I can be happy in the sight of the world. But until then I fear these English hypocrites. If your husband chooses to be difficult now, the whole thing can come tumbling down like a house of cards.”

“It’s what I’ve always been afraid of. Willie’s cunning. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this.”

Charles stopped in his pacing to stand over her and smooth out the lines in her brow with his fingertips. But the gesture was perfunctory. It was one of the moments when he felt her like a stone round his neck. She knew it. She was agonisingly unhappy.

“Get Willie down as soon as possible. We must get this settled once and for all.”

But for once Katharine’s courage deserted her. She felt she couldn’t face the painful scene that there would have to be. She put off writing to Willie for three days, and eventually a peevish impatient self-pitying letter came from him.

“Dear Kate,

I have kept my temper more or less well so far. Mr. Chamberlain, with his knowledge of what I did at various times for Mr. Parnell, considers the latter—well, he thinks very ill indeed of him. Chamberlain says that if he had any feelings, any spark of honour, he would have told his party that he was under an obligation that my seat must be secured, or he would resign his leadership.

“I am not going to lie in a ditch. I have been treated in a blackguard fashion, and I mean to hit back. Parnell won’t be of ‘high importance’ soon.

“I wonder the little girls have not written to me. No one cares a bit for me …”

So there was nothing for it but to face the inevitable without delay.

They met at Wonersh Lodge one late afternoon. Willie greeted Charles in an offhand insolent way.

“Well, I hope you haven’t brought me down here for nothing.”

“I hope to talk you out of your wild notions, and that’s a fact. Even if I got you nominated for Galway how do you know the people will accept you?”

Willie coloured darkly.

“I’m very popular in Ireland.”

“Well, you’re scarcely popular with the party. You won’t even sit near them in the House.”

“I should be sorry to be liked by that rapscallion crew.”

Charles gave a small shrug of futility.

“That attitude scarcely helps matters. You’re not being adult about this, O’Shea. You won’t take the party pledge and yet you expect me to put you forward as a sincere and honest candidate. You scorn the dress and the speech of your fellow members. You make fun of their accents behind their backs. Don’t deny it. I’ve heard you at it. You act the grand gentleman. You want a seat in Parliament because it’s a social asset. It gives you the entrée into such fashionable houses as your friend Chamberlain’s.”

Willie, about to make an indignant rejoinder, was silenced with a wave of the hand. Charles, with withering scorn, continued: “You’re playing at politics, O’Shea. Oh, I admit you had a hand in the Kilmainham Treaty because it suited you to, it was an opportunity for you to get some serious attention from the friends you so admire. But let me warn you, those same friends may not be so trustworthy as you think. I personally don’t trust Chamberlain one inch. And I assure you that I won’t be blackmailed into anything by him. If I help you over Galway, it will be to suit my own interests, not because I’m afraid of any politician, from the Prime Minister down.”

At last Willie had his opportunity to sneer.

“The three of us in this room know what your interests are very well indeed. But the rest of the world doesn’t. Yet.”

“Willie—”

Willie paid no attention to Katharine.

“I fancy I know who will get the sympathy when it does. The higher you’ve climbed, Parnell, the further you’ll have to fall.”

If Willie went red with anger, Charles went white. His mouth was hard. His eyes were black in his blanched face.

“Be careful, O’Shea. I may take you at your word and let the whole thing go. Which I hardly think would suit your schemes. I would dearly like to lay down this burden. But I’ve got so far. It would virtually be a betrayal of my people. So, if we can keep our tempers, let’s talk about this sanely. Will you take the party pledge?”

“No, I will not.”

“Then God knows how I’m to get you accepted.”

“You might mention they owe me some gratitude for getting their chief out of jail.”

“Willie, if Charles goes this far for you, surely you can put aside your scruples, whatever they are, and take the pledge.”

But Katharine could never say anything to suit him now. He automatically contemptuously rejected her arguments.

“You’re prejudiced, Kate. And you damn well should be. I hear I’m even stabling Parnell’s horses now.”

“
You
stabling them! However can you have such flights of fancy? That would amuse Aunt Ben. And you do little enough to amuse her, I assure you.”

“Well, I won’t have my son riding any of those brutes,” Willie said sulkily.

In a low, very tired voice, Charles said, “This is irrelevant, O’Shea. If you won’t take the party pledge, all I can ask is that you give me your word to behave with discretion. Try to get yourself liked a bit, especially by your constituents. I can fill their ears with advice, but I can’t guide their hands when they fill in their ballot papers. Now can this interview be ended?”

He looked so pale that Katharine was alarmed. Willie, looking less triumphant than he might have felt, said: “You’re a fine one to talk about discretion, I must say. I don’t understand you, Parnell. How can you let a love affair ruin you?”

“I quite see that it’s beyond your understanding. I didn’t take your wife from you, O’Shea. You never had her.” In an almost inaudible voice he added, “Thank God.”

But Willie didn’t remain to hear that. He snatched up his hat and strode out, and Katharine flew to Charles.

“Are you all right?”

“A little dizzy. Will you get me a glass of water?”

She did so, and was relieved to see him looking less shaken after he had drunk.

“Charles, are you ill?”

“No, no, I get these turns occasionally. I’ve been at it too hard, I expect. And now I’ll have to begin again in Galway. There’ll be the fiercest opposition. But I’ll run O’Shea and I’ll get him returned. I’ll force him down their throats. It will cost me the confidence of the party, but I’ll be done with his talk of pledges and ingratitude.”

Then he began to smile, the tenderness in his eyes.

“Don’t look so tragic, Katie. No one’s being cast to the wolves. Well, not yet, at least.”

But he so nearly was. The two most formidable members of his party, Biggar and the headstrong ambitious Tim Healy, bitterly opposed what they regarded as the outrageous nomination of Captain O’Shea, and threatened a revolt within the party, even though Healy unctuously gave out that he still “declined to believe that our illustrious leader” was really supporting O’Shea.

Mr. Biggar was much more outspoken. He stood up at a public meeting in Galway, and made the shattering announcement that the lamentable truth was, Mr. Parnell had chosen Captain O’Shea to be their representative because Mrs. O’Shea was his mistress. He did even more, he prepared a telegram to be sent to Mr. Parnell stating bluntly, “Mrs. O’Shea will be your ruin.” Healy interposed and suggested more discretion. The wording was changed to “The O’Sheas will be your ruin”, and the gossip, beginning with a talkative post-office official, spread like wildfire.

They began to be afraid of what they had done, the stolid Biggar whose own personal life was far from being above reproach, and the mercurial Healy who was always torn between love and hate for his leader, although of latter years the black side of hate was winning. When they heard that Mr. Parnell was coming to Galway to quell the riots, Healy, in a fine state of nerves, asked what should be done. “Mob him, sir,” answered Biggar unhesitatingly.

But the people took this decision out of his hands, for they gathered of their own accord outside the railway station, a large restless muttering mob who were capable of anything, even lynching.

Mr. Parnell had asked the retiring member for Galway, Mr. O’Connor, to accompany him. It required considerable courage on Mr. O’Connor’s part to do so. He knew what the temper of the mob would be. Whether Mr. Parnell knew or cared, he could not have said. Certainly the man didn’t turn a hair. On the journey to Galway he talked of every subject except the important one, the coming election and the controversial candidate, Captain O’Shea. He might have been going to a reception where he knew that flags would be waving and people cheering for him.

Not Galway under a sullen stormy sky with an enormous crowd waiting to rend the man whom they thought had betrayed them.

As the train came to a halt the roar of the crowd was alarmingly menacing. Mr. O’Connor bit his lip and lost his colour, but Mr. Parnell opened the door of the compartment and stepped out, an erect figure, his fine head held high, his authority so hypnotic that after a surge forward, the roaring of the crowd died away, there was a brief almost shamed silence. Then one wavering cheer rose, and suddenly they were all cheering. And Mr. Parnell stood there completely composed bowing in acknowledgement as if the cheers were entirely expected.

It was only when the unfortunate Mr. O’Connor emerged that pandemonium broke out. The mob had gathered to take vengeance on somebody. If it couldn’t be their beloved leader—how could they ever have imagined it could be him?—then they would turn on their late member, Mr. O’Connor, who had deserted them for an English constituency.

The poor man was thrown to the ground and would have been in danger of being trampled to death if he had not been rescued by the man who had been meant to be the victim, Mr. Parnell himself.

The Irish certainly had a habit of turning their deepest affairs to farce, their lightest sometimes to tragedy. At least there were no half-measures.

For when Mr. Parnell, later, stood on a platform in the market square and addressed them they listened in the most obedient and reverent silence.

“I have a Parliament for Ireland within the hollow of my hand,” he said, the passion breaking through his voice. “Destroy me and you take away that Parliament. Reject Captain O’Shea, destroy me, and there will arise a shout from all the enemies of Ireland, ‘Parnell is beaten; Ireland no longer has a leader!’”

For a moment the silence was complete. Then one lonely voice spoke. Mr. Biggar’s. “Sir, if Mr. Lynch (O’Shea’s opponent) goes to the poll, I’ll support him!”

But then the cheers broke out, and his voice was drowned. It was drowned again when, meeting his colleagues in the hotel, Mr. Parnell said, “A rumour has spread that I will retire from the party. I have no intention of resigning my position. I would not resign it if the people of Galway were to kick me through the streets today.”

This time the subdued cheers were led by the effervescent Mr. Healy. Perhaps his admiration for a great and courageous performance had temporarily made him forget the facts. At least no one now had the temerity to mention the name, Kitty O’Shea.

Mr. Healy made the announcement: “I retire from this contest and Captain O’Shea becomes, I suppose, the member for Galway. It is a bitter cup for you. God knows, to me it is a cup of poison, but even so let it be taken for the sake of the unity of the party we love.”

After that, it was a foregone conclusion that Captain O’Shea should win his seat in Galway by an overwhelming majority.

All the same the seed of doubt had been planted. The party’s confidence in its leader had been badly shaken. From now on the warring factions would be difficult, if not impossible, to control.

It was to be hoped that Captain O’Shea would do something to make himself more popular.

A
UNT BEN WAS FAILING.
She frequently spent the morning in bed, half the time dozing, although she liked Katharine to be with her so that she could see her as she woke.

In the silence of the comfortable bedroom where the fire now burnt constantly, and the heavy curtains were drawn against the bright light, Katharine had too much time to think.

News had come of Willie’s success in Galway, and of its accompanying difficulties for Charles. She had heard of that shameful telegram, and echoes of the shouted name “Kitty O’Shea” seemed to come to her here, so far away.