Dorothy Eden (36 page)

“Kate, really—”

Katharine turned away angrily.

“Oh, Anna, I’m sick of your hypocrisy. I believe I’m the only one in our family not to be a hypocrite.”

Anna coloured furiously, her face tightening.

“Better a hypocrite than some things I could name.”

Katharine’s voice was icy.

“If you’re going to take the girls, at least let me say goodbye to them properly.” She held out her arms, trying to smile, hoping she wouldn’t remember Norah’s tears dried on her desperately unhappy white young face, or the spark of excitement Carmen couldn’t quite conceal. Gerard was in London and Carmen adored her brother. It might be much more amusing there than with Mamma who had a habit of shutting the drawing-room door when Mr. Parnell was there, and saying that she did not wish to be disturbed. There was no doubt that Mr. Parnell would be in Brighton too. So perhaps London would be more fun.

“Mamma, remember to tell the new nurse that Clare can’t eat porridge. It makes her s-sick—” Norah’s tears started afresh, and Katharine, kissing her lovingly, said, “Yes, my darling. I’ll remember. But you’re not going to London forever. Carmen, angel, be good. You really are only a schoolgirl, in spite of what your aunt says.”

The carriage rolled away. They were gone, her grown-up children. But she still had Clare and little Katie. Clare was precociously intelligent. Her head with its cap of smooth brown hair was heart-breakingly like her father’s. Katie was a plump bundle of mischief.

Really, Katharine told herself sternly, a woman was never satisfied. Why should she grieve for the three who had left her? It was natural and right that growing children should leave home, and she still had the two babies who were her dearest loves.

The incandescent happiness came back when they were settled in the Brighton house. Now they really felt married. Charles had his study, a room at the back of the house overlooking green fields, and the big double bedroom, facing the sea they shared. For who was there to hide things from now? The servants were loyal, the babies too small to understand. And Willie never came here. Neither did Gerard. It had been clear for a long time that Gerard uneasily favoured his father. This was one of Katharine’s deepest sorrows. And Norah was writing homesick letters.

But all the same she was happy. The crowning achievement of that year came when Mr. Gladstone at last kept his promise and invited Charles to Hawarden. Charles returned saying that the visit had been immensely successful. Mr. Gladstone had expressed his determination to see the Home Rule Bill passed in his lifetime. It really looked as if all the years of work and struggle were going to be rewarded.

“And then we will take Clare and Katie and live abroad,” said Charles. “I will be done with politics. Will you be glad?”

Katharine looked at the worn face, the deepset dark eyes that less often lit up now.

“I’ll be
so
glad. Once I was afraid you would never come out of all this alive.”

“Oh, I’m not so easy to kill as that.”

“I only hope the Irish people are grateful to you.”

“I expect they’ll put up a monument to me one day. But who cares for monuments? I shall have seen that my country gets fair laws in future. There’ll be more to eat than the everlasting potato. The children will be taught to read and write and have shoes to wear in the winter. There won’t be mothers giving birth to babies in ditches. No one will have to lie out in the rain dying. The emigrant ships won’t take all the youth. I have a recurring dream of women weeping on the quay at Cork. I wake up with their wailing in my ears. But there’ll be no more of that. Paddy and Johnnie and Mike will be able to stay home and marry their sweethearts and look after the old people.”

“You make it sound like a Utopia.”

“No, not a Utopia, only a decently governed country. Anyway, I don’t believe there could be a Utopia unless there were no people in it.” He smiled. “Except you and me, perhaps.”

Katharine smiled too and said, “It will be very strange for Parliament to have no Irish question. What will they debate in future?”

“That won’t be our concern, my darling. But that’s looking into the future and I’ve never dared do so until now. I was never optimistic enough.”

And even now his optimism was premature. For the day before Christmas when a December gale was whipping up the Channel and flinging foaming glass-green waves against the sea wall, the front door bell rang, and a man stood on the doorstep with a legal-looking document in his hand.

It was a petition for divorce, O’Shea versus O’Shea and Parnell.

Katharine was too stunned and dismayed to be able to wait until the evening for Charles to return home. She took the afternoon train to London and, knowing he was attending the afternoon’s debate, sent in a message to the House of Commons asking him to come out and see her.

This was an ironic repetition of their first meeting, but in what different circumstances.

As soon as Charles saw her face he asked, “What’s the matter? Is it one of the children?”

She took his arm. Even here, in the quiet Palace Yard, people were watching.

“Can we go somewhere to talk? Charles, Willie has done it at last! He’s suing for divorce.”

For a moment he was completely still. Then he said: “You had me alarmed, Kate. I thought it must be one of the children had an accident.”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Don’t you mind?”

“Why should I mind? Isn’t it what we’ve always wanted?”

She stared at him, trying to read the face she knew so well. He actually did look pleased and excited. But was there a wariness, a reserve, beneath his excitement?

“Wait while I get my coat and bag. We’ll go home. We can talk on the way.”

Driving through the streets gay with Christmas decorations, and then waiting for a train at Victoria, Katharine’s head began to ache. She still imagined everyone was staring. She imagined eyes could penetrate her handbag and see the document inside it. Petition for Divorce, O’Shea versus O’Shea. She had always held her head high when she and Charles were together in public. Now her neck ached with the effort.

At least they were able to find an empty compartment on the train. Immediately the door was closed and they were alone she began in great agitation.

“Charles, what will happen to you? Will the scandal ruin you and your work? How will the Irish accept a leader who has been co-respondent in a divorce case?”

He gave her the tender gaze that could nearly break her heart.

“Bless you, Katie, you’re only thinking of me. Think of us and Clare and little Katie.”

He hadn’t even begun to answer her question.

“Isn’t almost everybody in Ireland a Catholic? The priests and bishops will be your bitter enemies, and you can’t imagine the people not doing what the priests tell them. This can’t be allowed to happen when you’re so near to success. In another year it might not have mattered.” Her voice grew intensely bitter. “I have no doubt Willie realised that perfectly.”

“Do you think that’s why he has overcome his own scruples about his religion?”

“Scruples! He doesn’t even know what that word means. He hates you and would dearly like to ruin you. I believe he would have done this long ago if he hadn’t found it too convenient to live on Aunt Ben’s money. He was furious when he found out what she had done in her will. He never thought I could get free of his demands. Even now,” Katharine said thoughtfully, “I’m quite sure he could be bought off if the money was available. But it isn’t, and it’s not even certain I’ll ever get any. Or enough to keep him quiet.”

“Kate, I won’t have you talking like this. You now have the opportunity to get free of this man forever, and you’re to take it. If you had a million pounds I wouldn’t let you give him a penny. What’s he living on now, by the way?”

“I haven’t an idea. Perhaps Anna is keeping him. She’s always been sympathetic towards him, and she has Norah and Carmen. I think Gerard is there a great deal, too.”

“But Anna isn’t rich. Certainly not rich enough for a man of Willie’s expensive tastes.”

Katharine looked at him sharply.

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I could wonder if there are under-currents here. It always puzzled me why Chamberlain cultivated a man like O’Shea unless he saw in him a weapon to bring me down.”

Katharine was horrified.

“You mean Chamberlain might be paying Willie to bring the divorce!”

“Well, that’s a thing I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. And if he is,” Charles took her cold hand between his own, “I insist that he’s doing us a good turn.”

“We can defend it,” Katharine said feverishly. “We can prove connivance, collusion, whatever they call it. Before I ever met you Willie begged me to be nice to you. Use your charms on him—that was his expression. What did he care for me? I can find, if I try, a dozen women who have been his mistresses.”

“No, Kate.”

“No, what?”

“Don’t do that. Let it be.”

“Let it be!” she exclaimed incredulously.

The train had stopped at a station, the door of the compartment opened and two women with bundles of holly and a great many parcels struggled in. They subsided in the seat opposite Katharine and Charles, and began to stare.

At least Katharine was convinced that they did. Their sharp eyes scrutinised unmercifully the middle-aged couple holding hands (for Charles wouldn’t let her draw her hand away). Presently one or the other would recognise them and there would be surreptitious winks and nods.

Their urgent discussion had had to be cut off in the very middle, and her head ached furiously. She couldn’t believe it when one of the women opposite nodded asleep, and her companion took out some knitting and became absorbed in it. They were not staring after all and she and Charles were not yet quite as notorious as she had thought. But that would only be a matter of time.

He mustn’t be destroyed, she thought passionately. No matter what he said, she would fight this divorce with every weapon she could find. She would sink to any depths to protect him.

In the house at Walsingham Terrace it was as if nothing had happened. Dinner was ready, but before it was put on the table Clare and Katie, bathed and in their nightgowns, expected to be kissed goodnight by Mamma and Papa. A splendid fire roared up the chimney in the dining room. Grouse stretched in front of it. The curtains were drawn, the stormy night shut out. Only an occasional hail of spray on the window-panes reminded them that the gale still blew. It almost seemed as if the elements could be shut out of this cosy room.

Charles poured two glasses of Moselle.

“Come, Kate. Stop brooding. We want the divorce, and divorce or not I shall always come where you are.”

Her lips trembled.

“How can you be so calm? Why aren’t you as frightened as me?”

“Now, love, that’s very contrary of you. We’ve been longing for this freedom all these years and when it comes you’re afraid! I shall go on giving Ireland what it is in me to give. But my private life doesn’t belong to a country. It belongs to you.”

“I have hurt your work.”

“No, you have not. You’ve kept the life in me, and the will to go on. I truly believe I would have died without you. The stones that have been flung and will still be flung are no matter. We were destined to love each other. This had to be.”

His eyes were so compelling, his face so alive with warmth and sincerity that, with a great sigh, she let him take her in his arms, surrendering to his comfort.

“Think, Katie, we can be married.”

She stirred in assent.

“You have always been my wife, but now you can have my name. I’ve always longed for you to have that.”

No more Kitty O’Shea, she thought with silent gratitude. No more Mr. Fox, Mr. Carpenter, Mr. Preston, Mr. Stewart. They could all be buried in the same grave.

“But I still intend to see George Lewis immediately after Christmas,” she said stubbornly. “If you think I’m going to let Willie stand in court posing as the innocent and injured husband, you’re mistaken. We must defend ourselves. We must!”

He had drawn away from her. Although she could still put her hand out to touch him he suddenly seemed an infinite distance away, his face proud and withdrawn.

“My people will stand by me. Do you imagine I care what the English think?”

“The majority of your people are Roman Catholics who will do what their priests tell them to.”

He nodded slightly. “Yes, the Church will be against me, but do you really think the people will listen to it to that extent? I have been their hope for too long. I’m a much more visible and practical hope in this life than their Heavenly Father who seems to have turned a remarkably blind eye on their sufferings for a very long time. And if that sounds like blasphemy, then I’m a blasphemous fellow.” He stretched himself wearily. “Let’s go to bed, darling. I’ll read you to sleep.”

The tensions of the day had exhausted her, and little as she expected to, she did fall asleep. She was awoken in the early hours of the morning by Charles twisting and turning beside her. He was in the grip of one of his nightmares. He had not had one for a long time. She thought he had completely outgrown them.

She had to shake him awake, and he opened his eyes saying in great distress, “They thought I had deserted them.”

“Who thought that?”

He turned and came fully awake.

“Kate? What is it? Did I have a nightmare?”

“Yes, tell me what it was.”

“I don’t know. It’s gone.” He buried his face against her shoulder. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

But she knew his nightmare hadn’t gone, and she knew what it was. He had been lying to her all evening. He cared desperately about his people in Ireland and the harm that might come to them through this new scandal. Through her, Kitty O’Shea, the woman whom they would like to see burned on one of their bonfires, or with a stake through her heart.

K
ATHERINE WAITED ONLY UNTIL
Christmas Day was over before putting on town clothes, her fur-trimmed cape and bonnet, for it was very cold, and making a journey to London to call on her sister Anna.