Dark Rosaleen (11 page)

CHAPTER 6

When Fitzgerald returned to Leinster House he walked through the vast apartments noticing nothing of the splendours, absorbed in a matter that made him indifferent to his surroundings.

When a servant said that his Grace was waiting for his return and wished urgently to see him, he stared at the man absently and did not for a while understand the message.

‘Leinster,’ he repeated, ‘wishes to see me? Ah, yes, I have been away a long time. I suppose it is late — near midnight, is it not?’

*

The second Duke of Leinster was an amiable man, good-natured and pliant to a fault, lacking in energy and decision. He had always been a man respected for his virtues; his private life was blameless and he treated all who were in his service or on his estate with great consideration.

Though deploring the measures of the English Government he had remained loyal to it, and though he had been himself one of the Irish volunteers from which the Society of United Irishmen had sprung, he had withdrawn from that organisation the moment it was made illegal. No one who knew him could hope for any manner of action from him, no one who had even a slight acquaintance with him could fail to like him.

He waited for his brother in the little writer’s closet by his bedchamber. In the place of honour was a circular portrait of his father, twentieth Earl of Kildare who, through the favour of the English King, had merged that proud title behind that of Duke of Leinster. The Duke moved about restlessly, snuffing the two candles so severely that they were nearly extinguished, turning over a pile of English and Irish newspapers, glancing at the travelling clock on the desk in the corner. It was a wet night, he could hear the rain slashing against the glass of the tall window. Edward entered, his cloak still about his shoulders.

‘Edward, where have you been? Pamela has been much distressed.’

‘Here,’ thought the younger brother, ‘is, soon enough, the first painful part of what I have undertaken. I must, in a way, deceive Robert.’

‘Why should you suspect, sir, that I have been anywhere in particular?’

‘Pamela’s been very anxious about you, Neddy. She sent Tony after you, and he, loitering at the corner of the street, saw you enter the house of Mr. Oliver Bond. That man is against the Government; there were a great many other gentlemen there to-night — you are not joining any secret club of Jacobins, Edward?’

‘Nay, that I can swear.’

‘But you evade me,’ exclaimed the Duke, eyeing his brother with some irritation, and pacing about; ‘you put me off. Edward, have you come to Dublin to mix in these infernal politics?’

Edward frowned, cast his uneasy glance on the ground, and murmured;

‘I must leave Leinster House.’

‘Why?’ asked the Duke quickly, pausing beside him and gripping him by the arm. ‘You
are
, then, involved in something dangerous, and you fear it may react on me! You could have no other reason for leaving us.’

‘Oh yes, indeed, I have many,’ smiled Edward, looking up with a return of his usual high spirits. ‘Pamela doesn’t like the place, it makes her cry and throws her into the vapours. It is too vast and gloomy and imposing, my dear Robert; why, the little maid we brought with us from Kildare has done nothing but weep ever since she came up. She says that she feels herself in a prison.’

‘Ah, you
do
put me off. You
are
involved in something perilous. Good God, Edward, you cannot be so mad as to really be contemplating undertaking anything against the Government? You ought to know, better than any man, how resolute they are to put down the least sign of revolt!’

‘They do it already, do they not?’ returned the younger Fitzgerald. He was a man who could not for more than a moment or two disguise his feelings, for he was impetuous and forthright. ‘With presses raided and peasants scourged, and men tortured in the Castle yard. Bah! You need not talk of severity, Robert; they are indulging in it already.’

‘These miseries cannot be put to rights,’ sighed the Duke unhappily, ‘by any secret intrigues, Edward. You must understand that.’

‘What I engage in could not be called a secret intrigue,’ said his brother warmly. ‘If I consult with a few respectable, intelligent and honest men, as to what means may be taken to put right this wretched state of affairs, do not blame me, brother, and do not inquire into my actions. I say I will leave Leinster House. I was wrong to come here. But it is a pity, sir, that you cannot join us.’

And he added with an air of frankness: ‘Which is it, Robert, principle or timidity?’

Leinster could not help laughing, though ruefully, at this.

‘You’re impossible, Edward! I suppose it’s both. I’ve no mind to ruin the family, and I’ve got many friends among the English. The Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, are my friends, and I must confess they are the most good-natured fellows in the world, and would not see any harm done. I may say the same of Lord Campden, these are humane men, Edward, like ourselves.’ He spoke with a certain vehemence as if he were trying to convince not only his brother but himself.

‘I know they are our friends, and it is difficult to go against them. But these humane men, Robert, are not helping Ireland. Yes, I know, they are all kind-hearted and gentlemanly enough, but we are not dealing with them, but with Clare, Castlereagh and their followers. Lord Clare might be called the ruler of Ireland now — his influence is supreme — and it is overwhelmingly for the English supremacy.’

‘Clare is being loyal,’ interrupted Leinster uneasily, ‘to the oaths he took to the sovereign when he vowed obedience — I don’t blame him, and you mustn’t either, Edward, of all men,’ he added warmly, ‘for Clare himself has spoken to me about you.’

‘About me?’

‘Yes. I believe he spoke to Charles too, and to Henry when he was last in Dublin. It was a warning. He said “he wished to God you’d get clear of Ireland.”’

‘Now, why should he say that?’ mused Fitzgerald, puzzled but not alarmed. ‘And I living so quietly at Kildare!’

‘Your principles are too well known, and that stand you made in Parliament; and then you having to leave the army after that stupid banquet at White’s —’

‘Well, when York became commander-in-chief he offered me back my commission, did he not, and I refused it.’

‘You don’t suppose that puts you in a better light in Clare’s eyes, do you?’ cried Leinster, exasperated. ‘It is no good for us to argue, Edward. Let Ireland save herself. Revolutions don’t bring people happiness. You ought to have seen that in France. Surely you had your lesson there. Murder, chaos, anarchy!’

‘We are not pressing for revolution, Robert, but for reform.’

‘Well, those fellows in France said that, did they not?’

He put his hand to his head with a gesture of weariness, for he was not a man who could put much force and energy into any argument. Above all he loved a peaceful life. With a considerable effort he took his younger brother by the arm and tried a personal appeal.

‘Look here, Edward, the happiness of too many people are in this. There’s Pamela and her children. She’s no one but you, you know. Her position is peculiar, you do owe it to her to be careful. I don’t speak for myself nor for Henry, nor for Charles, and yet we and our families do stand to be ruined if you are imprudent — it’s horrible in Kildare now —’

‘I thought of that,’ murmured Edward, moved, ‘and I confess I don’t like it. Yet it’s hard for a man to be tied by his family duties, Robert. You must allow me some independence.’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed the Duke, now really alarmed. ‘You speak like a man already involved! Tell me what you have done?’

‘No, that I can’t, sir.’

‘Well, then,’ exclaimed his elder in increasing distress, ‘that proves that you are indeed in some lunatic intrigue.’

‘It proves nothing of the kind, only that I must conduct my affairs myself, and that I will tell you nothing of what I do or where I go. You may set your mind at ease,’ he added, with a kind of desperate joviality, ‘for I am minded to take a voyage abroad.’

‘Not to France? That would confirm my worst fears!’

‘Not to France,’ said Edward, but his smile seemed to contradict his words. ‘I am going to Hamburg. I can take Pamela with me, and Tony, all the retinue, and so you will be at peace, Robert. You will know at least that I am not attending treasonable meetings in Dublin.’

‘I shall not be at all sure that you do not go on treasonable errands abroad.’ The Duke was baffled, unhappy. He looked regretfully at his younger brother, whom he held very dear. Without much hope he added:

‘Lady Louise Conolly, Mr. Ogilvie and Lady Sarah Napier, they have all spoken to me about you, Edward, in terms of loving alarm — I don’t like to think what our mother would feel — I’ve kept it from her —’

‘Well, you can soon tell them that I am safely out of the country, then there’ll be no more to be said.’

‘Have you told Pamela about this?’

‘Why, not yet. Your man met me as soon as I came into the house, and it is so late.’

‘Well, then,’ said Leinster, ‘go and see Pamela, late as it is, see what she says at being dragged off to Hamburg on I know not what wild-goose chase. I leave my cause in Pamela’s hands.’

CHAPTER 7

‘This is what I don’t like — it will get worse, too. Leinster, as head of the house, really has a right to my loyalty, but the country, those other men? I don’t know. It’s difficult.’

Fitzgerald went to the handsome formal apartment assigned to himself in Leinster House and found Pamela waiting for him, seated on her bed, wrapped in a white cashmere shawl. As soon as she saw her husband enter the room she ran towards him with a fierce little cry, and caught him by either arm and looked into his face as if she would read his very heart.

‘Why, Pamela, what now? What’s taken you? You should be abed.’

‘You’ve been so long.’

‘Well, Leinster stayed me — that’s no fault of mine. He had his man in wait for me. Why are you so distressed, Pamela?’ and his heart sank.

‘I don’t know. Every one tells me that you’re imprudent. I’m not liked, either. They consider me a foreigner. Oh, Edward, what are you engaged on? That man, that Mr. Sheares, who came to Kildare has taken you away from me after all!’

‘Pamela, Pamela, you must not speak so, nor think so. You know that nothing could take me away from you.’ But even as he held her in his arms and tried to comfort her, something of her apprehension was communicated to him and seemed to chill his own enthusiasm.

‘Listen, Pamela, you must not behave like this.’ He spoke with some authority. ‘I have a secret to tell you. It is for you and for no one else. Can I confide in you when I see you so distraught?’

She checked herself instantly at that, anything was better than losing his confidence.

‘I always promised I would tell you everything, Pamela, and so I will. No one else is to know, not even Leinster — I evaded him just now, and Heaven knows it was difficult and hurt.’ She drew away from him and sat on one of the stiff ornate sofas. Pamela loathed Leinster House, she looked round her with a half shudder as if she found herself imprisoned, and drew her shawl closely round her shoulders.

‘So, you
have
been doing something dangerous? But as long as you tell me… Come, Edward, I will forgive all.’

‘It is only this, Pamela. I and a few friends of mine are united together to try and do something for Ireland. Not in the way of violence, you understand, but of reform.’

‘Aye, aye, you need not tell me, Edward. I have heard all that before — in the talk at Belle Chase! Come to facts. What is it you must do?’

‘Well, dear, as I am a military man, and almost the only one among them, I believe, they want me to go to France and meet M. Carnot and General Hoche — and Mr. Wolfe Tone.’

‘Oh, my God, that dangerous man, that rebel! Banished, is he not? He would be hanged should he dare return!’

‘That has nothing to do with it, Pamela. He will not return to Ireland, or at least…’ He caught himself up, and Pamela, glancing over his shoulder, read his secret in his face; these two found no difficulty in understanding one another.

‘You plan for a French descent on Ireland?’

‘Hush, Pamela, you must not say that — even here.’

‘But did you not tell me that you would tell me everything?’

‘What I have to tell you, Pamela, is only this… We must go presently to Hamburg and there meet whoever is sent by the French Directory — it may not be necessary to go to Paris. I don’t know. Mr. O’Connor and Major Jackson will travel there by different routes.’

‘This is to arrange a rising in Ireland,’ whispered Pamela, still gazing at him fiercely.

‘Perhaps, dear, I do not know myself. I have these instructions. We will go together and we will take Tony and your maid. You shall travel in comfort.’

‘I don’t want to leave Ireland. I want to return to Kildare.’

‘God knows I do,’ and he added, with a strange simplicity, ‘these two months there should be much to do in the garden. I don’t like to leave my trees and flowers to another. But Pamela, there is no choice.’

‘What do you mean — no choice?’

‘I mean I’ve offered my services to these men and they trust me. There is not one of them who could leave Ireland with as little suspicion as myself. Indeed, dear, I do no wrong and nothing dangerous.’

‘Try not to mislead me with false comfort, Edward; but I will not complain or you will go deep in this business and not tell me of it.’ She put her hand to her lips and her fair head sunk on the sofa.

He came round the front of the sofa and went on his knees beside her. He wished she would stay in Ireland, in his mother’s care till the child was born, but dare not ask this.

‘Indeed, Pamela, I have been so happy with you, so content. You seem to fill up all the needs of every moment.’

‘Yet you cannot leave it at that, dear?’ she asked, and her nervous fingers touched the thick dark hair about his forehead. ‘You cannot be content with that happiness? You and I together in our cottage with the poor little children, and the silly birds and the flowers. No, you are a man and therefore all that is not enough for you!’

‘It is enough for me, Pamela, and you must know it. But those others —’

‘Why, what obligation have you to them?’

‘A man is worthless, surely, if he has no obligations to others, to all the world, dear. Things are happening in Ireland that I would not have you know of, and I surely have my part in trying to put their miseries straight… But come, Pamela, even if we should go to Paris you would make friends there.’

‘Paris? I should step over many graves there.’ They were silent, and again he had, vividly, that impression which had come over him so strongly in the coach as they drove to Tournai that wintry day, that surely neither of them was destined for happiness. Again that nameless menace fell like a shadow over both of them, but he brushed it aside.

‘Not a word, Pamela. Remember, I have trusted you and you only.’

‘Not a word,’ she replied, smiling. ‘And, after all, to whom should I speak? I have many acquaintances but no friends, and no
confidantes
.’

‘Lady Moira, Lady Castlereagh like you very much, Pamela. They want to be kind, to love you —’

‘For your sake!’ She leant back on the stiff cushions. Her little peaked face, peering through the loosened hair, looked ill.

‘I don’t want to be ungrateful, Edward, but you must understand I really am alone. I have no one but you. I do not even know quite who I am, and all my childhood was strange. Maybe I am only poor Ann Sims who has no right to the soft life she leads, and maybe I am a kind of disinherited princess who has sleeping furies in her blood. But whoever I am, my Edward, I have no one but you.’

Her hands found his and clutched them tightly; they were like two children lost in the dark.

‘No one but you in all the world, Edward.’

‘You’ve got the babies, dear.’

‘They seem only part of you, and what should I do with them once you were gone?’

‘You must not talk so. You will get low-spirited. Trust me, believe in me.’

She smiled wistfully at the vanity of that; how could their mutual love, trust and loyalty save them from sorrow?

‘Stay here, Pamela. You ought not to travel now — I shall so soon return —’

She put her fingers quickly over his lips.

‘No more of that. If you leave me, if you ever leave me I shall die, do you understand? — die!’ Then, with a quick change of mood: ‘I wonder if I should, if it would be as easy as that?’