Pretentious Hearts

by M J Schlotter

  “Robert, old chap! It's so good to see you!”

  “And you as well Charles! To what do I owe this honor?” Robert spoke rising to his feet and shaking Captain Wesley’s hand.

  “Can't an old friend from the war just stop by and check in on his best mate?” Charles grinned.

  “Of course,” Robert agreed handing Charles a glass of brandy as they both sat down. “You're welcome here anytime Captain.”

  “I hope you'll still feel that way after you hear what I've come to ask.” Charles remarked cautiously.

  Robert raised his eyebrows, “And what is it you have come to ask?”

  “You know the hell we experienced,” Charles cleared his throat then taking a sip of his brandy continued, “If I can help prevent another war from starting, then by George I will do my damndest to do so.”

  “What are you talking about?” Robert inquired.

  “Have you not been following what's going on in Ireland?’ Captain Wesley asked perplexed. It’s been in the news for months now.”

  “I have been doing my best to avoid all news at present.” Robert spoke, his knuckles clenching on the arms of his chair. “There is nothing in this hell of a world that I care to know anything about.”

  Charles’s eyes widened, “But you are Lord Clifton. The Lord of Evanshire, an estate of great influence and prestige! Think of your political career! Before the war everyone thought you were going to be the next Prime Minister! You can’t just give that up. Surely, your political ambitions and talents of leadership to help our great country are still alive?”

  Alive? Was anything about him alive anymore? Robert wondered. “I have no desire for politics anymore. And as for England,” Robert added, his temper rising, “I plan on selling Evanshire and moving the hell away from this detestable continent!”

  Charles jumped to his feet, “Run away!” He bellowed, “You plan on running away! Do you think you are the only one who is scarred? The only one who has trouble keeping the images and horrors from crushing their mind?”

  Robert was now standing too, his voice raised. “I have served my country, I owe nothing more!”

  “Running away is not the answer,” Charles rounded, his voice filled with agitation. “If it's a change of scenery you need, then by all means take a holiday in Scotland, Wales, or France for heaven's sake, but don't throw away your life man!”

  “America is where I need to go,” Robert shot not caring what Charles thought of him. “A land whose soil is not marred from the Great War, a land where I can live alone in peace without anyone hounding me back into wretched politics!”

  “But another war could soon start! Do you not see Ireland is on the brink of full out revolution from England? If the I.R.A. gains the support of their entire countrymen or the backing of another nation…” Captain Wesley’s voice trailed. “If we could have someone stationed in the north to report the movements of the I.R.A., more blood shed could possibly be avoided.” Charles finished, then looking at Robert his eyes widened.

  Robert saw what he was implying before the words were out of his mouth. “Absolutely not!”

  “Not only would it give you a change of scenery,” Captain Wesley persisted, “but you would be doing your country a great service.”

  “I told you that I am finished with serving this country!” Robert spat.

  “Then,” Captain Wesley spoke, his voice even as he held Robert’s gaze, “do it as a final service for the man who saved your life.”

  Chapter 3

  Ireland, July 1919

  ​ Finding himself on a ferry, Robert gazed at the Irish coastline bobbing against the horizon. He had decided that he never wanted to see the English countryside again, and had in fact been ready to pack up and leave Europe entirely in the dust, but Captain Wesley, he recalled irritably, had forced his plans on hold.

  ​Robert replayed the conversation in his mind.“I am finished with politics. If I don’t find what I’m looking for,” he had told his friend, “then I am leaving for America.” Captain Wesley had been appalled. Robert had not cared, however, even when Wesley blatantly shared his thoughts on the subject. He had told Captain Wesley that his decision was made and would not be changed. It was politics, militarism, and frustration with nobility that Robert believed had greatly influenced the start of the damnable bloody Great War, and he was not going to be a nobleman in England when so many good men had died; let alone some repulsive politician who thought a war was their personal chess match! Wesley, although shaking his head disapprovingly at him, had finally come to understood, and for that Robert had been grateful. Captain Wesley, however, Robert recalled irritatedly, had an ace up his sleeve, more like a blow below the belt he fumed. Wesley was not going to let him leave without a fight. And that, Robert thought pursing his lips, is why he now found himself on his way to northern Ireland; a powder keg that could send him right back to war and the horrors he was fighting so hard to forget.

  Captain Wesley was a courageous man who had sailed the dangerous U-Boat infested waters. When Robert had reported to his ship after surviving his first vessel’s sinking, he and Captain Wesley had become friends, and that friendship was something he valued. It had been Wesley who had saved the very vessel they were on, and the reason, Robert knew, that the both of them and the rest of their crew were not at this very moment entombed in a watery mausoleum.

  It was because of this, that Robert had no choice but to agree to Captain Wesley’s proposition. As a final service, he had consented to observe the atmosphere of northern Ireland and report the actions of the I.R.A to Wesley, even though he would again be working for the damned politicians of the British government. Calling in the debt had been a low blow, and Robert knew Captain Wesley felt the same. After this, when his feigned sabbatical was over, his debt would be paid and he would owe his friend and country nothing else.

  Watching the Irish coast draw closer Robert remained firm, that despite his ulterior motives for visiting Ireland, even if the country proved to offer him some peace he was still going to sell everything from his estate and move to a land not suffocated by noble blood. At thirty, he knew that he would have no problem starting over in a country where no one would know or care of his lineage. America, he thought, would offer him a fresh start. Forcing himself to tear his gaze from the breathtaking emerald bluffs of the Cooley and sweeping Mourne Mountains that reached to the sea, he grabbed the sporting jacket he had thrown over the railing and returned inside knowing the boat would be arriving soon. Now, Robert huffed, he just had to suffer a few months stay at some rented estate.

  When the ferry docked at the Port of Warrenpoint, Robert descended down the gangplank taking in his first sights of Northern Ireland. Warrenpoint was a bustling harbor town sprawling in the shadow of the Mourne Mountains. These beautiful peaks, Robert thought, were breathtaking, but the Cooley Mountains across the Carlingford Lough would make an emerald look dull. These majestic mountain ranges, along with the bustling of merchants and fishermen, created a friendly atmosphere that not even he could deny. An atmosphere that at least presently was not suffocating. Putting on his hat, Robert scanned the multitude of people.

  ​“Lord Clifton!” a man exclaimed.

  ​Turning in the direction of the shout, Robert caught sight of a plump man in his fifties waving brightly. He waited as the stout man waddled forward and extended his hand.

  ​“Top of the morn’in to ya, I’m Brian Riley the man who contacted ya after seeing your advertisement in the paper.” The man spoke in a bright Irish accent shaking Robert’s hand.

  Looking at Robert, Mr. Riley could not help but think the man was completely what a gentleman should look like. Lord Clifton had a thin neatly trimmed mustache, dark brown eyes that were intelligent and sure of himself, dark brown hair though curly it was neatly kept, and a brown pinstripe suit and sporting jacket with a matching hat. Yes, Mr. Riley concluded, Lord Clifton was indeed a gentleman.

  “I’ve got a property I think would make a
perfect place for ya to spend your holiday.” Mr. Riley beamed, “The owners are old family friends, and one of them approached me ask’in if I could help. Ya see, as unfortunate as it is, their estate, Kerney Hall, is in the process of foreclosure. The daughter has asked that I show the estate in the hopes that someone will rent it. She can’t bear the thought of show’in it herself see. So what do ya say? We’ve got an hour ta spare, and it only takes about a half an hour to drive to Carlingford. So, how’s about we stop for an ale?”

  ​“If we must,” Robert replied bluntly, throwing his sporting jacket over his arm and reluctantly following Mr. Riley down the street. Small talk with the locals was not something he was keen upon engaging. Just because Captain Wesley had made him come here, he thought bitterly, did not mean he had to enjoy his time and most certainly did not mean he was required to chat up the natives.

  ​Seated inside the low lit pub, Mr. Riley turned his gaze towards his companion. Lord Clifton’s peevish expression was not something he could miss. As the man continued to stare at him from across the table, it was clearly evident to Mr. Riley that his lordship had no wish to keep his company; but if he was going to help Katie and her father try and keep their home...Mr. Riley shook his head, he had to speak to this surly gentleman he was beginning to like less and less each second.

  ​“So,” Mr. Riley asked accepting a tankard from the barmaid, “what’s it ya hope to find exactly here in Ireland?” It was a simple enough question to hopefully start a conversation with his stoic client he thought.

  ​“Relaxation.” Robert replied coolly as he took a swig of his beer. It seemed lying about his reason for being here would prove easier than he had thought. He could not stand being in England with constant reminders of the war. His beverage caught in his throat as he recollected the dreaded W word. Relaxation then was a half truth.

  ​Taking off his hat, Mr. Riley revealed a balding head with only a few wisps of blonde hair. “I see,” he spoke his light blue eyes holding Robert’s gaze, “I’m not quite sure you’ll find that here.” He continued sadly.

  ​“And why ever should I not?” Robert spoke agitatedly, his dark brown eyes annoyed but also looking a little puzzled. Captain Wesley had insisted he maintain a naïve tourist persona in order for him to glean insight on the I.R.A’s actions. Now in Ireland, he wished he really was just a tourist. Damn service to friends and country! He thought wearily. Why must he be a man of his word?

  ​“Because,” Mr. Riley continued, “Ya are British, and right now folks round here are keen to listen to the ideas of Michael Collins.” He finished wiping a bit of foam from his lips.

  ​“Humph,” Robert huffed taking a Scotch egg from the plate the waitress had brought to their table. He had been briefed by Captain Wesley of Collins and his push for an independent Ireland. There had been some incidents in Dublin, and it was only a matter of time he knew before the rest of Ireland was affected. But right now, if Wesley was right, the area where he was at was not as volatile. He picked up his tankard and took a healthy sip.

  ​Mr. Riley watched Lord Clifton as he drank from his tankard. There was no doubt that the man was rude. Drawing civilized conversation, let alone more than one word out of him, was like trying to tell a laboring woman her baby needed to be born in a minute. It was impossible! He had been wrong about his assessment of Lord Clifton being a gentleman, yes the man’s appearance certainly fit the part, but his manners did not!

  “And despite knowing about Collins, ya still wish to rent a house in the country,” Mr. Riley spoke shaking his head. He was finished trying to feign concern for the arrogant Englishman. It was true he had initially been anxious when he had answered Lord Clifton’s advertisement, he had felt like he was luring a rabbit into a trap. But now having met the man, he wasn’t so sure Michael Collins had the wrong ideas.

  ​“Only for the remainder of the summer,” Robert stated firmly.

  ​“I see. Well, if there’ll be no change’in ya mind then...I guess we’ve best be off.” Despite what he thought of Lord Clifton, he was determined to make him rent Kerney Hall for Katie’s sake. Putting his hat back on and setting a few coins on the table, Mr. Riley stood up and the two men left the pub.

  ​After being in the dimly lit pub, Robert squinted in the sunlight allowing his eyes to readjust. It really was a pretty countryscape he thought somewhat bemused. He had always planned on coming to Ireland at some point in his life although, shaking his head, he had thought he would have been here on a real holiday without the baggage of the Allied and Central Powers. Reaching Mr. Riley’s Model T, Robert draped his jacket across the back of his seat and climbed in.

  “Are ya ready Lord Clifton to see some of the most beautiful countryside your eyes have ever seen?” Mr. Riley smiled starting the engine.

  “Yes.” Robert remarked, his words full of boredom. Would this man and his incisive babble ever stop and just leave him to his thoughts?

  “Well then, ya just settle in and relax, because these emerald hills are about to do wonders for your soul.” Mr. Riley spoke in all seriousness, he loved his homeland and indeed believed its landscape could move the soul whether or not the man sitting next to him felt the same.

  Do wonders for your soul? Yes, that definitely would be the day, Robert thought sarcastically as he leaned back against his seat and gazed unimpressed at the passing landscape as the car began its trek out into the country.

  As they drove along, Robert allowed himself to remain lost in his thoughts. Occasionally, Mr. Riley would say something about the local area they were passing, and he would once again be engaged in conversation with the living. Reluctantly giving a nod or allowing an “ahem” to escape from his lips he found, would satisfy his irritating driver enough so that for the majority of the ride they were able to speed along in silence. The noises he had endured during battle, were enough that he wished he were deaf. Sounds would never again be pure or full of bliss.

  Mr. Riley thought of himself as being fairly perceptive, and although Lord Clifton acknowledged his remarks when prompted, he sensed that along with his complacent attitude, Lord Clifton was a man still grappling with demons from the war. His lordship needed time to heal, even if it would just make him more patronizing. He himself had not fought in the Great War, but having read A.P. Herbert’s novel The Secret Battle: A Tragedy of the First World War, which had just been published, he could only imagine the horrors Lord Clifton had endured. He almost felt sympathetic for the man. For like the book’s main character Harry Penrose, Lord Clifton must too have been an idealistic young officer who endured an internal breaking point; and now broken in sad surrender, was disillusioned and lost by the modern world. If only Ireland could offer him the relaxation he was looking for and also cure him of his pretentious airs, Mr. Riley pondered with sad annoyance as the two men continued speeding along lost in their own thoughts.

  ◆◆◆

  ​It seemed like she had just fallen asleep, when Katie found herself awake and squinting in the early rays of sunlight now streaming through her window. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she dreaded the thought of having to get out of the comforting caress of her nice warm bed. Even though it was summer, it was still extremely drafty in the old stone manor. Reluctantly abandoning her warm cocoon of quilts, she slipped on her light blue slippers and matching shawl, which hung draped across the back of the chair beside her bed where she had left it mere hours ago. Having bathed the night before, she proceeded to put on a calf- length olive green skirt and long sleeved white blouse. Scrunching her hair in a loose bun and pulling the white ribbon into a quick bow, she then slipped on a pair of brown lace up boots. Quickly making her bed, she looked sadly upon her room before closing the door. As she reached her father’s bedroom, she found that he had already left, and with a sinking heart closed the heavy oak door behind her.

  ​At least I did not have to remind him that I asked Mr. Riley to show our home, and that we have to be out of the house in an hour, she thought g
rabbing a basket and a few coins from the milk jar inside the pantry. Then leaving out the kitchen door, she began her long walk to town praying that whoever was coming to tour Kerney Hall would agree to rent it. If they did, there might be some chance of saving her beloved home.

  After walking the four miles to town, Katie stopped alongside the road and sat down on the grass. Pulling her shoes out from the basket, she had not kept them on long, she looked down at her bare feet. The soles were black, and the tops were filthy with dust. This was the price you had to pay if you wanted to enjoy the warm summer earth beneath your toes, and also keep from getting blisters, she chuckled putting her boots back on her feet. Straightening her skirt, she proceeded to walk towards town, but after walking a few yards, she had to leap off the road as a motor-car sped past leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

  “Watch where you're go’in ya maniac!” Katie yelled spinning around towards the back of the car as it continued barreling down the road. She saw that the driver was Mr. Riley, and sitting in the seat beside him, with dark brown curls protruding from under his hat, must be the man who held her family’s fate in his hands!

  ​She tried to keep them in, but it was useless. Seeing the car drive past had caused the tears to once again roll down her cheeks. She felt like such a fool! Why would anyone want to rent instead of buy Kerney Hall? A wave of anger flared within her, and she hastily wiped her cheeks. If this man refused to rent, she would find some other way to save her home she thought defiantly, as she continued walking hoping the sinking feeling of her heart would go away before she reached the bakery.

  ​“Is it true? Have you been served your final notice before the bank forecloses?” Mrs. Finnegan asked as Katie closed the bakery door behind her. The older woman held the young woman’s gaze as she tucked a piece of gray hair back into her bun waiting for a reply.

  ​“Yes,” Katie spoke sadly leaning her arms on the counter, “I’m afraid so.”