by A. O'Connor
“She’s one of them, but she’s not an heiress.”
“But that wedding cost a packet!”
“Her parents are wealthy, but I imagine most of their money will go to their eldest son, as things do. Clara will probably get something eventually, but not the bulk of it. I think she gets a small allowance from her family.”
“You’re not teasing me, are you?” Prudence sounded horrified.
“No.”
“Well, why the hell did you marry her then?” Prudence’s voice rose to a shout.
“I had my reasons.”
“Pierce! We packed you off to London in order to meet an heiress!”
“And I met many – but married none. Things don’t go according to plans always, Prudence. I didn’t find any millionairess to marry. They aren’t like apples on trees, waiting to be picked, you know.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. With your looks, a title, our family connections, they would be queuing up to snare you. I’ve seen the way women look at you.”
“Well, there’s no point in going over it now. What’s done is done. And I married Clara.”
“But for what purpose? She’s about as useful around here as a broken teapot! With her airs and graces! That girl was brought up to marry someone who could look after her financially and in every other way. Don’t you see, you and her getting married means neither of you can supply the other with what you both need. You both needed the same type.”
“Somebody with money?” he asked cynically.
“Somebody with money and somebody bloody capable in life!”
“I’m not a prostitute, Prudence.”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do now. A correct marriage would have secured our future. Now we’re going to have to keep struggling on. And who knows what’s coming if they get their Dublin parliament here? I can’t imagine their new government being kind to the likes of us with taxes and whatnot.” Sighing again, Prudence started to march out of the room. “I’ll have to get rid of one of the parlour maids. And the chauffeur is a luxury we can no longer afford. And we can kiss goodbye to the new plumbing system as well!”
Hearing Prudence come her way, Clara raced behind the staircase and hid there, watching as Prudence marched through the hall and out the front door.
Clara escaped from the house and down the steps in front of the house to the gardens. She fled down the next flight of steps that brought her to the next level and kept going until she arrived at the shore of the lake. She began to walk with a quick ferocity down the rocky shoreline, nearly falling a couple of times as she replayed the conversation she had overheard between her husband and sister-in-law. She finally stopped walking and sat down on a large boulder staring out across the lake, catching her breath.
Things now made sense to her. He was in London to make a financial match – maybe that was why he feigned disinterest at the beginning. She thought of the words Pierce had used when Prudence asked why he had married Clara knowing she had no money of her own: “I had my reasons.” What other reasons could he possibly have other than he was in love with her?
She felt suddenly overjoyed at thinking he had married her even though she couldn’t provide for him financially. It was the confirmation that she had hoped for and was beginning to be frightened she would never receive. Remembering their tour of the portraits and his brief history of his family, she remembered the bitterness when he described his father’s shooting. Something had obviously shut down in Pierce because of that, something that stopped him from being able to express his emotions and made him appear cold. But now she knew he loved her, and that was all she needed.
That night Clara came into their bedroom. The fire was still blazing in the fireplace, casting the room in a warm orange glow. In the bed Pierce lay on his back, fast asleep. She walked over and sat down on the side of the bed, gazing down at him, his features lit by the firelight. She placed a hand on his shoulder and his eyes flickered open. He turned around and looked at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
She smiled lovingly down at him. “It’s all right, you don’t have to say a word. I understand now. You’ve experienced so much pain in life that you can’t open up and show the real love that is in your heart.” She nodded earnestly at him as she spoke. “But now I know that love is there, I don’t need you to say anything any more.”
He glared at her in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you suffering from some mental illness?”
She continued to smile at him. “It’s all right, I understand. You need to hide your feelings, that’s just you.”
He shook his head in a bewildered boredom.
She bent forward and kissed him lovingly.
“It’s very late, Clara, go to sleep,” said Pierce as he closed his eyes.
49
The garden party was meant as an introduction for Clara to meet the Armstrongs’ neighbours and friends, many of whom had not made it to London for the wedding.
Clara sat at her dressing table, adjusting her hair. Outside she could hear much talking and jollity and she knew the party had already started. She hoped she could fit in with them. Their world seemed so different from the one she came from. She hoped they wouldn’t all be like Prudence who seemed to be a different species from her. She sighed and stood up, taking a final look in the mirror before turning and leaving the room.
The gardens to the right of the house had been set up with a series of round tables with white linen tablecloths on them that reached to the ground. In the tennis courts beyond couples were playing, while most of the visitors sat around the tables drinking tea and having sandwiches and being waited on by Fennell and the other servants.
Prudence and Pierce sat at a central table with their neighbours the Foxes and some other friends.
“So how is the new Lady Armstrong settling in?” asked Emily Foxe, a kind-looking woman in her forties, who lived in the nearest Big House.
“Judging from the ridiculous smile she seems to constantly have, quite well,” said Prudence, sitting back in the early summer sunshine with her cup of tea.
“You must be doing something right, Pierce, that she’s so happy,” Emily said.
Pierce lit up a cigarette.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” said Emily’s husband, George. “I hear she’s quite a looker.”
“That she is, I suppose,” said Prudence. “She has a refined beauty. Of course wouldn’t we all if we had never done a day’s work all our lives or even ever been on a horse?”
“Never been on a horse!” Emily was aghast.
“Or been on a shoot,” continued Prudence.
“What does she do in that case?” asked George.
“She paints. She finds the countryside so – inspiring!” Prudence laughed out loud. “Shhh, here she is.”
The party looked up towards the house and Clara was standing there at the top of the steps, a vision in a cream cotton dress that came down to her ankles, tied at the waist with a silk band, her pale blonde hair gleaming in the sun.
“Here you are!” said Prudence as Clara descended the steps and walked across the lawn to them. “Everybody – Clara, Lady Armstrong.”
There was a chorus of good-natured hellos from the crowd.
“We were just hearing all about you,” said Emily Foxe.
“All good, I hope?” said Clara, smiling at Prudence.
“Of course!” said Prudence. “Fennell, bring over an extra chair.”
Fennell did so and Clara joined the party.
Clara spent the day circulating among the guests. One thing she was well trained in and had an abundance of experience in was socialising, and she smiled and charmed her way through the afternoon. The people were friendly and polite to her, making her feel welcome, but she feared she had very little in common with them. She felt a simmering resentment from the numerous young women there, and by the way they vied for Pierce’s attention she felt they were put out that she
had married him.
“Will you be coming to the regatta next weekend, Clara?” asked Mrs Foxe.
“I’m not sure . . .” Clara looked to Pierce for guidance but none was forthcoming. “I’m sure I’d like to if –”
She broke off speaking as she heard a car come roaring up in front of the house, blowing the horn loudly all the way.
“Johnny Seymour is obviously back from Dublin,” said Prudence with a disapproving sigh.
Curious to see these latecomers, Clara hurried on to the terrace and climbed the steps to where the motor car had parked. A glamorous blonde in a silk cocktail dress was getting out of the car on the driver’s side while a good-looking man in a white tennis outfit, long white flannel trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt, got out of the passenger seat. Clara could see that they were very drunk.
Clara retreated down the steps and went to fetch Fennell to deal with the situation.
The couple stumbled down the steps and across the terrace into the gardens where the man had managed to take only a few steps towards the party when he fell to the ground, and lay out flat on the grass, causing everyone to gasp.
“Johnny!” screeched the blonde as Fennell came rushing to his assistance and tried to get him back up on his feet.
“He’s drunk!” stated Prudence. “He’s really too much, he has no manners whatsoever. Thinks he can get away with anything.”
As Johnny got back on his feet he roared with laughter. The girl with him started laughing too and they fell into each other’s arms and kissed.
“And I wonder who this new tart is?” said Prudence.
“Well, she won’t be around for long, I imagine. They never are,” said another.
“Who is he exactly?” asked Clara, her eyes wide at the spectacle of it all.
“Johnny Seymour, he’s an artist – a neighbour of ours,” Pierce said.
Clara was realising when they mentioned ‘neighbours’, they were usually referring to the next Big House which could be miles away.
“The Seymours have been around here as long as the Armstrongs,” Prudence said. “They live in Seymour Hall. They were a very respectable family and very wealthy in their day. I don’t know where they got Johnny from – but he inherited the house or whatever else there was left to inherit, but none of their manners.”
“He spends most of his time in Dublin,” said Mrs Foxe.
“Luckily for the rest of us,” said Prudence. “Because when he’s down here he fills Seymour Hall up with Fenians and bohemians. The antics I’ve heard go on there would make you blush.”
“Hello, everybody!” said Johnny loudly as he approached their table, his arm around the blonde.
There was a collective “Good afternoon, Johnny!” from everyone as they all smiled fake smiles at him.
“When did you get back from Dublin, Johnny?” asked Prudence.
“Last weekend,” said Johnny, grinning down at his blonde companion.
“We drove all the way down,” the blonde said proudly.
“Got stopped by the police in Longford for – what was the charge again, Dorothy?” Johnny asked.
“Driving without due care and injuring livestock – geese!” said Dorothy with the naughty expression of a schoolgirl.
“Tea, Johnny?” asked Prudence, raising the teapot.
“No, thanks.” He turned to Fennell. “I’d prefer a bottle of that fine gin Patience keeps stashed in your pantry, Fennell.”
“It’s Prudence!” corrected Prudence, annoyed.
“Yes, very prudent of you to keep it there. Come on, Dors – game of tennis, I think.”
Johnny and Dorothy headed over to the tennis courts.
“Fennell, bring the gin over to us at the court!” Johnny called over his shoulder as they went.
“He never changes,” said Mrs Foxe, looking on as Johnny and Dorothy tried to play tennis, but were too busy laughing and falling down to take the game seriously.
“She’s ruining the court with those heels!” Prudence pointed out as Dorothy ran around after the ball.
Clara found it hard to keep her eyes off Johnny and Dorothy’s high jinks for the rest of the afternoon, but managed to concentrate when Home Rule was being discussed around the table.
“It would already be through and the Dublin parliament would be set up if it weren’t for the Ulster people refusing to allow it,” said George Foxe.
“Well, I for one hope they keep protesting and it never comes to pass,” said Prudence. “I mean, the people are bad enough as they are – could you imagine what they’ll be like if they get their own parliament? You know, I remember as a girl being in town with Papa, and when we walked down the street people would automatically nod to us when we walked past. None of it now. They’ve lost all respect.”
“But if Dublin gets its own parliament it would empower the country,” said Clara, “and it would be like when it had Home Rule before. It would be very good for people like you.”
Everyone looked at Clara in surprise.
“That was when the peasantry knew their place and allowed their betters to run the country. Now, they’re taking over!” said Prudence. “They own all the shops and businesses in town. We’ve even had to engage a Catholic solicitor now since old Mr Brompton passed away.”
“Who have you employed?” enquired Emily Foxe.
“Conway. Very good, but one generation from tilling the fields, I imagine.”
Johnny Seymour suddenly appeared at the table.
“You can’t stop what’s going to happen so you might as well accept the inevitable,” he said.
“Are you in favour of Home Rule, Johnny?” asked Mrs Foxe.
“I’m in favour of what is unstoppable, and that’s Home Rule.”
Dorothy suddenly appeared. “Darling, isn’t it time we went home?”
“I suppose it is. We’ve an early rise in the morning. A court appearance for reckless driving involving geese!” He laughed. “Come along, Dors!” He put his arm around her and they set off for their car.
“He knows that many subversives, I wouldn’t be surprised what his politics are,” said Prudence.
The evening was one of banter and chat. Clara enjoyed it, but felt the whole occasion, apart from Johnny Seymour’s input, was subdued and it was so different from the glittering social occasions she was used to in London.
In her room that night after the party was over, she wondered where Pierce was and went over to the window and looked out. She saw him walking up from the gardens with one of the young women who had been a guest. She watched as they walked across the forecourt to a car. Pierce stood there smoking with one hand in his trouser pocket, as the girl chatted away happily, giggling all the time. The girl’s hand regularly touched his chest. Finally the girl got into the car, blew him a kiss and drove off.
Clara was brushing her hair when Pierce came in to the room. “Where were you?” she asked breezily.
“Just out for a walk.”
“On your own?”
“No, with one of the girls from the party” he answered. “Clara, in future it’s not advisable for you to give your opinions on politics.”
“I wasn’t giving my opinions. I was asking some questions.”
“Well, in future I think you’d better refrain from mentioning politics at all. It’s really not your place.”
“But if there’s to be a war between the northerners and the southerners over Home Rule, I think that will very much be my business!” Clara said forcefully.
“No, it won’t. It will have nothing to do with you.”
“Pierce, I spent the day hostessing your garden party without fault. I charmed your neighbours and friends and you pick fault because I expressed concerns over a political question?”
“I’m going out again.” He turned to go.
“At this time of night?” Clara called out after him.
“I need some air.” Pierce left the room.
Clara was left staring at her image
in the dressing-table mirror.
50
Joe drove out of the main entrance to the house, Clara and Pierce sitting in the back. Pierce had business in town and Clara had some shopping to do.
Clara could see a small Georgian house down the fields that seemed to be their nearest neighbour.
“Who lives there?” asked Clara.
“That’s Hunter’s Farm. It still belongs to us, part of the estate that wasn’t lost.”
“Really?” Clara was excited by this news of this pretty property still belonging to them. “Hunter’s Farm . . . I wonder why it’s called that?”
“Obviously because it was used by huntsmen during hunts in the past.”
Clara sat back, thinking. “And what do we do with the house?”
“It’s rented out to anglers in the summer months.”
“Pierce – perhaps Prudence would like to move there?” Clara asked excitedly. “I mean, it’s so close she could still run the farm, and yet have her own home – and give us some privacy.”
He looked at her dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. Firstly, we can’t afford to lose the income from the anglers who rent it. Secondly, we can hardly afford to run our house on the estate, let alone a second one. Thirdly, Prudence would never agree to move out of the house to be relocated to Hunter’s Farm.”