Cashelmara

by Susan Howatch

  “Yes, I know, but I should feel safer … more secure …”

  “Then it’s a terrible failure I’ve been if you can only feel sure of me with a child in your arms.”

  “It’s not that. But I do so love babies, and I would like … so much …”

  “I know.” Indeed I did feel sorry for her, for I knew how much she regretted that a past sickness prevented her from having another child, but at the same time I couldn’t help but secretly look upon it as a blessing in disguise. Of course if we’d had a child I’m sure I would have been pleased, but romance has a mysterious way of dissolving at the first flap of a baby’s shawl, and it wasn’t as if neither of us had brought a child into the world before.

  “At least we have Ned,” said Sarah, trying hard to be sensible. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy a visit to the shore.”

  “We won’t go for the whole month,” I said. “We’ll go for a week so as not to give Phineas offense, but then we’ll come back to Boston and find a fine apartment.” I was wondering as I spoke if Ned too privately rated his new surroundings shoddy-rich, but although I watched him closely I saw no sign of discontent. His appetite, which had dwindled in New York, had returned. He wolfed down plate after plate of that delicious Irish food, and later I heard him laughing as he played in the garden with the girls. The girls would giggle and scream and Ned would be almost rowdy.

  “It’s a wonderful thing to see young people enjoying themselves,” said Phineas Gallagher benignly. It was the night before we were all due to leave for Newport, and he and I were alone in the dining room after dinner. “Help yourself to a cigar, Max, my friend,” he added with his usual hospitality after the servants had withdrawn, “and let’s have a cozy little chat together.”

  No cat ever crept up to a mouse as daintily as Phineas Gallagher tiptoed up to me that night.

  “Let me tell you a secret,” he said as we lighted our cigars and caressed our glasses of port, “I’m thinking of going into politics.”

  “Politics! Why, that’s a grand idea, Phineas!”

  “Well …” He sighed. “I’d like to do something with my money, and a little power never did a man much harm. Politics ain’t much in America, but it would give those snobs something to think about if I became Mayor of Boston. They couldn’t look down their noses at me then, could they? Now, I never thought I’d give two cents for what the snobs think, but it’s amazing how your values change when you find your wife’s been slighted and your little girls made to cry for something that ain’t their fault. It’s an unjust world and no mistake.”

  “It’s a terrible world, Phineas,” I said, tucking into my port.

  “What I want now,” he said, puffing away at his cigar, “is to be respectable. It’s my dearest wish in life. I want my darling wife and girls to be happy and treated as ladies.”

  “Very proper too,” says I, thinking what good port it was.

  “So I’m selling out of my gambling interests,” he said, “and I’m selling out my share in the brothels too. My money’s going to be clean, as clean as the purest money in all Boston, for politics is a low-down dirty game, Max, as we both know, and a man’ll make enemies who’ll stop at nothing to fling mud at him and make it stick.”

  I forgot the port. “You’re selling out of the gambling interests?” I said nervously, thinking of my job.

  “That’s right, Max, but don’t worry. I’ll not let you down. I’ve taken a real liking to you, Max, and I want to do all I can to help you. Indeed I can’t remember when I last met a man I liked as much as I like you.”

  We swore eternal friendship and drained our glasses. He filled them up. I wondered what was coming.

  “Well, Max,” says he when we’re puffing our cigars again, “I’ve been honest with you and told you my dearest wish in life. What’s your dearest wish, may I ask, if you’ll be so good as to be honest with me?”

  “Why, sure I’ll be honest with you, Phineas,” I said. “My dearest wish is to go back to Ireland and settle an old score with my landlord’s agent who ruined me.”

  “There’s something about a pardon, isn’t there—or am I mistaken? Liam mentioned it, but perhaps he didn’t get the story straight.”

  I told him about MacGowan and my trial. I’d never told him about it before since I’d had no wish for him to know I was an escaped convict. I’d simply told him I’d left Ireland after a dispute with my landlord. Of course I’d planned to confide in him later and seek his help, but he’d been so generous to me since my arrival that I hadn’t liked to ask for too much too soon.

  “To be sure that’s the greatest miscarriage of justice I ever did hear!” said Phineas. “Have a little more port.”

  I absent-mindedly reached for the decanter.

  “A packed jury, you say,” said Phineas, “and your landlord and his agent sleeping in each other’s beds, the terrible perverted sinners, may God have mercy upon their souls.”

  “Everything they did was illegal,” I said, grinding out my cigar. “I was no ordinary tenant. I had a deed of leasehold to my land and Lord de Salis couldn’t evict me as he could the others, but once I was taken prisoner by the military my home was set on fire. They claimed it was an accident but it was deliberate, for my deed of leasehold was destroyed and afterward Lord de Salis says he knows nothing of any deed and that I invented the story and that as I’m just a tenant like anyone else he’s evicting me. I wanted to have a lawyer, but I had no money and they wouldn’t let me see a lawyer anyway. There was nothing I could do but wait in jail for my trial, and when I was tried that bastard MacGowan told lies to convict me and every man on that jury was a Protestant and the judge had been born in a place called Warwick, which is in England, so he was as good as a Saxon for all he was an Irish judge.”

  “And a friend of Lord de Salis too, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Phineas.

  “A friend of the family, that’s for sure. Old Lord de Salis used to have an English estate in Warwickshire, and wouldn’t that have been near the town of Warwick?”

  “At the very least you deserve a new trial, Max. And at the most—”

  “At the most I must surely be pardoned. Phineas, I never gave the order to burn Clonagh Court and I never gave the order to shoot MacGowan. It’s all very well to accuse me of conspiracy, but there was no conspiracy. There was a movement with every man of us in one mind—to take a stand against that villain MacGowan and protect our families and homes. But they trumped up false evidence against me, MacGowan saw to that, because I’ve always been a thorn in his side and because Lord de Salis has always been against me, ever since I had a hand in banishing his first lover to Germany over twenty years ago.”

  “It’s a clear-cut case, Max,” said Phineas. “An innocent man victimized by sodomites. The dear little Queen wouldn’t like it at all.”

  “I wrote to the Queen,” I said bitterly, “but of course my letter will never have reached her. I wrote to Parnell too, but—”

  “When was this?”

  “After Home Rule was defeated at Westminster.”

  “Where did you send the letter?”

  “To London. To the House of Commons.”

  “Hm. That may not reach him, but never mind. I know where he can be reached.” He held out the wooden box to me again. “Have another cigar.”

  I knew Phineas was high up in the Clan, but I’d never guessed how high. I knew too that he had met Parnell several times during Parnell’s American visit, but he had never told me they corresponded. It was reassuring to know that the Clan could keep its secrets well when it chose.

  “Parnell’s a great leader, Max,” Phineas was saying. “It’s the fashion now to be impatient with him, but if he came back to America they’d all be flocking to his side. I’ll write to him for you.”

  By this time I was so excited I could hardly speak. I had dreamed of help on this scale but had never really believed such a dream could ever come true. “You … he … he’d listen to you?” I stammered. “If you wrot
e? About me?”

  Phineas laughed. “Why, to be sure he’d listen, Max! I’ve poured a lot of my money into Ireland—didn’t you know the whole Home Rule movement has been financed by American money?—and I don’t think Charles Stewart Parnell has been ungrateful.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I said weakly and gobbled down some more port to steady myself.

  “He’ll listen,” Phineas was saying comfortably, “but it’ll still take time for him to act. The Queen don’t like him, as you can imagine, but Parnell has influence at Westminster and he’ll find a way to take care of your case. I’ll ask him to engage an attorney too to make sure your land’s restored to you in full as soon as you get home to Ireland.”

  “But about Parnell—how can you be sure the letter reaches him? They say he never answers his letters—never even reads them.”

  “He reads them if they go to the home of a lady he happens to be acquainted with. Don’t you worry about it, Max. The letter will reach Parnell, and eventually your case will be before the Queen. Ah, the dear little Queen! Such a lovely slip of a girl she was when she came to Dublin in forty-nine, so everyone says, and I’m sure I would have cheered her myself if I hadn’t been driven out of Ireland two years before by her cursed Saxon subjects, God rot them all to hell. She’s all German, you know,” he added as I bellowed the required “Amen,” “and it’s not her fault she has to be Queen of England.”

  “God save her gracious majesty!” I cried. “And just think, Phineas, when she pardons me I can go back at last to my dear old home, back at last to my fields stretching down to the lough—the darling lough!—and I’ll walk again down the street of Clonareen and I’ll pray once more in the holy church …”

  God, I was drunk! But so was he, for he became just as maudlin as I was. He called me his dearest friend and said there was nothing he wouldn’t do to restore me in triumph to my darling valley where I could live in peace with my lady, may the Holy Virgin and the saints protect us both.

  I almost wept at his magnanimity, and we had to repeat all our vows of eternal friendship.

  “How can I ever repay you?” I said, moist-eyed, in a hushed voice. “My dearest friend, how can I ever reward you for your help?”

  “Well, of course I’d do it all without even the whisper of a reward,” says he, wiping a tear from his eye, “but since you ask, Max, my friend, there is one small thing you can do for me.”

  “Anything,” I said. “Anything you like, Phineas, my dearest, kindest friend. Name it and it shall be yours.”

  “Well, I know it’s but an idle dream, Max,” says he, wiping away another tear, “but one day I’d like nothing better than to tell those snobs who call me shoddy that I have an Irish peer for a son-in-law.”

  I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t at last understand the reason for his amazing hospitality, but I was much too drunk to be either astonished or resentful. After all, if he had turned up on my doorstep with a young baron-to-be, wouldn’t I have coveted the precious heir for one of my own four daughters? It seemed a very sensible idea to me, and I was upset only because I knew very well I had no power over Ned’s future.

  “That’s a beautiful plan, Phineas!” I cried. “But Ned’s not my son. There’s no control I have—”

  “You’re his guardian in all but name, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “See here, Max. Sure, match-making’s a lost art nowadays and the world’s very different now from when my parents were growing up in County Wicklow, but there is such a thing as giving two young people an opportunity. Of course we wouldn’t say anything to them, for if we did they’d be sure to run off in different directions, but if later I sent one of my girls over to Ireland to spend some time with you and Sarah and Ned, who’s to say what mightn’t happen? Sarah could teach her how to be a real lady and present her at Dublin Castle …”

  I had one very sober thought: If I want my pardon I’d best vow to move heaven and earth for his daughter.

  “Which daughter did you have in mind, Phineas?” I said with interest.

  “Well, Connie and Donagh are too young, and although Clare’s the eldest she’s a home-loving child and too timid for a bold scheme like this one. I’d thought of Kerry. Kerry’s my favorite,” he added, his blue eyes misty with sentimentality. “She’s brave as a lion and as bold as a boy. She’d think it a fine adventure to visit you in Ireland for a while when she’s older.”

  I thought: There’ll be no need for Ned to marry her. Even Phineas himself has admitted you can’t make matches to order nowadays. Sarah and I can do our best for the girl and then she can go back to America with no harm done.

  “To be sure she’d have a wonderful dowry,” said Phineas. “I know a marriage settlement ties money up, but I could arrange it so you had a little money free. I was thinking you might be in a tough position, Max, when you settle down in Ireland again. After all, Sarah’s a lady, the finest lady I ever set eyes on, and she’ll have certain expectations which she’ll look to you to provide. And nothing hamstrings a man like lack of money, especially when there’s a lady at stake.”

  There was a pause. At last I said, “That’s true.”

  “We could say a third now,” said Phineas, “and two-thirds after the wedding.”

  “And if they don’t marry?”

  “You can keep the part I give you now.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough to take you back to Ireland in style. Enough to square your enemy MacGowan. Enough to keep you all till Sarah gets the settlement out of her husband.”

  There was another pause.

  “It would be a good investment for me,” said Phineas, “and a stroke of fortune for you. What do you say?”

  “You’ve dealt me a hand that suits us both,” I said.

  “So it’s settled. Max, you’re a fine upstanding man to do business with and no mistake, and I swear by the Holy Cross there’s no man I’d rather call my friend! I’ll have my lawyers draw up a deed so you can see I mean to stand by my word.”

  “Your word’ll be good enough for me!” I protested, but I didn’t protest too much, for after all there’s no harm in having a promise in writing. I thought the deal was a good one. I’d get some money with no uncomfortable conditions attached, for I wouldn’t have to pay it back when Ned eventually told Kerry he had other fish to fry.

  “Of course if you change your mind once you’re in Ireland about taking Kerry into your home,” said Phineas, “I’ll expect the money back, but don’t worry, Max, my lawyers can figure that out and put it all in the agreement. That’s what you pay lawyers for—to think of everything that could happen.”

  I made up my mind to read every word of the agreement at least three times. “Indeed and it must be wonderful to have good lawyers,” I said. “You won’t forget to tell them, will you, that the whole arrangement hinges on you winning me a pardon?”

  He laughed. “I’ll get you your pardon, Max!” He raised his glass. “Let’s drink to the dear little Queen who’s going to grant it to you!”

  “The dear little Queen!” I cried with enthusiasm.

  So there we were, two drunken Irishmen who detested all Saxons, drinking the Queen’s health as if she were a cherished relative after making plans to wed an Irish girl to a boy who had nothing but Saxon blood in his veins.

  “Was there ever such a splendid race as the Irish?” I exclaimed passionately to Sarah as I reeled into bed, but I couldn’t stay awake long enough to listen to her reply.

  Chapter Five

  I

  I DIDN’T TELL SARAH about the deal I’d made with Phineas until three weeks later when we had found a fine apartment for ourselves with a maid to cook and clean, just as I’d promised. Meanwhile, we had spent our week by the ocean at Newport, and Ned had had the time of his life racing around with those giggling girls all day long. The governess was very shocked and told Maura Gallagher it wouldn’t do to let girls run wild in the open air all day, but Maura just smiled and
said it seemed to do pretty nicely, thank you, and there was no need for the governess to trouble herself about a crowd of children enjoying some sunshine.

  “They’ll get very hoydenish,” said Sarah. “And freckled too.” But she made no other criticism, and all through that week she was charming to the Gallaghers and very passionate with me when we were alone.

  Newport had once been an old-world fishing village, but now it was very grand and fashionable, full of white marble palaces that had been built by millionaires. Phineas didn’t have a palace, though I’m sure he could have afforded one, but his villa was just his style, as comfortable and homelike as his house on Beacon Hill. Its gardens stretched to the rocks by the water’s edge, and you could see the sea from almost every window.

  I had decided I liked the sea after all. My experience on the immigrant ship had given me a distaste for it, but I soon discovered there was nothing more pleasant than taking a walk in the sea air or taking a dip in the water when it was too dark for anyone to see I’d left all my clothes by the water’s edge. Everyone made such a fuss about bathing in daytime, and I never had the patience for it, for there were all kinds of rules about what you had to wear and when you could go in without giving offense to the lady bathers. The sea was warm, far warmer than the ice-cold waters of Lough Nafooey, and I’d float around peacefully while I watched the stars and thought of Ireland.

  Since Newport had proved so pleasant it was easy to feel dissatisfied when we returned to city life, but our spirits rose again when we moved into our new home. I had been dreading looking for a place, for my weekly wage could hardly afford the kind of home I wanted for Sarah and I didn’t want to end up in the North End with all the other Irish immigrants. But Phineas came to the rescue again. He owned a house in a side road off Marlborough Street, a fine well-heeled neighborhood, and he arranged for us to live there rent-free. It was one of those modern houses with a kitchen in the basement, a dumbwaiter in the pantry and room for five in-help in the attics, so we hardly knew what to do with all the space, but, as I told Sarah, it was better to have too much space than too little. So we closed off the attics, engaged a servant who came in daily and were very comfortable. I was anxious in case Sarah said she didn’t like the furnishings, but she was so pleased to have a place of her own at last that she hardly seemed to notice them.