It was a pity really, she thought, how little, up until now, they had lived in the big Palladian house they had built: a month or two each summer, that was all. Often as not, they would use the more humble family house in Fingal. Perhaps it was indicative of her husband’s genial nature that, having done all that was required to raise his family in the eyes of the world, he had been quite content, instead of living in Wexford as a great lord, entertaining on a grand scale, to continue as the kindly country gentleman he really was. For her part, she was perfectly happy to live this way.
If some of the new Irish mansions were being set, like the greatest English houses, in huge landscaped parks, Mount Walsh had not yet attained such rural splendour. The house, big and impressive enough, to be sure, was fronted by open grass, with a ha-ha against the encroaching deer. But beyond that, and to each side, the woods and coppices followed straight and simple lines. The Wexford landscape around was very pleasant, though, with the open fields and modest hillocks, typical of the region, that had felt so familiar to the English yeomen farmers who had settled there.
And as the summer began, and she woke each morning to the glorious sounds of the dawn chorus, and walked out into the fields where the cows were grazing, or visited the dairy and watched the dairymaids at the milk churns, Georgiana began to experience, if not a lightening of the spirit, at least a sense of peace.
Thank God for her husband. He could not be there all the time, but he spent many weeks with her. His behaviour was perfect. If she felt moody, he would know when to leave her alone; but quietly, reassuringly, he was always there. With his broad face and kindly manner, George might not be deeply ambitious; but he was nobody’s fool, and she respected him. And when, walking alone with her down a country track, he would put his strong arm round her waist, she felt comforted, and thankful to have such a fine and understanding husband.
All the same, when he was not there, she might have been lonely. Several of the servants in the house had been with them in Dublin before; but to the people working on the estate, and to the tenant farmers, she and George were still newcomers, and seldom seen at that. She found them friendly and polite enough, in a watchful manner— for they knew well enough whose money had paid for the estate—but there were only a few with whom she was on terms of any intimacy. She was quite glad, therefore, to find that there was one person in the house who seemed to be far more lonely than she was.
Brigid was her name. She was only sixteen, a thin, pale, dark-haired creature. Like many country girls, she had been sent to work as a servant with a local farmer near her home, some thirty miles up the coast. It was a good way for a girl in a large family to earn her keep and learn to be a good housekeeper until such time, God willing, as she found a husband. But the farmer had not treated her well, and she had only been there a year when the local priest, hearing of the opening through a friend in the area, had spoken to her parents and arranged for the girl and her mother to visit the housekeeper at Mount Walsh, who had engaged her, pending Lady Mountwalsh’s approval. To work in such a fine establishment was considered an opportunity, and on being assured that it was a kindly household, the mother had left the girl there.
But she wasn’t happy. Not that she was mistreated: far from it. But Mount Walsh was too far from her home for her to make visits to her family more than once or twice a year. And though she did her work well enough, she hardly spoke a word. “She’s pale as a ghost and thin as a rake,” the housekeeper told Georgiana, “and I can’t get her to eat more than a mouthful at mealtimes.”
So Georgiana had taken the girl under her wing, used her as an occasional lady’s maid, taught her how to brush and dress her hair, and persuaded her to talk a little as she did so. She learned that Brigid’s father was a craftsman, and that she could read and write. Under such kindly treatment, the girl seemed to become a little more cheerful, and even put on an ounce or two of weight. But the unforeseen benefit of her kindness was that, because of her concern for the girl’s welfare, Georgiana had a small project to occupy her attention, and it left her feeling less lonely and more cheerful herself.
She was already feeling better by the month of July, when Hercules and Kitty came down, accompanied by little William. She was glad to have them there. If Hercules sometimes inspected the estate as though he’d be glad when his parents were out of it and the place was his, if he pointed out that he, personally, would make better use of the house for political entertaining than they seemed willing to do, she knew that he meant no harm. It was just his nature. If he warned her that several of the local gentry and farmers to whom she had taken a liking were damned Patriots—and that he had proof of it—she did not let it disturb her.
Much of the time, he was quite pleasant. Kitty, meanwhile, came into her own. Her conversation might be limited, but she was entirely at home in the country; she knew exactly how everything should be done; and everyone there, from the farmhands to the scullery maid, soon treated her with a friendly respect, as though they had known her all their lives. She’ll probably run the place, Georgiana thought without any rancour, far better than I. And watching her walk arm in arm with Hercules, clearly happy, she had to admit that perhaps Hercules had made the right choice for a wife.
But the great joy came from baby William.
He was a darling little boy; and as she was his grandmother, no one seemed to mind how much time she spent with him. Indeed, if Hercules and Kitty were otherwise engaged, they were glad that she was there to sit and play with him by the hour. Sometimes she summoned Brigid to help her, and the girl proved to be rather good with him. He was such a merry child. And he still resembled Patrick, although she was careful not to say so.
Once the cook, who had worked for Fortunatus many years ago, remarked quite innocently to Hercules: “Doesn’t the baby look just like Master Patrick did when he was that age?”
“Not at all,” said Hercules coldly.
“Ah, but you’d have been too young to remember,” she added kindly.
“He doesn’t look like him at all,” Hercules thundered, and gave the cook such a terrible look that she never mentioned the subject again. It was as well, Georgiana thought, that Hercules was not the master of the house, or the poor woman would surely have been sent packing.
For Georgiana, it was almost as if she’d had another baby herself; and the presence of the child, and the happy prospect of the years ahead while he was growing up, did much to restore her still further. By the end of the summer, George smilingly told her: “You look much more like yourself.”
That autumn, she returned with him to Dublin for the parliamentary session. There were no dramatic developments during those months. News came that the Redcoats were doing well against the American rebels in the south, and that the newly arrived General Cornwallis had crushed a southern army under Gates. “The slaves are flocking to join us, too, as we’ve promised them freedom,” George reported. Not that this news had discouraged Grattan and his Patriots. Having won concessions the previous session, he was urging an independent Irish Parliament now; but his support was limited. News came that in England, young Richard Sheridan had got himself elected to the Parliament in London. By Christmas, they had a letter from him making clear that he was already close with some of the leading opposition Whigs, “who are quite determined to do something for the Patriots of Ireland,” he wrote, “if ever we can turn out Lord North—who remains like the rock of eternity.” At the end of the spring, Kitty gave Hercules another son. They called the baby Augustus. It pleased Georgiana to think that he was probably conceived at the house in Wexford.
And it was to Wexford that she went back, with no small pleasure, in the month of May.
It was George’s idea that Patrick should accompany her. He himself had business to attend to and would not be able to come down for some weeks. Hercules and Kitty had decided to spend time with the new-born baby nearer to Dublin, at the house in Fingal. But Patrick, who had been working hard for several months without a brea
k, had said that he’d be delighted to go down to Wexford with her for a while.
He was certainly a most delightful travelling companion. He seemed instinctively to know when to tell an amusing story and when to be quiet. Sometimes he rode beside her carriage, sometimes he sat in the carriage with her, as they made an easy journey down, passing through Wicklow in the afternoon and stopping for the night at Arklow, before leaving early to reach Mount Walsh comfortably before the evening. Once at the big house, he immediately went to greet the cook and the other servants he remembered from his childhood; the next morning, when she took him round the estate, he spoke so gently and kindly to all those he met, some in English, others in Irish, that by the end of that day, he clearly had won them all. He also paid a call on Father Finnian, the local priest, to let him know that, without embarrassing his Protestant cousins at the big house, he would come quietly to Mass during his stay. And two days later, to his great delight, he discovered that one of the local gentlemen, a Catholic named Kelly with a small estate only three miles distant, was a fellow he had known some years before in Dublin.
He also made one other discovery. The gentleman in question had an unmarried sister, a few years younger than himself. They came to call at Mount Walsh a few days later. Jane Kelly was charming, intelligent, and pretty.
“I should think,” Georgiana said after they’d gone, “that you might consider getting married one of these days.”
Indeed, there was no reason why he shouldn’t. With the modest legacy he’d received from Fortunatus, and the profits he was beginning to make in the wine trade, Patrick Walsh was well enough established to look for a wife. He was a gentleman; his father had been much loved. And as long as George and I are alive, he’ll have family connections to help him, she thought.
“You’re always matchmaking,” he said with an affectionate grin. But two days later, he paid a morning call upon his friend and did not return until after dinner.
They settled into a very pleasant routine. Once a week, his clerk would send him a messenger with a report of the business from Dublin. He would spend an hour or two on this and write a reply. Apart from this, he was at leisure.
Some days, they would pay calls in the area and entertain in return. At least once a week, she noticed, he would see the Kellys. On quiet days, he and Georgiana would go for walks, eat together, and read to each other in the afternoon. He also set to work in the library. George had asked him if, while he was at Mount Walsh, he would catalogue the books there and draw up a list of recommendations for purchases. He went about the job thoroughly. “There’s an excellent core of books which have come from Uncle Fortunatus’s house,” he told her. “You also have a remarkable collection of beautifully bound piffle.” Georgiana informed him that they had been sent by a book dealer. “Who was damn certain no one would ever bother to open them,” he laughed. “Anyway, I’m drawing up a list.” The only trouble, he told her, was that he would need to get the list fair-copied. “My own hand is so illegible that I’m quite ashamed of it. I’ll ask Father Finnian if he knows anyone,” he suggested.
He was surprised, the following day, when she brought the girl Brigid into the library and asked him to judge whether her copying might be satisfactory. He was astonished when she not only wrote a beautiful script but seemed to have no difficulty with titles in French or in Latin. “She can even decipher my hand,” he laughed, “which is the most remarkable accomplishment of all. Your father sent you to a hedge school, I suppose?” he asked the girl, and she nodded. For an hour or two each day, thereafter, Brigid was told to sit at the great library table and work on the notes Patrick gave her. Georgiana had been pleased to see, on her return, that her pale young protégé had continued to put on a little weight, and was delighted with herself for thinking of this further stratagem to give the girl confidence.
Halfway through June, George arrived. He was delighted with Patrick’s efforts in the library and thanked him warmly. He also urged him to remain, but Patrick announced that he would return to Dublin the following day to attend to his business. That afternoon, he went to see the Kellys.
He joined George and Georgiana for a family dinner that evening, however. It was a delightful meal. The three of them dined together, not in the big formal dining room, but in a small parlour. The talk was general, but it soon turned to politics, and George gave them all the latest news.
“Grattan and his Patriots are quite determined to press ahead with their demands in the next session. I’ve spoken to many of them in the last month. The independent Irish Parliament they want would still be under the king; they aren’t trying to break away completely, like the Americans; but the English Parliament would have no further say in our affairs at all.”
“But they can’t get it,” Georgiana said.
“No. In the Dublin Parliament, they haven’t the votes. At Westminster, Lord North isn’t going to give it to them. If our young playwright friend Sheridan and his Whigs ever get in, they’ve promised to do something; but there’s no chance of that at present.”
“And the Volunteers?” asked Patrick.
“Reluctant. They’ve won their free trade. Most of them don’t want the trouble of a revolution.” He paused. “Except up in Ulster. The mood there is different. The Ulster Protestants have no love for England, for they’re mostly Scots Covenanters at heart. They’d be glad to go the American way any day of the week, I’d guess.”
Georgiana thought of her Law cousins.
“For them,” she remarked, “everything is a question of principle.”
“Probably,” said George, “but they can be contained.”
When they came to the dessert, the conversation turned to a more pleasant topic.
Georgiana had been especially enthusiastic about Patrick’s work in the library, and also rather pleased with herself at finding him his assistant.
“Do tell George about Brigid,” she begged.
So Patrick gave an account of the girl’s talents.
“Her father is a craftsman, but he can speak Latin, and she even has quite a few words of it herself. Sometimes, when she is waiting for me to give her some more to do, I see her quietly reading the books—and she chooses the better ones, too! I have had a number of conversations with her. And,” he gave them both a serious look, “though she is an unusually intelligent example, she represents more of our Catholic Irish peasantry than many Protestants suppose.”
George nodded.
“It was a point my father, quite rightly, never ceased to make.” He smiled. “And now, Patrick, I have a further favour to ask you, and one which we both hope will cause you to make more visits down here. Your recommendations for the library are so excellent, I wonder if you would consent to make the purchases for us, as you see fit, and install them here. In other words, take over the library and build it up into something fine.”
“Would you, Patrick?” Georgiana added her own plea.
Patrick pursed his lips. He could not help reflecting that his labour would actually be building up a library for Hercules: not an attractive prospect. George seemed to read his thoughts.
“If I do it myself, I know the result will be mediocre. Hercules will never bother at all, for he reads little. But I’d like our generation to leave something of excellence for little William and the generations to come. It would give me—and it would certainly have given Fortunatus—great joy to think that in a hundred years or two, future members of the family would show people a noble library and say, “Our cousin Patrick is to be thanked for this.”
After that, how could he refuse?
Patrick returned at the end of the summer, when George was also there, and the three of them had a very pleasant two weeks together.
Patrick had brought with him a list of the books he had already purchased, and four large, leather-bound volumes that were to become the library’s catalogue. He spent an entire day in the library with Brigid, setting up the catalogue, showing her exactly how the entries were to be
made, and checking all the entries on the list as she wrote them. At the end of this, he pronounced himself highly satisfied with her work and even took the trouble to talk to her for half an hour after she had finished, announcing to Georgiana afterwards: “You have a treasure there.”
While it would have been an exaggeration to say that Brigid had filled out that summer—for she was still thin and pale—Georgiana considered that she looked very much improved from her former state, and this well-merited praise from Patrick, she was sure, could only give the girl further confidence.
Indeed, a few days later, she came into the kitchen to find that Patrick had gone down there to see his old friend the cook. He was telling her and the other servants an amusing story. They had not observed her by the door, so she watched in silence, and it was a delight to see from all their faces that they obviously loved him. At the end of the story, there were peals of laughter; even Brigid smilingly joined in, and Georgiana realised that she had never seen the solemn girl laugh before. She quietly left, congratulating herself that, thanks to her own efforts and to dear Patrick, Mount Walsh was a happier place than it had been before.
But what about the Kelly girl? He had gone to the Kelly house the day after he arrived, and again a few days later. She invited Kelly and his sister to visit them for the day, early the following week. George performed his part as Patrick’s loyal kinsman, and seemed to get on famously with Kelly, while she discreetly praised Patrick to the girl. In the afternoon, they inspected a garden George had started to lay out, which gave Patrick and Jane a chance to walk alone together. But at the end of the day, when the visitors had gone and she found herself alone with Patrick and asked him what he really thought of the girl, his answer was rather unsatisfactory.
The Rebels of Ireland: The Dublin Saga Page 51
