Hyacinth Part 10

The difficulty about his horsemans.h.i.+p Hyacinth endeavoured to get over.

He arranged with a car-driver of his acquaintance to teach him to groom and harness his horses. The man possessed two quadrupeds, which he described as 'the yellow pony' and 'the little mare.' Hyacinth began with the yellow pony, the oldest and staidest of the two. The little mare, who had a temper of her own, gave him more trouble. She disliked his way of putting the crupper under her tail, and one day, to her owner's great delight, 'rose the divil on them' when her new groom got the shaft of the car stuck through her collar.

The want of experience in shooting was more difficult to get over.

Grealy owned an antiquated army rifle, which he lent to Hyacinth.

It was, of course, entirely different from the Mauser, and it was impossible to get an opportunity for firing it off. However, there was some comfort to be found in handling the thing, and taking long and careful aim at a distant church spire through a window.

In the face of such enthusiasm, Miss Goold could not refuse her recruit.

She talked to him freely about her plans, and was eloquent about the spirit and abilities of M. de Villeneuve, who was to take charge of her soldiers after they joined him in Paris. On the subject of Captain Quinn she was much more reticent, and she refused altogether to introduce Hyacinth to his ten fellow troopers.

'There's not the least necessity,' she said, 'for you to meet them until the time for starting comes. In fact, I may say it is safer for none of you to know each other.'

Hyacinth experienced a thrill of agreeable excitement. He felt that he was engaged in a real conspiracy.

'For fear of informers?' he asked.

'Yes. One never can be quite sure of anyone. Of course, they can every one of them give information against me. You can yourself, if you like.

But no one can betray anyone else, and as long as the men are safe, it doesn't matter what happens to me.'

It was one of Miss Goold's weaknesses that she imagined herself to be an object of hatred and dread to the Government, and nothing irritated her more than a suspicion that she was not being taken seriously.

The first glimpse that Hyacinth got of the character of the men among whom he was to serve came to him through Tim Halloran. Tim was still sore from the scolding he had been given for his conduct at the Rotunda meeting, and missed no opportunity of scoffing--not, of course, publicly, but among his friends--at Miss Goold and her volunteers.

Hyacinth avoided him as much as possible, but one evening he walked up against him on the narrow footway at the corner of George's Street.

Halloran was delighted, and seized him by the arm.

'You're the very man I wanted to see,' he said. 'Have you heard about Doherty?'

Hyacinth knew no one called Doherty. He said so, and tried to escape, but Halloran held him fast.

'Not know Doherty! How's that? I thought you were in all dear Finola's secrets. Faith! I heard you were going out to fight for the Boers yourself. I didn't believe it, of course. You wouldn't be such a fool. But I thought you'd know that Doherty is one of the ten precious recruits, or, rather, _was_ one of them.' He laughed loudly. 'He'll fight on the other side now, if he fights at all.'

'What do you mean>' asked Hyacinth uneasily.

He was not at all sure what view the authorities in Dublin Castle might take of recruiting for the Boer service, and Miss Goold's hints about informers recurred to his mind alarmingly. Perhaps this Doherty was an informer.

'Well,' said Halloran, 'I was in one of the police-courts this morning doing my work for the _Evening Star_. You know I report the police news for that rag, don't you? Well, I do. My column is called "The Doom of the Disorderly." Rather a good t.i.tle that for a column of the kind!

There didn't appear to be anything particular on, just a few ordinary drunks, until this fellow Doherty was brought in. I thought I recognised him, and when I heard his name I was certain of my man. He hadn't done anything very bad--a.s.saulted a tram-conductor, or some such trifle--and would have got off with a fine. However, a military man turned up and claimed him as a deserter. His real name, it appears, is Johnston. He deserted six weeks ago from the Dublin Fusiliers.'

'How on earth did he impose on Miss Goold?' asked Hyacinth.

Halloran looked at him curiously.

'Oh, I shouldn't say he exactly imposed upon Finola. She's not precisely a fool, you know, and she has pretty accurate information about most of the people she deals with.'

'But surely------'

Halloran shrugged his shoulders.

'My dear fellow, I don't want to shatter your ideal, but the beautiful Finola wants to work a revolution, and you can't do that sort of thing without soiling your hands. However, whether he imposed on her or not, there's no doubt about it that he was a deserter. Why, it appeared that the fool was tattooed all over the arms and chest, and the military people had a list of the designs. They had a perfectly plain case, and, indeed, Doherty made no defence.'

'What will they do with him?' said Hyacinth, still uneasy about the possibility of Doherty's volunteering information.

'I don't know,' said Halloran. 'I should think the best punishment would be to send him out to Ladysmith. I dare say the Boers would pa.s.s him in if the circ.u.mstances were explained to them. By the way, it would be rather funny if he met the other nine out there on a kopje, wouldn't it?

He might take them prisoners, or they might capture him. Either way the situation would have its comic possibilities.'

CHAPTER XI

Miss Goold lived that part of her life which was not spent at political meetings or in the office of the _Croppy_ in a villa at Killiney. A house agent would have described it as a most desirable residence, standing in its own grounds, overlooking the sea. Its windows opened upon one of the best of the many beautiful views of Dublin Bay. Its half-acre of pleasure ground--attended to by a jobbing gardener once a week--was trim and flowery. Its brown gate shone with frequently renewed paint, and the drive up to the door was neatly raked. Inside Miss Goold's wants were ministered to by an eminently respectable man-servant, his wife who cooked, and a maid. The married couple were fixtures, and had been with Miss Goold since she started housekeeping.

The maids varied. They never quarrelled with their mistress, but they found it impossible to live with their fellow-servants. Mr. and Mrs.

Ginty were North of Ireland Protestants of the severest type. Ginty himself was a strong Orangeman, and his wife professed and enforced a strict code of morals. It did not in the least vex Miss Goold to know that her servants' quarters were decorated with portraits of the reigning family in gilt frames, or that King William III. pranced on a white charger above the kitchen range. Nor had she any objection to her butler invoking a nightly malediction on the Pope over his tumbler of whisky-and-water. Unfortunately, her maids--the first three were Roman Catholics--found that their religious convictions were outraged, and left, after stormy scenes. The red-haired Protestant from the North who followed them was indifferent to the eternal destiny of Leo XIII., but declined to be dictated to by Mrs. Ginty about the conduct of her love affairs. Miss Goold, to whom the quarrel was referred, pleaded the damsel's cause, and suggested privately that not even a policeman--she had a low opinion of the force--could be swept away from the path of respectability by a pa.s.sion for so ugly a girl. Mrs. Ginty pointed out in reply that red hair and freckles were no safeguard when a flirtation is carried on after dark. There seemed no answer to this, and the maid returned indignantly to Ballymena. She was succeeded by an anaemic and wholly incompetent niece of Mrs. Ginty's, who lived in such terror of her aunt that peace settled upon the household. Miss Goold suspected that this girl did little or no work--was, in fact, wholly unfit for her position; but so long as she herself was made comfortable, it did not seem to matter who tidied away her clothes or dusted her bedroom.

Miss Goold, in fact, had so far mastered the philosophy of life as to understand that the only real use of money is to purchase comfort and freedom from minor worries. She had deliberately cut herself adrift from the social set to which she belonged by birth and education, and so had little temptation to spend her substance either in giving parties or enjoying them. The ladies who flutter round the Lord Lieutenant's hospitable court would as soon have thought of calling on a music-hall danseuse as on Miss Goold. Their husbands, brothers, and sons took liberties with her reputation in the smoking-rooms of the Kildare Street Club, and professed to be in possession of private information about her life which placed her outside the charity of even their tolerant morality. The little circle of revolutionary politicians who gathered round the _Croppy_ were not the sort of people who gave dinner-parties; and there is, in spite of the Gospel precept, a certain awkwardness nowadays in continually asking people to dinner who cannot afford a retributive invitation. Occasionally, however, Miss Goold did entertain a few of her friends, and it was generally admitted among them that she not only provided food and drink of great excellence, but arranged the appointments of her feasts luxuriously.

On the very day after his interview with Tim Halloran Hyacinth received an invitation to dinner at the Killiney villa. Captain Quinn, the note informed him, had arrived in Dublin, and was anxious to make the acquaintance of his future comrade-in-arms. It seemed to Hyacinth, thinking over the story of Doherty, unlikely that the whole corps would be asked to meet their Captain round a dinner-table, but he hoped that some of them would be there. Their presence would reconcile him to the awkwardness of not possessing a dress-suit. Grealy, who had occasionally dined at the villa, warned him that a white s.h.i.+rt-front and black trousers would certainly be expected of him, and Hyacinth made an unsuccessful effort to hire garments for the night which would fit him.

In the end, since it seemed absurd to purchase even a second-hand suit for a single evening, he brushed his Sunday clothes and bought a pair of patent-leather shoes.

He arrived at the platform of Westland Row Station in good time for the train he meant to catch. He was soon joined by Miss O'Dwyer, who appeared with her head and neck swathed in a fluffy shawl and the train of a silk skirt gathered in her hand. The view of several flounces of nebulous white petticoat confirmed Hyacinth in his conjecture that she was bound for Miss Goold's party. No one who could be supposed to be a member of Captain Quinn's corps appeared on the platform, and Hyacinth became painfully conscious of the shortcomings of his costume. He thought that even Miss O'Dwyer glanced at it with some contempt. He wished that, failing a dress-suit, he could have imitated the Imperial Yeomen who paraded the streets, and donned some kind of uniform. His discomfort reached a climax when Ginty received them at the door, pa.s.sed Miss O'Dwyer on to the incompetent niece, and solemnly extracted the new shoes from their brown-paper parcel.

Miss Goold stood chatting to Captain Quinn when Hyacinth entered the drawing-room. She moved forward to meet him, radiant and splendid, he thought, beyond imagination. The rustle of her draperies, the faint scent that hung around her, and the glitter of the stones on her throat, bewildered him.

It was not till after he had been presented to his commander that he was able to take his eyes off her. Then, in spite of his embarra.s.sment, he experienced surprise and disappointment. He had formed no clear idea of what he expected Captain Quinn to be like, but he had a vague mental picture of a furiously-moustachioed swashbuckler, a man of immense power and hirsute hands. Instead, there stood before him a slim, small man, clean shaved, with s.h.i.+ny black hair smoothly brushed. His clothes were so well cut and his linen so glossy that he seemed fittingly placed even beside the magnificent Finola. His hand, when Hyacinth shook it, seemed absurdly small, and his feet, in their neat pumps, were more like a woman's than a man's. Then, when he turned to resume his conversation with his hostess, Hyacinth was able to watch his face. He noticed the man's eyes. They were small and quick, like a bird's, and s.h.i.+fted rapidly, never resting long on any object. His mouth was seldom closed, and the lips, like the eyes, moved incessantly, though very slightly.

There were strange lines about the cheeks and jaws, which somehow suggested that the man had seen a good deal of the evil of the world, and not altogether unwillingly. His voice was wonderfully soft and clear, and he spoke without a trace of any provincial accent.

During dinner Captain Quinn took the largest share in the conversation.

It appeared that he was a man of considerable knowledge of the world. He had been a sailor in his time, and had made two voyages to Melbourne as apprentice in a large sailing-s.h.i.+p. His stories were interesting and humorously told; though they all dealt with experiences of his own, he never allowed himself to figure as anything of a hero. He recounted, for instance, how one night in Melbourne Docks he had run from a half-drunken Swede, armed with a knife, and had spent hours dodging round the deck of a s.h.i.+p and calling for help before he could get his a.s.sailant arrested. His career as an officer in the mercantile navy was cut short by a period of imprisonment in a small town in Madagascar.

He did not specify his offence, but gave a vivid account of life in the gaol.

'There were twenty of us altogether,' he said--'nineteen n.i.g.g.e.rs and myself. There was no nonsense about discipline or work. We just sat about all day in an open courtyard, with nothing but a big iron gate between us and liberty. All the same, there was very little chance of escape. There were always four black soldiers on guard, truculent scoundrels with curly swords. A sort of missionary man got wind of my being there, and used to come and visit me. One day he gave me a tract called "Gideon." I read the thing because I had absolutely nothing else to read. In the end it turned out an extremely useful tract, for it occurred to me that the old plan for defeating the Midianites might work with the four black soldiers. I organized the other prisoners, and divided them into three bands. We raked up a pretty fair subst.i.tute for pitchers and lamps. Then one night we played off the stratagem, and flurried the sentries to such an extent that I got clear away. I rather fancy one or two others got off, too, but I don't know. I got into a rather disagreeable tramp steamer, and volunteered as stoker. It's so difficult to get stokers in the tropics that the captain took his risks and kept me. I must say I was sorry afterwards that I hadn't stayed in the gaol.'

The story was properly appreciated by the audience, and Hyacinth began to feel a liking for the Captain.

'Do you know,' said Miss Goold, when their laughter had subsided, 'I believe I know that identical tract. I once had an evangelical aunt, a dear old lady who went about her house with a bunch of keys in a small basket. She used to give me religious literature. I never was reduced to reading it, but I distinctly remember a picture of Gideon with his mouth open waving a torch on the front page. Could it have been the same?'

'It must have been,' said the Captain. 'Mine had that picture, too.

Gideon had nothing on but a sort of nights.h.i.+rt with a belt to it, and only one sleeve. By the way, if you are up in tracts, perhaps you know one called "The Rock of h.o.r.eb "?'

Miss Goold shook her head.

'Ah, well,' said the Captain, after appealing to Mary O'Dwyer and Hyacinth, 'it can't be helped, but I must say I should like to meet someone who had read "The Rock of h.o.r.eb." I once sailed from Peru in an exceedingly ill-found little barque loaded with guano. We had a very dull time going through the tropics, and absolutely the only thing to read on board was the first half of "The Rook of h.o.r.eb." There were at least two pages missing. I read it until I nearly knew it off by heart, and ever since I've been trying to get a complete copy to see how it ended.'

Some of his stories dealt with more civilized life. He delighted Miss Goold with an account, not at all unfriendly, of the humours of the third battalion of the Connaught Rangers. He quoted one of Mary O'Dwyer's poems to her, and pleased Hyacinth by his enthusiastic admiration of the Connemara scenery. Good food, good wine, and a companion like Captain Quinn, gladden the heart, and the little party was very merry when Ginty deposited coffee and cigarettes and finally departed.

In Miss Goold's house it was not the custom for the ladies to desert the dinner-table by themselves. Very often the hostess was the only lady present, and she had the greatest dislike to leaving a conversation just when it was likely to become really interesting. Moreover, Miss Goold smoked, not because it was a smart or emanc.i.p.ated thing to do, but because she liked it, and--a curious note of femininity about her--she objected to her drawing-room smelling of tobacco.

When Ginty had disappeared, and the serious business of enjoying the food was completed, the talk of the party turned on the South African campaign and the prospects of the Irish volunteers. Captain Quinn displayed a considerable knowledge of the operations both of the Boers and the British Generals. For the latter he expressed what appeared to Hyacinth to be an exaggerated contempt, but the two ladies listened to it with evident enjoyment. He delighted Miss Goold by his extreme eagerness to be off.

'I don't see,' he said, 'why we shouldn't start to-morrow.'