I cannot make out why everybody thinks I am a Liberal. Lady Moyne was
the first who mentioned to me this slur on my character. Babberly
evidently believed it. Then, shortly after the Belfast meeting, I had
a letter, marked "Private and Confidential," from Sir Samuel
Clithering. Although Clithering is not a member of the Government, he
is in close touch with several very important Ministers. Under
ordinary circumstances I should not mention Clithering's name in
telling the story of his letter. I know him to be a conscientious,
scrupulously honourable man, and I should hate to give him pain. Under
ordinary circumstances, that is, if things had gone in Ulster in the
way things usually do go, Clithering would have felt it necessary to
assert publicly in the papers that he did not write the letter. This
would have been very disagreeable for him because he does not like
telling lies; and the unpleasantness would certainly be aggravated by
the fact that nobody would believe him. So many important and exciting
things, however, have happened in Ulster since I got the letter that I
do not think Clithering will now want to deny that he wrote it. I
have, therefore, no hesitation in mentioning his name.
This letter was written in the best politico-diplomatic style. I had
to read it nine times before I could find out what it was about. When
I did find out I made a translation of it into the English of ordinary
life, so as to make quite sure of not acting beyond my instructions.
I was first of all complimented on not being a party politician. This,
coming from one of the Government wire-pullers, meant, of course, that
I was in his opinion a strong Liberal. I have noticed for years that
the only party politicians in these islands are the people who are
active on the other side; and that party politics are the other side's
programme. My correspondent evidently agreed with Lady Moyne and
Babberly that as I was not a Conservative, I must be a supporter of
the Government.
Having made this quite unwarranted assumption, the letter went on to
suggest that I should ask Conroy if he would like a peerage. The point
was not made quite clear, but I gathered that Conroy could have any
kind of title that he liked, up to an earldom. I know, of course, that
peerages are given in exchange for subscriptions to party funds, by
the party, whichever it may be, which receives the subscriptions. I
did not know before that peerages were ever given with a view to
inducing the happy recipient not to subscribe to the funds of the
other party. But in Conroy's case this must have been the motive which
lay behind the offer. He had certainly given Lady Moyne a handsome
cheque. He was financing McNeice's little paper in the most liberal
way. He had, I suspected, supplied Crossan with the motor car in which
he went about the country tuning up the Orange Lodges. It seemed quite
likely it was his money with which Rose's young man bought the gold
brooch which had attracted Marion's attention. Conroy was undoubtedly
subsidizing Ulster Unionism very generously. I suppose it must have
been worth while to stop this flow of money. Hence the suggestion
that Conroy might be given a peerage. This, at least, was the
explanation of the letter which I adopted at the time. I have since
had reason to suppose that the Government knew more than I did about
the way Conroy was spending his money, and was nervous about something
more important than Babberly's occasional demonstrations.
My first impulse was to burn the letter and tell my correspondent that
I was not a politician of any sort, and did not care for doing this
kind of work. Then my curiosity got the better of my sense of honour.
A man cannot, I think, be both an historian and a gentleman. It is an
essential part of the character of a gentleman that he should dislike
prying into other people's secrets. The business of the historian, on
the other hand, is to rake about if necessary through dust-bins, until
he finds out the reasons, generally disreputable, why things are done.
A gentleman displays a dignified superiority to the vice of curiosity.
For the historian curiosity is a virtue. I am, I find, more of an
historian than a gentleman. I wanted very much to find out how Conroy
would take the offer of a peerage. I also wanted to understand
thoroughly why the offer was made.
Some weeks were to pass before I learned the Government's real reason
for wanting to detach Conroy from the Unionist cause; but luck
favoured me in the matter of sounding Conroy himself. I had a letter
from him in which he said that he was coming to our neighbourhood for
a few days. I immediately asked him to stay with me.
Then I tried, very foolishly, to make my nephew Godfrey feel
uncomfortable.
"Conroy," I said, "is coming here to stay with me next Tuesday."
"How splendid!" said Godfrey. "I say, Excellency, you will ask me up
to dinner every night he's here, won't you?"
"I thought," I said, "that you wouldn't like to meet Conroy."
"Of course I'd like to meet him. He might give me a job of some kind
or get me one. A man like that with millions of money must have plenty
of jobs to give away."
When Godfrey speaks of a job he means a salary. Nearly everybody does.
"If I can only get the chance of making myself agreeable to him," said
Godfrey, "I'm sure I'll be able to get something out of him."
"I'm surprised," I said, "at your wanting to meet him at all. After
the post-card he wrote you--"
"Oh, I don't mind that in the least," said Godfrey. "I never take
offence."
This is, indeed, one of Godfrey's chief vices. He never does take
offence. It was Talleyrand, I think, who said that no man need ever
get angry about anything said by a woman or a bishop. Godfrey improves
on this philosophy. He never gets angry with any one except those whom
he regards as his inferiors.
"It would be a good opportunity," said Godfrey, "for your second
menagerie party. We've only had one this year. I expect it would amuse
Conroy."
"I'm nearly sure it wouldn't."
"We'll have to do something in the way of entertaining while he's
here," said Godfrey. "I suppose you'll have the Moynes over to
dinner?"
I knew that the Moynes were in London, so I told Godfrey that he could
write and ask them if he liked. I tried to be firm in my opposition to
the garden-party, but Godfrey wore me down. It was fixed for
Wednesday, and invitations were sent out. I discovered afterwards that
Godfrey told his particular friends that they were to have the honour
of meeting a real millionaire. In the case of the Pringles he went so
far as to hint that Conroy was very likely to give him a lucrative
post. On the strength of this expectation, Pringle, who is an easy man
to deceive, allowed Godfrey to cash a cheque for L10.
Conroy arrived on Sunday afternoon, travelling, as a millionaire
should, in a motor car. Godfrey dined with us that night, and made
himself as agreeable as he could. Conroy had, apparently, forgotten
all about the post-card. I did not get a minute alone with my guest
that night and so could do nothing about the peerage. I thought of
approaching him on the subject next morning after breakfast, though
that is not a good hour for delicate negotiations. But even if I had
been willing to attack him then, I hardly had the chance. Godfrey was
up with us at half-past ten. He wanted to take Conroy on a personally
conducted tour round the objects of interest in the neighbourhood.
Conroy said he wanted to go to the house of a man called Crossan who
lived somewhere near us, and would be very glad if Godfrey would act
as guide. It is a remarkable proof of Godfrey's great respect for
millionaires that he consented to show Conroy the way to Crossan's
house. They went off together, and I saw no more of Conroy till
dinner-time.
He deliberately avoided my garden-party, although Godfrey had
explained to him the night before that my guests would be "quite the
funniest lot of bounders to be found anywhere."
The Pringles must have been disappointed at not meeting Conroy. Miss
Pringle, whose name I found out was Tottie, looked quite pretty in a
pink dress, and smiled almost as nicely as she did when Bob Power took
her to gather strawberries. Mrs. Pringle asked Godfrey to dine with
them that night, and Tottie looked at him out of the corner of her
eyes so as to show him that she would be pleased if he accepted the
invitation. Pringle himself joined in pressing Godfrey. I suppose he
must really have believed in the salary which Godfrey expected to get
from Conroy.
Godfrey promised to dine with them. He explained his position to me
afterwards.
"I needn't tell you, Excellency," he said, "that I don't want to go
there. I shall get a rotten bad dinner and Mrs. Pringle is a rank
outsider."
"Miss Pringle," I said, "seems a pleasant girl. She's certainly
pretty."
"Poor little Tottie!" said Godfrey. "That sort of girl isn't bad fun
sometimes; but I wouldn't put up with boiled mutton just for the sake
of a kiss or two from her. The fact is--"
"Your banking account," I said.
"That's it," said Godfrey. "Pringle's directors have been writing
rather nasty letters lately. It's perfectly all right, of course, and
I told him so; but all the same it's better to accept his invitation."
Godfrey is the most unmitigated blackguard I've ever met.
"I hardly see Tottie Pringle as the next Lady Kilmore," said Godfrey;
"but, of course, that's the game."
I do not believe it. Tottie Pringle--I do not for a moment believe
that she ever allowed Godfrey to kiss her--does not look the kind of
girl who--
"You'll make my excuses to Conroy, won't you, Excellency? Tell him--"
"What is the exact amount of the over-draft?" I said; "he'll probably
want to know."
"Better not say anything about that," said Godfrey. "Tell him I had a
business engagement."
Godfrey's necessity gave me my opportunity. I had Conroy all to myself
after dinner, and I sounded him very cautiously about the title. The
business turned out to be much more difficult than I expected. At
first Conroy was singularly obtuse. He did not seem to understand what
I was hinting at. There was really no excuse for him. Our surroundings
were very well suited for delicate negotiations. I had given him a
bottle of champagne at dinner. I had some excellent port on the table
afterwards. My dining-room is a handsome apartment, a kind of large
hall with a vaulted roof. The light of the candles on the table
mingled in a pleasantly mysterious way with the twilight of the summer
evening. The long windows lay wide open and a heavy scent of lilies
crept into the room. The lamp on the sideboard behind me lit up the
impressive portrait of my great grandfather in the uniform of a
captain of volunteers, the Irish volunteers of 1780. Any one, I should
have supposed, would have walked delicately among hints and
suggestions in such an atmosphere, among such surroundings. But Conroy
would not. I was forced at last to speak rather more plainly than I
had intended to. Then Conroy turned on me.
"What does your Government think I should want the darned thing for?"
he said.
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose the usual reasons."
"What are they?" said Conroy, "for I'm damned if I know."
"Well," I said, "when you put it that way I don't know that I can
exactly explain. But most people like it. I like it myself, although
I'm pretty well used to it. I imagine it would be much nicer when you
came to it quite fresh. If you happen to be going over to London, you
know, it's rather pleasant to have the fellow who runs the
sleeping-car bustling the other people out of the way and calling you
'my lord.'"
Conroy sat in grim silence.
"There's more than that in it," I said. "That's only an example, quite
a small example of the kind of thing I mean. But those little things
count, you know. And, of course, the extra tip that the fellow expects
in the morning wouldn't matter to you."
Conroy still declined to make any answer. I began to feel hot and
flurried.
"There are other points, too," I went on. "For instance a quite pretty
girl called Tottie Pringle wants to marry my nephew Godfrey--at least
he says she does--simply because he'll be Lord Kilmore when I'm dead.
You've met my nephew Godfrey, so you'll realize that she can't
possibly have any other motive."
"What," said Conroy, "does your Government expect me to do in return
for making me attractive to Tottie Pringle?"
"It's not my Government," I said. "I'm not mixed up with it or
responsible for it in any way."
"I always understood," said Conroy, "that you are a Liberal."
"Everybody understands that," I said, "and it's no use my
contradicting it. As for what the Government wants you to do, I
haven't been actually told; but I fancy you'd be expected to stop
giving subscriptions to Lady Moyne."
"Is that all?"
"That's all I can think of. But, of course, there may be other
things."
"I reckon," said Conroy, "that your Government can't be quite fool
enough to mind much about what Lady Moyne does with my money. The
pennies she drops into the slot so as to make Babberly talk won't hurt
them any."
This was very much my own opinion. If I were a member of the
government--I rather think I actually was, a few weeks later--Babberly
would merely stimulate me.
"You can tell your Government from me--" said Conroy.
"It's not my Government."
"Well tell _that_ Government from me, that when I want a title I'll
put down the full market price. At present I'm not taking any."
Next day Conroy went off with Crossan in his motor car. He did not
come back. I got a telegram from him later in the afternoon asking me
to forward his luggage to Belfast. I forget the excuse he made for
treating me in this very free and easy way; but there was an excuse, I
know, probably quite a long one, for the telegram filled three sheets
of the paper which the post-office uses for these messages.
Conroy's sudden departure was a bitter sorrow and disappointment to
Godfrey. He came up to dinner that night with three new pearl studs in
the front of his shirt.
"What I can't understand," he said, "is why a man like Conroy should
spend his time with your upper servants; people like Crossan, whom I
shouldn't dream of shaking hands with."
"I'm afraid," I said, "that he's not going to give you that job you
hoped for."
"He may," said Godfrey. "I think he liked me right enough. If only he
could be got to believe that Power is robbing him right and left."
"But is he?"
"He's doing what practically comes to the same thing. Once Conroy
finds out--and he will some day--I should think I'd have a middling
good chance of getting his secretaryship. He must have a gentleman for
that job, otherwise he'd never be able to get along at all. I don't
suppose he knows how to do things a bit. He evidently doesn't know how
to behave. Look at the way he's gone on with Crossan since he's been
here. Now if I were his secretary--"
Godfrey mumbled on. He evidently has hopes of ousting Bob Power. He
may possibly succeed in doing so. Godfrey has all the cunning
characteristic of the criminal lunatic.
Three days later he got his chance of dealing with Bob Power. The
_Finola_ anchored in our bay again and Bob Power was in command of
her.