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 passion 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 shirt-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, passed
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 embarrassment, 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 shiny 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 shifted
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-ship. 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 ship and calling for help before he could get his
assailant 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 niggers 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 substitute
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 nightshirt 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 Horeb “?’
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 Horeb.” 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 Rock of Horeb.” 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 emancipated 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.’
‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question,’ said Augusta Goold. ‘M. de
Villeneuve arranged to send me a wire when he was ready for our men, and
I can’t well send them sooner.’
‘Ah,’ said the Captain, ‘but it seems to me the Frenchman is inclined
to dawdle. Don’t you think that if we went over it might hurry him up a
bit?’
She agreed that this was possible, but represented the difficulty of
keeping the men suitably employed in Paris for perhaps three weeks or a
month.
‘You see,’ she said, ‘they are all right here in Dublin, where I can
keep an eye on them. Besides, they have all got some sort of employment
here, and I don’t have to pay them. I haven’t got money enough to keep
them in Paris, and they won’t get anything from Dr. Leyds until you have
them on board the steamer.’
Captain Quinn seemed satisfied, but later on in the evening he returned
to the subject.
‘I can’t help feeling that it would be better for me, at all events, to
go over to Paris at once. I shouldn’t ask to draw any pay at present. I
have enough by me to keep me going for a few weeks.’
‘But what about the men? Will you come back for them?’
‘No, I think that would be foolish and unnecessary. There is no use in
attracting attention to our movements. We can’t have a public send-off,
with cheers and that sort of thing, in any case, or march through the
streets like those ridiculous yeomen. Our fellows have got to slip
away quietly in twos and threes. We can’t tell whether we’re not being
watched this minute.’
There was a note of sincerity in the Captain’s voice which convinced
Hyacinth that he was genuinely frightened at the thought of having a
policeman on his track. Miss Goold, too, looked appropriately solemn at
the suggestion. As a matter of fact, the authorities in Dublin Castle
did occasionally send a detective in plain clothes to walk after her.
It is not conceivable that they suspected her of wanting to blow up
Nelson’s pillar or assassinate a judge. Probably they merely wished to
exercise the members of the force, and, in the absence of any actual
crime in the country, felt that no harm could come to anyone through the
‘shadowing’ of Miss Goold. The plan, though the authorities probably did
not consider this, had the incidental advantage of gratifying the lady
herself. She was perfectly acquainted with most of the officers who were
put on her track, and was always in good spirits when she recognised one
of them waiting for her in Westland Row Station. Captain Quinn kept a
watch on her face with his sharp shifting eyes while he spoke, and he
was quick to realize that he had hit on a way of flattering her.
‘You are a person, Miss Goold, of whose actions the Government is bound
to take cognisance. I dare say they have their suspicions of me, and if
you and I are seen together in Dublin during the next week or two there
will certainly be inquiries; whereas, if I go over to Paris at once,
there will be no reason to watch you or anybody else.’
Augusta Goold hesitated.
‘What do you say, Mr. Conneally?’ she asked.
Hyacinth was puzzled at this extreme eagerness to be off. A suspicion
crossed his mind that the Captain meditated some kind of treachery. He
made what appeared to him to be a brilliant suggestion.
‘Let me go with Captain Quinn. I can start to-morrow if necessary. I
should like to see something of Paris; and you know, Miss Goold, I’ve
plenty of money.’
He thought it likely that the Captain would object to this plan. If
he meditated any kind of crooked dealing when he got to Paris, though
Hyacinth failed to see any motive for treachery, he would not want to be
saddled with a companion. The answer he received surprised him.
‘Delightful! I shall be glad to have a friend with me. In the intervals
of military preparation we can have a gay time--not too gay, of course,
Miss Goold. I shall keep Mr. Conneally out of serious mischief. When we
have a little spare cash we may as well enjoy ourselves. We shan’t want
to carry money about with us in the Transvaal. We mean to live at the
expense of the English out there.’
Augusta Goold smiled almost maternally at Hyacinth.
‘My dear boy,’ she said, ‘what seems plenty of money to you won’t go
very far in Paris. What is it? Let me see, you said two hundred pounds,
and you want to buy your outfit out of that. Keep a little by you in
case of accident.’
‘Well,’ said the Captain, ‘that’s settled. And if we are really to start
to-morrow, we ought to get home to-night. Mr. Conneally may be ready
to start at a moment’s notice, but he must at least pack up his
tooth-brush. May we see you safe back to town, Miss O’Dwyer? Remember,
we shall expect a valedictory ode in the next number of the _Croppy_.
Write us something that will go to a tune, something with a swing in it,
and we’ll sing it beside the camp fires on the veldt. Miss Goold’--he
held out his hand as he spoke--‘I’m a plain fellow’--he did not look in
the least as if he thought so--‘I’ve led too rough a life to be any good
at making pretty speeches, but I’m glad I’ve seen you and talked to you.
If I’m knocked on the head out there I shall go under satisfied, for
I’ve met a woman fit to be a queen--a woman who is a queen, the queen of
the heart of Ireland.’
It is likely that Augusta Goold, though she was certainly not a fool,
was a little excited by the homage, for she refused to say good-bye,
declaring that she would see the boat off next morning. It was a promise
which would cost her something to keep, for the mail steamer leaves at 8
a.m., and Miss Goold was a lady who appreciated the warmth of her bed in
the mornings, especially during the early days of March, when the wind
is likely to be in the east.