MORE FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES
"_Thus while Thy several mercies plot
And work on me, now cold, now hot,
The work goes on and slacketh not._"
--VAUGHAN.
Willie was away more than ever after this, and I became so bored and
lonely that I told him that I must join him in London if he meant to
be there so much. He then proposed to give up the Patcham house and
move the small household to Harrow Road, London, temporarily, till we
had time to find something less depressing.
In going we also hoped to shake off an acquaintance who haunted us at
Brighton and Patcham, a Mr. D., but he soon found us out, and,
realizing that I was determined to be "not at home" to him, he took
to leaving gifts of beautiful Spanish lace at the door, directed to
me, and only the words "from Romeo" inside.
This man had lived most of his life in Spain, and was a remarkably
good judge of Spanish lace, and I must confess I was tempted to keep
the rich creamy-white stuff that arrived anonymously. This "Romeo"
was more than middle-aged, and, when he wrote that for "safety's
sake" he would address messages to me through the "agony" column of
the newspapers, Willie's wrath was unbounded.
He wrote to poor "Romeo" in sarcastic vein, alluding to his age and
figure, his insolence in addressing "a young and beautiful" woman
with his "pestilent" twaddle. He told him, too, that he withdrew
from all business transactions {35} with him, and would have much
pleasure in kicking "Romeo" if he dared call at the house again. I
was almost sorry for the foolish old man; but that was wasted on him,
for he continued, undeterred by Willie's anger, to address "Juliet"
in prose and verse in the daily papers. As he said, the "Daily Press
was open to all, and the Captain could not stop that!" I used to
laugh helplessly as Willie opened the morning paper at breakfast,
and, first gravely turning to the "agony" column, would read the
latest message to "Juliet" from her devoted "Romeo," becoming so
angry that breakfast was spoiled to him. The sudden cessation of our
acquaintance prevented our making that of Mme. Adelina Patti though
"Romeo" had arranged a dinner in order that I should meet her.
A few weeks after we arrived in Harrow Road Willie began to complain
of feeling ill, and a swelling that had formed on his neck became
very painful. He was confined to bed, and after great suffering for
weeks, Mr. Edgar Barker, who was constantly in attendance, said he
must operate to save Willie's life. I had no nurse, as at this time
we were in such financial straits that I really did not know which
way to turn, and Willie was too ill to be asked about anything. Mr.
Barker said to me, "You must hold his head perfectly still, and not
faint." So he operated, and all went well, in spite of my
inexperience in surgical nursing. Mr. Barker, for whose kindness at
this time I can never be sufficiently grateful, helped me in every
way, and would not allow even Willie's mother and sister to do so, as
their presence irritated the patient so intensely.
During this time of trouble a Mr. Calasher, a money-lender, called to
have some acceptances of Willie's met. I left Willie's bedside for a
few minutes to see him, and he was kindness itself, agreeing to a
renewal on my signature {36} alone, and most kindly sending in some
little delicacies that he thought Willie might fancy. When Willie
had recovered and went to see Mr. Calasher about the bills, it being
then more than ever impossible to meet them, he (Mr. Calasher) would
not consent to a further renewal, but tore the bills across and gave
them back to Willie, saying, "Don't worry yourself, Captain O'Shea,
but pay me when you can, and add six per cent. interest if you are
able." I am glad to say we did this within the year. His courtesy
about these bills was a great relief to me, as Willie was far too ill
to be spoken to about business, and I was at my wits' end for money
to meet everyday expenses. The accommodating Jew who lends the
indiscreet Christian his money--naturally with a businesslike
determination to increase it--has so much said against him that I am
glad to be able to speak my little word of gratitude of one who was
considerate and chivalrous to Willie as well as myself, to his own
detriment.
Better circumstances arising on Willie's recovery of health, we were
anxious to get away from the depressions of Harrow Road, with its
constant procession of hearses and mourners on the way to Kensal
Green Cemetery. After a weary hunt we finally decided upon a house
in Beaufort Gardens. My French maid rejoiced in returning to her
light duties as lady's maid, and reigned over a staff of maids in
unison with the butler. Selby, at last convinced that race-horses
were out of the question with us, left us, with mutual expressions of
esteem, to seek more congenial surroundings.
We went to Beaufort Gardens in 1872, and Willie insisted upon my
making many new acquaintances. We soon found ourselves in a social
swirl of visits, visitors and entertainments. I had always disliked
society, as such. {37} Willie, however, thoroughly enjoyed this
life, and as he was always worrying me to dress in the latest
fashion, and would have a Frenchman in to dress my hair before every
party, I became very rebellious.
Here my eldest daughter was born, and I was glad of the rest from
parties and balls--even though so many people I did not care to see
came "to cheer me up!" As soon as I was about again the life I found
so wearisome recommenced. After escorting me home from a dance or
reception that I had not wanted to go to, Willie would go off again
to "finish up the night," and one night, when in terror I was seeking
for burglars, I found a policeman sitting on the stairs. He
explained genially that the door was open, and he thought it better
to come inside and guard the door for the Captain's return!
Alfred Austin--not then Poet Laureate--was a great friend and
constant visitor of ours at that time. He had been at school--at
Oscott--with Willie, and he was, I remember, extremely sensitive to
criticism. "Owen Meredith," Lord Lytton, was also a frequent
visitor, especially when my sister Anna was with us--she being
sympathetic to his genius.
I think Willie and I were beginning to jar upon one another a good
deal now, and I loved to get away for long walks by myself through
the parks of London. Kensington Gardens was a great solace to me in
all seasons and weathers, and I spent much of my time there. I often
turned into the Brompton Oratory on my way home for a few minutes'
peace and rest of body and soul, and these quiet times were a comfort
to me when suffering from the fret and worry of my domestic life.
I first made my way to the Oratory when my daughter Norah was
baptized, and some little time afterwards one {38} of the Fathers
called on me. Finally Father ---- undertook to call regularly to
instruct me in the Catholic religion. He and the other priests lent
me any books I wanted, and "The Threshold of the Catholic Faith," and
one other I have now. That I never got beyond the "Threshold" was no
fault of these good Fathers, who taught me with endless patience and
uncompromising directness. But I had before me two types of Catholic
in Willie and his mother and sister, and both were to me
stumbling-blocks. The former was, as I knew, what they call a
"careless Catholic," and I thought that if he who had been born in
that faith that means so much made so little of it, perhaps it was
more of a beautiful dream than a reality of life. Yet when I turned
and considered those "good Catholics," his mother and sister, I found
such a fierce bigotry and deadly dullness of outlook, such an immense
piety and so small a charity, that my whole being revolted against
such a belittling of God-given life. Now, I know that Mary and the
Comtesse disliked me personally, and also that my temperament was
antagonistic to theirs, as indeed to Willie's, though the affection
he and I had for one another eased the friction between us; but youth
judges so much by results, and my excursion into the Catholic
religion ended in abrupt revolt against all forms and creeds. This
feeling was intensified when my second little girl, Carmen, was born
and christened at the Oratory. I would not go in, but stood waiting
in the porch, where I had so often marked tired men and women passing
in to pray after their hard and joyless day of toil, and I felt that
my children were taken from me, and that I was very lonely.
My Uncle William, Lord Hatherley, was Lord High Chancellor at this
time, and we were a good deal at his house, both at "functions" and
privately. His great {39} friend, Dean Stanley, was very kind to me;
Dean Hook came, too, and many other Churchmen were continually in and
out in their train. My cousin, William Stephens, who afterwards
became Dean of Winchester, was then a very good-looking and agreeable
young man; he followed my uncle about like a shadow, and my uncle and
Aunt Charlotte were devoted to him. But my uncle gathered other
society than that of Churchmen about him, and it amused me to watch
for the pick of the intellectual world of the day as they swarmed up
and down the stairs at the receptions, with the necessary make-weight
of people who follow and pose in the wake of the great.
Willie insisted upon his wife being perfectly gowned on these
occasions, and as he so often got out of going to those functions and
insisted on my going alone, certain other relations of Lord
Hatherley's would hover round me with their spiteful remarks of:
"Dear Katie, alone again I poor dear girl, where does he go? How odd
that you are so often alone--how little you know!" I was fond of my
old uncle and he of me, but these little amenities did not make me
like these social functions better, especially as his wife, my Aunt
Charlotte, had a most irritating habit of shutting her eyes when
greeting me, and, with her head slightly to one side, saying, "Poor
dear! Poor lovely lamb!"
This winter, following the birth of my second girl, was bitterly
cold, and my health, which had not been good for some time before her
birth, caused much anxiety. After a consultation between Sir William
Gull, Sir William Jenner, and my usual doctor, it was decided that we
should go to Niton, Isle of Wight, as I was too weak to travel far.
My dear old aunt, Mrs. Benjamin Wood, sent her own doctor to me, and
he recommended me to inject opium--an {40} expression of opinion that
horrified Sir William Jenner into saying, "That man's mad, or wants
to get rid of you!"
Our pecuniary affairs were again causing us considerable anxiety, but
my dear aunt played the fairy godmother once more, and sent Willie a
cheque so that we could go to Niton without worry or anxiety, and
stop there until my health should be re-established. We were
delighted with the summer warmth of the sun, and spent a happy
Christmas basking in it. Since the hotel was very expensive, Willie
established me in lodgings with the children and nurses in Ventnor,
and, finding the place decidedly dull, returned to London.
The local doctor at Ventnor, who had been put in charge of my
shattered health, was not satisfied that it was in any way improving,
and, finding one day that I was in the habit of taking sleeping
draughts, he snorted angrily off to the chemist and returned with a
large tin of meat extract, with which he presented me, adding the
intimation that it was worth a dozen bottles of my draught--which
happened to be a powder--and that my London doctors were bereft of
intelligence. I was too tired to argue the point and contented
myself with the observation that all doctors save the one in
attendance were fellows in intelligence--a sentiment he considered
suspiciously for some moments before snorting away like the amiable
little steam engine he was. His specific for sleeplessness was much
more wholesome than drugs, and I have always found it so since then.
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