ROSNACREE HOUSE was built early in the 19th century by the Lentaigne of
that day, one Sir Francis. At the beginning of that century the Irish
gentry were still an aristocracy. They ruled, and had among their number
men who were gentlemen of the grand style, capable of virile passions
and striking deeds, incapable, constitutionally and by training, of the
prudent foresight of careful tradesmen. Lord Thormanby, who rejoiced in
a brand new Union peerage and was a wealthy man, kept race horses. Sir
Francis, who, except for the Union peerage, was as big a man as Lord
Thormanby, kept race horses too. Lord Thormanby bought a family coach of
remarkable proportions. Sir Francis ordered a duplicate of it from the
same coach-builder. Lord Thormanby employed an Italian architect to
build him a house. Sir Francis sought out the same architect and gave
him orders to build another house, identical with Lord Thormanby’s in
design, but having each room two feet longer, two feet higher and
two feet broader than the corresponding room at Thormanby Park. The
architect, after talking a good deal about proportions in a way which
Sir Francis did not understand, accepted the commission and erected
Rosnacree House.
The two additional cubic feet made all the difference. Lord Thormanby’s
fortune survived the building operations. Lord Francis Lentaigne’s
estate was crippled.
His successors struggled with a burden of mortgages and a mansion
considerably too large for their requirements. Sir Lucius, when his
turn came, shut up the great gallery, which ran the whole length of the
second storey of the house, and lived with a tolerable amount of elbow
room in five downstairs sitting rooms and fourteen bedrooms. Miss
Lentaigne made occasional raids on the gallery in order to see that the
fine old-fashioned furniture did not rot. Neither she nor her brother
thought of using the room.
For Frank Mannix the white tie which is worn in the evening was still
something of a novelty and therefore a difficulty. He was struggling
with it, convinced of the great importance of having the two sides
of its bow symmetrical, when Priscilla tapped at his bedroom door. In
response to his invitation to enter she opened the door half way and put
her head and shoulders into the room.
“I thought I’d just tell you as I was passing,” she said, “that it’s all
right about your ankle.”
Frank, who had just re-bandaged the injured limb, asked her what she
meant.
“I’ve seen Aunt Juliet,” she said, “and I find that she’s quite dropped
Christian Science and is frightfully keen on Woman’s Suffrage. That’s
always the way with her. When she’s done with a thing she simply hoofs
it without a word of apology to anyone. It was the same with the uric
acid. She’d talk of nothing else in the morning and before night it was
withered like the flower of the field upon the housetop, ‘whereof the
mower filleth not his arm.’ I expect you know the sort I mean.”
She shut the door and Frank heard her running down the passage. A couple
of minutes later he heard her running back again. This time she opened
the door without tapping.
“I can’t think,” she said, “what Woman’s Suffrage can possibly have
to do with the big gallery, but they must be mixed up somehow or Mrs.
Geraghty and the housemaids wouldn’t be sporting about the way they are.
They’re at it still. I’ve just looked in at them.”
During dinner the conversation was very largely political. Sir Lucius
inveighed with great bitterness against the government’s policy in
Ireland. Now and then he recollected that Frank’s father was a
supporter of the government. Then he made such excuses for the Cabinet’s
blundering as he could. Miss Lentaigne also condemned the government,
though less for its incurable habit for truckling to the forces of
disorder in Ireland, than for its cowardly and treacherous treatment
of women. She made no attempt to spare Frank’s feelings. Indeed, she
pointed many of her remarks by uncomplimentary references to Lord
Torrington, Secretary of State for War, and the immediate chief of Mr.
Edward Mannix, M.P. Lord Torrington, so the public understood, was the
most dogged and determined opponent of the enfranchisement of women. He
absolutely refused to receive deputations of ladies and had more than
once said publicly that he was in entire agreement with a statement
attributed to the German Emperor, by which the energies of women
were confined to babies, baking and bazaars for church purposes. Miss
Lentaigne scorched this sentiment with invective, and used language
about Lord Torrington which was terrific. Her abandonment of the cause
of Christian Science appeared to be as complete as the most enthusiastic
general practitioner could desire. Frank was exceedingly uncomfortable.
Priscilla was demure and silent.
When Miss Lentaigne, followed by Priscilla, left the room, Sir Lucius
became confidential and friendly. He pushed the decanter of port towards
Frank.
“Fill up your glass, my boy,” he said. “After your long day on the
sea---- By the way I hope your aunt--I keep forgetting that she’s
not your aunt--I hope she didn’t say anything at dinner to hurt your
feelings. You mustn’t mind, you know. We’re all rather hot about
politics in this country. Have to be with the way these infernal Leagues
and things are going on. You don’t understand, of course, Frank. Nor
does your father. If he did he wouldn’t vote with that gang. Your
aunt--I mean to say my sister is--well, you saw for yourself. She
usedn’t to be, you know. It’s only quite lately that she’s taken the
subject up. And there’s something in it. I can’t deny that there’s
something in it. She’s a clever woman. There’s always something in
what she says. Though she pushes things too far sometimes. So does
Torrington, it appears. Only he pushes them the other way. I think
he goes too far, quite too far. Of course, my sister does too, in the
opposite direction.”
Sir Lucius sighed.
“It’s all right, Uncle Lucius,” said Frank. “I don’t mind a bit. I’m not
well enough up in these things to answer Miss Lentaigne. If father was
here----”
“What’s that? Is your father coming here?”
“Oh, no,” said Frank. “He’s in Schlangenbad.”
“Of course, of course. By the way, your father’s pretty intimate with
Torrington, isn’t he? The Secretary of State for War.”
“My father’s under-secretary of the War Office,” said Frank.
“Now, what sort of a man is Torrington? He’s a distant cousin of mine.
My great aunt was his grandmother or something of that sort. But I only
met him once, years ago. Apart from politics now, I don’t profess
to admire his politics--I never did. How men like your father and
Torrington can mix themselves up with that damned socialist crew--But
apart from politics, what sort of a man is Torrington?”
“I never saw him,” said Frank. “I’ve been at school, you know, Uncle
Lucius.”
“Quite so, quite so. But your father now. Your father must know him
intimately. I know he’s rich, immensely rich. American mother, American
wife, dollars to burn, which makes it all the harder to understand his
politics. But his private life--what does your father think of him?
“Last time father stopped there,” said Frank, “he was called in the
morning by a footman who asked him whether he’d have tea, coffee or
chocolate. Father said tea. ‘Assam, Oolong, or Sooching, sir,’ said the
footman, ‘or do you prefer your tea with a flavour of Orange Pekoe?’”
“By gad!” said Sir Lucius.
“That’s the only story I’ve ever heard father tell about him,” said
Frank, “but they say----”
“That he has the devil of a temper.” said Sir Lucius, “and rides
roughshod over every one? I’ve been told that.”
“Father never said so.”
“Quite right. He wouldn’t, couldn’t in fact. It wouldn’t be the thing at
all. The fact is, Frank, that Torrington’s coming here tomorrow, wired
from Dublin to say so. He and Lady Torrington. I can’t imagine what he
wants here. I’d call it damned insolence in any one else, knowing what
I must think of his rascally politics, what every decent man thinks
of them. But of course he’s a kind of cousin. I suppose he recollected
that. And he’s a pretty big pot. Those fellows invite themselves, like
royalty. But I don’t know what the devil to do with him, and your aunt’s
greatly upset. She says it’s against her principles to be decently civil
to a man who’s treated women the way Torrington has.”
“If the women had let him alone----” said Frank, “I know. I know. One
of them boxed his ears or something, pretty girl, too, I hear; but that
only makes it worse. That sort of thing would get any man’s back up. But
your aunt--that is to say, my sister--doesn’t see that. That’s the worst
of strong principles. You never can see when your own side is in the
wrong. But it makes it infernally awkward Torrington’s coming here just
now. And Lady Torrington! It upsets us all. I wonder what the devil he’s
coming here for?”
“I don’t know,” said Frank. “Could he be studying the Irish question?
Isn’t there some Home Rule Bill or something? Father said next year
would be an Irish year.”
“That’s it. That must be it. Now I wonder who he expects me to have to
dinner to meet him. There’s no use my wiring to Thormanby to come over
for the night. He wouldn’t do it. Simply loathes the name of Torrington.
Besides, I don’t suppose Thormanby is the kind of man he wants to meet.
He’d probably rather hear Brannigan or some one of that sort talking
damned Nationalism. But I can’t ask Brannigan, really can’t, you know,
Frank. I might have O’Hara, that’s the doctor. I don’t suppose my sister
would mind now. She quite dropped Christian Science as soon as she heard
Torrington was coming. But I don’t know. O’Hara drinks a bit.”
Sir Lucius sat much longer than usual in the dining-room. Frank found
himself yawning with uncontrollable frequency. The long day on the sea
had made him very sleepy. He did his best to disguise his condition from
his uncle, but he felt that his answers to the later questions about
Lord Torrington were vague, and he became more and more confused about
Sir Lucius’ views of Woman Suffrage. One thing alone became clear to
him. Sir Lucius was not anxious to join his sister in the drawingroom.
Frank entirely shared his feeling.
But in this twentieth century it is impossible for gentlemen to spend
the whole evening in the dining-room. Wine drinking is no longer
recognised as a valid excuse for the separation of the sexes and tobacco
is so universally tolerated that men carry their cigarettes into the
drawingroom on all but the most ceremonial occasions. Sir Lucius rose at
last.
“It’s very hot,” said Frank. “May I sit out for a while on the terrace,
Uncle Lucius, before I go into the drawingroom. I’d like a breath of
fresh air.”
He hobbled out and found a hammock chair not far from the drawingroom
window. The voices of Miss Lentaigne and his uncle reached him, the
one high-pitched and firm, the other, as he imagined, apologetic and
deprecatory. The sound of them, the words being indistinguishable, was
somewhat soothing. Frank felt as the poet Lucretius did when from the
security of a sheltered nook on the side of a cliff he watched boats
tossing on the sea. The sense of neighbouring strain and struggle added
to the completeness of his own repose. A bed of mignonette scented the
air agreeably. Some white roses glimmered faintly in the twilight. Far
off, a grey still shadow, lay the bay. Frank’s cigarette dropped, half
smoked, from his fingers. He slept deliciously.
A few minutes later he woke with a start. Priscilla stood over him. She
was wrapt from her neck to her feet in a pale blue dressing-gown. Her
hair hung down her back in a tight plait. On her feet were a pair of
well worn bedroom slippers. The big toe of her right foot had pushed its
way through the end of one of them.
“I say, Cousin Frank, are you awake? I’ve been here for hours, dropping
small stones on your head, so as to rouse you up. I daren’t make any
noise, for they’re still jawing away inside and I was afraid they’d hear
me. Could you struggle along a bit further away from the window? I’ll
carry your chair.”
They found a nook behind the rose-bed which Priscilla held to be
perfectly safe. Frank settled down on his chair. Priscilla, with her
knees pulled up to her chin, sat on a cushion at his feet.
“Aunt Juliet hunted me off to bed at half-past nine,” she said.
“Dastardly tyranny! And she sent Mrs. Geraghty to do my hair--not that
she cared if my hair was never done, but so as to make sure that I
really undressed. Plucky lot of good that was!”
The precaution had evidently been of no use at all; but neither Miss
Lentaigne nor Mrs. Geraghty could have calculated on Priscilla’s roaming
about the grounds in her dressing-gown.
“The reason of the tyranny,” said Priscilla, “was plain enough. Aunt
Juliet was smoking a cigarette.”
“Good gracious!” said Frank. “I should never have thought your aunt
smoked.”
“She doesn’t. She never did before, though she may take to it regularly
now for a time. I simply told her that she oughtn’t to chew the end.
No real smoker does; and I could see that she didn’t like the wads of
tobacco coming off on her tongue. Besides, it was beastly waste of
the cigarette. She chawed off quite as much as she smoked. You’d have
thought she’d have been obliged to me for giving her the tip, but quite
the contrary. She hoofed me off to bed.”
“But what has made her take to smoking?”
“She had to,” said Priscilla. “I don’t think she really likes it, but
with her principles she simply had to. It’s part of what’s called the
economic independence of women and she wants to dare the Prime Minister
to put her in gaol. I don’t suppose he will, at least not unless she
does something worse than that; but that’s what she hopes. You know, of
course, that the Prime Minister is coming tomorrow.”
“It’s not the Prime Minister,” said Frank, “only Lord Torrington.”
“That’ll be a frightful disappointment to Aunt Juliet after sending
down to Brannigan’s for those cigarettes. Rose--she’s the under
housemaid--told me that. Beastly cigarettes they are, too. Rose said the
footman said he wouldn’t smoke them. Ten a penny or something like that.
But if Lord Torrington isn’t the Prime Minister what is Aunt Juliet
doing out the long gallery?”
“Lord Torrington is rather a boss,” said Frank, “though he’s not the
Prime Minister. He’s the head of the War Office.”
Priscilla whistled.
“Great Scott,” she said, “the head of the War Office! And Aunt Juliet
hasn’t the least idea what’s bringing him down here. She said so twice.”
“So did Uncle Lucius. He kept wondering after dinner what on earth Lord
Torrington wanted.”
“But we know,” said Priscilla. “This is what I call real sport. I have
her jolly well scored off now for sending me to bed. I shouldn’t wonder
if they made you a knight. It’s pretty well the least they can do.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t know what’s bringing him here
unless it’s something to do with Home Rule.”
“Who cares about Home Rule? What he’s coming for is the spies. Didn’t
you say that this Torrington man is the head of the War Office? What
would bring him down here if it isn’t German spies? And we’re the only
two people who know where those spies are. Even we don’t quite know; but
we will tomorrow. Just fancy Aunt Juliet’s face when we march them up
here in the afternoon, tied hand and foot with the anchor rope, and hand
them over to the War Office. We shall be publicly thanked, of course,
besides your knighthood, and our names will be in all the papers. Then
if Aunt Juliet dares to tell me ever again to go to bed at half past
nine I shall simply grin like a dog and run about through the city. She
won’t like that. You’re quite, sure, Cousin Frank, that it really is the
War Office man who’s coming?”
“Uncle Lucius told me it was Lord Torrington, and I know he’s the head
of the War Office because my father’s the under-secretary.”
“That’s all right, then. I was just thinking that it would be perfectly
awful if we captured the spies and it turned out that he wasn’t the man
who was after them.”
“He may not be after them,” said Frank. “It doesn’t seem to me a bit
likely that he is. You see, Priscilla, my father has a lot to do with
the War Office and I know he rather laughs at this spy business.”
“That’s probably to disguise his feelings. Spies are always kept dead
secrets and if possible not let into the newspapers. Perhaps even your
father hasn’t been told. He doesn’t appear to be head boss, and they
mightn’t mention it to him. That’s what makes it such an absolutely
gorgeous scoop for us. We’ll get off as early as we can tomorrow. You
couldn’t start before breakfast, could you? The tide will be all right.”
“I could, of course, if you don’t mind wheeling me down again in that
bath-chair.”
“Not a little bit. I’ll get hold of Rose before I go to bed, and tell her
to call us. Rose is the only one in the house I can really depend on.
She hates Aunt Juliet like poison ever since that time she had the bad
tooth. We can pick up some biscuits and things at Brannigan’s as we
pass. There’s a good chunk of cold salmon somewhere, for we only ate
quite a small bit at dinner tonight. I’ll nail it if I can keep awake
till the cook’s in bed, but I don’t know can I. This kind of excitement
makes me frightfully sleepy. I suppose it’s what’s called reaction.
Sylvia Courtney had it terribly after the English literature prize exam.
It was headaches with her and general snappishness of temper. Sleepiness
is worse in some ways, though not so bad for the other people. However,
I’ll do the best I can, and if we don’t get the cold salmon we’ll just
have to do without.”
She rose from her cushion, stretched herself and yawned unrestrainedly.
Then she rubbed both eyes with her knuckles.
“Priscilla,” said Frank, “before you go I wish you’d tell me----”
“Yes. What?”
“Do you really believe those two people we saw today are German spies?”
“Do you mean, really and truly in the inmost bottom of my heart?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t, of course. It would be too good to be true if they were.
But I mean to go on pretending. Don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll pretend. I only wanted to know what you thought.”
“All the same,” said Priscilla, “they did rather scoot when they saw
we were after them. Nobody can deny that. That may be because they’re
pretending, too. I daresay they find it pretty dull being stuck on an
island all day, though, of course, it must be rather jolly cooking your
own food and washing up plates in the sea. Still they may be tired of
that now, and glad enough to pretend to be German spies with us pursuing
them. It must be just as good sport for them trying to escape as it is
for us trying to catch them. I daresay it’s even better, being stalked
unwaveringly by a subtle foe ought to give them a delicious creepy
feeling down the back. Anyhow we’ll track them down. We’re much better
out of this house tomorrow. It’ll be like the tents of Kedar. You and
I might be labouring for peace, but everybody else will be making ready
for battle. Aunt Juliet will be out for blood the moment she catches
sight of the Prime Minister. Good night, Cousin Frank.”