A Close Run Thing

however, for if she had no need of such a habit, or scent or gloves, then the want of them was no deprivation. Whether such a costume would make her as desirable as Henrietta was a question which might later stir her, but it was one to which Hervey at least had never given the slightest consideration (unlikely that it may have seemed to Henrietta). Or, to be precise, he had never until that moment: Caithlin’s copper-red hair and dark eyes were not without their effect after so many weeks.

The meanest of the Longleat tenants was better-housed and better-dressed than the O’Mahoneys, and Henrietta’s self-possession was not so great that she did not notice. There was, in consequence, some warming towards this girl to whom, to her mind, Hervey had lost his reason (though she would be the first to own that he did not himself know it). And Caithlin for her part placed not a foot awry in the perilous mire that passed for conversation. Time and again she faithfully led their talk back from exclusively mutual matters, though Hervey blithely pressed question after question on her. But there was not any mention of arrest or the action he faced — though all the village knew of it.

‘How have the regiment’s patrols been behaving?’ he asked at length with a smile.

‘Oh, we’re right thankful for them always, sor,’ Michael O’Mahoney interjected. ‘And pleasing it is always to see that Serjeant Armstrong.’

‘Yes, dear Serjeant Armstrong,’ added Caithlin emphatically, ‘I so much enjoy his company!’

Her eagerness seemed to generate further unease. Michael O’Mahoney looked away; and his wife, who had said next to nothing throughout, began poking the contents of the fire-pot in a purposeful fashion. Caithlin looked down at her lap as silence descended.

‘Well,’ said Henrietta, never content with such pauses, ‘we have a long ride back to Cork. Matthew, do you not think we should take our leave of these good people?’

Taking their leave was a protracted affair, however, since the rest of the village was intent on shaking the hand of the man in whom, quite simply, they had seen both their deliverance (the eviction warrants had been cancelled on grounds of public order) and a promise of equitable treatment in the future by the military. But, if a handshake was one thing, it seemed scarcely appropriate for Caithlin after her welcoming embrace. Indeed, Hervey judged it to be wholly inadequate. So as she, the better judge of prudence, held out her hand, he took her by the shoulders to kiss her cheek, and so innocent and natural a gesture might have passed unremarkably had not Caithlin’s own unease suddenly manifested itself in coyness. And in that instant Hervey finally, though with chill confusion, sensed the delicacy.

As they left the village Henrietta was mute, and she continued thus as they took the road to Ballincollig, the chill now beginning to numb his faculties. Yet something from deep within told him what he must do to explain his former insensibility, to lay to rest what had blighted their time together these past weeks, to put an end to any concerns she might have about Caithlin. ‘I should like to show you a special place near here,’ he said after what seemed an age of silence.

‘Is that not where we have just been?’ she replied with a hurt that left him in no doubt what he faced.

They rode to the ruins of Kilcrea friary. The place had lost nothing of its peacefulness, though the wind now whistled constantly through the lancets. As he helped Henrietta down from the saddle she would not meet his eyes. She seemed almost lifeless, like one of Elizabeth’s childhood dolls whose horsehair filling had been lost. There was no sign of the self-possession which had drained him of his own confidence so many times that summer in Wiltshire.

They walked round the ruins, he recalling their history as it had been told to him by Father O’Gavan, though she showed scant attention and even less enthusiasm. He pointed to the stones and their inscriptions, and he told her how Caithlin had taught him Irish there.

‘And what did she want from you, Matthew?’ she asked with a directness he had never imagined of her.

He could give her no answer. In truth he had never supposed Caithlin had wanted anything but an increase in learning. And had they not always been chaperoned by Father O’Gavan? No, they had not of late. But nothing had ever passed between them, had it? Hervey found himself quite unable to think clearly, and even began to shake his head as if to deny the doubt. But, if he had anything in his heart for which to beg forgiveness, there were no deeds for confession. ‘I taught her a little Greek,’ he replied, and even as he said it he knew it sounded absurd.

‘Greek!’ exclaimed Henrietta.

Hervey took fright, losing all remaining perspective. ‘Yes,’ he replied, in panic almost, ‘she already has some Latin.’

Henrietta began to laugh. She covered her mouth, so loud was her laughter, yet it scattered the starlings beginning to roost in the lintels. ‘Greek!’ she exclaimed in another peal of giggling.

Hervey looked at her hopelessly.

‘Oh, Matthew, you are so … That girl adores you: it is as plain as can be. What do you really suppose has passed between you?’

He opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. At last, though, his instincts began to speak, for he saw at once quite clearly — indeed with absolute clarity — that the resolution of their separate months of confusion and despair lay within his grasp in this moment. He took her shoulders gently in his hands. ‘Marry me, Henrietta,’ he said, and he was surprised by his own words, for he had been trying to formulate the proposal with what he considered due refinement.

She looked up at him and shook her head, and it seemed as if a cold blade were piercing him. But then a look of absolute contentment came about her: ‘I want nothing else,’ she said clearly. ‘I do not think I have at heart wanted anything else since the schoolroom!’

‘So, my dear Henrietta, you are to marry a man of no fortune, a man very likely to be cashiered, disgraced and cast out from society. You will be dishonoured. And all this for love?’ asked the duke with so grave an air of dismay that Henrietta was almost abashed.

‘Yes,’ she replied defiantly.

The duke smiled. ‘What great things might I do if I had such a wife!’

Henrietta smiled, too, a smile of relief, and with it sprang back her spirit. ‘Then take unto yourself some Hervey blood. Do not you have any feeling for Elizabeth?’

‘Permit me, Henrietta, but I know a woman’s heart well enough. Miss Hervey’s would not open itself to me — of that you may be assured. No, not even for a coronet!’

‘William, that—’ But the duke bade her stop.

‘There are more felicitous matters to discuss, madam,’ he began. ‘Your affianced’s court martial — 1 think I may have news that will be pleasing.’

‘Truly, I am all ears, sir,’ replied Henrietta intently.

The duke rested an arm on the chimney piece in his voluminous library and began the news that he supposed must bring her such happiness: ‘It seems to me too risky to let this case proceed to trial. What must needs be is that proceedings are abandoned.’

Henrietta looked dismayed. ‘Forgive me, William, but is not that what everyone has been trying to do? You said the news was felicitous.’’

‘Felicitous — yes. But, on the contrary, it is not what Mr Hervey’s attorney has been about. What he has quite properly been doing is addressing the issues — the case for the defence — in anticipation of its coming to trial. And it is a clever case, too, turning on a most elegant point of law. But so elegant, I fear, and so momentous in its implications, that it runs the gravest danger of defeat — though I for one would take it to the House of Lords come what may.’

‘Then, why seem you so sanguine?’ she asked, perplexed.

‘Because, dearest Henrietta, these several past weeks I have been canvassing my fellow landlords and have secured a remarkable concordance so far as this case is concerned. What do you suppose would be the implication if your Mr Hervey were to be acquitted in open court — remote though the chance may be?’

‘I cannot think,’ she replied, more perplexed.

‘Well, let me suggest to you, as I have to my fellow landlords, that the whole question of forcible evictions