At Swim, Two Boys Part 27

"I know what it is," said Nancy. "He must be worried there's agents about the premises."

"What agents is these?"

"'Tis well known, Mr. Mack, the Fenians do be in league with the Kaiser."

Sternly he told her, "There are no Fenians here."

"And after the newspapers and all?"

"The newspapers is lies. You might listen what the priest says on Sunday."

"You'll be getting a fierce name for yourself, Mr. Mack. Second mention in as many months. Breach of the peace, wasn't it, this time? Likely to occasion? Mind you, that was unfortunate that the poor dead soldier was the son of a superintendent."

"Lookat, Nancy, once and for all I had no notion about the funeral."

"Oh, Mr. Mack, I wouldn't doubt you a minute. I stick up for you desperate in the street, so I do. I let them know that Mr. Mack is a gentleman. He wouldn't break the peace if he dropped it." She was scamandering about, touching articles with her fingers. "They say the Fenians has a telegraph and they do tap out instructions to the German U-boats. That's why troop movements is secret in times of war. Did you know that, Mr. Mack?"

Her long fingers touching his wares. Unholy the way she moved, making play with her hips. He recollected his station and stood by the till. "Was it something in particular you was after?"

"Was wondering had you any of them gurkhas left?"

"Haven't I told you already 'tis gherkins you mean. Gurkhas is Indian troops. Is it Madame MacMurrough sent you?"

"Not at all. I have a great fancy for them these days. Have you tried one ever yourself?"

"Nancy, I got these gherkins in for special customers. They're not to be thrun about idly."

"Sure they're above gathering dust since I can remember."

Grumbling, he fetched down a jar. "Scattering your earnings on nipperty-tips. Have you no bottom drawer to be seeing to?" This was sailing too close to the wind, so he quickly humphed and changed the subject. "They'll leave you ill if you eats too many of them."

"Maybe you're right," she said. "For I do be getting the gicks something rotten of a morning."

"Now, didn't I tell you?" He took her money and was counting her change. Already she had the jar open and she dipped her fingers, spilling brine on the counter. More Jeyes Fluid. He looked at her face while she crunched the green thing. Grown-up she looked and clean and spotless. Ladyfied almost, under the gas. In a way it was a shame she was only a slavey. Her face was radiant in fact. Never mind the gick, she looked the pink of health. "There you are, Nancy."

"Thanks now, Mr. Mack."

Big blue bow on her blouse and a petersham round her boater. He held the door for her leaving. "Do they let you out this late at Madame MacMurrough's?"

"Not at all. Amn't I only back from my aunt's at Blackrock? She's poorly sure."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"She's old, Mr. Mack."

"May G.o.d keep her."

"Your mouth to G.o.d's ears."

"Go careful now, Nancy."

"Why wouldn't I?"

A thought struck as he bolted the door. He shuddered, then quickly cast it out. Through the ha'penny canes that hung at the gla.s.s he watched her cross the spill of light. The saunter of her, the way she'd crack nuts with her tail.

Abruptly, down the lane, a voice broke into a clear musical whistle. He pulled a d.a.m.ning face. That'll be Gordie now, making a mockery of us in the street.

The thought died on him. No, that's not Gordie at all. No, that won't be Gordie, not for a long while yet.

CHAPTER TEN.

Aunt Eva was in the garden room, on a bentwood rocker, a tickled surmise on her face. She was perusing through a spy gla.s.s a rough sheet called the Irish Volunteer. Irish Volunteer. The wicker table presented similar matter. The wicker table presented similar matter. The Gael, The Gael, the the Gaelic American, Eire, United Irishwoman, The Leader, Spark Gaelic American, Eire, United Irishwoman, The Leader, Spark; along with the Irish Automobile Club newsletter and yesterday's London Times. Times. "At last," she said when MacMurrough joined her. Her head flicked in irritation, a mannerism from her girlhood, he believed, when her trailing locks she tossed behind, a forbidding come-hither to his grandfather's cronies. "At last," she said when MacMurrough joined her. Her head flicked in irritation, a mannerism from her girlhood, he believed, when her trailing locks she tossed behind, a forbidding come-hither to his grandfather's cronies.

She offered her hand and he guided her up and into the diningroom. He pulled her chair and sat her, but before he might sit himself, she remarked, unfolding her napkin, "I recollect it was the previous King who inst.i.tuted that curious fas.h.i.+on. Whether through negligence or corpulence, we are not told."

His unclosed waistcoat b.u.t.ton. Friday lunch: the routine fish to break the flesh routine; food to be served tepid and dolloped on plates; but the service pristine, plates boasting the family crest, all form obeyed. He slipped the last b.u.t.ton through its loop in his waistcoat and sat. A maid came, unknown face and manner, only the white Berlin gloves familiar.

Soup. G.o.d knew what of.

"I remember to have been in Paris one time when that gentleman visited. This was after the debacle with the Boers. He was hooted through the streets. At the Comedie Francaise the gallery hissed when he took his box. Within three days he had the mob eating from his hand. It was 'ce bon vieu Eddie!' all over again. There is much to be said for personal charm and uncomplicated indulgence in fun. Though it must be added the late King was never known be unpunctual in his life. And I doubt he went promenading with kitchen maids."

How did she know? MacMurrough had never yet seen his aunt condescend to talk with a neighbor. He had been on his way to the little bench by the Martello tower where he liked to sit of a morning and watch the boys at their swim. He had found the kitchen girl at the Forty Foot wall, retching.

"Cook tells me she is not so well these days," his aunt remarked, "these mornings, I should say."

Yes, retching quite severely. "I thought her flouris.h.i.+ng," MacMurrough said.

"Well, that is a very good news, as I should hate anything to happen to the child, la pauvre, la pet.i.te innocente."

The dining-room reflected his aunt's Parisian sojourns. Side table, Directoire, with Phrygian-cap motif; large ca.s.solettes, pair, ormolu, on top. On shelves above, row upon row of painted glazed plates. Souvenir china, he should have thought, but his aunt, who valued such things, reckoned them faience patriotique. faience patriotique. Their patriotism was not in doubt: the untrammelled c.o.c.k crowed from each: Their patriotism was not in doubt: the untrammelled c.o.c.k crowed from each: Vivre libre ou mourir! Vivre libre ou mourir! or suchlike. or suchlike.

They reminded him of the children's dishes he ate off as a boy. The virtues they advanced. "If little girls and boys were wise, they should always be polite. For sweet behavior in a child is such a delightful sight."

"What a particular thing to say," said his aunt.

"I was remembering when I was a child."

"Yes," she said, and she regarded the plates as though for her, too, they brought memories of his boyhood. "You were a happy child. A delightful child, one might say, if not noticeably polite."

"I was?"

"Mischievous, of course, but happy with it. You would insist on playing carpet bowls in the hall. You had the maids in terror of tumbling. You were a great encouragement to the footmen we had then. But it was impossible to be annoyed with you, annoyed for very long. Such a sweet smile you had in those days. Your eyes smiled with your face."

A type of soldier's blessing: fond memory that wrapped a current disapproval.

"One wonders at times if the wind didn't change and the good people took you from us."

Fish replaced the soup. Plausibly mullet.

"I do hope the weather will improve," Aunt Eva continued. "So unpleasant motoring with the hood up. They call it an English hood. I cannot conceive why. The Delage I had previous had the same equipage. n.o.body thought to call that an English hood. It was simply la capote."

"Have it dyed green. An Irish hood."

"Such a notion. Still it would not temper the downpour."

"When do you intend motoring?"

"Tomorrow."

"High Kinsella again?"

"What an inquisitive boy you are."

"But what if something should happen to the car? The roads must be dreadful."

"The car, as you call it, is a Prince Henry. My Prince Henry has never faltered a stroke."

"But what do you find to do up there in the mountains? You must see that mystery provokes curiosity."

"The mountains," she answered, "yes. Whence the O'Byrnes and O'Tooles, our tributaries, harried the Dane, and Art MacMurrough Kavanagh, of undying fame, descended on the Palesmen. Whither the boy O'Donnell fled from his Castle captors, where Fiach Mac Hugh swore his word. They held out longest there, the insurgents of '98. They hid him there, poor Robert Emmett. There Parnell first looked upon the land of Ireland, there the Fenians blundered in the fog. Over the mountains I go, over the military road."

It was futile his pursuing the matter. And perhaps she let on more than she knew. Her tryst might truly be with history. He saw her on some dolmenned moor, sipping a Chablis on a picnic rug, defying through the smokes of Dublin the castle-turreted foe. He remarked, "It seems a signally busy road."

To which witticism she deferred with a smile. "Did you know," she inquired after an interval, "that a Fenian has died?"

"I did not know there were any Fenians left."

"No. Well, there you are. Dead ones, leastways. This was in America, which continent, I am persuaded, will ever produce novelties. He was of your grandfather's time, this particular Fenian. Something of the dynamitard, if I recall. The remains are to be returned to Ireland. There will be a public demonstration of grief, which naturally I shall attend. If I am not deceived, my nephew will offer to accompany me."

"Should you like me to accompany you, Aunt Eva?"

"That would be most acceptable. It is just what the country needs. To electrify the soul, galvanize the sinews, march the patriotic heart: a glorious grand monumental funeral!"

"Cometh the hour," MacMurrough murmured, "cometh the corpse."

"In the meantime we have the garden party to consider. Really, Anthony, you might show more interest. Caterers," she offered by way of example. "Where to rope off, where for the canaille. We are to have a play performed. Won't that fascinate? An enterprising young man of Father O'Toiler's acquaintance keeps a school for Gaelic youths. He has composed a drama which his boys will enact."

"I had not thought the drama a subject to move our priest."

"I have read the resume. All quite wholesome, what I could make of it. Father O'Toiler a.s.sures me it is a mystical chef d'oeuvre. Whatever, it has diverted his mind from this hockey bout. Really, hockey on one's lawns. I had suggested croquet at a s.h.i.+lling a mallet, but this apparently was not the thing. So difficult when one entertains outside one's circle."

"How many are expected?" he asked.

She glanced up, then glanced down again, having perceived in his eyes the root of his query. "Absurd boy. That a garden party should dismay a MacMurrough. I have never heard such a thing."

"One can't help wondering if one isn't to be paraded as a fairground attraction."

"How little you know of the world."

"If one were to be blunt, one might posit a similar nescience in one's aunt."

"Really Anthony, you would have me believe that a term of imprisonment and a bent for slumming are to be reckoned an education. The naivety of the young never fails to amaze. Nor their impertinence to offend, no matter how iffed." She rang the little bell at the table's center. "The world does not hang upon your misdemeanors. The world is no longer interested."

"Oh, but it is, Aunt Eva. To the tune of Church, Parliament, press, the mob, the courts, police, the prisons. It is that I should take an interest that is objected to."

She stared at the door a moment in expectation of the maid. No maid forthcoming, she said, "I can form no idea of the occasion, but suppose I had thieved at one time. Do I hold myself a thief for ever? Do I attempt a philosophy of my thieving? I do not. I have blasphemed. A saint would blaspheme with such a nephew. Am I nothing ever more than a blasphemer?"

"There is no equivalence."

"The laws are unjust, that I will grant. But not as you would have it. It is girls and young women they prejudice. Men who rake h.e.l.l in the customary manner, in them the courts discover no wrong, the law propounds no remedy against them. Yet how many young women have they ruined? And you think to right this wrong by having chauffeur-mechanics for ever at your disposal? My nephew will not persist in this. I think better of him than to suppose it."

She had s.h.i.+fted into French, but still this was pretty strong stuff, and MacMurrough couldn't but feel impressed. At home, he hadn't dared say Stomach for fear of his mother reaching for the smelling-salts.

"No more of this Job and Jeremiah now. It is over, it is done with." But not quite done with, for she added, with a haughty lift of her chin, "As though to say twelve men in London, whom the law humorously describes as your peers, should decide the fate of a MacMurrough. Why, were I to heed the opinion of the street, I should think myself insane."

"Is it the opinion of the street that you are insane, Aunt Eva?"

"One seeks the deliverance of one's country from subjection. One's country does not wish its deliverance. One's countrymen would settle for a Home Rule that would shame a county council. Its leaders harangue its manhood to fight in the tyrant's cause. These are the sane ones, these the nation's respectability. At present one is clearly in the wrong. One is pernicious or malign, one is mad. One does not despair, however. One knows that should sufficient change their minds, one will be a good and honored prophetess. One therefore decides those minds shall change."

MacMurrough grinned at her. "I had not thought you so sophistical," he said. "That the good and the true should obtain in the opinion of others. You make a democracy of virtue."

"If it is to be anything, it is to be an aristocracy," she replied. "For some have the say of thousands, whereas many have no say at all. And let me tell you, it is the best who will join us. How shall we know them for the best? By virtue of their joining us, of course."

"Then why must we trouble with the mob at all? I mean, this jamboree, why have them here?"

"Dear boy, with all your papers and ma.n.u.scripts, have you never thought to inquire into the nature of your birthright? Ours is not to lord, but to lead. That is why you teach flute to boys. That is why my guests will be charmed." Again she rang the bell, irritating it in her fingers. "You do remember you have the band this evening?"

"How should I forget?"

"Father O'Toiler is very pleased with your progress. Tremendous, to quote him. At the garden party you and your boys will present the grand finale. There will be fireworks."

That was then. Now there was only the French ticking clock while they awaited the maid's pleasure. Soon MacMurrough gave up and reached for the potatoes himself.

"Don't be impetuous, Anthony. One so dislikes stretching at table."

They waited, both glancing at the bra.s.s lady at the table's center whose legs were clappers to her crinolined bell. Eventually, Eveline patted her lips on her napkin, those darned and redarned cloths cut from her grandmother's trousseau. She brought the potatoes and served him herself.

"Stretching is so disagreeable, don't you find?"