CHAPTER 63
In the days that followed, Marsmain rode about the estate, a scowl on his face that
made the workers tremble. Ballinmore lay comatose in
the care of the dour, stout woman who had nursed him, after a fashion, before and
visited by the sinister Dr. Swartz. Caroline could have escaped from her
prison, but made no attempt to cajole the deaf mute who was manifestly against
letting her go. Not that she wished punishment on the lovely young lady who had
smiled at her when they first met, rather that she
desired her company for her own sake and for the invalid's. She had always
begged scraps at the kitchen door; now she begged with a fierce assiduity
refusing to go till she had some share of the best: a slice of game put aside
for the butler, the daintiest jellies. The creature appeared to be madder than
ever, always on the prowl, looking and listening, though she could not hear;
sensing the atmosphere, taking everything in. Communicating the intelligence
she gathered as best she could. William understood a great deal,
and Caroline set herself to learn the unspoken language.
Ninny managed to filch an occasional
newspaper on the pretence that she needed it to wrap the precious food; along
with the establishment papers that found their way to the kitchen, there were
also subversive news-sheets procured from outside sources. The two in the tower
had time to peruse them all and every day they learnt something new, if
somewhat out of date. They read of the rebellion in Wexford. Within a few
months this rising of the United Irishmen was to cost 30,000 lives and destroy
the “Brotherhood of Affection”. The Houses of Parliament in College Green in
all their newly refurbished splendour would soon close forever; Grattan's dream of independence would be swept away in the
Act of
Meantime, fashionable
Caroline learnt the words of “The
Rising of the Moon” and fitted them to the tune she had heard Hughy whistle. So much heartened and improved in health was
the invalid that he helped Caroline with her reading and sometimes joined in
her songs. She taught him a little Gaelic and some of the French songs she had
picked up. They discussed the Earl of Kingston’s trial, a much featured
ceremonial, it seemed, when the peers of the realm assembled to see proper and
fitting justice done to one of their own rank ..... a farce that entertained fashionable Dublin more than any
theatrical performance. The verdict was a foregone conclusion.
When at last Nick chose to look in on
the prisoners, Caroline was ready for him. Seeing no sign of remorse or
repentance on his countenance, she refused to treat with him. When he tried to
lay hands on her, she screamed. The girl was plainly crazy. That night, he
brought Dr. Swartz to see her, but she refused to let him approach. Again she
began the strange scream she had picked up, from Maureen. It maddened Nick. He
strode forward as though to strike her, but Swartz seized him by the arm.
“Hold!” he cried. “Add no more to your
guilt, Marsmain, or even I may not be able to clear
your account. Young woman, cease crying and speak to me. What is it you want?
Speak.”
“I want simple justice,
that is all.”
“You mean you want your freedom?”
“And his,” she replied, indicating
William.
“That cannot be, Caroline,” Nick said
haughtily, “not the freedom you wish for him ..... freedom
to usurp my heritage ..... to claim to be what he is
not. She is mad, Dr. Swartz ..... cannot
you see that?”
The doctor remained silent for a few
minutes; then he turned to Nick.
“Poor thing,” he said, “there is
little I can do. May I suggest that she be provided with some comforts ..... bedding ..... toilet articles ..... whatever she
needs or asks for within reason, of course.”
“Let me have my harp,” she said
quietly.
Marsmain complied with that request. He
brought the harp at once. She smiled enchantingly at Dr. Swartz.
“A woman can always be coaxed,” he
said to Nick as they walked away.
The coaxing began immediately.
Blankets and pillows were provided, linens and a change of clothing, brushes
for her hair, fresh water to wash. Marsmain fetched
everything himself, handing the articles to Ninny without comment. He even
brought a nosegay of flowers. Life was better for the prisoners. The harp was a
great source of pleasure. They had roughened their throats trying to sing in
the dusty atmosphere. Now they had music for dancing. Perhaps the shade of Lady
Adeline danced. Certainly the deaf old woman sensed the rhythm and, lifting her
skirts tried an occasional few steps. Capering in and out among the lumber, she
looked so comical that, for the first time, Caroline heard William laugh aloud.
In the sunny world outside, June
strung out a pageant of frivolity, of tragedy and death. Far away, in Wexford,
a month-long struggle dragged to its fierce conclusion at Vinegar Hill. On June
21st the rebel encampment of 20,000 men, armed mainly with pikes, was
surrounded by Government troops,
But Vinegar Hill settled nothing.
Guerrilla war could go on forever.
“How glad I am that I returned to
Caroline did not see the letters that
arrived for her ..... not till
later. Gwendaline missed her during that June, wondered why she did not reply. Perhaps she did not
receive the mail. Perhaps the replies were lost. There was so much unrest one
could not be sure of anything. At the very outset of the rising the mail coaches
had been selected as targets, signalling action. The plan miscarried that time,
but another time, perhaps. Who knew?