My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
This discussion was carried on in whispers in the little drawing-room
through which a flirting couple strolled now and then on the way to
the buffet. Therefore Cassidy, who of late had begun to assume a
whimsically patriarchal air in his communion with the delegates,
because he was by a few years their senior, thought it prudent to
stroll up and down the room now and again, lest haply his ubiquitous
friend Sirr should be lurking behind a shutter, or the lord chancellor
himself be squatting under a chair. The situation, to our modern
minds, is well-nigh impossible to realise. Traitors wandering close
under the viceregal nose, which they had arranged that very night to
tweak; traitors who were marked men, yet who were allowed to be at
large; who made no pretence to loyalty, who openly admitted that they
panted to see the tricolour; that when this hour should come their
vengeance would be like a thunderbolt. Spies, too, in all directions,
and families rent in twain by greed of gold, and rare examples of
honesty. Brothers against brothers, fathers against sons, daughters
against mothers; yet all dancing and smirking together on the powder
magazine which might be fired at any moment.
Cassidy deemed it prudent to keep watch and ward, to be sure that no
eavesdroppers were listening to the squabbles of the delegates; and,
in wheeling his big body round, caught sight of a new figure entering
the ball-room.
Could it be? Terence! returned from Cork, looking handsome and well in
the dress of the Lawyer's corps. The jealous giant ground his teeth as
he marked him pressing gently through the crowd to make his bow,
smiling his bright smile to his numerous friends, then turning to the
left to where his relations sat. Doreen affected not to see him,
Cassidy perceived with glee. She would not speak to him at all. She
was busy arranging Sara's scarf about her neck. This was prime. He
must see what happened next. Alas! the devil gets hold of the best
of us through jealousy! So, whispering, 'Whisht! boys--here's
Terence--returned!' he hurried to observe what was passing, pursued
shortly after by the others, who for a second had been transfixed by
the sudden appearance of the man about whose conduct they were
quarrelling.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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