My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 3 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Madam Gillin called many times at Ely Place in her anxiety to astonish
the chancellor, but failed to find him--for the best of all reasons,
that he was not there. Again and again she rapped with the big brass
knocker--always to receive the same answer, 'His lordship is in
England.' Time was moving on; reports arrived in succession that the
works at Fort George were progressing; that they were well-nigh
finished; that they were complete. The unhappy exiles would be drafted
off directly, and Madam Gillin was determined to astonish Lord Clare
before that moment came. What on earth could he be doing in England?
He was an Irishman, if a bad one, and ought to stop at home. She was
on the point of packing up a valise to pursue him across the Channel,
when Jug brought the tidings that my Lord Clare's coach was on its way
to Kingstown, and that therefore its master must be expected back.
The chancellor frowned ominously when he beheld his eccentric
acquaintance ensconced in his favourite chair. The butler apologised.
The lady would take no denial, he explained. She had nearly worn out
the knocker. He could not turn out one of the sex by neck and
shoulders. Maybe it was really something of weight that made her so
persistent. But my Lord Clare was quite another man from when he went
to London, and was in no mood to brook liberties. He had seen Mr. Pitt
there; had, much to the amusement of that gentleman, reviled my Lord
Cornwallis, his policy, and his blunt manner; had explained away the
fiasco at the first voting for union, and had been graciously
received. Mr. Pitt had smiled on him while Mr. Fox sneered; had hinted
that if he and Lord Castlereagh did their work cleverly there would be
no end to the honours which his Majesty would heap on them. They must
not be discouraged, but slave away--hammer and tongs--till the object
was achieved. After all, it was at this juncture merely a matter of a
little tact. As an earnest of future favour, my Lord Clare was created
Baron Fitzgibbon in the Peerage of England, and returned home an inch
taller and three times as overbearing as he had shown himself before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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