now,’ Lord Wolseley said.
Lord Wolseley turned back to Henry. They studiously ignored the other end of the table. Henry felt as though he had been struck with something and the blow had stunned him into pretending that
he was following Lord Wolseley, while with all his secret energy he concentrated on what had just been said.
He did not mind Webster’s clear malice; he would never, he hoped, have to see him again, and Lord Wolseley’s words had meant that Webster would never be able to raise his voice at
the table again. Rather it was the sneer on Lady Wolseley’s face when Webster had mentioned Bailieborough that Henry remembered. It had disappeared quickly, but nonetheless he had seen it and
she knew he had seen it. He was still too shocked to know whether it was careless or deliberate. He simply knew that he had done nothing to provoke it. He also knew that Webster and Lady Wolseley
had discussed him and his family’s origins in County Cavan. He did not know, however, where they had got their information.
He wished that he could leave the house now. When he looked down the table, he caught a glimpse of Lady Wolseley in discussion with her neighbour. She seemed chastened, but he wondered if he
merely imagined this because he wished her to be so. He nodded carefully as Lord Wolseley came to the end of the story of one of his campaigns; he smiled as best he could.
When Webster stood up Henry saw from his face that he was flustered, that he had taken Lord Wolseley’s remark about silence to heart. Henry knew, and Webster must have known too, that Lord
Wolseley had spoken as fiercely as he was capable of doing outside a military tribunal. Also, Lady Wolseley’s quick defence of Webster had come too fast. It would have been better if she had
not spoken. Henry knew now that it was important to get to his rooms without crossing the paths of either Webster or Lady Wolseley, who were both still in the dining room, keeping away from each
other, not becoming directly involved in any conversation.
T HE GAS LAMPS were lit in his apartment and the fire was blazing. It was as though Hammond had known he would be returning early. The sitting room was
beautiful like this, old wood and flickering shadows and long dark velvet curtains. It was strange, he thought, how familiar these rooms had become to him, and how much he needed the peace they
provided.
Soon after he had placed himself in the armchair beside the fire, Hammond arrived with tea on a tray.
‘I saw you in the corridor, sir, you looked poorly.’
He had not seen Hammond, and he felt unhappy that he had been watched as he made his way from the dining room.
‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, sir.’
‘It’s the living I’ve been looking at,’ he said.
‘I brought you tea, and I will make sure that the fire is going properly in your bedroom. You need a long night’s rest, sir.’
Henry did not reply. Hammond carried over a small table and put the tray down and began to pour the tea.
‘Would you like your book, sir?’
‘No, thank you, I think I’ll sit here and have my tea and go to bed as you suggested.’
‘You look shaken, sir. Are you sure you will be all right?’
‘Yes, thank you very much.’
‘I can look in during the night if you like, sir.’
Hammond was moving towards the bedroom. His glance back as he spoke was casual as though he had said nothing unusual. Henry was not sure if he quite understood, if the offer had been made
innocently or not. All he knew for certain was his own susceptibility; he could feel himself holding his breath.
Because he did not reply, Hammond stopped and turned and they locked eyes. The expression on Hammond’s face was one of mild concern, but Henry could not tell what it concealed.
‘No, thank you, I’m tired and I think I will sleep well.’
‘That’s fine, sir. I’ll check the bedroom and then I will leave you in peace.’
Henry lay in bed and thought of the house they were
Lord Wolseley turned back to Henry. They studiously ignored the other end of the table. Henry felt as though he had been struck with something and the blow had stunned him into pretending that
he was following Lord Wolseley, while with all his secret energy he concentrated on what had just been said.
He did not mind Webster’s clear malice; he would never, he hoped, have to see him again, and Lord Wolseley’s words had meant that Webster would never be able to raise his voice at
the table again. Rather it was the sneer on Lady Wolseley’s face when Webster had mentioned Bailieborough that Henry remembered. It had disappeared quickly, but nonetheless he had seen it and
she knew he had seen it. He was still too shocked to know whether it was careless or deliberate. He simply knew that he had done nothing to provoke it. He also knew that Webster and Lady Wolseley
had discussed him and his family’s origins in County Cavan. He did not know, however, where they had got their information.
He wished that he could leave the house now. When he looked down the table, he caught a glimpse of Lady Wolseley in discussion with her neighbour. She seemed chastened, but he wondered if he
merely imagined this because he wished her to be so. He nodded carefully as Lord Wolseley came to the end of the story of one of his campaigns; he smiled as best he could.
When Webster stood up Henry saw from his face that he was flustered, that he had taken Lord Wolseley’s remark about silence to heart. Henry knew, and Webster must have known too, that Lord
Wolseley had spoken as fiercely as he was capable of doing outside a military tribunal. Also, Lady Wolseley’s quick defence of Webster had come too fast. It would have been better if she had
not spoken. Henry knew now that it was important to get to his rooms without crossing the paths of either Webster or Lady Wolseley, who were both still in the dining room, keeping away from each
other, not becoming directly involved in any conversation.
T HE GAS LAMPS were lit in his apartment and the fire was blazing. It was as though Hammond had known he would be returning early. The sitting room was
beautiful like this, old wood and flickering shadows and long dark velvet curtains. It was strange, he thought, how familiar these rooms had become to him, and how much he needed the peace they
provided.
Soon after he had placed himself in the armchair beside the fire, Hammond arrived with tea on a tray.
‘I saw you in the corridor, sir, you looked poorly.’
He had not seen Hammond, and he felt unhappy that he had been watched as he made his way from the dining room.
‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, sir.’
‘It’s the living I’ve been looking at,’ he said.
‘I brought you tea, and I will make sure that the fire is going properly in your bedroom. You need a long night’s rest, sir.’
Henry did not reply. Hammond carried over a small table and put the tray down and began to pour the tea.
‘Would you like your book, sir?’
‘No, thank you, I think I’ll sit here and have my tea and go to bed as you suggested.’
‘You look shaken, sir. Are you sure you will be all right?’
‘Yes, thank you very much.’
‘I can look in during the night if you like, sir.’
Hammond was moving towards the bedroom. His glance back as he spoke was casual as though he had said nothing unusual. Henry was not sure if he quite understood, if the offer had been made
innocently or not. All he knew for certain was his own susceptibility; he could feel himself holding his breath.
Because he did not reply, Hammond stopped and turned and they locked eyes. The expression on Hammond’s face was one of mild concern, but Henry could not tell what it concealed.
‘No, thank you, I’m tired and I think I will sleep well.’
‘That’s fine, sir. I’ll check the bedroom and then I will leave you in peace.’
Henry lay in bed and thought of the house they were
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