‘And the theatre in London is so ridiculous, so very vulgar,’ Lady Wolseley continued. ‘One cannot tolerate it. In fact, when poor Henry came to stay with us in Ireland, his wonderful play had just been insulted by the public. My husband, as you know, runs the army. I thought it was one night when there would have been a perfect excuse for his soldiers to shoot into the crowd. Perhaps it is fortunate that he has the command rather than I.’
Peggy excused herself from the table.
‘Yes, England is ghastly. But of course Ireland, on the other hand, has changed so much,’ Lady Wolseley went on, ‘even since we left it. It is, I am told, the most peaceful part of the entire empire.’
‘I wonder how long it will remain so?’ William asked.
‘Oh forever, I’m told,’ Lady Wolseley replied.
William looked up quizzically as though one of his students had spoken out of turn.
‘I met Lady Gregory, Henry, your old friend, in London,’ Lady Wolseley said. ‘Her estates are in the very interior. She says that there is no social outrage of any sort in Ireland. And more, she herself has begun to learn Celtic, and says it is full of many beautiful words and phrases. It is very old, she says, older than both Greek and Turkish.’
‘I think the language is called Gaelic,’ William said.
‘No, Celtic,’ Lady Wolseley replied. ‘Lady Gregory assured me that it is called Celtic, and I do so wish I had known about it when I was in Ireland. I would have learned it myself and given parties in it.’
She smiled at Alice who smiled at her in return. William, Henry could see, was no longer prepared to flirt with Lady Wolseley.
‘I travelled in Ireland a number of times,’ he said. ‘And I do believe that England has much to answer for in the way the country has been run.’
‘Oh I quite agree,’ Lady Wolseley said. ‘And my husband spoke to the queen personally about the matter before he went there, and they both took the view that once Mr Parnell was removed and not replaced, then all the Fenianism would die down. And you should go there now, or speak to Lady Gregory. I believe that Ireland has been transformed.’
‘Have you been to the United States?’ Alice asked.
‘No, dear, no. And I should love to go,’ Lady Wolseley said. ‘I long to see the Wild West. I should like to go there.’
She spoke sadly, as though her not having been there was the regret of her life, and then smiled warmly at Peggy as the young girl returned to the room.
‘Henry, I am so glad we bought this dining-room table,’ Lady Wolseley said.
‘Lady Wolseley was of great assistance when I was furnishing Lamb House,’ Henry said.
‘My dear, we must get more rugs,’ Lady Wolseley said. ‘You cannot go into the new year without some extra rugs. I am told that a marvellous consignment has arrived in London and I must go upstairs again and look at the drawing room so that we can decide on the colours we need.’
‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘Let us repair to the drawing room.’
As they walked into the hallway, Henry came face to face with Hammond, whom he had last seen in Ireland when he was a guest of the Wolseley’s. Hammond’s face had changed, his eyes seemed larger and more gentle. He smiled shyly at Henry and stood aside to let him pass.
‘Oh of course,’ Lady Wolseley said, ‘you know each other. I did remember that.’
Henry led them upstairs to the drawing room, leaving Hammond in the hallway.
‘Yes,’ Lady Wolseley said, ‘Hammond remains with us. He is part of Lord Wolseley’s guard.’
Lady Wolseley found herself a chair near the window while Alice and Peggy sat on the sofa. William stood at the mantelpiece, his face grave.
‘We miss Ireland so much, Mr James,’ Lady Wolseley addressed William directly. ‘We brought Hammond back with us and two gardeners. And all our guests love them, Casey and Leary the gardeners, they delight everybody. I have to tell all of our guests "don’t pay any attention to their charm, they don’t mean it", but it’s lovely how they talk.’
Henry left the room quietly before his brother had an opportunity to reply and made his way slowly down the stairs. Hammond was still standing in the hallway, as though he had been waiting for him.
‘I did not know that you had come back to England,’ Henry said.
‘Yes, sir, I followed his lordship and I travel sometimes with her ladyship.’
His voice had lost none of its calmness which Henry felt as a warm relief.
‘I am so glad that you have come to my house,’ Henry said. ‘I hope you have been looked after.’
‘Your boy, sir,’ Hammond said, ‘made sure that I was well fed.’
When Henry continued to look at him, Hammond lifted his eyes. Hammond was beginning to blush. He seemed younger than when Henry had known him in Ireland almost five years earlier. His smile broadened but he did not move.
‘I should like to show you the garden here and the garden room,’ Henry said.
‘Would you, sir?’ Hammond’s tone was gentle.
‘It is better, of course, in the summer,’ Henry said, walking into the dining room and opening the doors into the garden. The air was cold and dry. ‘And your family in London, how are they?’ Henry asked.
‘Very well, sir.’
‘And your sister is well?’
‘It is strange that you remembered, sir. She is wonderful.’
They moved around the garden slowly, Hammond stopping for a second each time Henry spoke so that he could properly take in what was being said.
‘You must come back in the summer when everything is in bloom,’ Henry said.
‘I should like to do that,’ Hammond replied.
Henry turned the key to the garden room and they entered. He felt as though they had both walked into some half-forbidden territory, but when he turned and saw Hammond’s face, he realized that Hammond did not share this perception. He was interested in the desk and the papers and the books. He went to the window and looked at the view.
‘This is a most beautiful room, sir.’
‘It is cold in the winter,’ Henry said, ‘too cold to use.’
‘You must be a happy man here in the summer, sir,’ Hammond said.
He moved over to the books on the wall.
‘I have read some of your books, sir. One of them I have read three times.’
‘One of my books?’
‘The Princess Casamassima, sir. I felt that I was living in that book. All those streets of London are the streets I know. And the sister. It was much better than Dickens, sir.’
‘You like Dickens?’
‘Yes, sir. Hard Times and Bleak House.’
Hammond turned and began to inspect the books closely, kneeling to see the books on the bottom shelves. He turned and spoke softly.
‘You must excuse me, sir, but some of these titles I have not seen before.’
He was loath to accept any books as gifts, and would only agree when Henry could demonstrate that he had a number of copies of the same edition on the shelves. Finally, after much discussion, he allowed three books to be set aside for him, Henry having become aware that his embarrassment and hesitation arose from the fact that he did not want Lady Wolseley to see him with the package and ask what it was. He wrote his address in London in clear letters on a sheet of paper and Henry promised that he would send these books by post.
‘And I shall say nothing to her ladyship,’ Henry said.
Hammond smiled gratefully.
‘Nor shall I, sir.’
As they walked to the spot in the garden where Henry was proposing to build a new glasshouse, Henry could not help noticing that they were being watched with shameless interest by Lady Wolseley. She stood with William, Alice and Peggy at the drawing-room window. Lady Wolseley was pointing to something in the garden and, when Henry caught her gaze, she waved. As he bowed to her, he saw his brother observing him and Hammond with a sort of bemused intensity. He did not look directly at his sister-in-law or his niece.
IN THE DAYS that followed, he supposed that his brother and sister-in-law and niece discussed Lady Wolseley at length among themselves, but while Alice and Peggy seemed to have been much animated by her visit, William’s mood had darkened. Henry did not know if something more had been said by Lady Wolseley after he left the room, believing that what he had heard might have been sufficient in itself. On her departure, as Hammond stood in the background, she had made clear, even more so than she had during her visit, her proprietorial interest in Henry and her admiration for him. He noted that she did not include his family in the invitation to see her both in the country and in London, which she had extended to Henry. She did not seem to think that William James and family merited any great attention, and Henry felt that this, as much as her views on the Irish question, might have irritated William profoundly.