Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [5]
His face pinched with anger and distaste—and a shadow of frustration. “I’ve seen a whole roomful of grown men weeping over the death of a man who never lived and leaving the place swearing vengeance on his killers. Try to tell them the whole thing is an invention and they’d lynch you for blasphemy. You’d be trying to deny Ireland its history!” There was bitterness in his voice and a sharp downward curl to his lips.
“Then Mrs. McGinley is a dangerous woman,” Pitt agreed.
“Iona O’Leary,” Greville said quietly. “Oh yes, indeed. And her husband’s passion stems from just such stories as those she creates, although I’m not sure if either of them knows the truth anymore. There’s so much emotion twined through it I’m not sure that anyone does, and so much tragedy and very real injustices.”
“And McGinley has no prejudice against violence?” Cornwallis asked.
“None at all,” Greville agreed. “Except its possible failure. He is willing to live or die for his principles, as long as they provide the freedom he wants. I have no idea if he knows what sort of a country they will produce. I doubt he has thought so far.”
“The Protestants?” Pitt asked.
“Fergal Moynihan,” Greville answered. “Just as extreme. His father was one of the hellfire Protestant preachers, and Fergal has inherited the old man’s conviction that Catholicism is the work of the devil and priests are all leeches and seducers, if not actual cannibals as well.”
“Another Murphy,” Pitt said dryly.
“Of the same breed.” Greville nodded. “A little more sophisticated, at least outwardly, but the hatred is the same, and the unshifting belief.”
“Is he coming alone?” Pitt enquired.
“No, he is bringing his sister, Miss Kezia Moynihan.”
“So possibly she is of the same persuasion?”
“Very much so. I have never met her, but I am told, by men whose opinions I trust, that she is a very competent politician, in her own way. Had she been a man, she might have served her people most effectively. As it is, it is unfortunate she is not married, or she might be the intelligence behind some useful man. But she is close to her brother, and might well be a practical influence on him.”
“Hopeful,” Cornwallis observed, but his voice had no lift to it, and his face, with its long nose and wide mouth, held little light. He was a man of average height, of slender build but with broad, square shoulders. He was prematurely completely bald, but it suited him so naturally one realized it only with surprise.
Greville did not reply.
“The last representative is Carson O’Day,” he finished. “He is from a very distinguished Protestant landowning family and probably the most liberal and reasonable of them all. I think if Padraig Doyle and O’Day can reach some compromise, the others may be able to be persuaded at least to listen.”
“Four men and two women, apart from yourself and Mrs. Greville and Mr. and Mrs. Radley,” Pitt said thoughtfully.
“And yourself and your wife, Mr. Pitt,” Greville added. Of course Charlotte would go. There could never have been any question about it. Still, Pitt felt a lightning bolt of alarm at the thought of what danger, or sheer chaos, Charlotte could get herself into. The trouble she might cause with Emily to assist her brought a word of protest to his lips.
“And of course everyone’s servants,” Greville went on inexorably, ignoring him. “I imagine each person will bring at least one indoor servant—possibly more—and a coachman, groom or footman.”
Pitt could see it assuming nightmare proportions.
“That would be a small army!” he exclaimed. “You will have to make arrangements for them to come by train, and have them met by Mr. Radley’s carriage at the station. A valet for each man and a maid for each woman will be the maximum we can watch or protect.”
Greville hesitated, but the reasoning was overwhelming.
“Very well. I will arrange it. But you will come, with your own ‘valet’?”
There was no point in hesitation. He had no choice.
“Yes, Mr. Greville. But if I am to be of any service to you,