Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [303]
“You’re betrothed, aren’t you?” she asked. He nodded. “And you’re having doubts? It’s not unusual, you know.”
“It’s not that,” he confessed. “But you see,” he went on awkwardly, “I’m up for the franchise soon.”
And now Dame Doyle understood entirely.
“Oh dear,” she said. “That is a problem.”
In Dublin, as in most cities, there were several ways to become a freeman of the city. One was through guild membership; the other, just as frequently used, was by a direct grant from the city fathers. What made Dublin unusual, however, was the role it allowed to women. Perhaps it reflected the traditionally high status of women on the island, but they certainly had more opportunity in Dublin than they had in any English city. Not only did a widow take over her husband’s freedom if he died; women in Dublin, married or single, could be granted the freedom in their own right. More remarkable still, a man who married a woman who had the freedom was then given it as well. Doyle had already promised his wife that he would obtain the freedom for each of their daughters. In addition to the dowries he could afford, this would make them highly desirable brides.
But if a man’s widow would succeed him in the freedom of the city, then it seemed to Tidy that the city fathers might reasonably consider what sort of woman a man was marrying when that man was applying for the franchise. And judging by today’s performance, he wasn’t too sure what they’d think of Cecily. Indeed, he could hardly blame them if they thought she was unsuitable. What could have possessed her to behave like that?
“I’m wondering if I should be marrying her,” he confessed miserably, “after what she did to me today.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you,” the alderman’s kindly wife assured him. She observed him carefully. “Do you love her?”
“Yes. Oh yes.” He did.
“Good.” She smiled. “Ah,” she cried, “here comes my husband.”
The alderman entered briskly, kissed his wife, and gave Tidy a friendly nod.
“You’re not to worry about this stupid business,” he said to the glover firmly. “MacGowan’s told me what they did. I can get the charges dropped, though she’ll be given a warning, of course. She must expect that.” He looked at Tidy a little more severely now. “If you have influence over this young woman, you should persuade her to be more careful in future.” The alderman’s dark hair was grey at the temples nowadays. It added to his authority.
The interview now being over, as far as Doyle was concerned, he smiled pleasantly to indicate that Tidy was free to leave.
“They’re getting married,” his wife gently intervened. “He’s going to apply for the franchise. And now he’s afraid …”
Doyle paused and pursed his lips. He turned to Tidy and asked him a few questions about his position in the glovers’ guild, about the girl and her family. Then he shook his head. He had long ago learned that if there was bad news to impart, the kindest thing was to do it quickly.
“I think they’ll turn you down,” he said frankly. “They’ll say your wife is Irish.”
If the old prohibitions against Irish dress were still enforced in the Pale, the franchise of Dublin itself was certainly supposed to be reserved for the English, and the city fathers were rather strict about keeping the Irish out. More subtle was the question: who’s English and who’s Irish? MacGowan, for instance, was Irish by name and Irish by ancestry. But the MacGowans had been important craftsmen in the city since the days of Brian Boru. Respectable Dubliners for centuries, they counted as English, and MacGowan