Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [304]
Cecily Baker might have an Irish mother, but nobody would have bothered to question her Englishness if it hadn’t been for today’s event. Doyle could quash the charge, but she had drawn attention to herself; people would talk, and when Tidy came up for consideration in the committee, some busybody would be sure to know and to raise the matter. It would not be liked. Tidy was only a modest fellow from one of the lesser craft guilds and had no powerful backers; his betrothed was running around making a nuisance of herself in Irish dress. He’d never pass. Doyle didn’t know Cecily, but it seemed to him she couldn’t have much sense, and he privately wondered if young Tidy mightn’t do better. His bleak glance at his wife said as much.
“He loves her,” she said gently. “Couldn’t we do something?”
Do something? Do what? Tell the aldermen of grey old Dublin that Henry Tidy loved Cecily Baker and should be given the freedom of the city? He gazed at his wife affectionately. That’s probably just what she would do, he thought. And get away with it, too. But it wasn’t so easy. If he really put his mind to it, he could probably manage to get young Tidy the franchise. But even a powerful man like himself had only so much goodwill he could call upon. He still had to obtain the freedom for his own daughters. Should he really be squandering his precious goodwill on account of a girl young Tidy would probably be better off without?
“They might be as happy as we are,” said his wife sweetly, as if answering his thoughts.
Would Tidy really find the warmth, the tenderness, the generosity of spirit that he had known? Children, relations, friends, and now even this glum young fellow and his silly girl—his wife drew them all into the circle of kindness that she had made of their home. He shook his head and laughed.
“You are involved in this, too, you know.” He gave his wife’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Cecily Baker must be made to understand that she may never repeat her behaviour. She must be a model citizen. If she transgresses again,” he gave his wife a hard look, “it would hurt my reputation and my ability to help my own family. So please be certain that she means to reform.” He turned to Tidy. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll speak for you.” And now he gave the young man an even sterner look. “If you marry this girl, be sure you can keep her in order. Or I shall cease to be your friend.”
Tidy promised gratefully that he would do so; and kindly Dame Doyle went in person to see Cecily the very next day.
Spring passed uneventfully for the Walsh family. It was during the summer that Margaret noticed that her husband was worried.
One reason for this was obvious. The spring weather had been fine enough, but the summer had turned into a disaster. Cloudy days, cold winds, drizzle; she couldn’t remember a worse summer; and it was already clear that the harvest would be ruined. Everyone looked gloomy. It would be a poor year for the Walsh estate.
It was during July that she guessed there was something else on his mind. She could always tell when he was worried: he had a little trick of locking his fingers together and staring down at them. But she knew it was best to wait for him to tell her about it, and about a week before the festival of Lughnasa, he did so.
“I’ve to go down into Munster shortly,” he announced.
The request that he would undertake the legal