Christine Monson Stormfire (epub)

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.Late-afternoon sun streamed through arched windows across the shoulders of a small group of men.Above them, on maroon and white striped walls, were paintings of hunting scenes and racehorses.A portrait of Charles II mounted on a thoroughbred hung above the fireplace where Sean lounged.Lackeys scurried about relaying port, claret, and cheroots on silver salvers to gentlemen who represented most of the countries of Europe.Sean smiled to himself.So far, everything was going exactly as he wanted.Even his short hair was not unusual in international society.After sailing to Dublin, where he had settled Moora with Lady Duneden, he had met with two barristers, John and Henry Sheares, whom he had known in Paris during the early days of the Revolution.Both on the Executive Committee of the United Irishmen, they in turn arranged for him to see the committee's leader, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, in secret.Afterward, he had spent a pleasant though rather sad evening with the ailing Lockland Fitzhugh, marquess of Menton.Lockland Fitzhugh was the last surviving male of a venerable Scots Protestant family who had been in Ireland since the days of the Plantagenets; they were ardently sympathetic to the plight of their vanquished countrymen.In the great rebellions against the Tudors, the Fitzhughs had protected Irish rebels at no small cost.A lifelong friend of Brendan Culhane, Lockland Fitzhugh continued the family tradition in his own quiet way.After Brendan's aborted attack on the Dublin Armory, Lockland narrowly saved him from hanging and finally managed to secure his release from prison.When, because of their Catholic ancestry and their father's dubious allegiance, Sean and Liam could not attend university, even Trinity in Dublin, Fitzhugh had passed Sean off as his nephew, Robert Fitzhugh, and sponsored him at Eton, while Liam had preferred to study in Rome.Although a revered member of Irish Parliament and himself loyal to the crown, Lockland was aware Brendan and his sons were involved with the United Irishmen, whose secret meetings and underground presses organized sedition.After Sean's deadly London brawl with Megan's killer had made continuance at Eton unpolitic, Fitzhugh had sent him to the Ecole Militaire in Paris and had rarely seen him since his graduation.The marquess was clearly delighted by his protégé's visit, but somewhat embarrassed to receive him in shabby quarters.Partly because he refused to submit to the flagrant bribery and prejudice of the Irish Protestant Parliament and partly because he neglected his own'estates in the interest of his country, his wealth had declined.To conserve his finances, Fitzhugh had taken a modest house on Canal Street near Parliament, his failing health no longer permitting the journey to his home in Kildare.Sean was grieved to see Fitzhugh's condition, but in deference to the old man's sometimes stiff pride he made no mention of it.After a simple but excellent dinner and several glasses of fine port from Fitzhugh's dwindling stock, Sean asked his mentor for an introduction to the forthcoming race in Norfolk.The old man was delighted to be of service.He also added a crisp bit of advice."The Dublin authorities are hanging suspected subversives from lampposts of late, 'croppies' along with them.You may get away with it in England, but I advise you to keep your collar high over that short hair in Ireland, lad, if you don't want to be thought a French sympathizer." He waved Sean to the divan, then chose a cigar from the box the younger man had brought him."You had best steer clear of Fitzgerald's crowd, too.He's wanted by the authorities.Not everyone is convinced he's in Paris, you know."He lit his cigar, then pensively looked at Sean."I'm not the first Irishman to die certain his nation's sorrows are not ended, but I'm equally certain hope lives as ever in our young men.I've not told you before, but I've been very proud of you, Sean.Keep faith and patience.Don't seek Ireland's freedom in England's blood.Our destiny lies in the law.""Thank you, sir, but I'm no barrister."Fitzhugh grunted."No, you're a fighter, like Owen Roe and the rest of your clan back to the dawn of Niall.Twelve hundred years of blood.I had hoped your stay at Eton might suggest another course, if only to show you not all Englishmen are tyrants.""I was aware of that, sir, before I left.You've been like a father to me."Startled, but pleased by the younger man's uncharacteristic remark, Fitzhugh barely managed a gruff tone."Yet, like all your clan, you regard me as English though my family has been in Ireland for six centuries.We're English to the Irish and Irish to the English: colonists, ever viewed as temporary citizens.""A most welcome addition to our culture in your case, my lord."With a shrug, Fitzhugh rose and went to his desk.Shortly, he handed a note to Sean to review; then, after attaching his seal, Fitzhugh gave the letter to a servant for immediate delivery.He looked at Sean for a long moment."I dislike good-bys.So I'll wish you a good night, and a fair voyage."Sean grasped the statesman's proffered hand."Thank you, sir.May you have the same."As Sean paused on the narrow stair to his room, he saw Fitzhugh with a woolen rug over his legs, still sitting at his desk in a pool of candlelight.His white hair mellowed, he scratched at parliamentary proposals pleading for eased circumstances of Irish Catholics.The proposals would be rejected as they had been for all thirty-five years of his sporadic tenure, but the pen moved as strongly as it ever had.Feeling a tightness in his throat, Sean sensed he would not see the frail old man again.He touched his forehead in an unnoticed salute [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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