# The Red Hand of Ulster/Chapter 3
### CHAPTER III

Inow reach the time when I myself came for the first time in touch with Conroy’s plans and had my first meeting with Gideon McNeice.
I am an insignificant Irish peer, far from wealthy, with a taste for literature, and, I think, a moderate amount of benevolent feeling towards those of my fellow-men who do not annoy me in any way. I sold the estate, which had long before ceased to be in any real sense my property, immediately after the passing of the Land Act of 1903. I have lived since then chiefly in Kilmore Castle, a delightfully situated residence built by my grandfather, which suits me very well indeed. I have occupied my time for years back in gathering materials for a history of all the Irish rebellions there have ever been. My daughter Marion used to help me in this work, by filing and classifying the various slips of paper on which I made notes. Now that she has got married and cannot help me any more I have given up the idea of finishing my great work. I am satisfying my evil itch for writing by setting down an account of the short struggle between north-eastern Ulster and the rest of the British Empire.
The 5th of June was the day on which I first met Bob Power, first came into contact with McNeice, and first set eyes on the notorious Finola. It was the day fixed by my nephew Godfrey D’Aubigny for the first, for that year, of the series of garden-parties which I give annually. I detest these festivities, and I have every reason to believe that they must be quite as objectionable to my guests as they are to me. It is Godfrey who insists on their being held. He holds that I am bound to do some entertaining in order to keep up my position in the county. I am not in the least interested in my position in the county; but Godfrey is, and, of course, the matter is of some importance to him. He is heir to my title. I used to think and he used to think that he would ultimately enjoy my income too, securing it by marrying my daughter Marion. I am glad to say he has not succeeded in doing this. Marion has married a much better man.
I was sitting in my study after breakfast, fiddling with my papers, but unable to settle down to work. The prospect of the party in the afternoon depressed and irritated me. Godfrey entered the room suddenly through the window. The fact that he is my heir does not seem to me to entitle him to come upon me like a thief in the night. He ought to go to the door of the house, ring the bell, and ask if I am willing to see him.
“Good morning, Excellency,” he said, “glorious day, isn’t it?”
Godfrey always addressed me as “Excellency.” I cannot imagine why he does so. I have never been and never hope to be a Lord Lieutenant or a Colonial Governor. The title is not one which belongs to the office of a deputy lieutenant of a county, the only post of honour which I hold.
“I expect we’ll have a pretty good crowd this afternoon,” he said. “Lady Moyne is motoring over. But that’s not what I came to say to you. The fact is that something rather important has just happened.”
“The people in the gate lodge have burst the new boiler I put in for them, I suppose?” This is the kind of thing Godfrey considers important.
“Not that I know of,” he said; “but I’ll go down and inquire if you think—”
“I don’t think anything about the matter,” I said. “If it isn’t that, what is it that you’ve come to tell me?”
“A big steam yacht has just anchored in the bay,” he said, “the Finola. She belongs to Conroy, the millionaire.”
Godfrey is intensely interested in millionaires. He always hopes that he may be able in some way to secure for himself some of their superfluous cash.
“I think,” he said, “you ought to go down and leave a card on him. It would only be civil.”
“Very well,” I said, “you can go and leave my card, if you like.”
This was evidently what Godfrey expected me to say. He seemed grateful.
“Very well, Excellency, I’ll go at once. I’ll invite him and his party to your menagerie this afternoon. I dare say it will amuse them to see the natives.”
Godfrey always calls my parties menageries, and my guests natives. Lady Moyne and her husband, who sometimes comes with her, are not counted as natives. Nor am I. Nor is Marion. Nor is Godfrey himself. This illustrates the working of Godfrey’s mind. As a matter of fact the Moynes and my own family are about the only people of social importance in the locality who ought to be called natives. My other guests are all strangers, officials of one kind or another, stipendiary magistrates, police officers, bank managers, doctors, clergymen and others whom an unkind fate has temporarily stranded in our neighbourhood; who all look forward to an escape from their exile and a period of leisure retirement in the suburbs of Dublin.
Godfrey left me, and I went on fidgetting with my papers until luncheon-time.
Marion and I were just finishing luncheon when Godfrey came in again.
“Well,” I said, “have you captured your millionaire?”
“He wasn’t on board,” said Godfrey. “There were two men there, Power, who’s Conroy’s secretary, and a horrid bounder called McNeice. They were drinking bottled stout in the cabin with Crossan.”
“Under those circumstances,” I said, “you did not, I suppose, leave my cards.”
Godfrey has a standing feud with Crossan, who is not a gentleman and does not pretend to be. Godfrey, judged by any rational standard, is even less of a gentleman; but as the future Lord Kilmore he belongs to the ranks of an aristocracy and therefore has a contempt for Crossan. The two come into very frequent contact and quite as frequent conflict. Crossan manages the co-operative store which I started, and Godfrey regards him as one of my servants. Crossan, who has a fine instinct for business, also manages the commercial side of our local mackerel fishing. Godfrey thinks he would manage this better than Crossan does. Their latest feud was concerned with the service of carts which take the fish from our little harbour to the nearest railway station. Crossan is politically a strong Protestant and an Orangeman of high attainment. Godfrey has no particular religion, and in politics belongs to that old-fashioned school of Conservatives who think that the lower orders ought to be respectful to their betters. Crossan having been taught the Church Catechism in his youth, admits this respect as theoretical duty; but gets out of performing it in practice by denying that Godfrey, or for the matter of that any one else, is his better. Godfrey’s constant complaints about Crossan are the thorns which remind me that I must not regard my lot in life as altogether pleasant. I felt justified in assuming that Godfrey had not left my cards on men who degraded themselves so far as to drink bottled stout in company with Crossan.
I was wrong. Godfrey did leave my cards. I can only suppose that his respect for the private secretary of a millionaire was stronger than his dislike of Crossan. He had even, it appeared, invited both Power and McNeice to view my “menagerie.” For this he felt it necessary to offer some excuse.
“He is one of the Powers of Kilfenora,” he said, “so I thought it would be no harm. By the way, Marion, what are you going to wear? I should say that your blue crêpe de chine—”
Godfrey is something of an expert in the matter of woman’s clothes. Marion, I know, frequently consults him and values his opinion highly. Unfortunately the subject bores me. I cut him short with a remark which was intended for a snub.
“I hope you have a new suit yourself, Godfrey. The occasion is an important one. If both Lady Moyne and Conroy’s private secretary are to be here, you ought to look your best.”
But it is almost impossible to snub Godfrey. He answered me with a cheerful friendliness which showed that he appreciated my interest in his appearance.
“I have a new grey suit,” he said. “It arrived this morning, and it’s a capital fit. That’s the advantage of employing really good tailors. You can absolutely trust Nicholson and Blackett.”
I have often wondered whether Nicholson and Blackett could absolutely trust Godfrey. I have several times paid his debts, and I do not intend to do so any more. If they were debts of an intelligible kind I should not mind paying them occasionally. But Godfrey has no ostensible vices. I have never heard of his doing anything wild or disreputable. He does not gamble or borrow money in order to give jewels to pretty actresses. He owes bills to shop-keepers for ties and trousers. His next remark showed me that Nicholson and Blackett were becoming uneasy.
“By the way, Excellency,” he said, “I’d be glad if you’d be civil to the Pringles this afternoon. Get her tea or something.”
Mr. Pringle is the manager of the branch of the bank in which Godfrey keeps his account. I imagine that he and his wife owe their invitations to my garden parties to the fact that Godfrey’s account is always overdrawn. This demand that I should be especially civil to the Pringles suggested to me that Godfrey contemplated sending a cheque to Nicholson and Blackett. I have no particular objection to being civil to the Pringles. I have to be civil to some one. I readily promised to get both tea and an ice for Mrs. Pringle; hoping that Godfrey would go away. He did not. He began talking again about Marion’s blue dress. It was with the greatest difficulty that I got him out of the house half an hour later by saying that if he did not go home at once he would not have time to dress himself with the care which the new grey suit deserved.
It annoys me very much to think Godfrey is heir to my title. It used to annoy me still more to think that Marion meant to marry him. She assures me now that she never intended to; but she used to take an interest in his talk about clothes and he certainly intended to marry her.