Chapter Twelve: Dublin February--May 1914

It was the doctor's suspicion that there was a bone fragment pressing the brain causing Paddy's disorder, but he steadfastly refused surgery, though Molly argued long for it. He was in a good deal of pain and difficult to live with into the bargain. By February, the endless headaches had decreased in frequency but not severity. He was still sometimes dizzy or irrational, which was worse, but stubborn as the devil about treatment. They had terrible rows over nothing and he had struck her more than once. In February before a Wednesday salon Mick Rafferty had the effrontery to remark on a bruise she sported and she rounded on him.

"I say! Is it any business of yours?" She put down the pen she held on her engagement book as she sat before the desk.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, colouring. "I thought we were friends. It was only a polite enquiry."
"A rude enquiry!" she exclaimed, slamming the book. She rose and walked to the bellpull, agitated, and yanked it viciously. Mick looked in the direction of the door quickly, then came round the sofa and took her arm.
"Is something wrong?" he asked in a low voice. She looked at him levelly.
"I don't know what you mean," but her cheeks went hot, and she saw by the flicker in his eyes that he knew she was lying. But it wasn't his business to interfere, the informality of their house or not.
"Did he hit you?" Mickey asked boldly. His pale eyes had darkened to a deeper blue. She controlled herself with a will. She would give no quarter to this ill--dressed young fellow with his arty notions and ulterior motives. It would be just the thing, to play the sympathetic friend and lure her to something far worse than youthful indiscretion. She raised her head, conscious of the coldness of her words. "I don't see how that concerns you."

She moved away, disengaging herself from his hand. "Pardon me, won't you, I must speak to Rose." She had only just heard, in fact, the girl's step on the service stairs. She had no reason at all to speak with her, had rung as a ruse to escape Mick's questioning. She didn't trust him. There was something in his eyes. There was something in the way her heart had dropped to her stomach the first time she laid eyes on him. He made it too--clear that he found her attractive. He wanted to paint her, indeed! She would not ruin her marriage for this student of Paddy's.
"Ma'am?" Rose said as they met in the hall.
"Rose, do be a dear won't you and take Mr. Rafferty in a dish for his pipe? I must go upstairs." The lie came as easily as a compliment.
"Yes ma'am."

She went upstairs and turned on the taps in the lavatory until the room was filled with steam and she less agitated from breathing in the vapours. She rubbed steam away and inspected the mark in the basin mirror. It was greenish. No wonder he had commented. Opening the door, she went down the hall to the dressing room, scooped up some Evening White and smeared it on. Better. Let Mick Rafferty think what he would. When she came downstairs again, Paddy was there and she kissed him decorously before the company, a perfectly dutiful and affectionate wife. She met Mick's eye across the room with a warning glance.

A fortnight later she came home from visiting Mrs. Leary and Rosemary. It was not yet teatime, and Paddy wasn't due for an hour. Joe had been pulling his sister along by the edge of her coat, while she rattled the kitchen railings with a stick, playing trains. It was Nancy Barnes' half--day, so she was surprised to find her sitting in the hall with Mrs. Mac and Rose, weeping.
"Nancy!" She exclaimed, after shooing the children into the back parlour. "What can be the matter?"
"Oh, ma'am!"" Rose said. Mrs. Mac bent her an outraged glance, her stout body quivering with indignation. But Nancy said nothing, only looking at her with tear--reddened eyes. She had never seen Nancy cry in eight years; she was tart, yes, and pithy, but never weak. Molly had always thought her beyond such emotion. Nancy was two years older than herself, and imperturbable even during the worst of her own moods.
"Come," she said, indicating the office opposite the parlour. Paddy used it to store the books he was always collecting in the shops. It was sparsely furnished with bookcases and straight chairs.

They went and sat after Molly closed the door. "Why don't you tell me what the matter is? Perhaps I can set it right." Molly said.
"Oh no, Mrs. Leary, I could never!" Nancy exclaimed, white. Molly felt her stomach drop. Something was terribly wrong.
"Are you in trouble, Nancy?"
Nancy sat up straight. "Indeed not! I'm a good girl!" Her face crumpled. "That's the trouble---- Oh ma'am, I have to give you notice, please don't ask why. Sure, it's just for the best is all!"
Molly sat back in dismay. Notice! Notice! Her mind raced. What could have gone so wrong? She and Nancy had been together for eight years, worked well together, she thought.
"Look here," she said. "If you want a reference I shall have to give some reason for your leaving. Other employers will want to know the reason for your quitting service." When this produced no result, she exclaimed, "Nancy, for heaven's sake, we're the same age! You can tell me! After what we've been through...." They had come a long way from girlhood days of Viceregal parties and gossiping about clothes. This produced a burst of sobs from stalwart Nancy, who shook her head violently.
"Not this, ma'am."

Molly's patience gave way. Stubborn girl! She rose. "Then I shall have to ask Mrs. MacElwee." She had taken three steps toward the closed door when Nancy jumped up.
"No, Mrs. Leary, please don't!" Her face went red and white again. "I'll tell you."
Molly turned around, her hands clasped before her. Little brown--haired plump Nancy pulled herself up and stated with some dignity,
"I can't be working here no more, any more, ma'am, because of Mr. Leary. I told you when he asked you out walking that it wasn't right, but I have said nothing since on account of how fond I am of wee Joe and Sally, and, and you Miss--" she looked pleadingly here -- "But he bothered me, you do know what I mean. Please don't ask me how it happened." She paused, struggling for composure. "I won't have nothing to do with the likes of that!" Her gaze was defiant now.

Molly felt the room reel. My God! He was accosting the servants. The servants! In her own house! "When did this happen?" She managed faintly.
"Last night... and twice before." At Molly's look she hurried, "I did nothing to encourage him, ma'am!" But that was not troubled Molly. Her mind was racing.
"Twice before, when?" she demanded. "When!" She grabbed Nancy's arm and shook her.
"O--october, ma'am," Nancy faltered, alarmed. "And after Christmas --"
Since he was ill. She closed her eyes, let go of Nancy's arm. "I'm sorry," she muttered. She didn't want to know the details. Her mind was racing. I am living with a madman. She had thought they were happy enough, had thought herself more than a little in love with him, as it was when they were first together. Then that stupid man Larkin came along with his agitation and his meetings and his bloody strike. He should be kept in jail, where he could harm no one. God that moment when they called me out to see to him! It was too like Vince. That publican had found him in a heap, with a bloody head in Henry Street where they had dragged him. She knew then that she loved him, because she couldn't bear the thought that he was dead. It wasn't just for the children's sake, being left fatherless. And now... He was almost like himself, enough like to charm her into believing him well, until the next headache, the next row, when he would fly into a rage about inconsequential things. He was so bloody stubborn, and would not consent to the surgery the doctors said would cure him. It did not occur to her that he might be afraid. Paddy was afraid of nothing. I am living with a madman in a nightmare. The strain was beginning to tell on all of them. Nancy's defection was the first, and worst. What would be next? She opened her eyes. But a moment had passed, and now she must deal with the practicalities:

"You are quite right Nancy. We can't have you living with that. I will write you a good reference, straightaway. You don't have to stay until a replacement is found, if it is a burden to you. You have somewhere to go?"
Nancy nodded. "Me sister's, ma'am, in Terenure."
"Good. I'll say nothing of this in my letter of course. No one will know." She paused. "I am sorry to lose you though, Nancy. The children and I will miss you. You're the only nanny they've ever known!"
"Yes, ma'am," Nancy said sadly.
"Is that all?"
Nancy nodded. "Very good. Please let me know when you wish to leave, and we'll find you help to move your things."
"Thank you, Miss," Nancy said. Her eyes filled with tears. "Most would have said it was me!"
"My husband has not been well since August." Molly looked at her hands. "I'm very sorry, Nancy."

"Nancy Barnes is leaving," she told Paddy as they sat after dinner. The children had gone up to the nursery on the third floor for their baths. She looked at him steadily, but he betrayed no knowledge or guilt. He looked up from the cigarette he was lighting in surprise.
"Good lord! Why?"
His surprise was genuine. She couldn't bear to speak the truth, and so lied.
"She found another situation, closer to her family in Terenure." He was unperturbed.
"That's too bad."
"So I shall have to engage another nanny."
He nodded, leaning back in the chair, smoking. How beautiful he was in the lamplight. So, this is how it will be, she thought in despair, pushing the spoon around the sauce in the empty dessert plate. What if he got worse? I shall go mad. She put down the napkin.
"Excuse me," she murmured, rising. “I think I'll take the children's lead and have a bath." She couldn't bear to be in the room a moment longer. Paddy looked up from his absorbing thoughts; he had been far away from her, in more ways than one.
"What? Oh right. I'll be along in a moment. I have some work to see to."

She rang the bell for Rose to come and clear the table, and left him. Down the hall at a trot she tore off her jewellery with shaking hands, the hysteria that had gripped her since that afternoon rising. She wished for a ladies' maid, though she had opted for simplicity when they married. They got by with as few servants as possible. But now she wanted... she wanted Nancy to run her bath and bring her a tonic and brush her hair. She wanted not to be married, but at home again, knowing nothing of any of this.

She flung the jewellery on the dressing table and struggled out her gown, fumbling with hooks and press studs and tapes. In the bath, when the water was running into the tub she broke down and cried fitfully, but by the time she emerged an hour later, her damp hair wrapped in Turkish towelling, she was calm. Paddy was reading, sitting in the chair in his woollen dressing gown. You would never know, she thought, a trifle hysterically. He regarded her with a glint in his eye. If she said no, would he strike her? The uncertainty was paralysing.
"There's my girl," he murmured in velvet tones. "Come here, mo 'gra." He put the book down. He had taken her bath as an invitation. O, everything about him was inviting! From that look in his eye to the way his skin felt and her intimate knowledge of how he was made and how they fit. Her knowledge of their glories made him irresistible. As she drew near her pulse raced in spite of the wariness in her mind. She stood before him; her shins brushing his knees, and let her hair down from the towel, wanting it to be like it was before. He reached out and touched her leg, drawing the dressing gown aside.

"Come," he invited softly, and she sat with him. He took off his glasses and laid them with the book on the table. The smell of him was intoxicating. Indian soap and man--smell that could still turn her to fire. He touched her, seeking, probing, coaxing, murmuring in Irish, and she was lost. Mad he might be, and she shameless and weak, but they had this, they had these times, even if they were an illusion. She would take that. It was all she had.

In March she discovered she was pregnant

It was Mick Rafferty who solved her servant problem. It was six weeks on from Nancy's leaving and she had liked none of the candidates who presented themselves. Mickey no longer came to the house except occasionally for their Wednesdays, having graduated with the BA and taken a job with the Independent as a photographer, where he was well--paid. His clothing improved, and he showed a sartorial dandyism and genuine good taste that surprised her, being given to bowler hats and bow ties, worsted suits and fine shoes. His fingernails were still caked in paints, but that could be tolerated. Even Count Markievicz painted. His speech would forever mark his low origins, but he had otherwise made himself a gentleman. Like Paddy.

When he arrived one Wednesday late in March to find her herding the children from the Square, he asked if Miss Barnes were ill.
"Miss Nancy don't live with us no more," Joe declared.
"Doesn't any more, darling," She murmured. She locked the gate and took Sally's hand to cross the street.
"What's this?"
She looked up at him briefly to say Not in front of the children. When they were home, and the children running down to the kitchen to pester Mrs. Mac, she said to him,
"She took another situation that was more to her taste. Family, you know," she hoped this vagueness would put him off, but it did not. He was a most persistent fellow, in all the wrong ways. He squinted at her.
"How long ago was this?"

She opened the curtains to the flooding afternoon light. "A month or so. We've been managing on our own. It would be better I think to take the children to my parents'. They live in the country, and the children could have the run of the neighbourhood. Not to mention our horses." She turned. "But I cannot leave Paddy," a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "He was a frightful bachelor don't you know, simply hopeless." Even light--hearted charm did not put him off the topic.
"So you're needing a nanny for the wee--ans?"
"Yes," she said slowly as if to simpleton. She wondered why he was so interested in her domestic concerns, being a bachelor himself.
"I have a sister in Sligo who might be up for the job."
She stared at him in astonishment.
"She's gone sixteen this summer, and she was always a good hand with them," he proffered. "There's neighbours enough to look after me Da. I'm sure she'd rather be a nanny in Dublin in a fine house than a chambermaid in Sligo in a hotel. I'll write or wire them, if you like."

She would prefer a girl used to working in large houses, but the young women who had applied made it clear that they considered such employment a temporary arrangement, and she had no intention of abandoning her children to boarding school as she had been. Sally was only three, and there was the new infant to consider when it came. They would need supervision for ten years at least.
"She must be steady," she insisted, "and loyal. I want no chit running off to get married in a year or two. It's upsetting to the children to endure such change."
Mickey frowned. "You're asking her not to have a life of her own?"
"I'm asking her," she snapped, her voice rising, "to fulfil the duties of the job for which she was hired. If she doesn't care to fulfil those duties she need not apply."
"Nancy Barnes left," he reminded her.
She controlled herself with difficulty. "Through unforeseen circumstances regarding her family," she said with pointed slowness. "She had been with me for eight years, and would have been so in one capacity or another indefinitely had necessity not intervened. She took her duties seriously, which is the quality I require. My children are of the utmost importance to me."
"Of course." He had the grace to colour at this forceful speech. It softened her ire at his impertinence.
"I should like it if you would write to your father. It would save me time and effort." She smiled a little, "a bird in the hand, and all that. Thank you for the offer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go change. Make yourself a drink if you like. Mac will have tea up in a moment." She went past him without another word, and into the hall, calling down the kitchen stairs,
"Rose, will you come up please?"
"Yes, Mrs. Leary!" The call came back.

So it was arranged. Kate Rafferty came a fortnight later at the beginning of April, into Drumcondra station at a quarter of four in the afternoon. It was a Saturday and Paddy came with her to meet the train, which was late. Some trouble on the Belfast line. Though she had been given a description of the girl, Molly was not prepared for the reality. She was nothing like her brother, apart from the shape of the face. A tiny, frail--looking blonde in an ill--fitting, made over suit and masses of wavy hair hanging down her back stepped off the train and the conductor put down a portmanteau after her. She hardly looked twelve years old. However she would manage Joe was a mystery. She came up to them, the only people waiting on the platform, pushing back the brim of her felt hat, saying,
"Mr. and Mrs. Leary? I'm Kathleen Rafferty, Mick's sister, like. I'm sorry the train were late."
Paddy was grinning beside her and she wanted to kick him. If he said a word to her about buying a pig in a poke, she would send the girl back to her hovel forthwith. But he only held out his hand gallantly.

"Good afternoon, Kate. Don't bother about the train. Welcome to Dublin. It's a pleasure to have you here."
"Thank you, sir," she bobbed a curtsey and looked at Molly, who forced a society smile.
"Welcome. The children will be so pleased to have you here, and your brother as well, I imagine. How nice it will be for you to be near him again after so long. I hope you will be happy with us." She took the girl's hand in her firm handshake.
"Yes, ma'am," Kate said, wide--eyed, with another curtsey.

As it happened, the children did take to Katie very well and she to them, especially to Joe. Molly discovered after she had been fitted into corsets and proper dresses -- courtesy of a trip to Grafton Street -- and had her hair put up that she was actually presentable, and not at all bad looking. She was neat, to her credit. Her clothes were always spotless and her boots and shoes shined carefully with bootblack. She was pleasant company to have about, always cheerful, if chatty, and she got on well with Rose and Mrs. Mac, so there was peace in the house. Mick Rafferty came more frequently of course, now she was here, and they saw him several times a week. He took Kate to Mass on Sundays, squired her about sightseeing on her day and half--day off; he always stopped abovestairs to say hello. He came more frequently too to their Wednesdays. Even Paddy noticed, and remarked to her one evening that it had perhaps been his object in promoting the girl.

"Don't be absurd!" she said, leafing through Country Life. "Whyever would he do that?"
He looked at her sardonically across the lamp. "To see more of you. He's always looked at you like the pudding."
She laughed. "Pudding club, more like!" she said, putting her hand on her thickening waist. "I can't imagine he would find a fat matron appealing in a world full of skinny young things."
"So you think he doesn't fantasise about you?" His eyes were glinting behind the glasses.
"What a disgusting notion!" She exclaimed. "Oh Padge!"
He made an innocent face. "I did. You'd be amazed at what young men get up to."
"That was different."
"Hmm?"
"I liked you."
Paddy pushed up his glasses. "I noticed, Miss Castle--crowd." He sighed, closing his book on his thumb and waxed philosophical, "So there is no hope for the poor boy that the object of his desire should grant his dearest wish. Sounds like hell to me."
"I should bloody think not!" she exclaimed.

"Ah, defence!" his murmured. "Freud would say you hide a strong feeling behind that."
"Only revulsion. What an absurd notion! Bother Freud. He can't be any good if he goes round calling people liars."
He laughed long and loud at this. "M'aille, your cynicism is wonderful! So," he asked when he had finished laughing, "you don't fancy him then?"
She was alarmed that he should think such a thing. "Hardly! I'd as soon take up with the gardener!" Their gardener was an old age pensioner with a string of grandchildren.
"Good," he said, regarding her seriously now. His eyes were riveting. "You belong to me. Remember that." She only looked at him. What on earth was there to say? Wasn't her condition proof enough of fidelity? Why should he suspect her of Mick Rafferty of all people? She had never given the least indication of interest there, and certainly had said nothing of her first reaction to him. That had been alarming enough to bury forever any impulses that might be out of the bounds of friendship.

Molly came into the house one afternoon in April, her mac sheeting rain onto the tile floor of the entryhall. She had been down to the Post Office, being notified of a letter for her from abroad. She went into the hall proper, taking off her tam and shaking it onto the Aubusson carpet, and spied Mickey standing in Paddy's study, book in hand. He was the only one besides herself allowed in the sanctum sanctorum. He looked up at her with a glance that made her blush. As if she were a girl in Monto, rather than a matron growing podgy in the pudding club. But her dress and mac were clinging wet to her legs and stockings, and her boots squelched with water. He could probably see everything.
Well, let him, she thought, throwing the mac onto the hall chair.

"You're early," she said, coming in and pushing her wet hair from her face.
"I went with Katie to the pictures," he said, in an absorbed tone, looking down at her. "And brought her back before the rain started."
"What are you reading?" She poked at the book to distract him.
He held it up. "Theosophy!" He scowled again, "Which ought to damn me to hell for a good few thousand years. You're dripping on the carpet," he observed. "Why did you go out in that downpour?" She noticed that he did not use the old country forms of speech anymore but spoke proper English. Only with Paddy or his sister did he speak in the country form or in Irish. She noticed that his linen was fine and he had become quite a dandy, smelling of irons and cologne and macascar.... She stirred out of this haze,
"A letter from my brother was at the GPO for me. I haven't heard from him in years," she said, tearing open the letter gracelessly. She would not remark on how painful his defection had been, for it would reveal things best left unspoken of to outsiders. "He's in England. Liverpool, by the postmark. What a ghastly place!" She went to sit on the sofa before the window, crossing her legs and curling up, damning the consequences when Paddy complained that she had ruined his sofa.

"He's tending bar in a pub!" She exclaimed to Mick, reading. "He's been in Scotland! Shepherding with a drover from Aberdeen to York. Good heavens, he's gone mad!" She looked up and found Mick standing directly in front of her, staring at her intently.
"My brother William was a horse--breeder before he went away. In line to be Master of the Hunt. He knew more about horses than anyone I knew, and he threw it over..." She went back to the letter, turning and reading down to the second page. She frowned. "He says everyone is expecting there to be a war, all this German nonsense. He says if there is he will join up. I hope there isn't. I hope he doesn't do something as stupid as that. You don't think there will be a war, do you?" She looked up, a wet lock of hair falling into her eyes.
Mick shrugged. "Here or there," he said noncommittally.

"Whatever do you mean?" She demanded, startled.
"Well, it's going to be either England and the Germans, or us...." He paused, colouring. "With Carson and his lot in Belfast rioting against Home Rule and the national Volunteers here, who's to say we won't have a war? And there's the poor. You saw what happened during the strike." There had been riots in breadlines, clashes with the police. Unrest simmered just beneath the surface of town life.
She waved her hand impatiently, "Yes, yes, they've been saying that since the Fenians!" He looked at her, startled maybe that she knew anything of Irish history at all. But she had learned something listening to Paddy these five years. "I can't see what the least difference this Home Rule nonsense will make. We'll still have the Viceroy and all the offices, won't we? What difference should these Gaelic League fanatics make? My goodness, it's as bad as that awful strike, with everyone shouting about equality. If they walk down the street they'd see it's impossible for any two Irishmen to be equal." She gazed at him frankly. "Really, how can some uneducated dustman with twelve children expect to attain the equal of the Head Deputy Inspector or the Lord Lieutenant? It's ludicrous."

Mickey snapped the book shut. "He might if he were given the opportunity before he had the twelve children," he said tautly, his voice rising.
She glanced at him in surprise. "Well, unfortunately," she returned with the edge of sarcasm sharpening her words, "they don't all have generous uncles or benefactors do they? Most of them are stuck with what they have." It was irksome that he should be so lofty with her, who had watched his rise from a bumpkin. She rose abruptly, nearly colliding with him. "Excuse me," she murmured, brushing past. "I have to change." When she was at the door he called out,
"It's that easy for you, is it?"

She turned. "I don't know what you mean.” She said coldly.
"Your place," he barked, “so secure in the order of things. If you don't like something you can just dismiss it out of hand, and it no longer exists." He shook the book at her, his eyes glowing brilliantly with anger. "You just wait and see, whatever war that comes will topple your tidy little orderly world, just see that it doesn't."
It was in her mind to ask what he knew about the trials of her life, to remark that money did not solve every problem, that illness and grief were as devastating to her as to him. But that would reveal more than she cared to. She said instead, in a tone of cool indifference, "What a frightful bore you are. I'd not have taken you for a Larkinite." She turned on her heel then and went upstairs.

He came into the back parlour with Paddy later. She looked up from her conversation with Liz in the corner before the garden windows and she fought the pang of jealousy that rose at the sight of their intimacy. They were so easy together, animatedly discussing Theosophy, or so she presumed from the drift of Madame Blavatsky's name. She had no interest in Theosophy, indeed in any brand of religion, but it went hard that they were so easy with each other, while with her there were rows. Paddy smiled a greeting, his eye sweeping her, for she had changed into a frilled pink organdie frock, and tied a ribbon in her hair filletwise to counter the gloomy day. Mick was scowling. She excused herself from Liz with a squeeze of her hand, for they had been discussing him, and went to Paddy, kissing his cheek.
"Hello darling," she murmured, her glance sliding to Mick. "I see you found your way into us at last," she said to him.
He managed an acid smile. "There's more to life than books," he said, looking across the room. "The joys of mixed company for instance." He looked hard at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, you know where everything is. Help yourself to a drink. Rose'll be along in a minute with the food."
He nodded to her mockingly and moved away. She turned to find Paddy watching them intently.

"Have a care, M'aille," he said, sotto voce, sliding a fingertip across her lips. "Don't push the boy too far. You may not like the result."
"I did nothing," she protested lightly.
He smiled faintly, murmuring, "I know you too well, mo 'gra. You wore that dress to goad him and not for me." He laid his hand on her arm. "You look an angel in it, but I know the demon you are. You could have cut the tension with a knife just now. There’s more than spite here for you, don't think I don't know it, or vanity either. You are many things, but vain is not one of them." He kissed her cheek. "Betray me and you will regret it," he murmured against her hair. She shuddered.
"In my condition?" She managed in a low, strangled tone.
"You will not always be so." His hazel eyes regarded her sternly. "But if it will keep you from him I will keep you so, believe me." He touched her face, for all the world a gentle caress, but it was a warning, and she knew it.

The next week she was at home alone in the afternoon. It was Rose's half--day so she was expecting no callers, and spent the time while the children were out with Kate organising her schedule for the season, replying to invitations, answering letters. The knocker sounded at the door, but she did not hear Mrs. Mac's lumbering tread on the kitchen stairs, so when the hammering came again, she rose from her chair and went to answer it herself. On the step was a young woman with high colouring and the clothes and manner of a suffragist; in her arms was a large sheaf of papers and a brown leather satchel. Paddy's satchel.
"Yes?" Molly asked.
"I'm here for Mr. Leary," the girl said abruptly. "He gave me these to put in his study. He said he'd be along directly." She paused. "May I come in?" she asked pointedly, “or should I stand out here on the stoop?"
Molly stared at her, disbelieving her manners. None of Paddy's students, even the young ladies plainly in love with him, had ever been so rude. "Of course," she said belatedly, opening the door. "Please come in." She watched in astonishment as the girl strode briskly through the entry hall and into the front parlour. Following after her, speechless, Molly found her examining the bricabrac on the mantel and squinting at the paintings.

"I always did want to see where he lived," she said conspiratorially. "I get so tired of my flat all the time. By the way he talks you'd think he lives in a tenement -- 'An old Georgian wreck' he called it. But this is quite settled, and elegant. I wouldn't have thought it his taste at all." She put down the Limoges figure she held, and regarded Molly brightly.
Molly's heart was hammering and she felt her chest and throat constrict with agitation. This...girl dear God was Paddy’s light piece. The girl was clearly bragging, to see the reaction. Well, she’d get one, and Paddy too! Damn him!
She managed to force her voice beyond her strangling throat. “How long have you known my husband, Miss...?” She watched the girl’s face go white with acid pleasure; she watched the colour come up again, heard the faltering speech with satisfaction,

“Husband...” the girl said in hushed tones as if she’d been struck. “Oh my God! Mrs Leary---- I thought you were the housekeeper!” She backed up, colliding with the chair.
Well she may have thought by the housedress Molly wore, a plain loose thing, but not by her carriage, voice or manner. Housekeeper indeed! That anyone would or could mistake her for Mac.... She waited through this bumbling apology, offering not the least assistance, waited for her question to be answered. At length, it was,
“ My name is MacWharton, and I’m in the second year. I’ve only just taken the one class from professor Leary, and ---- o, ma’am, I am so terribly sorry. He never said he was married!”
Whether he did or not was immaterial. “It is your habit and custom to engage in indecent relations with your professors, Miss Horton?” Molly enquired tautly, crossing her arms. “You must be aware that the College takes a dim view of such fraternisation, and that I would be obliged to inform them, under the circumstances.” How good it felt to frighten her, to watch the horror move across her face; the horror of being a public spectacle, ruined.
“Oh you wouldn’t!”
“To be sure I would,” she said levelly.
“And ruin your own husband?” the girl asked in astonishment.
“My husband is ill,” Molly said shortly. “You have no excuse. Now, I would be obliged if you would get out of my house!” she held out her hand for the satchel.

Just then, the hall door opened behind them and Paddy came in whistling. He paused at the sight of Molly standing in the front parlour and came in, halting abruptly at the sight of the girl.
“Mary!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Mary said nothing, but stared at them both.
“I was just entertaining Miss Horton here, wasn’t I my dear?” Molly said, looking at the pale--faced girl. She wasn’t the smart little suffragist now. “We had a most interesting little chat. Apparently, she didn’t know you were married. However could that have slipped your mind, Paìdin?”
Paddy scowled at her, the promise of a row to come, and wouldn’t she give him one! But he said mildly to the girl, “Give those to me, Mary, and I’ll see you in tutorial.”
Speechless, the girl handed them over. Her face was a study in betrayal and agony. How could you? How could you? It said. He could, Molly could have told her, because it was his nature, and the illness that made him reckless. But she said nothing, staring stonily ahead, until the girl was gone and the sound of the front door rattling behind her.

Paddy by this time had removed his burden to the study and closed the door. When he came back, she was standing where he had left her. He took a step toward her, and all the numbness of her mind fled; she lifted back her hand and struck him with all her strength.
“You low, lying hypocritical bastard!” she shouted at him. She was shaking now. “A student! A bloody little student! How many more have there been?” she demanded. “How many of those I have had in my own house were here to betray me?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, grasping her wrist, but she would not shut up. Never. Not against this. She yanked her arm away.
“You must think me awfully stupid, to carry on under my nose. Christ, isn’t it bad enough to lose me a child at eight months, but to find a little collegiate as well. Pardon me for not being intellectual enough for you, but you never indicated that is what you wanted from me! You are contemptible! It’s too bad we couldn’t curb you as we did our horses when they got out of hand! Isn’t one woman enough for you, Paìdin? Sweet Jesus, it’s not as if I’m not available whenever you bloodywell like. When do you find the time for anyone else? Or is this what you mean by these ‘meetings’ of yours and not your Gaelic League nonsense? Tell me, is it the sheer number that is the thrill? You must have quite a little book by now!”
“Bloody hell, will you just shut up!” he shouted, his hands going to his head. His hands were shaking, too. She had no sympathy for him.
“If you have a headache, it’s of your own making!” she said curtly.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, his colour going dark, and she knew the thrill of deep fear at his expression. Her knees buckled under her, and she thought she would faint.
“Damn you for a cold--hearted bitch! Molly, listen to me! It was the bloody girl! She threw herself at me, and threatened my job if I didn’t go along. What was I to do?”
She tore herself from his grip, leaning against the chair, remembering the girl’s shocked face when she promised to tell the Dean. “You liar,” she spat in low tones. “I don’t and won’t ever believe you Paddy, so you can save your protestations of love and sorrow. I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you! And I thought I loved you, that you loved me. What a fool you must think me!” The pain of that was worse than his lies. He had never loved her; she was his plaything only. The pain welled up in her, rising to a torrent and she had to get out, get away from him. He had lied to her from the very beginning. What a fool she had been to let his clever lovemaking and sweet words sway her. Her mother was right; he did make a habit of this sort of thing. Fighting for control, she tore past him and ran up the stairs to their room.
“Molly!” she heard him shout as she rounded the upper landing.
“Go to the devil!” she shouted back, her voice shaking with the tears that had begun and would not stop. She finally reached their room at the end of the long hall. Locking the door behind her, she sank to the floor and cried. She would never believe him again. Not as long as she lived.