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These unlooked-for children the following year twin girls were born, thus rounding off a trio came too late to form the bond between their parents they might once have done. For that, the attitudes adopted towards them by father and mother, themselves now branched so far apart, were too dissimilar. In Mahonys case, once his children were there in the flesh before him, all his puny fears of personal upset and mental pother fell away. He had only to feel tiny soft fingers straying over his face, to become the tenderest of fathers, loving his babies wholeheartedly. Now he feared only for them, in their frailty and helplessness. Did he wake in the night and think he heard a cry, he was out of bed in an instant; and the nurse, entering from the next room to make sure of her charges, would find her master there before her a tall, dressing-gowned figure, shading a candle with his hand. Often, too, when wakeful, he would rise and steal into the night-nursery to take a peep at his little ones, lying relaxed in sleep. Yes, he was passionately solicitous for them and not for their bodily health alone. He would have wished to shield their little plastic minds from all impressions that might pain or harm; have had them look only at beautiful and pleasant things, hear soft voices and kind words; on no child of his might hand be laid in anger. The result was that the children, dimly conscious of his perpetual uneasiness, were rendered uneasy by it in their turn, and, for all the deep affection from which it sprang, never really warmed towards their father.
Off he drove though, as she had known all along he would; and did not get back till four in the morning. Then, half a glance was enough to show her that he was in a state of extreme nervous exasperation. So she asked only a single question: did the lad still live? But Richard could not contain himself; and as he moved about the bedroom, winding up his watch and letting his collar fly, he burst out: Nothing on earth will induce me to stop in this place, Mary, to be insulted as I have been to-night! This is worse a hundred times worse! than the colony.
Regular Bluebeards chambers, was Richards comment, when she told him of her discoveries.
Ive never seen anything to equal it! cried Mahony exasperated. The way these poor creatures burn to prostrate themselves.
Sorry? Why? He hadnt been naughty! Perfunctorily Cuffy did what was required of him, but his heart went on being a horse.
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And in addition he had one genuine talent. For some reason or other a throwback to his grandmother, supposed Mahony Cuffy had been dowered with a natural gift for music. He learnt tunes more easily than he learnt his letters; could hum Rock of Ages and Sun of my Soul before he uttered a word. His ear was extraordinarily good, his little voice sweet and true. And knowing that Marys intonation was but faulty, that of the nursery faultier still, Mahony here put in his single spoke in Cuffys education. He had the boy brought to his dressing-room of a morning; and there, while he dressed, Cuffy with his elephant would sit perched on a corner of the table, singing songs old and new. Together Mahony and his son practised Oft in the Stilly Night and The Land o the Leal, and with such success that, was there company to dinner, Cuffy in his best velvet tunic would be stood on a chair at dessert, to perform to the guests. And as he gave forth, in baby language, such ditties as:
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A few days later she came home radiant.
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Dear, dear Jerry! If shes only half as good as shes pretty . . . and I can see she is, said Mary returning the squeeze.
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However, she kept these thoughts to herself, patiently doing all that was required of her in the way of linking hands in dark rooms, hymn-singing and the rest, with only an occasional silent chuckle at the antics of the believers. But then came an evening when circumstances forced her hand. Well, yes . . . that was partly true. They were at a sitting with a medium of whom she had long had her doubts; and, on this night, the evidence for fraud seemed to her so glaring that she determined to put it to the test. For once, Richard was not beside her. Instead, on her right, she had a lady who fell into raptures at each fresh proof of the dear spirits presence. Stealthily bringing her two hands together (as Tilly had long ago instructed her), Mary freed one from this persons hold; and, when spirit-touches were again proclaimed by her neighbour (they never visited HER!) she made a grab, and just as she expected, found the medium easily recognisable by her bulk crouched on her knees inside the circle, with a long feather whisk in her hand. In the dark, and in utter silence, a struggle went on between them, she holding fast, the medium wriggling this way and that, and ultimately, by lying almost flat on the floor, contriving to wrench herself free. Not a word did Mary say. But at the end, when the lights were turned up, it was announced that the spirits complained of an unsympathetic presence in the circle; and after some hocus-pocus with slate-writing, etc., she, Mary, was designated and asked to withdraw.
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But stay! let him be frank with himself. Had he liked the motherland any better than it liked him? He had not. Indeed his feelings were a great deal more active than any want of liking. He hated it yes! hate was not too strong a word and had done, from the first moment of landing. His attempt at transplanting himself had been a sad and sorry failure. Returning full of honours and repute, he found that the mere fact of his having lived and practised in Australia cast a slur on his good name. Again, he had come back on what he believed to be but the threshold of middle age and without being greatly troubled by it; for, out there, men of his own years had kept pace, gone along with him and everywhere had been made to feel himself well over his prime, if not indeed thanks to Australian pallor and wrinkles an old man: one of those broken-down adventurers who limp home, at long last, to eke out the remainder of a wasted life.
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He shook hands all round. When it came to Tilly: I need hardly introduce you two, I think! said Mary slyly.
Quaint home-sicknesses cropped up, too. On board was a skinny little colonist from the Moreton Bay district, with, as the Irish wit of the company had it, the face of his own granddad upon his shoulders who was, that is to say, more deeply wrinkled than the bewrinkled rest. Where this man came from, dirt was not: the little weatherboard houses were as clean when they dropped to pieces as when first run up. He it was who now confessed to an odd itch to see again the grime and squalor of London town: the shiny black mud that served as mortar to the paving-stones; the beds of slush into which, on a rainy day, the crossing-sweepers voluptuously plunged their brooms; the smoke-stained buildings; monuments tarred with the dirt of ages. He wanted to feel his cheek stung by the mixture of flying fodder and dry ordure that whirls the streets, does the east wind go; to sniff the heavy smell of soot and frost that greets the Londoners nose on a winter morning even to choke and smother in a London fog.
It grew late: for over an hour Johns horses had pawed the gravel of the drive. Finally Mahony excused himself on grounds of fatigue and ran upstairs. But he might have saved his haste. For Mary had taken her hairbrush and gone to Tillys room. There, a fresh log having been thrown on the whitewashed hearth, the two women sat and talked far into the night.