know, please ignore my remarks. I’m just upset. I don’t really blame her; how could she know how things would turn out? The real culprit is Harris. But for him I’d be enjoying my time in the army. He has a lot to answer for, and mark my words, one day he will.’
‘I don’t doubt it, George. And if I can help in any way, I will. Do you need money?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ George didn’t see any point in beating about the bush with his wealthy friend. He knew that Jake trusted George to stand by him if their positions were reversed.
‘How much?’
‘Two hundred should do it.’
Jake sucked in air. ‘Crikey, that much? I don’t have that in cash. I’ll have to wire it to your bank in Dublin.’
‘Thank you. You’ll get it back. Every penny. Oh, and there’s one more favour I have to ask of you.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Would your father consider employing an acquaintance of mine? At present she’s a chambermaid at Westbury Park, Harris’s seat, but has good reason to seek another position.’
‘A maid? An acquaintance of yours? Is there something you’re not telling me, George?’ queried Jake, one eyebrow raised.
‘It’s nothing like that,’ said George, affronted. ‘Though I won’t deny she’s a highly attractive girl, which is part of the problem. Harris has taken a liking to her and won’t be denied.’
‘I understand,’ said Jake, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’ll have a word with Father and see what I can do.’
George shook his hand. ‘You’re a good friend.’
‘I know.’
Dublin, 27 January 1878
Three days later George found himself in a hansom cab in the familiar surroundings of Dublin’s O’Connell Street. As the driver whipped up, coaxing a little more speed from his tired- looking nag, George knew that time was running out. His mother’s house in Connaught Square was just round the corner.
He was let into the house by Manners. ‘Good morning, Mr Hart,’ said the old butler pointedly. ‘Your mother is in the sitting room. Shall I let her know you’ve arrived?’
‘That won’t be necessary, Manners. I’ll go straight up.’
He took the stairs two at a time, but halted at the door to the sitting room, his hand hovering above the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he entered to discover his mother reading quietly on the sofa. ‘Hello, Mother,’ he said with a frown.
‘Georgie darling!’ she cried, putting down her book. ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming, and you’re not in uniform. Is something the matter?’
As she rose to embrace him, her shiny hair loose about her shoulders, George’s heart sank. He had been dreading this meeting since leaving Harris’s house, and every minute of the long train and boat journey to Dublin had been spent wracking his brains over how best to break the news.
They sat down on the sofa, his mother taking his hand. ‘Georgie, please tell me what’s wrong.’
After a pause, George said, ‘I don’t know how best to say this so I’m just going to say it. I’ve resigned my commission.’
Emma’s mouth gaped. ‘You’ve done what?’
‘I’ve left the army.’
‘Why? I know you’re upset about your father and his clumsy attempt to bribe you, but you would have achieved great things as a soldier without his help. You finished top of your class at Sandhurst, for heaven’s sake. I imagined a brilliant military career for you. Why would you throw it all away?’
George loosened his mother’s grip, rose and walked towards the nearest window. He could see a wet nurse pushing her charge along the gravel path of the square’s well-kept garden, mostly given over to lawn and shrubs. As a child he had spent many a hot summer’s day in that garden. He turned to face his mother. ‘I was going to lie and tell you the army was no longer for me. But I know there’s no point. I never could lie to you.’
Instead he told the whole truth of his ill-starred association with Sir