Charles Stewart Parnell: His Love Story and Political Life

by Kitty O'Shea

I arrived here to-night.

I fear I may be detained till rather late to-night, so hope you will not wait up for me. I expect to return home about 3.30.

The above is a note, one of very many, sent down to me at Eltham, so that I should, if I wished, go to bed before Parnell came home. I did this only once or twice, as I fancied I heard him directly I closed my eyes, and would go down, only to find a dreary blank of disappointment. So I made him agree to my staying in my sitting-room, where from the open window I could hear for miles the regular trotting of the cab-horse bringing him home.

He only stipulated that I should not go out along the roads to meet him at night. In March, 1887, I thought my King was looking tired and worried. There had been various annoying happenings owing to new reports of his life at Eltham having been put about. I had had unpleasant letters from Willie, and the latter and I were not now on speaking terms. With this and his hard work Parnell was looking fagged and worn. His health, always an anxiety to me, seemed to fail, and the languor that grew upon him frightened me. I determined that he should be spared the long cold night-drive down to Eltham, and suggested his having a house near the House of Commons to which he could return and get immediate rest after a night sitting. He had a little house at Brockley, which he had taken in the name of "Clement Preston," and furnished, and here he had a man and wife to look after him. I had never lived there, but used to drive over to see him for a short time when it was inexpedient that he should be at Eltham. He never liked this house, and hated the way the people used to hang about to see him go in and out, "Clement Preston" apparently being but a poor protection in keeping off curiosity as to Parnell's habits. He wearily said he did not want to live in London unless I would live there too, but, as I pointed out, that was impossible, and I took a house in York Terrace, Regent's Park (furnished), for him. Here I installed him with two servants, who absolutely worshipped the ground he walked upon, and, having placed various books about, books that he considered of pleasant relaxation, such as engineering and mining treatises, with a couple of Dickens' works that he had always been "going to read," and a few technical journals, I went home haunted by his grave, considering eyes and his sad "You must not leave me here by myself; I don't want to be here without you!" hoping that after a day or two he would settle down and feel the benefit of getting more quickly to bed.

The house was charming, with, on one side, a lovely outlook over Regent's Park. It was very pretty and comfortable, and I used to make flying visits to him, to sit with him while he ate his breakfast.

For three weeks I congratulated myself on having been self-denying enough to earn him better rest, even at the cost to myself of not having him so much with me; then, on my return from my aunt, whose great age was now beginning to tell upon her, late one evening, I felt anxious and worried about my lover, even though my good-night telegram was awaiting me. He always telegraphed "good-night" if he was away from me. I tried to shake the feeling off, but after dinner I found myself mechanically making up the fire in my sitting-room as I did when sitting up for Parnell after a late sitting of the House. I felt amused at my absent-mindedness, and sat down before the fire, thinking that I would take advantage of the beautiful blaze I had made. I sat there idly, thinking of Parnell, wondering what exactly he was doing at that moment, and presently, hearing the servants go to bed, and feeling disinclined for bed myself, I got a book.

I could not settle to reading, and began to feel very lonely and to wish I were really waiting up for Parnell, as I used to. I thought of my aunt, of how very old she was, of her immense goodness to me ever since I had lived at Eltham, and of what a great blank there would be when she died—her life seemed to be like a flame flickering in the wind now, and it might go out any day. I got up to shake off my sad thoughts, and, throwing open my window, leant out and listened to the wind in the trees.

I heard the clock strike two, and listened, as I had always done, about this time, for the regular beat of the horse's hoofs that would bring my King home. I could hear nothing, and my longing for his presence was so great that I called out under my breath, "I wish you would come. I do wish you would come." Then I think I became drowsy, for I started up from the window, suddenly hearing three o'clock ring out from the village and the steady trot-trot of a horse in the distance.

I held my breath to listen, my heart beating with an eager joy. I could hear the beat of the hoofs round the corner into the village as they came from the Common, then lost as they went up the High Street, and suddenly clearer with the jingle of the cab bells as they turned the top of the road and stopped. I knew now, and opened the door quickly as my love came up the little side-walk past the window, giving the familiar signal as he went up the two steps; and I was in his arms as he whispered, "Oh, my love, you must not leave me alone again."