CHAPTER VI.
GRACE O’MALLEY DANCES OUT OF GALWAY.
As early in the morning as was possible, without causing remark or exciting suspicion, I went into the town, taking with me several of my own men. The same officer who had been in charge of the guard the previous day was at the gate, and I advanced towards him boldly, as if I had no notion in the world that there could be anything amiss, nor, so far as he was concerned, was there.
For he gravely returned my salutation, merely giving me “Good-day” without waste of words, and waved his hand in the direction of the church of St. Nicholas of Myra.
When I had arrived at the mansion of the Mayor, I could see no difference in the manner of the reception I was accorded, except such as there would be owing to my mistress not being present on this occasion.
I sent in my name, with a request that Grace O’Malley might be informed of my arrival, and after a short time—short as far as the actual minutes, but it appeared an age to me, so impatient and anxious was I—I was conducted into a spacious room, where I found my two ladies, Sabina Lynch, and several gentlemen, most of whom were Irish. They were in the midst of a conversation as I entered, and I quickly gathered that they were talking about the entertainment the Mayor was to give in honour of the Governor before many days. They were speaking of corantos and other dances, in which I had but small proficiency, and I could not help saying to myself that Grace O’Malley could have no suspicion how slippery would be the floor for her feet!
On endeavouring to get speech with her privately, I found myself completely baffled, and that so subtly and craftily that I raged and fumed inwardly. For when I attempted to draw her aside we were instantly joined by Sabina Lynch, who smilingly disguised her purpose of preventing us from talking together by ourselves under a mock of empty but pleasant words. Indeed, so skilfully and readily did she speak, and with so much apparently of goodwill, that I had constantly to remind myself of all that Richard Burke had told me only a few hours before.
What my feelings were may be guessed, but I did my utmost to conceal them, although not very successfully, as I afterwards was told by Eva O’Malley. I never was one who could play the part of gallant or courtier, and what I knew to be in the wind did not tend to assist me in the efforts I now made to be at my ease and to seem confident that there was not a cloud in the sky.
And it could hardly be that one, who had seen so much of me as Eva had, but would observe my clumsy attempts at gaiety and light-heartedness. What she thus saw in my manner made her very uneasy, but at the time she kept her ideas to herself. It was enough, however, to put her on her guard, and caused her to watch more narrowly whatever was going on.