Read The Convictions of John Delahunt for Free Online Page A

her into the garden.
    I crunched along the gravel path, past green benches and flowering shrubs. That day Helen was wearing a pale yellow dress that complemented her sloping shoulders. Her light brown hair hung beneath a white bonnet in corkscrew curls. Mrs Bruce wore a shawl despite the warm weather, and carried a clasped parasol. She had been employed by the Stokes family since before Helen was born, and she knew me well enough because I was a friend of Arthur’s. After greeting me, she asked how I had come to be in the garden.
    ‘I was invited in by my tutor, Professor Lloyd,’ I said, knowing he lived on the square. ‘But he had to return to college. It was so pleasant I decided to walk on alone.’
    I fell into step beside them, holding my wrist behind my back as my father used to, and enquired after the Stokes household.
    Helen moved a low-hanging branch aside with the back of her hand, as if parting a curtain. ‘What subject does Professor Lloyd teach?’
    I looked to see if she made sport of my white lie, but she seemed genuinely interested. ‘Well, he’s the chair of experimental philosophy,’ I said. ‘But he only teaches me one class, which is optics.’
    The governess asked if I meant the grinding of spectacles.
    ‘Why no. It’s the study of light and all its properties.’
    ‘Imagine.’ Mrs Bruce noticed another woman walking a little further ahead and said it was Mrs Saunders. She quickened her step. ‘I wanted to have a word with her.’
    Helen and I were able to drop back and we walked for a while in silence. With each stride, a slim shoe emerged from the bottom of her skirt, then disappeared once more.
    I thought of a question. ‘Was your absence noted when we went to Thomas Street last week?’
    She said she managed to sneak back into the house unseen. ‘They thought I was in my room the entire time. What about you?’
    ‘I tend to come and go from the house as I please. I’m rarely missed.’
    We were strolling through a circular arbour, sheltered by newly green branches of ash that wove together overhead. In front of us, Mrs Bruce and Mrs Saunders emerged on to the sunlit path. Helen moved closer and took my hand. Her neck craned as she put her lips against my cheek, and she exhaled through her nose, which I felt down my jaw and beneath my collar. The arm she clasped was pressed firmly between us, against the smooth fabric of her dress, along her side and the top of her leg. I could smell sweat beneath her perfume. After a moment she disengaged, and stepped quickly on to the main path behind her governess.
    That April, an election took place among ratepayers to select a poor law guardian for the St Stephen’s Ward. The new Repeal Association put forward a candidate, and on election day they left little to chance. To ensure a full turn-out at the hustings, they employed the canvassing abilities of a large number of coal-porters from the north quays, who were provided with cudgels and hackney cars to escort reluctant electors to the meeting. A menacing body of such men also stood at the back of the hall, to remind hesitant voters of the consequences should they display a want of patriotism. Several prosecutions were brought after the election, for threats and actual assault on voters.
    There was one case in particular. Captain Craddock, a retired military gentleman of Leeson Street, declined to vote because of poor health. On the evening of the election, three canvassers gained entry to his house, dragged him from his sickbed, and beat him in his own chamber.
    A few days later I left Trinity by the front gate, intending to go straight home, but stopped at the window of a curiosity shop on College Green. An item in the corner had caught my eye, and I checked to see if I had enough money to buy it as a gift for Helen, but I was a few pennies short. It was a Chinese finger-trap. A little further up the street, some men had gathered around a printed proclamation. The notice described the