New Fiction for Patrons: Maud Gonne's Dublin Castle Debut

"Maud Gonne's Dublin Castle Debut" is an extract from my upcoming novel, A Life Before, narrated by the oldest woman in Ireland, Rosy Cross. In this extract, our heroine is faced with a dilemma at her debutante's ball--shall she allow herself to be kissed by the old Viceroy, as is the custom... or cause a scandal and ruin her debut? And who is the mysterious "M" in Tommy's engagement book?

The night had come. After hours of primping and gussying up, their skin was glowing, their hair curled and piled, Maud Gonne’s a cascade of russet behind her head, Kathleen’s a tall, blonde crown. They had their gloves and slippers, wraps and jewels in place and each was as ready as a girl could be. Now all they needed was the carriage that would convey them to that corral of dastardly dreams, St Patrick’s Ballroom at Dublin Castle.

And there it was, pulling in through the gate, looking like Cinderella herself, not the military barracks, had lent it for the evening, with two sleek, black horses dressed in white-plumes, and two resplendent, red-coated coachmen, white feathers in their hats to match. Kathleen let a loud squeal of delight that made Maud Gonne smile, it was so full of girlish joy, and she spread her arms wide to take her into a tender hug.

The sisters clung to each other a moment, relishing each other’s soft skin in all their bare-armed finery, , inhaling each other’s perfume: Kathleen’s a powdery Crown Violette, and Maud Gonne’s the zesty Fougère Royale. Their Parisian Aunt Mary had taught them how to choose perfumes that suited their personalities.

“Oh Maudie, imagine if tonight we were to meet the one.”

“I’m not wishing my adventures over before they begin, thank you all the same.”

“I can’t imagine any adventure more exciting than falling in love.”

“That, my dear, is a failure of imagination.”

Kathleen laughed. “Oh all right, then. You wish up a soldier prince for me and I’ll wish up ten admirers for you!”

[caption id="attachment_36002" align="alignleft" width="300"] Maud Gonne and her sister Kathleen in their debutante dresses[/caption]

A last embrace and then they straightened their wraps and made their way down the stairs, to the front hall, where Tommy was waiting for them. When he saw them descending towards him, his eyes filled with tears. “Oh my girls, my girls.”

He was thinking of Mama. Most debutantes were presented by their mothers, who would pass on to their daughters their memories of their own presentations. Maud Gonne and Kathleen felt no hardship in being having presented by their father, but feast days and celebrations always reminded them all of how different all their lives would have been, had she lived.

“Could a father be more proud?” “You look wonderful too, Tommy,” Maud said. “Very dashing.” And he did, in his full dress uniform for the occasion—scarlet tunic with golden braid and trimmings, 35-inch sword in its scabbard. He looked amazingly young for his age, as if he was their brother. Or a beau. When they had first come to Dublin, The Irish Times had reported him and Maud as Colonel and Mrs Gonne.

Coming to live with Tommy in Dublin was the best thing that had happened to Maud and Kathleen, in their young lives. Especially Maud. Kathleen, as ever, drew the short end of the stick, having to finish out a year of school but Maud had been installed as his housekeeper, despite the horror of the English aunts and uncles. His girls to live with him in the barracks! Every notion of civilised behaviour forbade it! Uncle William and a deputation of aunts dispatched themselves to outline the risks but Tommy stayed steadfast.

[caption id="attachment_36061" align="alignright" width="150"] Mrs Eva Cane, a friend of Maud Gonne's at the Royal Barracks[/caption]

Maud Gonne was desperate to prove her worth and efficiency to the scandalised relatives. Aside from a young Maltese wife of one of the officers lately attached to the Royal Irish regiment, Eva Cane, wife of Captain Claude Cane, with whom she bonded over their mutual love of dogs and interest in spiritualism, all the other officers’ and their wives were at least a decade older, many twenty years, or more—and they talked endlessly about their children, or Queen Victoria and her children.

Still, Maud Gonne worked hard, connecting them with each other, without getting involved in their intrigues. It was one of her duties to call on the officers’ wives of every regiment stationed in Dublin and entertain them, at least once, at a social function where they could make contact with each other. She’s also set about charming the generals, who she found more interesting than their wives, and more interesting too than the younger officers with their tedious talk of sport and racing. Her popularity with the older officers had already proved useful to Tommy, as he’d tried to bring in a reform, or even a change in how things were run. It was hard for them to make a scene when they were so fond of his daughter. She’d done her duty with determination, wanting to be the best angel in the house the Royal Irish Barracks had ever seen, which gave Tommy great amusement. The intensity with which she went about her tasks, having the general's wives to tea, giving orders to the cleaning and cooking staff, reconciling butcher and baker bills, reminded her father of when she was a little girl, playing with that Japanese tea set he’d brought back from Singapore for her and Kathleen. He and Maud Gonne shared a scampish approach to life and he treated her not as his child, but as a companion.On holiday in Europe, they’d once been mistaken as a honeymooning duo.

Now he offered her his right arm with an exaggerated gentlemanly air. “Mademoiselle Most Handsome. May I?” Tears were still standing in his eyes. He presented his left arm to Kathleen. “And Mademoiselle Most Pretty?”

Once they were each holding an elbow, he said, “Before the night is out, you’ll be chafing the hearts of all the young men of Dublin. I suppose you are too big now for a father’s kiss.”

Their response, of course, was to kiss him heartily.

Outside, it was a frosty February night, stars twinkling like icy diamonds and the moon turning the sky that shade of enamel blue that moonlight makes. The horses’ breath steamed in the cold air, and the girls shivered in their thin wraps, but Tommy quickly bundled them into the carriage, where he’d ordered all to be made cozy and snug. They tucked fur wraps around their laps, and the footmen laid heated bricks at their feet. Then, the wheels crunched over the cobbles and they were off.

Kathleen was self-conscious about her dress. Her arms were completely bare, not a stitch of sleeve, and it was more low cut than anything she'd ever worn before. She kept tugging the neckline up. Tommy said, “Dearest, don’t think of your dress. It’s as beautiful as can be, so now you must forget it. A woman works hard to be beautiful, but then she must appear as if it all happened with ease.”

Maud Gonne was happy she’d chosen a costume that let her breathe and be herself. And that she was made of tougher stuff than her dear, dreamy sister. Where Kathleen felt nerves, she felt only exhilaration. The closer they got to the Castle, the exhilarating it got, until it felt like the journey was its own festival, with rattling of wheels in front of them and behind, and the night coming alive with flashing lamps, as carriages started approaching from every side. People lined the streets, cheering and waving royal flags and favors.

Then they turned onto Dame St, and met stern orders and raised hands from mounted, mantled police, bringing the parade of carriages to a halt. They found themselves at a standstill, right before the looming arch of the Castle entrance, and right beside a ragtag reception of onlookers. Without anyone holding them back, this motley crew in torn trousers and battered bonnets was stopped a few feet distant from their carriage, as if some old spell had them tethered.

Maud Gonne had never seen such people so near. Work-weary lads with hang-dog faces. Girls Maud Gonne’s own age and younger, already with babes at their breasts, and older children pulling at the hem of their tattered skirts. Men returned from America, with their distinctive broad-rimmed, stovepipe hats casting shadows across searching faces, taking measure. Harlots, with eyes bitter, glazed or yearning, half-eyeing the carriages, half-eyeing the watching men.

“They are staring at us so,” Maud Gonne whispered to Tommy

“How can they not?” Tommy smiled.

“They look so cold. Their shawls and blankets are so thin, and full of holes.”

“Dear Lamb, always such a soft heart.”

Kathleen said, “How wicked those men in the big hats look. You don’t think they will rob us, Tommy?”

“Of course not, darling. They're just curious souls, like you and me. They likely never saw such beauty and sparkle before.”

Kathleen shrank back, trying to blend into the dark shadows of the carriage but Maud Gonne stared straight into the worn faces. Only rarely were wealth and poverty, grandeur and grit, brought so close in those days. Or any day, come to that.

Tommy opened the window and threw out a handful of coins. Like a flock of hungry gulls swooping, the crowd lunged, scrabbling with a desperate hunger, as they pushed each other out of the way. The younger boys did best, especially those with boots that could stay the coins under their feet, or kick them beyond the reach of the mothers burdened by infants. One girl in a purple shawl, needy eyes shining in the gaslight, fought head and elbow for her share.

One of the guards shouted that that they were to move on, the carriage lurched forward, and they rolled past the lined-up crowd, into the Castle quadrangle, leaving the scene behind. Seeing Maud Gonne look back, Tommy said gently, “Come, Lamb. Tonight is not a night for such thoughts.”

Inside the yard at last, they still had to make a tour all the way around its perimeter to be brought back round to the entrance. Again, it was sluggardly progress. Tommy was glad they’d left early, saying it would be even worse later on. Kathleen, by now lathered in impatience, feared their turn would never come. Maud Gonne, wondering whether the purple-shawled girl got her coin, said: “You’re right, Kathleen. We’re destined to never come out, and die a pair of wizened old maids in this carriage.”

[caption id="attachment_36062" align="alignleft" width="300"] Ceiling picture of King George III at Dublin Castle[/caption]

But by slow degrees, they arrived at the destination door and were finally discharged. Next came the queue in the vestibule, then the exchange of numbers for wraps at the cloak-room, but then at last Tommy led them, one on each arm again, into the ballroom.

He stopped at the threshold, in that way he had of marking the moments, so they could absorb it all. The white panels gilded gold! The Corinthian columns! The chandeliers! And of course, the famous ceiling, showing the submission of the Irish Celts to Saint Patrick, Irish leaders bending the knee to the first English king, and the elevation of King George by Liberty and Justice, with Britannia carrying his flag, and Hibernia in a green dress, one breast showing, inviting him on, and Peace handing him his two crowns, Ireland and England. Propaganda on a grand scale.

Not that any of them saw it like that, not then. It was just an art masterpiece in the old style. She was more drawn by the gallery where the orchestra, surrounded by hot-house plants, poured out polkas and waltzes. And by the dance floor, where slender figures in naked shoulders were already swirling and swaying in the arms of redcoats and dinner jackets, while others circled the buffet, enjoying champagne and claret-cup. And in dim corners, away from the golden glow of the lights and the murmur of silk gowns against the floor, still others traded secret whispers, reluctant demurrals and daring assents. Her passionate heart took a skip. It was all so intensely marvellous.

A bugle sounded for the viceregal procession. The crowd parted to let them through. First came the ADCs, the aides-de-camp of various kind. Then, in strict order, the Private Secretary, Military Private Secretary, Assistant Under Secretaries. Then the gentlemen-in-attendance. Next, and again in order, the Master of the Horse, the Dean of the Chapel Royal, the Chamberlain, the State Steward and the Gentleman Usher, a heavy-set man, who walked alone and cradled the huge ceremonial sword in his arms, like a babe in arms. Then… te dah!… their Excellencies. The new Lieutenant General and General Governor of Ireland, more widely known as the Viceroy, Lord Aberdeen and the Vicerine, Lady Aberdeen, and the two little ones given the task of holding up her train, a heavy emerald green mantle trimmed in silver, struggling a little under its weight but valiantly doing their job.

The Viceroy’s maroon breeches were a poor fit, with a mournful hang to them, but the Vicereine's diamonds sparkled so brilliantly that Maud Gonne half-expected them to leap up and dance off. Closing the line was another parade of ADCs, then the ladies of the new Viceregal family, other guests of their Excellencies', and, bringing up the rear, the ladies-in-attendance.

What a spectacle, this flaunting of itself by The Castle, this hauling of history and ceremony into its holding. Maud Gonne was caught by the pomp and circumstance and who could blame her? Tonight was not just about herself. She carried the weight of her forebears, not just her poor dead Mama, but the generations of young women had stood where she stood, filled with the same hopes, carrying the same weighty expectations. Impossible to be there and not feel part of something important, the latest in a long line through time.

* * *

At half-past-ten, they started to negotiate the crush towards the throne room, where the presentation would be made at eleven. They gave their cards to the ADC and joined the meandering line, a river of bodies, close enough to hear each other's heartbeats, everyone elbowing and jostling a little, trying to catch a glimpse ahead, or wave to a friend across the way. Anticipation, impatience, and nerves all mashed together, but at last came the call.

"Miss Maud Gonne!” the voice of the ADC rang out, each syllable fired off his tongue, strong and clear, to echoing off the gold-gilded walls and cut through the social buzz. “Presented by Colonel Thomas Gonne!”

Maud Gonne stepped into her moment like a swan takes to the river. With every move rehearsed to magnificence, she abandoned her train to the aides-de-camps and glided forth. Not a glance back did she give, as they picked it up and spread it out to exhibit its artistry. Eyes forth, into the spotlight she walked, before the semi-circle of red-coated gentlemen and white-tuilled ladies, to stop at the throne where the Viceroy sat beside his lady, that good woman, Lady Aberdeen.

Maud Gonne curtsied, lowering herself with elegance, and then it was time for the kiss. Lord Aberdeen began to lean forward, in slow and measured movement to place his lips on her cheek.

The question of the kiss had much exercised Maud Gonne since the day she’d had her argument in Madame Atkinson’s. Tommy had been dismissive. Droit de Seigneur was a myth, he said, and the kiss didn’t matter a whit. It was only a ceremonial symbol, not a real kiss.

Well yes, it was a symbol, Maud Gonne argued back, but a problematic one, and it mattered a good deal more than a whit. The ceremony was to mark her “coming out” into society and declare her now to be of marriageable age. Did he not see how this kiss from one old man to all the young girls suggested that they, and by implication marriage itself, was for men’s sensual gratification? It was insulting—not just to her, but to men.

[caption id="attachment_36063" align="alignright" width="300"] Debutante's ball at Dublin Castle[/caption]

When she married—which, unlike Kathleen, she had no intention of doing for a long time yet, but when she did—it would be to a man capable of that most profound union, the union of souls. A man who would collaborate in her life and she in his. If there had to be symbolic kissing, why not line up young men for the Vicerine to kiss? Or—the idea came to her in the heat of the argument— even better, for the debutantes to kiss. It was their coming out, after all!

This last suggestion made Tommy, who had been sitting impatiently through her long tirade, burst into a loud laugh, but then he got serious. “Lambkin, you’re not seriously going to ruin your debut, and have all of Dublin Castle talking about you in all the wrong ways? That would be a most ignominious debut.”

“Oh tittle-tattle. They’d soon find someone else to talk bout. It’s not like you to pay attention to the gossips, Tommy.”

“A man can win through other deeds but a woman must win at the social graces. For a woman, social reputation is everything.”

He saw the set of her face and realised his error. He should know by now not to assent to society’s thoughtless assumption that a woman could not do anything a man could, if she had the will. His eldest daughter certainly had the will. Hadn’t he encouraged in her, in both of his girls, since they were born, as Edith had asked of him.

He changed his tone. “Lamb, the whole point of a making a good debut is to elevate yourself from the off. With your beauty and confidence and wit you can be the success of this season. Why turn success into failure, for the sake of a silly ceremonial?”

“But why have a ceremony if we think it silly? I’d rather not go at all.”

Tommy picked up the sheet of letter paper that was lying loose on the table between them on the desk, crumpled it up and flung it at the wall. It fell short of its target, and landed on the polished floor with a bathetic bounce.“Certain sacrifices have been made for you, my dear.”

“Sacrifices? What sacrifices?”

He shook his head.

“Please Tommy, you can be frank with me.”

“This job I have taken here, it is a duff posting.”

“But Tommy, you are Assistant Adjutant Quartermaster-General of the Dublin District. It’s one of the most important jobs in the Irish Army.

“Yes, but for a man of action, a duff posting.”

Mutinous India, Garibaldian Italy, revolutionary Russia, and imperial Austro-Hungary had all seen service from Tommy. He loved travel, he loved languages and most of all, he loved adventure. One particularly active year had seen him in Vienna pushing Eastern Europe machinations, in Herzegovina reporting on insurgent fighting, in Serbia as a member of a European Commission marking out a Neutral Zone, and in Bulgaria for the Seige of Pleven, work for which the Romanians gave him a war medal. Keeping count of uniforms and ammunition for the Dublin brigades might look good on paper, but for him it was a come down.

“You did it for us.”

“Just so.”

Maud Gonne hugged him. “Oh dear Tommy, let’s not fight.”

“So what are you going to do about the kiss?”

“Never mind the kiss,” she said, but what she was thinking was: I’ll meet that problem when I come to it.

Now it was come.

As she rose from her curtsy to the Viceroy, he offered her genteel acknowledgement, a bow of the head, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She towered over him and as he moved to kiss her, she pulled her head away so his lip touched only air. First on one side, then the other.

Then it was over. He looked at her quizzically, unsure, but then in rote fashion, gestured for Kathleen.

“Miss Kathleen Gonne!” shouted the ADC. “Presented by Colonel Thomas Gonne!”

Maud Gonne passed away through the opposite door, where her train was gathered and handed to her by her two ADCs. It was over, no harm done.

* * *

To Be continued... Next extract in two weeks. This book will launch in autumn 2023.