Read Online The Master by Colm Tóibín - Free Book Online

together.
    ‘But being a bachelor must leave you open to all sorts of … How shall I put it? All sorts of sympathy.’
    T HE G REAT H ALL of the Royal Hospital basked in the glow of a thousand candles. There was music from a small orchestra, and waiters moved among the
guests offering champagne. The tables were set, as Lady Wolseley had told him, with silver which Lord Wolseley had recently inherited, shipped from London specially for the occasion. So far only
the men were present. He was informed that none of the ladies wanted to be the first to arrive, all of them were in their chambers waiting for news from their maids, who regularly spied down into
the hall from the stairwell. Lord Houghton was in his full regalia as the queen’s representative in Ireland and he took the view that Lord Wolseley would have to organize a cavalry charge to
force the ladies to appear. Lady Wolseley, it seemed, was the most recalcitrant of all and had sworn that she would be the last to arrive in the room.
    Henry watched Webster; not for one moment was he unaware of Webster’s movements. He had had enough of him. Should Webster dart in his direction, he was ready to turn away abruptly. This
meant that he could not, under any circumstances, become involved in an engrossing conversation.
    As Webster, indulging in constant laughter, moved across the hall, Henry followed him with his eyes and thus he noticed Hammond for the first time. Hammond was wearing a black suit and a white
shirt and a black bow tie. His dark hair seemed shinier and longer than before. He was freshly shaved and this gave his face a thin, pure beauty. As soon as Henry caught his eye, he knew that he
had been examining him too closely, that he had, in one flash, given more away than he had done all week. Hammond seemed unembarrassed and did not avert his eyes. He held a tray but did not move
from where he stood and managed, without any trace of emotion, to outstare Henry, who was standing in a group, half-listening to an anecdote. Henry returned his attention to the company. Once he
withdrew his gaze, he was careful not to look again.
    Lord Wolseley had spoken to the orchestra and arranged a small fanfare, and negotiated with the maidservants that at the sound of the music each lady, including his own wife, would venture from
her chamber and present herself in the hall for much fussing and admiration. No one was allowed to stay behind. When the fanfare sounded, the gentlemen stood back and the doors were ceremoniously
opened. Two dozen ladies descended on the room, all of them wearing elaborate wigs and cakes of make-up and dresses fresh from the greatest paintings of Gainsborough, Reynolds and Romney. The
gentlemen applauded as the orchestra played the opening of a waltz.
    Lady Wolseley had been right when she told them that her costume would triumph. A mixture of peacock blue and a deep red, her silk dress had an enormous sash, and was full of tucks and
flourishes and bulges. It was low-cut to a degree that none of the other ladies had risked. Lady Wolseley was not wearing a wig, merely her natural hair with ringlets added, the connection between
the real and the false hair seamless. Her face and eyes had been painted so expertly that it appeared as though she were wearing no make-up at all. Having asked the orchestra to stop playing, she
motioned her guests to stand back. Her husband did not seem to know who or what was on the other side. The doors closed and then began slowly to open again.
    What they revealed was the child Mona as the Infanta from Velázquez, wearing a dress five times larger than she was. She came as far as the doorway and stood still, keeping her eyes on
the far distance, playing perfectly the part of the princess too noble to survey her subjects, abstracted by her great role and destiny, smiling softly as the guests applauded her and declared her
to be the success and surprise of the evening.
    Immediately, Henry was disturbed by