Henry, now Lord Candlesby, began a programme of serious retrenchment at the Hall. It was, he said, a nonsense to be living with that much debt and he set about reducing it in a sober and responsible fashion. People said he was a changed man.
Powerscourt always remembered the case of the murdered Earls as having to do with Charles, who was neither murdered nor the murderer, but now a frequent guest at the Powerscourt house in Markham Square. Charles had stood with Powerscourt on the strip of land between the lake and the mausoleum at Candlesby Hall after James’ funeral shortly before Christmas and quoted Shakespeare. His stammer seemed to be gone for ever, banished by the terrible events at his home. ‘Let us hope’, he said, ‘that “Our revels now are ended.” Three corpses should be enough for anybody.
‘Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.’
‘I think my father strutted and fretted his hour upon the stage, you know, Lord Powerscourt. The candles flickered for a little time. I always loved him so much, you know, even though he was such a terrible man. I have thought since his death that it was appropriate that he, of all people, was wearing those clothes the night he was killed. All his life he was a hunter, a hunter of women, a hunter of money, a hunter of fowl and foxes, a hunter after power and the gratification of his own desires. How right therefore that he should be dressed as Master of the Hunt and meet his death in a scarlet coat.’