Lady Louisa glared at her sister. ‘You may call it a triumph, Thea, but I can hardly believe how you were willing to embarrass the family with your scandalous letter-writing campaign, not only to the Queen but to her closest associates, most of whom you did not even know. How could you have grovelled so? I’m sure we are all the laughing-stock of London.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Lady Ennis, ‘but we are the envy of the Anglo-Irish aristocracy all over Ireland.’
Lord Ennis grunted. ‘A triumph perhaps, Thea, but a very costly one.’
His wife waved her hand at him in frustration. ‘Must you always reduce everything to money, Edward? It’s so vulgar.’
‘Vulgar or not, we cannot ignore reality, Thea. You know very well the estates are not bringing in the revenue we once enjoyed and—’
‘Please, not at dinner,’ interrupted Lady Ennis. ‘Such topics bring on my headaches.’
Victoria watched nervously as Burke, the butler, and a footman served soup, followed by fish and meat courses. Her family ate in silence. Had Papa ruined Mama’s mood by bringing up money? She sighed and focused on her father as if just by staring at him she could make him speak. Please, Papa, she pleaded silently, please say something soon.
Lord Ennis had once been a handsome man, rugged and bearded, an outdoorsman whose love of horses and hunting had endeared him to his fellows who flocked to Ennismore for weekend sport. Now, at fifty, his looks had begun to fade, his once lithe figure running to fat. His thick, dark hair had grown sparse and a slight paunch now pressed against his shirt buttons. Nonetheless, he retained the attractiveness of a man at ease with his place in society.
He pushed his empty plate away from him, signalled the footman to remove it and turned to his wife.
‘So have you thought about my proposal, my dear?’
Victoria held her breath.
Lady Ennis put down her fork and frowned. ‘It’s absolutely out of the question, Edward. I cannot believe that you are contemplating such a thing.’
‘Nonsense, Thea,’ said Lord Ennis. ‘Our Victoria has persuaded me that it is a splendid idea.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘She’s been pestering me ever since she met the girl.’
His wife’s plump bosom rose and fell in exasperation, causing the garnet pendant which rested upon it to sway precariously. ‘How can you allow a common peasant girl to take lessons with our daughter?’
Victoria stifled a squeal. Rosie to share her lessons? Oh, this was so much more than she had hoped for. She squinted, trying to read her mother’s expression.
‘It’s what Victoria wants,’ said Lord Ennis.
‘And is Victoria to have everything she wants? Is her every whim to be indulged no matter what the cost, while you scold me for every penny I spend?’
‘This proposal will cost us nothing. Lady Louisa can as easily teach two girls as one.’
Lady Louisa scowled at her brother-in-law.
‘And besides,’ he went on, ‘the girl is not exactly a peasant. I have made enquiries and her father is one of my most reliable tenant farmers. John Killeen is a splendid chap.’
A small cry escaped from Lady Ennis. ‘Killeen. Don’t we have a maid named Killeen?’
‘The sister,’ sniffed Lady Louisa.
Lady Ennis dropped the fork with which she was about to stab the fresh rhubarb tart the footman had set in front of her. ‘Have you lost your mind, Edward? And what of Louisa? Surely you can’t expect her to give lessons to the sister of one of our maids.’
Lord Ennis poured fresh cream on his tart and smiled at Lady Louisa. ‘I’m sure Louisa will be happy to cooperate in whatever is best for our family, won’t you, dearest sister?’
Lady Louisa glared back at him but said nothing.
‘But, Edward . . .’ began Lady Ennis.
Lord Ennis sighed and laid his fork down on the table. ‘No more, Thea,’ he said in his rich, deep voice, honed from years of speechmaking in the House of Lords, ‘my mind is made up. The child needs company her own age now that her brothers are away at school.’ He leaned closer to his wife. ‘I had hoped we might provide a sister for her, but that is hardly likely now, is it, my dear?’
Lady Ennis flushed. ‘You know very well, Edward, that Victoria’s birth nearly killed me,’ she said, looking wounded.
‘Not to mention what it did to your figure,’ muttered Lady Louisa.
‘Since she has no sisters close to her own age,’ continued Lord Ennis, as if nothing was said, ‘and since there is no girl of suitable age and class within miles, then this child – er, Rose, is it? – may serve as well as any.’
He leaned back in his chair and beckoned to the butler to bring him a brandy.
‘Our Victoria is like a high spirited thoroughbred,’ he began, ignoring the women’s groans. ‘She is dreamy and temperamental. I bed my thoroughbreds down with stout stable horses. The companionship calms them, and in time they perform at their best.’
‘Victoria is not a horse,’ snapped Lady Louisa.
Lord Ennis stood, signalling the end of dinner. ‘I shall speak to John Killeen. I’m sure the chap will consider it a great honour. Have the girl join Victoria when the boys return to school for the autumn term.’
Victoria could not stop herself from clapping her hands. ‘Oh, thank you, dear Papa,’ she cried.
She raced out of the library and up the stairs to her bedroom. She could hardly wait for the summer to be over.
Lady Ennis swept indignantly out of the dining room followed by her sister. Ten years her husband’s junior, she still possessed a comely figure. Her excess pounds were cleverly encased in corsets and stays, while low necklines displayed her white bosom to great effect. Her gowns, though slightly out of fashion, were well cut and her dark blonde hair impeccably coiffed.
Entering the drawing room, she sat down on a pink, tufted velvet love seat, wincing as her bottom collided with its unyielding upholstered surface – she had chosen the new furniture for its style rather than comfort. She smoothed out her skirts and rang the bell to summon the butler.
As she waited for her tea she looked around the drawing room with a satisfied smile. Despite her husband’s protests she had insisted on lifting this one room above the antiquated shabbiness of the rest of the house. After all, the drawing room was where Her Majesty would be received and first impressions were of the utmost importance. Now she took in the fresh wallpaper with its smart pale green and white trellis design, the freshly painted white mouldings and the blue velvet cane-backed chairs, all acquired within the last month. She frowned slightly as she peered at the mantel and fire surround. She had wanted marble but the excessive cost had obliged her to make do with cleverly painted wood that, from a distance, resembled marble. She had done her best to distract suspicious eyes by displaying her prized collection of Meissen porcelain on the mantelshelf.
Meanwhile, her sister, Lady Louisa, paced back and forth across the room.
‘Oh, do sit down, Louisa,’ snapped Lady Ennis, as Burke entered carrying a silver teapot followed by Sadie, the red-haired maid, bearing a tray of china cups and saucers. ‘You are making me quite dizzy.’
Muttering to herself, Lady Louisa perched her bony frame primly on the edge of one of the new cane-backed chairs at a considerable distance from her sister. With her brown hair pulled back into a bun, her silk, high-collared dark grey dress, and her charmless demeanour, Lady Louisa Comstock was the epitome of the very role she fiercely resented – a governess. She had come to live with her sister after several ‘Seasons’ in London, during which she had failed to secure even one offer of marriage. True, she lacked her sister’s attractiveness, and had no sense of humour, but her worst failing was her fatal inability to flatter men. Relegated now to her place as an unpaid member of the household staff, Louisa’s prickly nature often expressed itself in open hostility.
The servants dismissed, Lady Ennis sipped her tea and turned to her sister.
‘I hardly know where to begin,’ she said. ‘I h
ave sacrificed so much for Edward all these years, and now this! It is really the last straw.’
‘What would you know about sacrifice, Thea? You have a husband, a home, social status and security. I have none of those things.’
‘Don’t start, Louisa. It’s your own fault. If only you had tried to be more pleasant to your suitors, you would not be in your present predicament.’
Lady Louisa banged down her teacup, sending the saucer rattling. ‘If you mean by refusing to debase myself in front of slobbering, drunken fools, then I plead guilty.’
‘Don’t exaggerate. A smile here, a little flattery there, it wouldn’t have hurt you. It’s unfortunate you did not choose to take your cues from me.’
A look of scorn spread across Lady Louisa’s thin face. ‘I think you did more than smile and flatter, dear sister. As I recall you went out of your way to malign any other girl in whom Edward showed an interest so that you could have him for yourself. You even made up a story which sent poor Charlotte Dowling scurrying off to the Continent to comfort her supposedly sick sister just to get her out of the way.’
Lady Ennis sniffed. ‘I didn’t make it up. It was merely a misunderstanding. It wasn’t my fault if that silly Charlotte was gullible enough to believe it.’ A shadow passed over her grey eyes. ‘Anyway, look at where it all got me in the end, isolated here in this backwater in the west of Ireland with a husband who holds the purse strings in a death grip. If I’d known then what I know now – I had so many other suitors to choose from . . .’
‘But you chose Edward, for better or worse.’
Lady Ennis gazed dreamily out the window. ‘But he was so charming, Louisa. And he made Ireland sound so romantic. Imagine my shock when he brought me to this unfashionable old house surrounded by bogs and marshes!’
‘You made your bed,’ said Louisa, standing up.
‘Yes. And I have lived stoically with the consequences. But this latest demand of Edward’s is beyond my patience to bear.’ She paused and stretched her mouth into a thin, unattractive line. ‘I have been determined since Victoria was born that she shall have a better life than was afforded me. She will be brought up strictly and with the utmost care so that when she enters society her manners and demeanour will be flawless. If her looks fulfill their promise, she will become a beauty. She will have her pick of suitors, and I shall settle for no less than the well-to-do eldest son of an earl.’
She looked directly at her sister. ‘What Edward is suggesting will ruin all my plans for Victoria, and I simply will not allow it.’
‘I don’t see that you have a choice.’
‘I may not be able to stop that wretched peasant girl from entering this house for lessons but once lessons are over I shall forbid Victoria to have anything to do with her. Her corrupting influence will be limited to your classroom only and I expect you to make things so unbearable for the urchin that even her visits to the schoolroom will be short-lived. Do you understand me?’
Lady Louisa regarded her sister with pursed lips as if contemplating a sharp reply. Instead, she put her hand to her forehead. ‘I must go and lie down. I have the most frightful headache. Please ring for that maid to bring me water.’
Without waiting for an answer, Lady Louisa withdrew from the drawing room leaving Lady Ennis staring after her, aghast at the fact that her sister had just dared to give her an order.
Bridie shot through the door of the Killeen cottage and came to a halt in front of Rosie. ‘You conniving wee bitch,’ she shouted, her rough, red hands resting on her thin hips.
‘Bridie!’ said Ma. ‘How dare you speak to your sister like that?’
‘But she is, Ma,’ protested Bridie, tears of frustration clouding her pale, blue eyes. ’Twas her put the idea in the girl’s head, and she did it all to spite me.’
Ma took Bridie’s arm and marched her to a chair beside the kitchen table. ‘Now sit down and tell us what this is all about.’
Bridie poured out what the maid, Sadie Canavan, had just told the servants about Lord Ennis’s decision.
‘Sadie said Lady Louisa told her it was Victoria’s idea, but I think it was this one put her up to it.’
Rosie listened in horror. ‘Why would I do that?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go up there. I like me own school, and me own friends.’ She looked up at her mother, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘I don’t have to go, do I, Ma? I don’t have to go if I don’t want to?’
Mrs Killeen looked from her two tearful daughters to her husband who sat on an old settle bed beside the huge open hearth in which a turf fire burned.
‘John?’
Rosie held her breath. Surely her da would never agree to such a thing. Ever since she could remember he had sided with her, protecting her from her brothers’ taunts or her ma’s scolding. She had a sudden image of herself as a toddler, sitting tearfully on his knee while he took the broken pieces of a dinner plate she had dropped and slid them behind his chair.
‘We’ll hide them,’ he’d whispered, ‘so your ma won’t find them. ’Twill be our secret.’
Of course Ma had found the pieces of the plate that same evening and looked at her husband quizzically.
‘Arrah, sure it just slipped out of me hands, Mary,’ he’d said, winking at Rosie.
Now she waited for him to rescue her again. His eyes met hers for an instant as he pulled slowly on his pipe, the white smoke encircling him. Then he bowed his head.
‘If his lordship wants it,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t know what choice we have in it, Roisin dubh.’
Her da always called her by her full name, Roisin, and added ‘dubh’ which he pronounced ‘Ro-sheen dove’. He told her it was Irish for ‘Dark Rosaleen’ and was another name for Ireland. It had always pleased her when he called her that. With her black hair and hazel eyes, so dark they looked brown in certain lights, the name suited her. But this night it brought her no pleasure. She began to cry harder.
‘Ah, for God’s sake what do you have to cry about?’ said Bridie. ‘How d’you think it’s going to be for me with you coming up there every day and me having to wait on you?’ She turned to her mother. ‘And the staff will be trying to get gossip out of me. I’ll have no peace at all. And what if this one disgraces me? I could lose my job over the head of her.’
Ma went to stand beside Bridie and stroked her head. ‘Och, ’twill be all right, love, you’ll see. Rosie won’t let you down.’
For the rest of that summer, Rosie tried to put thoughts of what lay ahead of her out of her mind. Every morning she collected the eggs from the chicken pens and brought them home where she helped Ma prepare breakfast. Her work over, she passed the long, bright days chasing after rabbits with her brothers, or swimming in the streams with children from the neighbouring farms. Often they ventured deep into the woods looking for caves or fairy forts. But at night, with all distractions gone, and after her family had gone to bed, she often stood gazing around the little cottage as if trying to memorize it. As she looked into the embers of the turf fire she was filled with a certain knowledge her life would never be the same.
All too soon, the summer drew to a close. The Killeen cottage roiled in preparations for the new school year – a fury of haircuts and squabbles over why the oldest brother always got the new boots and schoolbags, while the others had to make do with hand-me-downs. Rosie watched in silence and hoped against hope for a miracle. But it was not to be. Ma insisted that Rosie accompany her into the nearby town of Crossmolina to buy material for new dresses to wear up to the Big House. Normally Rosie would have been delighted at the prospect of shopping with her mother, but this time she followed Ma out the door like a prisoner going to her execution.
At Hopkins’ Drapers Ma bought several yards of soft, cotton cloth, which Rosie knew they could barely afford, along with lace trimmings and matching buttons. For the next two nights, Ma stayed up late sewing two new dresses for Rosie, one blue and one grey, each with lace-trimmed collars, a sash that tied in the back, and big white
buttons on the front.
‘There,’ said Ma with satisfaction, ‘these should do ye for a while as long as ye keep them right. No running or rolling about on the grass now, or tearing them on fences.’ She looked sternly at Rosie, who bowed her head.
The night before she was to go up to the Big House, Rosie lay in bed weeping quietly. How could her da have betrayed her so – taking the side of strangers over his own daughter? And why was her ma so delighted at the prospect of her daughter being educated with the girl from the Big House? What had she done to deserve having her life turned upside down? Why were they punishing her this way? As she drifted off to sleep she wished fervently that she had never set eyes on Victoria Bell.
CHAPTER 2
That same night, Victoria Bell was too excited to sleep. Rosie would be coming to start lessons with her the next day. What fun it was going to be having her new friend with her in the schoolroom! She had thanked her papa over and over for allowing Rosie to join her, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek every time she saw him.
‘Now, now, Victoria,’ Lord Ennis had said, gently pushing her away, ‘this doesn’t mean you can play all day. You and young Rose must apply yourselves to your lessons. I shall be receiving reports on your behaviour from Lady Louisa and if she has found you wanting I shall have to send Rose back to her farm.’
‘Oh no, Papa,’ Victoria had said in alarm, ‘I’ll be good, I promise.’
Lady Ennis, however, had a different, more unsettling message for her daughter.
‘I have agreed to this arrangement because your father insisted,’ she said, ‘but it extends to the schoolroom only. You are forbidden to see or speak to that girl outside your lessons. I will not have her peasant influence corrupting you. Is that understood, Victoria?’
Victoria had nodded although she had not understood at all. She did not even know what the word ‘corrupting’ meant. All she knew was that for some reason her mama disliked Rosie even though she had never even met her.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 2
