‘Well, get rid of them.’
Her mama had swept out of the room, leaving a cold draught behind her. Victoria began to tremble. She had gone too far. What if Mama ordered Papa to make Rosie leave? She sensed that Rosie would be happy enough to go back to her own world, but she herself would not be able to bear life at Ennismore without her. Why had she said those things to Mama? She should have known it would displease her. She must be careful in the future. She could not risk Rosie being sent away. She made up her mind to keep such thoughts to herself. From now on she would be the perfect daughter her Mama expected.
Later that evening, Lady Ennis sat musing in front of her mirror while her maid, Immelda Fox, brushed out her hair. Without looking up she began to speak.
‘Fox, I want you to keep an eye on my daughter.’
Immelda Fox had arrived at Ennismore from a convent several years before, having failed to become a nun. The staff had immediately regarded her with suspicion. Her black hair, intense grey eyes, snow-white skin that had never seen the sun and the way she noiselessly slipped in and out of rooms, added to their view of her as a mysterious, dark spectre. Everyone was shocked when Lady Ennis chose her to be her lady’s maid. What they did not realize was that Lady Ennis had correctly judged that Immelda Fox would be the least likely of all the staff to carry tales. She trusted her implicitly.
The maid’s eyes widened with curiosity.
‘My lady?’
‘I had a most disturbing conversation with her this afternoon. She exhibited a defiance I have never seen in her before. I am sure it’s the influence of that . . . that girl!’
‘You mean Rosie Killeen, madam? But surely Lady Louisa would be better suited than meself to watch her.’
‘No, Fox. I fear my dear sister is not always candid with me about such matters. She sees the classroom as her domain. I had hoped by now she would have made things so unpleasant for the Killeen girl that she would have left of her own accord. But it appears that is not the case.’
Fox shrugged. ‘These country girls would surprise you sometimes, my lady,’ she said. ‘They often have more fight in them than you would expect.’
‘You will observe Victoria’s movements outside the classroom. I want to know if she is defying me and spending time with that girl.’
‘I will do me best, my lady.’
Immelda Fox finished brushing her mistress’s hair and helped her into her nightdress. Her expression betrayed no emotion. It was only when she closed the door to Lady Ennis’s room and descended the stairs that a smile crept across her thin, pale face.
CHAPTER 3
On 1 June 1906, the sixth anniversary of the arrival of Queen Victoria at Ennismore, Victoria Bell sat in the formal dining room for the first time with her family and guests. The occasion was her thirteenth birthday. They were about to begin dinner when a carriage drew up outside. Victoria jumped to her feet and ran to the window.
‘It’s Aunt Marianne!’ she called.
Lady Marianne Bellefleur, Lord Ennis’s sister, had an uncanny knack of knowing when the Bell family was giving a dinner party to which she had not been invited. It amused her greatly on these occasions to arrive unexpectedly, knowing that it would throw her sister-in-law into a sudden swoon over seating arrangements and the like, not to mention her panic that Lady Marianne’s eccentric behaviour would shock her guests.
Now she swept into the dining room accompanied by Mr Shane Kearney, the young dandy whom she had taken under her patronage, and who was her constant escort. A tall, dark-haired woman with an exquisite figure and fashionable attire, Lady Marianne always commanded a room. Victoria grinned at her brother, Valentine, as she watched their mother arrange her face into a gracious smile. Valentine, older than Victoria by two years and with the same blond good looks, grinned back.
‘Why, dear Marianne,’ Lady Ennis said as she rose to greet the new guests, ‘what an unexpected surprise.’
Lady Marianne nodded while Mr Kearney took Lady Ennis’s hand in his and lavished a theatrical kiss upon it before she snatched it away.
‘How could I miss such an auspicious occasion as my dear niece’s thirteenth birthday?’ said Lady Marianne, nodding towards Victoria. ‘Look at you, my dear, so grown-up. Is she not divine, Mr Kearney?’
‘Worthy of an Ingres portrait,’ said Mr Kearney, flipping back his dark locks with a pale, bejewelled hand. ‘I must illustrate her.’
It was a fine summer evening. The sun filtered in through a west-facing corner window, etching dancing leafy patterns on the small game table that sat beneath it. Flowering bushes brushed against the windows on all sides and the distant call of birds drifted in from the lake. Mr Burke and both liveried footmen stood at attention at the sideboard on which various dishes were placed on silver salvers.
Victoria looked around the table. Her mother eyed Sir Humphrey Higgins, a portly local merchant and hunting friend of Lord Ennis, with disgust as he stuffed huge quantities of food into his fleshy mouth, while Lady Louisa’s gaze was fixed expectantly on Reverend Watson, the recently widowed local rector on whom Louisa, in apparent concern for her future once Victoria left the schoolroom, had set her sights.
Lord Ennis gesticulated towards the men. ‘This Home Rule nonsense just won’t die,’ he declared in his full, deep voice. ‘The legislation is to be brought before the Lords again, even though there are no votes for it. It is really becoming tiresome.’
‘I don’t know why the House of Lords are so against it, Papa. It is bound to pass eventually,’ said his older son, Thomas, who bore an astonishing resemblance to his father in his youth.
Lord Ennis grew more agitated. ‘Not if I can help it. Why on earth would we give Ireland its own parliament?’
‘Their power would be limited.’
‘For now, perhaps, but what if they want more? What if it leads to land reforms? Or worse, what if they push for full independence? What would become of us then? And as my heir it will be your battle to fight, Thomas. The landed Irish aristocracy is under siege as it is.’
Valentine, who fidgeted throughout the meal as though he had something on his mind, finally spoke up.
‘Thomas is right, Papa. If it’s delayed much longer, it could lead to violence. The native Irish might take up arms to achieve their independence.’
‘That’s enough of that sort of talk, Valentine!’ said Lady Ennis.
‘The boy may be right. There is indeed evidence of growing Irish nationalism, even among people of our class,’ said Lady Marianne, evidently enjoying Lady Ennis’s discomfort. ‘Why, dear Lady Gregory from Galway and Mr Yeats, partners in the Abbey Theatre and both of the Protestant Ascendancy, are championing such a movement. And the young Butler sisters, girls from a very well thought of Protestant family, are causing talk all over Dublin because of their nationalist pursuits.’
Lady Marianne looked pointedly at Victoria. ‘I am delighted to hear of young women like the Butlers charting their own course. You must do the same, my dear. Young ladies such as you are poised at the beginning of a new century to throw off all the old ways and march boldly into the future. It is what the French have always done.’
Lady Marianne was a fervent proponent of all things French. She had never forgiven her forbears for changing their family name from Bellefleur to Bell during the Reformation when they abandoned their Catholicism and swore the required allegiance to the Church of Ireland in order to hold on to their lands. Lady Marianne had changed her name back to Bellefleur as a young woman, and had relished in it ever since.
‘And of course we mustn’t forget the famine,’ put in Sir Humphrey, gulping down a heaped spoonful of bread pudding and eyeing Lady Marianne’s conspicuous bosom. ‘You landowners created a lot of resentment in your day, and the Irish have long memories.’
Victoria grew excited. Rosie had told her a lot about the history of Ireland. Now she was thrilled with the opportunity to join in the adult conversation. ‘Rosie says her brothers talk about a united Irelan
d all the time. They don’t think Home Rule goes far enough. And anyway, Rosie says we stole the land from them in the first place. I think they deserve to have it returned.’
Victoria sat back, pleased with herself, but her mother let out a gasp of horror. Lady Louisa pursed her lips while Valentine burst out laughing. Even Brendan Lynch, the elder of the two footmen, could not conceal a smile. Lady Marianne, who was fingering a threadbare spot on the linen tablecloth, looked up and smiled in triumph.
‘You see, Edward?’ said Lady Ennis, her face red as she turned to her husband. ‘You see what has happened? I told you not to let that awful girl near our daughter, and now listen to her.’
She swung around to her sister.‘Louisa?’
‘She didn’t learn that in my classroom, I assure you.’
The tension broke when Burke entered bearing a pink, iced birthday cake ablaze with candles. Victoria smiled with pleasure. She closed her eyes and made a secret wish then blew out the candles.
‘How lovely to be thirteen, and just entering young womanhood,’ said Reverend Watson, looking from Victoria to Lady Louisa who, in turn, glared at her niece.
A sudden rain shower sent the footmen scurrying to close all the windows. Lord Ennis took his cue to stand up.
‘Gentlemen, shall we repair to the library?’
The men, except for Mr Kearney, rose to follow him. Valentine leaned over and kissed Victoria on the cheek. ‘Happy Birthday,’ he said. ‘I wish I could join you in the drawing room. This is bound to be boring. At least Papa’s so caught up with Home Rule he won’t be berating me about my school marks.’
‘Are they bad?’ whispered Victoria.
‘Tragically so. I doubt if I shall be going back to Eton.’
Victoria was about to answer him when Brendan brushed past her carrying a tray.
‘Happy Birthday, miss,’ he whispered.
She swung around but he was gone. She stood for a moment, bemused.
‘Victoria? This way please,’ called Lady Ennis as she and Lady Louisa walked towards the drawing room, followed by Lady Marianne and Mr Kearney.
When they were seated and Mr Burke had poured small sherries for each of them, including Victoria, Lady Ennis turned to her daughter.
‘Now, my dear, it is not too early for us to begin planning your future. In three years’ time you will be ready for your first Season. Isn’t it exciting, Louisa? I never thought the time would come.’
‘Nor did I,’ muttered Lady Louisa.
‘And the sooner we get you away from that peasant girl, the better,’ continued Lady Ennis.
Victoria looked at her mother. ‘Please, Mama, don’t keep calling Rosie “that peasant girl”. Rosie is my best friend. Surely we will attend the Season together.’
Lady Ennis gasped. ‘Victoria! What absolute rubbish. The girl is not of our class, and never shall be. She was allowed to be your school companion only. And she should be grateful for all we have done for her. But when the time comes for you to be presented in society she must be dismissed.’
‘But where will she go?’ cried Victoria.
Lady Ennis shrugged. ‘Back to the peasant cottage where she belongs. Really, Victoria, I thought you had more sense than to think she would be your companion for life.’
Victoria stared at Lady Ennis as if seeing her for the first time. How could she be so cruel? Didn’t she understand how much she loved her friend – and needed her? Didn’t she understand the guilt she felt every time she allowed her mother’s criticism of Rosie to go undefended? A mixture of defiance and anger welled up in her. She stood up and faced her mother, blinking back tears.
‘The only way I will go to the Season is if Rosie comes too!’
Lady Ennis laughed. ‘As your maid, perhaps, Victoria.’
Lady Ennis’s scorn fuelled Victoria’s anger further. ‘No, Mama. As my equal. And furthermore I will see Rosie whenever I want to. From now on I shall invite her on to this estate and into this house any time I wish, so you can tell Fox she can stop spying on me!’
‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Lady Marianne, ignoring the shocked faces of the other women. ‘Is she not a warrior, Mr Kearney? Is she not a credit to her French heritage?’
Victoria, suddenly exhausted from her outburst, walked to the door, paused and turned around. ‘Good night, Mama,’ she said quietly, ‘thank you for the lovely party. Good night, Aunt Louisa, Aunt Marianne.’
Lady Marianne followed her niece to the door, took her arm and squeezed it. ‘I meant what I said,’ she whispered. ‘If you ever decide to run away and forge your own path you may come to me in Dublin. And tell your young friend Rose that she is also welcome.’
It was the summer of 1908 and Rosie and Victoria walked arm in arm in the walled garden that lay behind the house, strolling along the gravel paths that ran between the manicured boxwood hedges and around the ornamental flower beds which overflowed with red and yellow dahlias. In the year since Victoria had stood up to her mother about seeing Rosie outside the classroom the garden had become their favourite place to spend time.
It was also during that year that Rosie developed a crush on Valentine. In the past she had seen him only occasionally, and from a distance. He had merely been Victoria’s brother and she had not paid him much attention. He had not seemed to notice her either, often strolling past her and nodding absently, his hands thrust in his pockets and a faraway look on his face. She couldn’t remember when it happened exactly – that moment when she felt her heart flutter slightly in her chest and her face grow warm at the sight of him. Even then, he still did not notice her. At first she was glad of his seeming indifference. It gave her leave to look at him freely, admiring his tall, slender figure, the way he moved like a stealthy cat, the delicate set of his jaw and the way the light played on his blond hair, rendering it dark as wet sand on some days, and pale as wheat on others. But in time she grew tired of being invisible. Why would he not look at her?
It was a question she wrestled with in the waning days of that first summer. When he departed for Dublin she hoped he would fade from her mind. But he did not. He occupied her thoughts at every turn, disturbing her sleep at night and ruining her concentration by day. She found herself tracing his name in her school notebooks, taking loving care over the ‘V’, decorating it with flowers, often oblivious to Lady Louisa’s harsh voice calling her to attention. She longed to share her feelings with Victoria, but a small voice chided her that Victoria would laugh. And at night a sharper voice warned her that she was reaching for something so far beyond her grasp that it could only end in unhappiness.
She tried hard to chase away all thoughts of him and almost succeeded until the week before Christmas when they almost walked smack into one another under the archway that led to the stables. Rosie had been in the kitchen bringing a message from Ma to Bridie, and Valentine was on his way to exercise his favourite horse. He wore jodhpurs and a tweed riding jacket and the wind tousled his hair.
‘Excuse me,’ muttered Rosie, stepping quickly aside.
He stopped and smiled at her. Such a beautiful smile, she thought, her heart leaping at the sight of him.
‘Ah, Rosie,’ he said, ‘there you are. I was hoping to run into you.’ He chuckled. ‘Not literally, of course. Please forgive me, I was in a rush to give Phaedon his exercise. I missed him so much when I was in Dublin.’
Rosie nodded, incapable of words. He stood facing her, his blue eyes beaming with good nature and pleasure. A mild panic gripped her and she turned and fled back to the kitchen, her heart thudding against her ribs. She sensed him staring after her.
‘Next time don’t be in such a rush, Rosie,’ he called.
Mercifully, he had only been home for a week. Rosie kept vigilant watch at all times, darting behind a tree or a wall when she saw him coming and, when she could not avoid him, simply bowing her head and rushing past him, muttering comments about being late for lessons. Of course, she knew that he knew lessons were suspended for the holidays. How f
oolish she felt, running away at the very sight of him. Hadn’t she yearned for his attention all last summer? And now, when he was here, greeting her with a cheery smile, all she could do was hide. She didn’t trust herself to speak to him for fear of betraying her feelings. What an eejit he must think her. If she went on this way, he was bound to lose any interest in her at all. And yet she could not help herself.
Now it was summer again, and she and Victoria walked companionably in the garden. When they reached the arched stone grotto they sat down on a bench, chatting and laughing in the sunshine.
‘What are you two in such deep conversation about?’
Valentine strode up to them, smiling.
Rosie’s face grew hot. Everything in her wanted to flee but she was trapped. He stood directly in front of her and she was forced to look up at him. He and Victoria could have been twins, she thought, except for the two year age difference – Valentine had just turned seventeen. Flustered, she jumped up from the bench.
‘I should be going,’ she said. ‘Ma will be wondering where I am.’
‘Then I shall walk with you,’ said Valentine.
Rosie had no choice but to allow him to walk alongside her. When he closed the garden gate behind them, he took her elbow. She tried not to tremble, although there was nothing she could do about the blush that burned her face crimson. Now sixteen, she had grown tall – far taller than Victoria and almost the same height as Valentine. Her white skin was dusted with light freckles from her love of the sun, and while she was slender she was exceptionally strong. Her black curls were still untamed, no matter how often she forced them back with ribbons or stuffed them beneath bonnets. She had no idea of her beauty, awkward as she felt around Victoria’s delicate grace.
‘I promised myself I was not going to let you run away from me this time,’ he said.
She blushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re after talking about,’ she said, setting her gaze straight ahead.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 4
