Valentine grinned, oblivious to his father’s thunderous look. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Perhaps you might consider visiting us in New York soon, Valentine. We can use progressive young men like you.’
Valentine bowed. ‘A kind invitation, sir, but I think your daughter may prefer a visit from my big brother.’
He looked over to where Thomas and Sofia were sitting, heads almost touching, lost in deep conversation.
Burke walked to the middle of the room and cleared his throat. ‘Dinner is served,’ he said.
‘At last,’ sighed Lady Ennis as she rose and led the company into the dining room.
The Hoffmans stayed for three weeks during which time Sofia’s lack of concern for the gentry’s strict rules of decorum was a frequent topic of discussion among the servants.
‘She’s a breath of fresh air, that girl,’ smiled Mrs O’Leary.
Sadie Canavan nodded. ‘Lady Louisa doesn’t know what to make of her at all. But I hear Lady Ennis is fit to be tied. She can’t wait to see the back of her.’
Young Thelma smiled dreamily. ‘D’you think they’ll get married? Master Thomas and Miss Sofia?’
Sadie chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t that be some craic? The shame of it would send her ladyship to her bed for six months.’
‘’Twould be a shame of her own making, so,’ said Mrs O’Leary. ‘I’d say she should be over the moon with such a match. A lovely, down-to-earth girl for our Master Thomas would be the best thing could happen to her ladyship.’
‘Not to mention the money she’ll bring with her,’ said Sadie.
Rosie did not join in the speculation. She liked Sofia well enough from what she had seen of her, and she was glad for Thomas, but in the end whatever they did would make no difference to her life. Her concern was Valentine. Sean, the younger footman, had mentioned Mr Hoffman’s offer to bring Valentine to New York. He’d said no, according to Sean, but what if he thought it over? What if he did decide to go? She knew she had no claim on him but much as she’d tried to stamp out her feelings for him, the embers kept reigniting themselves.
On the day of the Hoffmans’ departure for London where they were to spend Christmas with some American friends, Rosie watched Valentine wave goodbye to their coach. She’d had very little opportunity to see him since he’d returned with Thomas for the Hoffmans’ visit. He’d been caught up in the activities Lord and Lady Ennis had arranged for their guests – riding, shooting, fishing and visiting various neighbours of importance. And Thelma continued to clean his room. As the coach departed he turned around so swiftly that Rosie had no chance to dodge out of the way before he caught her eye. He raised his hand and waved at her but all she could do was nod back at him. She stood frozen, even after Thomas had put his arm around Valentine’s shoulder and led him inside the house. As he entered the front door, Valentine looked back at her and smiled.
She supposed that his smile should be enough for her, but her heart ached for more. She fought back tears as she edged her way around the house and back into the kitchen. If only there was someone she could confide in. But Ma was beside herself with worry over Bridie. In years past, the logical thing would have been to talk to Victoria. But she could hardly do that now. Ever since Victoria’s return home from her travels they had encountered one another only rarely, and while Victoria was pleasant enough in her greetings, there was a distance between them wider than Lough Conn.
After the Hoffmans left, the servants had little time to relax. Christmas was almost upon them and even though no more guests were due it was expected that they should enter into the usual seasonal preparations. Lady Ennis was adamant that the standards be maintained. After all, some of their neighbours might drop in unexpectedly.
As it was, the only guests who did drop in unexpectedly were Lady Marianne Bellefleur and her companion, Mr Kearney. As usual, they arrived unannounced. It was Christmas Eve and the family and Reverend Watson, who had been invited as an afterthought, were about to sit down to dinner when a commotion came from the front hall. At first Lady Ennis jumped up in delight. They were to have more guests after all. But when her sister-in-law swept in her smile faded and she sank back down in her chair.
‘Greetings of the season to you all,’ Lady Marianne said, ‘Mr Kearney and I are on our way to dear Lady Gregory’s estate in Galway and thought what a fine idea it would be to pay you a surprise visit.’ She paused and looked around the table.
‘Oh dear, is this your only guest?’ she continued, looking directly at Reverend Watson. ‘I was hoping to meet your Americans.’
‘They weren’t our Americans,’ said Lady Ennis, ‘and they left for London last week.’
Lady Marianne and Mr Kearney took their seats at the table as the footmen rushed to set two more places. ‘Well I heard the daughter was a wonderful example of New World society,’ she said. ‘Rumour has it she rides like a man, flouts rules and is most outspoken.’
‘And she doesn’t wear a corset,’ put in Victoria, giggling.
Lady Ennis gave her daughter a withering look while Thomas winked at Valentine.
‘There’s apparently been a growing trend in women’s fashion,’ said Victoria, ignoring her mother, ‘championed by Monsieur Poiret, the French designer. His goal is to free women from the confines of tight undergarments and allow them more freedom of movement.’
‘Really, Victoria,’ said her mother, ‘this is not a fit conversation for the dining room – and especially not in front of our guest. Do forgive her, Reverend Watson.’
The vicar, who appeared to have been drinking in Victoria’s every word, started and turned crimson. ‘No forgiveness necessary, Lady Ennis,’ he muttered. ‘Just a young girl’s enthusiasm boiling over. Charming, really.’
He tore his eyes away from Victoria, while Lady Louisa scowled.
Lady Marianne sipped her wine and addressed Thomas. ‘Well, young man, and what did you think of Miss Hoffman? Would you and she make a good match?’
‘Really, Marianne . . .’ began Lady Ennis.
Thomas smiled. ‘She’s a capital girl, Aunt Marianne. So much more refreshing than the young ladies I am used to. I hope to visit her in London when I return to Oxford. She will be there until April. Then she and her papa are sailing home on the new ship, the Titanic.’
‘Perhaps you will go with her,’ said Lady Marianne. ‘A chance to see the New World for yourself.’ She looked from Thomas to Valentine. ‘Perhaps you should both go.’
‘Mr Hoffman was kind enough to invite Valentine,’ said Lord Ennis, looking at his younger son. ‘Perhaps it would be an opportunity to discover his path. Heaven knows, he’s never found one here.’
There was silence for a moment until Lady Ennis spoke up.
‘Really, Edward, we could not possibly let both of our sons travel on the same ship to America. What if something dreadful were to happen?’
‘The Titanic will be quite safe,’ said Thomas. ‘It is said to be the finest ship ever built. But don’t fret, Mama, neither Valentine nor I have committed to such a journey. Have we, brother?’
Valentine shook his head, avoiding his father’s gaze.
But Lady Marianne was not finished. ‘Oh, I’d wager after you visit Miss Hoffman again you will change your mind, Thomas.’ She turned to her companion and rested her hand on his arm. ‘Love is so unpredictable, isn’t it, dear Mr Kearney?’
CHAPTER 9
By the day after Christmas, only Victoria and Valentine Bell and the servants remained at Ennismore. Lord and Lady Ennis and Lady Louisa had left for their annual visit to the Marquess of Sligo at his grand house in Westport and Thomas had repaired to London to visit the Hoffmans. Since they were only to be gone for a short time, and since the Marquess’s household had an excess of servants, Lady Ennis had excused Immelda and Sadie from attending.
The servants heaved a collective sigh of relief. It was rare that they had the house to themselves with little work to be done. The Bell family seldom left the estate, ex
cept for a month each in Dublin and London in the summer, during which absence the servants were put to work cleaning the house from top to bottom, laundering all the linens, polishing every piece of silver, and washing the dozens of windows until everything sparkled. When Lady Ennis returned she inspected every inch of the house with an eagle eye, Mr Burke hovering behind her, grimly noting any instance of dissatisfaction.
Now, however, no such labour awaited them. Those who wished to go home and visit their families were allowed to do so, but very few did. The truth was that Ennismore was more comfortable than most of their own cottages, and the food better. Besides, this was the time when they could have a holiday celebration of their own and they all wanted to be part of it.
On New Year’s Eve Mrs O’Leary served up a feast fit for royalty. The canny cook had, over several days, set aside provisions in amounts that would not be noticed by Lady Ennis. The servants’ hall was decorated with holly wreaths, mistletoe and poinsettias, most of the plants relocated from the main salon above. The mood was light as everyone assembled around the big table. Mr Burke, as always, led the prayer for grace, and instead of the usual murmuring, the servants recited the words with great gusto. Wine was poured and they dived into roast leg of lamb, potatoes, carrots, greens and thick gravy. Everyone talked at once, all except for Immelda Fox who, as usual, said little.
‘There’s not a family of gentry in Ireland dining better than we are this night,’ declared Mrs O’Leary, raising her glass.
Everyone nodded their agreement.
‘And no better company to be found,’ said Anthony Walshe.
Rosie smiled and nodded with the rest of the staff, but took little pleasure in the evening. Her mind was on Valentine and what changes the new year would bring.
Mrs O’Leary, grown melancholy from the effects of the wine, looked at young Sean. ‘Ah, Seaneen, sure this may be the last holiday we’ll ever share together. You may never come back to Ireland again.’
Sean patted her arm. ‘Ah, sure I will, so, Mrs O. I’m going to America to make my fortune, but my heart will always be here.’
‘I heard tell nobody ever comes back from there,’ burst out Thelma, wide-eyed.
Sean smiled, his cheeks dimpling. ‘And would you be missing me now, Thelma?’
Thelma turned scarlet and bowed her head.
‘You make it sound like a death sentence, Thelma,’ put in Brendan.
‘Well, most of the time it is,’ said Anthony, stretching himself as tall as his short frame would allow and affecting a solemn voice. ‘Them that comes back are few and far between. It’s been that way since the famine times.’
Silence fell upon the table as each person was lost in their own thoughts.
He’s right, Rosie thought to herself, Sean probably won’t come back, and neither will Valentine if he goes.
When the food was cleared away, the table was pushed back against the wall to make room for music and dancing. Anthony bent over and with effort lifted his accordion on to his lap. The instrument almost overwhelmed his tiny body. Brendan opened a battered, leather case and took out a fiddle which he laid gently against his shoulder. Sean took out his bodhran, a hand-held skin-faced drum which he played with two sticks and Mrs Murphy took a tin whistle out of her pocket.
Anthony led the musicians off with a fast-paced jig, followed by some traditional reels. Soon, feet were tapping and hands clapping. The house servants were joined by some of the groomsmen and gardeners and the noise rose to a crescendo that rocked the room. Rosie watched them with pleasure. It was as if the music freed them all from the constraints of a life of being neither heard nor seen in the Big House. Now they expressed themselves with a robust declaration of freedom.
When the jigs and reels stopped, Mrs Murphy took up her tin whistle. She played a slow, halting lament, and the room fell silent. She was a tall, slender woman, still in her prime. She had never been married – the title of ‘Mrs’ having been bestowed upon her as a sign of respect. Mr Burke watched her intently as her pale, delicate fingers moved up and down the whistle in an ancient pattern. When she finished there was riotous applause, Mr Burke clapping the loudest of all.
‘Let’s have another jig,’ shouted Anthony, ‘and a bit of a dance.’
He began to play ‘The Haymakers’ Jig’, pushing the buttons on his accordion with nimble fingers, as the other musicians joined in. Mrs O’Leary jumped up, pulling young Thelma with her, and began to dance. Mrs O’Leary was unexpectedly light on her feet for a woman of her ample size, lifting her skirts to show off white dimpled knees. Young Thelma stumbled through the tune, her legs and arms jerking awkwardly, and her face blazing with embarrassment. Before long Sadie was up on her feet, dancing round the room with one of the gardeners, and Rosie accepted Sean’s invitation to dance.
Then Anthony switched the pace to an old-time waltz called ‘The Revenge for Skibbereen’. No one moved, transfixed as they were by the music. Rosie watched as Brendan stroked his fiddle as if stroking a lover. His normally stern features seemed to soften before her eyes until she no longer recognized him. At last, Mr Burke approached Mrs Murphy and bowed. She looked flustered, but rose and took his hand as he led her to the centre of the room and they began to dance. The others exchanged glances and smiled.
Immelda Fox sat in the corner observing the scene. She had never been one for dancing. There was no music in her home growing up and certainly none in the convent where she had lived before coming to Ennismore. Her mother was a brilliant singer, and Immelda had inherited her talent but her early life, growing up without a father, and with a mother perpetually atoning for some unknown sin, had not given her much to sing about. But Sadie had heard her singing to herself one night and had begun pestering the life out of her to sing next time there was a ceili below stairs.
‘I think Immelda should give us a song,’ Sadie declared now. ‘She has a grand voice, so she does.’
The servants began to clap and encourage Immelda to get up. At first she resisted but Sadie would not let it go. At last she stood up, although she refused to move to the centre of the room, preferring to stay in the corner where she was. She began to sing a love song called ‘The Banks of My Old Lovely Lee,’ softly at first, and then more loudly as Brendan’s fiddle rose to accompany her. The servants sat in awed silence. Immelda’s voice was pure as rain and carried a sadness that clutched at their hearts. When she had finished nobody moved. Immelda sat down, expressionless. Then Anthony let out a roar.
‘Fair play to yourself, Immelda. Sure who knew you’d the voice of an angel? God himself has blessed you.’
‘He has surely,’ cried Mrs O’Leary, clapping her hands like mad.
The others joined in, clapping and shouting for more. But Immelda shook her head, though a ghost of a smile crossed her face.
There followed more music and dancing, and when the company was exhausted, they begged Anthony to tell a ghost story. Anthony was a seanachie, a teller of stories. So good were his renditions that he could make the hair stand up on the heads of his listeners, and cause children to hide behind their mothers. He had the look of a story-teller, too, with his small stature, merry blue eyes and silver hair.
‘Arrah, sure you’ve heard them all before,’ he said in his low, soft brogue, as he always did before he launched into his recitations.
Rosie took the opportunity to sneak out the kitchen door. She was desperate for some fresh air. As she walked away the sounds of the festivities followed her. She walked faster, trying to clear her mind. At last she sank down on a log and leaned against the wall of the Big House. There was no moon and the stars were hidden. A velvet blackness surrounded her.
A sliver of light cut the darkness as the front door opened and she heard voices on the front steps. It was Valentine and Victoria. They had their backs to her as they walked a little way away from the house. She held her breath and shrank back closer to the wall.
‘It’s freezing out here,’ said Victoria.
�
��I know, but I needed some fresh air.’
‘Ssh, listen. The servants must be having a party. Oh, the music sounds so jolly. Perhaps we should join them, Valentine.’
‘No. I hardly think we would be welcome. Let them have their night to themselves, God knows they deserve some time away from us.’
‘I wonder if Rosie’s with them.’
It was a while before Valentine answered.
‘I expect she is. I imagine she’s up dancing a reel with the rest of them.’
‘I miss her, Valentine. I mean, I miss the way things used to be between us.’
Valentine did not answer.
‘We used to be such close friends,’ Victoria went on, ‘we shared all our secrets. But now she’ll have nothing to do with me. She avoids me at every turn. I just don’t understand her. She tried to explain it all to me once I when I asked her to be my maid.’
‘You did what?’
‘Well it seemed perfectly logical to me,’ protested Victoria. ‘It was a way we could be together, explore the Continent, and—’
‘Oh, Victoria, how could you? Didn’t you realize how much that would have humiliated her? Poor Rosie.’
‘Well after she explained things, I understood her point. So I took her sister on instead. But I still don’t know why she won’t just talk to me like old times.’
Valentine sighed. ‘Don’t you see? She’s caught in an impossible situation. She’s a servant now, and servants are not allowed to mix with us – it would upset the whole order of things. Mr Burke even forbade her to clean my room because we went out riding together.’ Valentine’s tone had grown bitter. ‘How I hate this society and all its rules.’
Victoria’s teeth began to chatter. ‘It’s the way things are. There’s not much we can do about it. C’mon, let’s go in, I’m frozen.’
‘You go. I need to stay out here for a while.’
The light disappeared as Victoria closed the door leaving Rosie surrounded again by darkness. She remained very still, hardly daring to breathe. A flicker of flame winked as Valentine lit a cigarette. Every impulse in her wanted to rush up to him and put her arms around him, tell him that she loved him, beg him not to leave for America. But she could not move. He walked past her, close enough that she could have reached out and touched him. Instead she shrank back as if hoping the wall might swallow her up.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 9
