‘Last year you wanted to be an explorer,’ said her oldest sister, Geraldine, ‘and undoubtedly next year you will want to be a circus acrobat!’
‘Don’t tease her so, Geraldine,’ said Mrs Butler. ‘The child is blessed with a vivid imagination.’
‘Well, I for one want to be a journalist,’ put in Nora Butler, the middle daughter and the plainest of the sisters, ‘and I won’t change my mind. I plan to write articles about the coming revolution. I’ve already shown some of my work to Mr Griffith who publishes the Sinn Fein newspaper. He was very complimentary.’
‘Sinn Fein?’ asked Lady Marianne.
Dr Butler sighed and looked at Nora. ‘It means “Ourselves Alone”, a term that has become popular with nationalists who want an Ireland free from British rule. From what I hear Griffith is a very passionate revolutionary. I think he will emerge as one of their leaders someday.’
On the way back to Fitzwilliam Square Rosie spoke up. ‘What a delightful family they are. So different from everyone else I have met.’
‘Yes,’ said Lady Marianne, ‘I admire those young ladies for their independence, and their parents for letting them live their own lives. I wish our Victoria could be more like them. But, of course, with Lady Ennis for a mother . . .’
They rode in silence for some time. Then Lady Marianne spoke again.
‘I do hope you are not planning to follow their lead, Rosalind, at least not for the present. We must see you launched into society first. After you have made a suitable marriage you can use your influence, and your husband’s money, to further whatever cause you please. But as it is, in your present circumstances, such a path would be a grave mistake. And after all I have done for you it would be most ungrateful of you to pursue such a course, would it not?’
Rosie flinched. ‘Oh, please, Lady Marianne, I had no notion of it. I am more grateful than you know for all you have done. I will not let you down.’
‘I hope not.’
While Rosie was being groomed for the forthcoming Dublin Season, the spectre of Thomas Bell still hovered over Ennismore. Most of the servants were convinced that his ghost had joined that of a suicidal ancestor of the DeBurcas – the original owners of the house – who haunted the attic. Thelma refused to venture up there, even if accompanied by another one of the staff. She insisted on sleeping in the scullery instead. Even Sadie blessed herself as she rushed, head down, along the corridor to the bedroom she had once shared with Rosie.
Lord Ennis spent as much time as he could in London and Lady Ennis lost all interest in entertaining. The Reverend Watson took the opportunity to visit the house often to bring, as he said, ‘solace to the suffering members of his flock.’ Lady Louisa, her blatant overtures towards the recently widowed clergyman having proved fruitless, now regarded him with unconcealed hostility. Lady Ennis refused to emerge from her seclusion. It fell, therefore, to Victoria to receive him as politely as she could.
As the prospect of living in a house in mourning stretched out before her, Victoria grew increasingly restless. At first she did all she could to ease the overt tension between her parents – forcing herself to make amusing remarks at dinner, recalling memories of happier times, expressing hopeful predictions for the future – but nothing could melt the chill that had formed between them. In the end she gave up, but the silent formality that pervaded their encounters weighed heavily upon her. She yearned for someone to confide in. Oh, where was Rosie? Why had she left her alone? Victoria wished she could tell her friend how stifling living in this house of sorrow had become, how odd and out of place she felt. It was as if she no longer fitted in anywhere. Even her clothes felt strange, as if they were meant for someone else.
Perhaps it was loneliness or boredom that brought it on, Victoria couldn’t be sure, but her mind became more and more occupied with thoughts of Brendan Lynch. Rosie had often joked that Brendan had a notion for her but Victoria had dismissed it.
‘Think what you like, but the only time I’ve ever seen him smile is when he looks at you,’ Rosie had insisted.
Now Victoria began to piece together snippets of memory – the time he smiled and wished her ‘Happy Birthday’ when she turned thirteen, the time he held on to her elbow for longer than was necessary when he helped her into the carriage as she departed for the Season, the times she caught him looking at her under lidded eyes as he served dinner. Were these all signals that he did indeed have a ‘notion’ for her as Rosie had suggested? Or maybe she was imagining things. One thing she was sure of was that he was a great deal more interesting, not to mention more handsome, than the young men she had met during her Dublin season or on her trip abroad.
She tried to put such thoughts out of her head. It was not proper, she told herself. Only trouble could come of it. But much as she tried to avoid his eyes each evening in the dining room, the more compelled she felt to look at him. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to distract her from this preoccupation and she began to think she might go mad. Thus, when Christmas Eve arrived, she willed herself to confront him. She must put an end to this fantasy once and for all. Gathering her courage, she marched down to the servants’ hall.
The staff were gathered around the big table about to make a half-hearted toast to the Season. They fell silent when Victoria appeared in the doorway. Mr Burke stood up and approached her.
‘May I help you, Lady Victoria?’
Victoria shook her head, slightly flustered. Now that she was here she was at a loss for words. It seemed that the torpor that pervaded the upstairs rooms had found its way down here also. ‘I was hoping you might be playing some music,’ she began. ‘The rest of the house is so very quiet, and . . .’
Mr Burke smiled. ‘Come on in, then,’ he said. ‘We’re just having some wine, and I think Anthony would be glad to play something if you asked him.’
He took Victoria’s arm and led her into the room. The staff all rose to their feet. ‘Lady Victoria wishes to join us for a few minutes,’ he began, looking at the blank faces. ‘She wants to wish us all the blessings of the season.’
Victoria nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘my family wishes to thank you for all your devoted service during the year. And . . . and they hope you will not let their sadness interfere with your own celebrations. Please play some music. And please sit down, everyone.’
Mr Burke pulled out a chair for her while Anthony clapped his hands. ‘Fair play to you, Lady Victoria. Sure we’ll get a wee tune going for you, won’t we, lads? God knows a bit of music might cheer this crowd up, they’ve been so sour even the divil himself would hardly come near them.’
In spite of her nervousness, Victoria suppressed a smile.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Burke, standing to take charge. ‘Welcome, my lady. Brendan? Fetch your instrument. You too, Mrs Murphy.’
Soon, the music swirled around the room. Victoria sat entranced as she watched Brendan play. Rosie had told her he played the fiddle but she had never seen him do so. Brendan fixed her with a stare as he played. She thought she detected a hint of fire in his eyes. Could it be aimed at her? But she quickly dismissed the thought. Surely it was his passion for the music and not her that made his eyes glow. She sat, unable to tear her gaze away from him. Suddenly, as if coming out of a trance, she was aware of the others watching her intently. Could they read her mind? Flustered, she gathered up her skirts and fled from the room, mumbling apologies.
‘Well, doesn’t that beat the band altogether?’ said Mrs O’Leary. ‘To think Miss Victoria would prefer our company to that of her own family on Christmas Night.’
‘Can you blame her?’ said Sadie. ‘Every one of them’s walking around with a stick up their arse.’
‘Sadie!’ said Mrs Murphy. ‘Show some respect.’
‘It’s true,’ put in Thelma, emboldened by the wine. ‘I’ve seen it meself. His lordship and her ladyship don’t even sleep in the same bed any more. His lordship is always lying in the chaise longue in his study when I go in to ma
ke up the fire of a morning.’
‘Maybe he slips in and out in the middle of the night, so,’ said Brendan.
Mr Burke banged his fist on the table. ‘That’s enough! We will not speak of our superiors in that manner.’
‘They’re not my superiors,’ said Brendan.
‘Nor mine,’ echoed Sadie.
‘Nor mine either,’ giggled Thelma. ‘Me da says the Irish are inferior to nobody, particularly the English.’
Mrs O’Leary gaped at Thelma. ‘That’s enough talk, girl. And enough wine, too. Get yourself up to bed.’
Mr Burke glowered. ‘I will put this kind of talk down to the fact that everyone has had too much wine. But if I ever hear it from any of you again . . . there will be consequences. Mark my words. Now get to bed, all of you.’
As the grumbling servants rose to make their way to bed, Victoria had already reached her own bed and pulled the covers up around her head. She lay trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. I can’t go down there again, she told herself, but as she drifted off to sleep she knew that she would.
CHAPTER 13
In February of the New Year a cable arrived and its news ricocheted through Ennismore like an echoing rifle shot. In the library, Lady Ennis cried out and dropped the cable as if it were on fire.
‘What on earth is it, Thea?’ said Lord Ennis, rushing into the room. ‘What has come over you? Should I have Louisa fetch the doctor?’
He tried to ease his wife on to a sofa but she had grown stiff as a corpse, and as white. Lady Louisa bent to pick up the cable. She scanned it rapidly and held it out to her brother-in-law. ‘Perhaps this will explain it,’ she said.
Lord Ennis took the cable, which was dated 14 February 1913, and read it, his eyes widening as he did so. When he looked up at the women, his face flushed with pleasure.
‘What capital news!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a wonderful outcome. God has blessed the Bell family at last.’
His wife let out another cry. ‘Surely you can’t mean that, Edward? It’s the most awful news imaginable.’
‘What? That we have a new grandson? That Valentine and Sofia are married? That they will be returning soon to Ennismore? I don’t understand, Thea.’
Lady Ennis slumped on the sofa, fanning herself furiously against a sudden burst of flames that had erupted from the fire in the grate. ‘Edward, how can you be so blind? A marriage between our son and that vulgar American woman and we knew nothing of it until now? We are disgraced, Edward. How shall we ever explain it?’
Lord Ennis grew irritated. ‘Our son has made a profitable marriage. A child has been born – a boy to secure our lineage well into the future. Ennis Estates may well have been saved from the auctioneer’s gavel. The future of the Bells is secure. For God’s sake, what more could we wish for, Thea? I don’t give a damn about the wagging tongues. Our legacy is safe, and that is what matters. Jules told me Sofia will have five thousand pounds a year, not to mention the settlement he will have made on her upon her marriage – a generous amount, no doubt, since she is his only child.’
‘All you think about is money,’ said Lady Ennis, dabbing her eyes.
Lord Ennis glared at her. ‘You would do well to give it more thought, my dear. Your extravagances over the years have almost bankrupted us. You should welcome Sofia with open arms. She is your saviour as well as mine.’ He walked across the room and rang the bell for Mr Burke. ‘Now let’s stop this nonsense and raise a toast to Valentine and Sofia, and our new grandson!’
For the first and only time, Rosie Killeen and Lady Althea Ennis were in agreement. Though their reactions to the news stemmed from very different reasons, both were equally devastated. Lady Marianne was triumphant when she announced the news to Rosie.
‘It is wonderful, is it not, Rosalind? Although I’m sure Althea is beside herself because those young people had the temerity to go their own way without asking her permission. I was impressed the moment I met Sofia – such an independent young woman and so full of life. She will be more than a match for Althea. My brother is over the moon, particularly about the money she brings with her. And I can’t wait to meet my new grand-nephew. Julian is his name and . . .’
Rosie did not hear the rest of Lady Marianne’s words. She watched her mouth moving, but a high-pitched humming in her ears had suddenly deafened her. A current of pain burned from her groin to her throat and she felt her heart compress. She sank down in a chair, clutching its arms to prevent herself from fainting. Lady Marianne regarded her with alarm.
‘Oh, my dear girl,’ she began. ‘Oh, how thoughtless of me. I did not realize you still cared for Valentine so much.’ Lady Marianne came closer. ‘Mourn him, my dear,’ she said, ‘but not for too long. Then you must move on. Go upstairs now and rest. I will send Celine up with some tea.’
Rosie lowered her head. Her face burned and her eyes itched as if filled with gravel. She was not sure she could move but she knew she had to get away from Lady Marianne. She rose slowly and made her way out of the room. Gripping the banister to steady herself, she climbed the stairs and stumbled into her room. She lay down on the bed fully clothed, her fists clenched at her sides. As she stared at the ceiling, hardly breathing, she imagined she lay in a coffin. If she could be still enough, she thought, she could keep the pain at bay.
Evening fell and the light outside the window dimmed. In that unreal pocket of time between day and night she allowed her thoughts to form one at a time – anger with Valentine for his betrayal, anger with herself for her naivety, anger with the Bell family, and finally anger with God. When those thoughts subsided she admitted to herself that, despite all the facts pointing otherwise, she had nursed the hope that one day he would come back for her. How could she go on now, she wondered, without the hope of him?
When she arose the next morning and washed herself and dressed in fresh clothes, she felt cleansed. But she perceived a change within her that she could not name. The tenderness, fuelled by her love for Valentine which she had once carried in her heart, had transformed, tempered by disappointment into some rougher thing. Love had simply fled, leaving her with a firm resolve to accept what fate held for her. All she could do now was pray that the upcoming Season would be a success and that she would make a good match with some well-off suitor. She didn’t care if he was young or old, homely or handsome, as long as he could offer security. A small voice inside her told her that she deserved better.
July arrived and with it the major social event of the 1913 Season – a ball at the gracious Hotel Metropole in Dublin. Lady Marianne surprised Rosie with a beautiful gown from House of Worth in Paris.
‘Monsieur Worth was French, my dear,’ Lady Marianne said, ignoring the fact that Charles Worth had actually been born an Englishman. ‘Nothing less will do for your formal entry into society.’
The gown so took Rosie’s breath away that she was almost afraid to touch it. She hung it up in her room and stared at it. It was a soft, pale green charmeuse covered with beige silk tulle and embroidered with crystal brilliants like so many tiny stars. It was low cut with a high waist and its long narrow silhouette fell in drapes to the floor. Rosie had a sudden memory of the day in Victoria’s room at Ennismore when she had admired the gowns Victoria held up to her – each more beautiful than the last. She had never imagined owning anything as grand. And now here she was, staring up at her very own gown, more lovely than any of the ones Victoria had owned. She allowed herself a small shiver of pleasure.
On the evening of the ball, Lady Marianne’s maid, Celine, dressed Rosie and arranged her black curls into a glossy swirl on top of her head into which she placed some pale green feathers the exact colour of the gown. Rosie could not believe what she saw in the mirror. The gown had been tailored to exaggerate her tall, slim figure and brought out the green hues in her hazel eyes. Her skin was pale – her freckles imperceptible from not having been allowed in the sun without a parasol – and her lips full and red. She regarded the exceptionally pretty girl re
flected back at her. Was that she? An unexpected fear gripped her and for a moment she could not breathe. The image in the mirror could not be her but some stranger, some imposter. Rosie, the servant, belonged down on her knees scrubbing floors, not standing erect in a ball gown.
‘Magnifique,’ said Celine, interrupting Rosie’s thoughts. ‘You look beautiful, mademoiselle. Your dance card will be full in no time.’
Lady Marianne clapped her hands as Rosie descended the stairs.
‘My dear, you are a vision. Is she not, Mr Kearney?’
Mr Kearney, debonair in a dark blue evening jacket with blue silk lapels, grey silk waistcoat and a crisp white bow-tie, bowed.
‘A vision indeed, my dear,’ he said, turning to Lady Marianne, ‘and a credit to your foresight and good taste. I’d wager we could pass her off as distant royalty, if necessary.’
Rosie trembled as a cold shiver ran through her.
‘Let us go out to the carriage,’ said Lady Marianne, sweeping past Rosie in a stunning dress of white satin covered with rhinestones. ‘We do not want to be late.’
Outside the Hotel Metropole, Sackville Street was choked with horse-drawn carriages and cabs. As Rosie stepped down, she looked up at the grand Georgian building with its façade of decorative ironwork balconies and trembled with excitement and dread. Young women, some in demure white gowns, others arrayed in colourful silks, satins and plumes like so many tropical birds, surrounded her on the pavement. They trilled and giggled as they greeted one another. Rosie saw that most were younger than she by several years. Even though she was only just twenty-one, she felt like a matron compared to them. There were a few older girls, however – quiet and serious, some with looks of mild desperation, others fierce as if preparing for battle. For many of them this would be their last Season, and if they did not secure a match they would be given up to a life of spinsterhood, like Lady Louisa. Rosie felt a sudden rush of pity for them, and for her old teacher.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 13
