The Girls of Ennismore

by Patricia Falvey

  Lady Marianne and Mr Kearney each took her elbow and guided her between them up the red-carpeted staircase that led to the ballroom. Outwardly, Rosie appeared composed and serene, but inwardly she struggled not to gape open-mouthed at the scene around her. She took in the evergreens woven into the balustrades of the staircase, the red and pink hydrangeas in brass urns and the elegant white lilies in tall vases. The high-ceilinged ballroom was ringed with globe lamps which cast a golden light on the pale yellow walls and rich maple floor. Archways gave way to side rooms where white-clothed tables were set with platters of food and shining crystal punchbowls. In the far corner of the room, atop a flower-bedecked platform, musicians played a soft, slow melody.

  A sharp tug on her elbow brought her back to reality.

  ‘Prepare for your introduction, Rosalind,’ directed Lady Marianne.

  The ball was being given by Lord and Lady Mountnorris in honour of their eldest daughter, Caroline. Lady Mountnorris was considered the premiere hostess in Dublin society, and Lady Marianne had been delighted to receive the invitation. She had immediately stepped up Rosie’s instructions, securing extra etiquette tutelage from the estimable Mrs Townsend.

  ‘May I present my ward, Miss Rosalind Killeen,’ said Lady Marianne as she extended her hand to her hosts.

  On cue Rosie smiled, eyes cast downward, and gave a small but perfectly executed curtsey.

  ‘Charming,’ said Lady Mountnorris in a throaty voice as she eyed Rosie and then Mr Kearney who had bowed, one foot forward in the manner of a courtier.

  Rosie suppressed an urge to giggle. She had grown quite fond of Mr Kearney whose outrageous behaviour never failed to amuse her. She smiled instead at Lady Caroline, who regarded her for a moment, taking in Rosie’s gown, and then dismissed her with a sniff of her long, beaky nose. Lady Marianne and Mr Kearney led Rosie away from their hosts and settled her on one of the upholstered love seats that lined one side of the ballroom. Lady Marianne stood behind her, while Mr Kearney was dispatched to fetch champagne. Rosie, unsettled by Lady Caroline’s reaction to her, sat erect, clutching her dance card in sweating fingers. She had two entries on her card, arranged in advance by Lady Marianne so that she would not be sitting for long ‘unclaimed’ as the good lady put it.

  Mr Kearney returned with champagne in two tiny crystal glasses. Rosie sipped hers carefully, not daring to imbibe too quickly. She must keep her wits about her. She relaxed when two young women she recognized as two of the Butler sisters approached. Geraldine, the oldest, wore a pair of pale blue silk trousers embroidered with crystals. Her sister Nora had not even tried to dress up for the ball. She wore a long black skirt and a high-necked white blouse with a black ribbon tied at her throat. The girls greeted Rosie with delight.

  ‘You look beautiful, Rosalind,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’m afraid I am causing a bit of a scandal with my trousers, but I’m having such great fun.’

  ‘We’re only here because Mother insisted,’ said Nora, ‘but I refused to dress up like a ridiculous bird of paradise – no offence, Rosalind.’

  ‘None taken,’ Rosie smiled.

  At that moment a short, pudgy young man approached Rosie.

  ‘I’m here to claim my dance,’ he said.

  Young Lord Gillespie had been coerced into the dance by his mother and Lady Marianne and Rosie could see by his expression that he was not pleased at the prospect. She rose and allowed him to lead her out onto the floor and the musicians struck up a slow waltz. Lord Gillespie was a sullen and awkward partner. He had a poor sense of timing and he stepped on her toes several times. Rosie smiled as graciously as she could and tried to make light conversation, to which he grunted in reply. She could not wait for the dance to be over.

  Her second ‘arranged’ partner was even more distasteful, an older man with wispy, grey hair, who held her too tightly as he grinned at her through yellowed teeth. He was a good dancer though, and Rosie glided around the floor with him. She closed her eyes so she would not have to look at him, instead allowing herself to get lost in the music. She smiled broadly when the dance ended which he mistakenly took to be encouragement.

  ‘I do hope you will keep your card open for a dance later,’ he said. ‘I do so adore the mazurka.’

  Rosie nodded and sat down. If all her partners were to be like those two, she thought, she would just as soon sit here all evening. But she did not realize that she had attracted a lot of interest. One by one, an array of handsome young men approached her and introduced themselves. Many were from Trinity College, some from Cambridge and Oxford, all of them from prominent Anglo-Irish families. Lady Marianne insisted on helping her fill out her dance card, advising as to who was suitable and who was not. And before long, Rosie’s dance card was full.

  ‘I knew it,’ said Lady Marianne, beaming at Mr Kearney. ‘I just knew we were going to make this evening a success.’

  For the next hour Rosie danced every dance – waltzes, polkas, and mazurkas. Breathless, she excused herself, pleading the need for rest. Lady Marianne had made sure that she left open intervals between dances, lest she appear too anxious. Rosie sat down on the love seat, fanning herself. She was exhilarated. Her partners were very complimentary, many hinting they would like to call on her in the future. She had smiled and made no commitment, as she had been taught. Protocol required the young man to follow up after a ball by sending his card to the young lady’s residence and asking if he may call. Rosie was sure some of them would indeed do so. She was already weighing which ones interested her the most. She was lost in thought, her head down as she read the names on her dance card, when a voice interrupted her.

  ‘May I have this dance?’

  She would have known his voice anywhere. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest. Perspiration ran down the back of her neck and her hands began to tremble. With effort she took control of herself and looked up. He was even more handsome than she remembered, his boyish slenderness forged now into a robust, muscular frame beneath his dinner jacket. His bright, blond hair had darkened a little but his blue eyes were as clear as ever. Rosie fought back her urge to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she gathered herself and arranged her features into a bland expression.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve already promised this dance,’ she said as if addressing a stranger, ‘and the rest of my card is full.’

  ‘But my dear that is not true,’ said Lady Marianne, snatching Rosie’s dance card from her and pointing to it. ‘See, we left this one dance open so that you could rest. But this is dear Valentine who is asking you. You can hardly refuse him.’

  Rosie wanted to shout that she could and she would. But she did not want to create a scene. She glared at Lady Marianne and then at Valentine.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said.

  Valentine led her to the middle of the dance floor. Rosie hoped it would be a fast dance, a polka or a mazurka, or even the new dance craze, the tango, so that she would not be obliged to talk to him. But the musicians began to play a slow waltz and Valentine took her in his arms.

  ‘You look exquisite, Rosie,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen you look more beautiful.’

  Rosie said nothing, but stared over his shoulder, determined not to betray her feelings. They danced around the floor in silence. Rosie felt as if she were floating. She had never danced with him before, although she had often imagined what it would be like. And now here he was . . . She began to tremble as a panic gripped her. Why was he here? Who was with him? Was he here with Sofia? Worse yet, was he here with Lady Ennis or Lady Louisa or Victoria? Rosie felt faint and stumbled. Valentine steadied her and held her tighter.

  ‘I’ve missed you so much, Rosie,’ he whispered into her ear.

  ‘That’s no way for a married man to talk.’

  Valentine sighed. ‘Oh, Rosie, I want to explain . . .’

  ‘There’s nothing to explain. You went to America and you got married and now you have a son. It sounds straightforward enough to me.’
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  ‘But it’s not. There’s so much you don’t know.’

  Rosie looked at him. ‘I know all I need to know.’

  She stopped in the middle of the floor, heedless of the stares around her. ‘Go and dance with your wife, Valentine, and leave me alone.’

  ‘Sofia is not here,’ he said, his head bowed.

  The mention of Sofia’s name chased away every last wisp of fantasy Rosie might have harboured surrounding Valentine. As long as she had not heard him actually say that Sofia was indeed his wife, she had hung on to a fragile shred of possibility that it had all been a mistake. Now the sound of Sofia’s name on his lips slammed against her like a fist knocking the breath out of her. She stumbled backwards again and would have fallen had he not steadied her once more. She gave him one last frantic push and ran back to where Lady Marianne stood.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I am not feeling well.’

  Lady Marianne’s face darkened. ‘You cannot go, Rosalind, it is bad form. You must stay and fulfil your dance promises.’

  ‘I don’t give a feck if it’s bad form,’ said Rosie, directing all her frustration at Lady Marianne, ‘and my name is not Rosalind.’

  ‘No, it most definitely is not!’

  A voice behind her made her freeze. It was Lady Ennis. ‘Turn around, young lady, and explain yourself.’

  Slowly, Rosie turned to face her accuser. There stood Lady Ennis glowering at her as if she were beholding an unwelcome vermin. Beside her stood Victoria, open-mouthed, and behind her, Valentine, his head bowed.

  ‘How dare you attempt to pass yourself off as a lady, you young trollop! The impertinence! Who on earth do you think you are?’

  Victoria, recovering from the shock of seeing Rosie, placed herself between her mother and her friend. ‘Stop it, Mama,’ she said. ‘Just leave her alone. There’s no need to make a scene.’

  Lady Ennis glared at her daughter. ‘Step away from her, Victoria. Everyone is watching us. Do you want to jeopardize your reputation by taking a servant’s side against her own mother?’

  Victoria flushed in anger. She put her arm around Rosie. ‘You’ve never understood, have you, Mama? She is not a servant, she is my friend.’

  Before an outraged Lady Marianne could intervene, Lady Ennis turned her wrath upon her and Mr Kearney.

  ‘And you,’ she said, ‘how dare you and this . . . this gentleman disgrace us in this way? We shall be the laughing stock of Dublin society! Attempting to pass off a servant girl as a lady of quality? It is beyond comprehension. I would wager you have done it to disgrace me. You have always gone out of your way to embarrass me, and now this . . .’

  By now, even though the orchestra continued to play, a large crowd had left the dance floor and gathered around them, the ladies gasping, whispering and giggling behind their fans. The room began to swim in front of Rosie’s eyes. She gripped the back of the love seat to stop herself from fainting. Everything began to close in around her and she could hardly breathe. She had to get away. With effort she shook off Victoria’s arm and pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the cries behind her. She stumbled down the staircase and out through the front door of the hotel. Outside on the pavement she stood, confused. Where was she to go?

  A hand on her elbow startled her and she swung around like a cornered animal ready to pounce. There stood Valentine.

  ‘Come on, Rosie, I’ll escort you home.’

  ‘Home?’ she said, pushing him away. ‘Thanks to you and your family, I have no home. I can’t go back to Lady Marianne’s after this.’

  ‘But you must,’ he said. ‘Where else have you to go?’

  Rosie looked down at her beautiful gown. How could she go up to Bridie’s rooming house looking like this? ‘God help me,’ she whispered.

  Valentine signalled for a carriage just as Victoria appeared beside them.

  ‘I’ll take her, Valentine,’ she said.

  Valentine hesitated. He looked from his sister to Rosie.

  ‘It’s best,’ persisted Victoria. ‘You need to get Mama away from here as quickly as possible. It is your duty as her escort.’

  He nodded and with one last glance at Rosie turned away.

  ‘Very well.’

  A carriage pulled up to the kerb. Rosie allowed Victoria to help her into it, but pushed her away as she attempted to climb in after her.

  ‘No, Victoria,’ she said. ‘Leave me alone. Please.’

  She flinched at the sight of Victoria’s crestfallen expression. How could she explain to her that the very sight of her sharpened the pain in her heart? She was a Bell, and innocent as she might be, she still represented all the hurt Rosie had suffered at the hands of that family. She closed the carriage door and set her gaze straight ahead so that she could no longer see her old friend.

  CHAPTER 14

  Rosie awoke the next morning with a start. She looked down at herself and realized she had not properly undressed. Her gown, so beautiful the night before, lay in a heap on the floor and she still wore her petticoats. Memories of the previous night’s events began to filter into her consciousness, but most of it was still foggy. Her conversation with Valentine was a jumble. She recalled Lady Ennis’s anger as she confronted her, but she did not remember exactly what was said. How had she made her way back to Fitzwilliam Square? Oh, yes, Valentine had called a carriage for her.

  She lay back down on the pillow. There was not a sound in the house or on the street outside. She must think. The first thing she had to do was dress in her old clothes and pack the belongings she had brought with her. Everything else – all the dresses and jewellry which Lady Marianne had bought her – must be left behind. They did not belong to her. None of it had ever been hers. Once more she had been given the promise of happiness, only to have it snatched away at the last minute.

  She allowed herself a few minutes of self-pity. How could Lady Marianne have been so cruel as to involve her in this charade? Had she known all along that Lady Ennis and Victoria and Valentine would be at the ball? No, that didn’t make sense – Lady Marianne’s triumph would have been so much greater had she actually succeeded in procuring a husband for her. Still, she wanted to direct her anger at someone. But as she lay there, Rosie knew that the true object of her anger was herself.

  She drifted off to sleep until a knock on the door startled her.

  ‘Mademoiselle?’ It was Celine.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘But, mademoiselle, you are wanted downstairs.’

  ‘No. Tell them I am not well.’

  ‘D’accord.’

  Rosie jumped out of bed. She couldn’t bear to face anyone. She would sneak down the back stairs and out through the rear garden. Hurriedly, she dressed in her old clothes and threw her few belongings into a bag. She tried not to think about going back to Bridie’s hovel on Foley Court, but it was her only alternative. When she was ready she crept towards the door and unlocked it. Taking a deep breath she opened it to step out and bumped into Victoria.

  ‘Rosie?’

  Rosie tried to shove her aside. ‘I have to go before anyone sees me.’

  But Victoria grasped her arm. ‘Please, Rosie. Please stay and talk to me. And then if you want to escape I’ll help you. But please talk to me first.’

  Rosie looked at Victoria’s earnest face. What harm could it do now to talk to her? Nothing was going to change. She shrugged and turned back into the room, dropping her bag on the floor and sinking down on the bed. Victoria closed the door quietly behind her and locked it. She walked over to a side chair and sat down facing Rosie.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Rosie—’ she began.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ Rosie interrupted. ‘It wasn’t you made a fool out of me. It was myself did that.’

  ‘No, it was Aunt Marianne and Mama and . . .’

  ‘Aye, and Valentine.’

  Victoria sighed. ‘Yes, it was all of us, I suppose.’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘It wasn’t planned, Rosie, honestly i
t wasn’t. Mama and I had no idea you were at the ball, and even when Valentine spotted you we didn’t recognize you. We just thought you must be a friend of his from his days in Dublin. A beautiful friend, I might add.’

  Victoria glimpsed Rosie’s gown crumpled on the floor. She reached for it and held it up in front of her. ‘Oh, Rosie, this is so beautiful. It looked stunning on you. What was it doing on the floor?’

  Rosie shrugged and said nothing. Victoria laid the dress across her knees and began smoothing it.

  ‘As I said, none of us knew you were going to be there. It was Mama’s idea that we should come to Dublin and take the house on Merrion Square. It was the first sign of life she’s shown since Thomas’s death and I didn’t want to disappoint her. Valentine volunteered to accompany us.’

  A frown passed over Victoria’s face as she mentioned her brother’s name. ‘He seemed very eager to get away from Ennismore. I don’t understand why he would leave Sofia and the baby behind in order to be our escort. In the past it was like pulling teeth to get him to come with us.’

  ‘Are Sofia and the baby well?’ Rosie forced the words from her lips, unable to hold back her curiosity.

  ‘What? Oh yes, they seem so. Well I must say that Sofia is very subdued compared to the carefree girl she was when we first met her, but she appears content. And baby Julian is delightful. He has won over everyone in the house with his happy laughter.’

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘Rosie, why did you run away from us?’ said Victoria suddenly.

  Rosie stiffened. ‘I didn’t run away. I came to see to my sister. I was worried about her. We all were.’

  ‘But you could have warned us, Rosie. You could have told us where you were going. We were all so worried about you.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘But we were. At least I was, and so was Valentine. And the staff was always asking if we had news of you.’

  ‘Aye, probably Sadie Canavan looking for gossip.’

  ‘I finally went to your cottage. Your poor mama was distraught. Apparently you had given her no warning either. She said you just left a brief note saying you were going to see Bridie in Dublin. But she’d had no letter from you since.’