And then she saw him. He stood with his back to her but she would have known him anywhere. Her heart jumped and then fell as a tide of emotions passed over her – surprise, elation, fear. She wanted to turn and run back into the safety of the cottage, but by then Ma had closed the door behind her. Slowly she composed herself, inhaling deeply and calming her trembling hands.
‘Valentine?’ she said, her voice steady. ‘Valentine, is that you?’
He turned around. His head was bowed and she could not see his face, but she could tell by his ragged breaths that something was wrong. She stood, waiting for him to speak.
‘Yes, Rosie, it’s me. Will you walk with me please? There are things I need to tell you.’
She remembered the last time he had asked her to walk with him, but back then it had been a command, not a plea as it was now. It was New Year’s Eve, a lifetime ago, when he had found her crouched against the wall of the Big House and escorted her to the garden where they embraced and pledged their love. Without understanding how she knew, she was certain their walk tonight would not end as sweetly. She stiffened, preparing herself for whatever was to come.
They fell into step side by side in silence. She stumbled once or twice over rough stones but shrugged off his arm when he tried to steady her. She needed to keep her distance because being here in this place with him brought back old memories and old hurts and they made her wary. When they reached the farm gate, Valentine stopped and leaned against it. The moon shone brightly on his face and what she saw there alarmed her. In his eyes anger warred with desperation. What on earth could be wrong with him?
‘I have been dishonourably discharged from the army,’ he said at last.
His stare challenged her to react. Rosie winced but she knew better than to launch into a tirade of questions. Instead, she waited. When he realized she was not about to immediately condemn him, he continued with his story. It was only when he came to the part about Cathal’s shooting that she broke her silence. A wave of anger overtook her.
‘If you’re saying that you tried to save Cathal’s life to please me, and that it’s my fault you’re in this predicament, well save your breath.’
Valentine shook his head vehemently. ‘No!’ he cried. ‘You have it wrong. That’s not what I’m saying at all. How could you even think such a thing?’
Tears filled his eyes and he reminded her of a young boy pleading his case after being wrongly accused. ‘I would have done the same for anyone,’ he said, ‘it just happened that it was Cathal.’ He paused and went on, as if speaking to himself. ‘But I’m glad it was him. The fact that he didn’t die there – it gave you the chance to say goodbye to one another. I’m truly glad for that, Rosie.’
Without warning she began to weep and Valentine pulled her to him and held her close. They stood together for a time until he began to walk, his arm still around her. This time she did not pull away.
‘What did your family say?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Papa and I came to blows,’ he said, his tone bitter. ‘He made an inexcusable remark about Victoria and everything I’d been holding in just exploded. He was such a hypocrite, particularly in light of the Immelda business.’ He paused. ‘You heard about that, didn’t you?’
Rosie nodded. Victoria had shared the story with her.
Valentine continued. ‘I lost control completely. I struck him. After that, telling him of my discharge seemed almost anti-climactic. I’m not proud of my behaviour. No son should ever lift his hand to his father, no matter what the provocation.’
He stopped and turned to face Rosie. ‘Everyone stared at me, and all I could think was that I had to get out of there and find you. I can’t truly explain it but I knew that you were the only person in this world who could help me make sense of things. I ran all the way here.’
Rosie squeezed his hand. In a strange way she knew exactly what he meant. She wanted to tell him she felt the same, but held back the words. They began to walk again, moving past the main gate of the Ennis Estate and down the road that ran along the estate’s perimeter. Valentine was quiet for a time, then suddenly something inside him seemed to come loose and a torrent of words poured out.
‘I wanted to tell you again that I love you, Rosie. I’m afraid that I might not be able to stay at Ennismore and I might never see you again.’ He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. ‘And I wanted to give you this letter. I wrote it after we parted in Dublin and I thought I was going to France. I wanted to make sure you really understood why I had to do what I did.’
Rosie thrust the envelope back into his hands. Her voice was weary as she spoke. ‘We’ve been through all this before. That letter will not tell me anything I did not already know. The truth is that your duty to Sofia and your family was more important than your love for me. You married Sofia and I stayed in Dublin and fell in love with Cathal. There is nothing more to say.’
Valentine seized her and pulled her close. ‘But it doesn’t have to end here for us, Rosie. I’ve finally made up my mind to ask Sofia for a divorce. After all, neither of us is happy tied together like this. This way, she can have a new life too – and a chance at love.’
How sweet these words would have been to Rosie’s ears had he uttered them in the past – at the Metropole Ball in Dublin, or when he came to Foley Court and waited for her on the doorstep. But too much had happened since then. She had fallen in love with Cathal. And even though Cathal was gone, she would still honour his memory.
‘No!’ she said. ‘No, it would not be right to build a life based on the destruction of someone else’s. You owe it to Sofia and Julian to stay here at Ennismore and honour your marriage vows.’ She paused, choking slightly on her words. ‘And besides, I gave my heart to Cathal.’
‘But . . .’ Valentine whispered, ‘Cathal is gone, Rosie. You still have a life to live.’
Rosie put her fingers on his lips. ‘I loved you once, Valentine, and I believe that you love me now, but we must leave it there.’
‘I’m sorry I ruined your life, Rosie.’
Rosie smiled. ‘You didn’t ruin my life, Valentine, in a way you saved it. I was hurt, of course, and I ran away. But without my time in Dublin I would never have met and loved Cathal, nor found my talent as a writer, nor grown from a naive young girl into a clear-minded, practical woman. It has all been for the best.’
They clung to each other and kissed – a tender, sad, loving and passionate kiss – and bid each other goodbye.
As she made her way home, the moon slid behind a bank of clouds, and darkness enveloped her. At first she wept for herself and for Cathal and the love they had shared. She wept too for Valentine and the dream that had almost been theirs. As she walked she fancied she saw Cathal’s face in the dark and she remembered his last words to her: ‘Don’t let anger and stubbornness harden your heart. Open it up to love again – ’tis all that matters in this life.’
CHAPTER 40
The leaves on the trees around Ennismore made little effort at any display of autumn colour that year and by winter only bare, lifeless branches remained. Even the intermittent daylight was gloomy and drab. Day after day, Victoria watched the leaden clouds gather outside her bedroom window and wondered if the sun would ever shine again. It was as if nature were reflecting the sense of foreboding that engulfed Ennismore.
She took as many meals in her room as she could, but occasionally boredom forced her downstairs to dine with her family. Each time she entered the dining room she felt she might crumple under the weight of the tension that hung there. Even the servants crept silently about as they served meals, carefully holding each plate as if it might crack and splinter into pieces at any moment.
Lord Ennis left Ennismore immediately after the confrontation with Valentine and, on the rare occasions he returned, he and his wife barely acknowledged, much less spoke, to one another. Sofia and Valentine ate together every day in silence. Had it not been for Lady Louisa, who had finally brought Reverend Watson to heel, const
antly gushing about her upcoming nuptials, Victoria would not have been able to bear being there. As it was she clung with gratitude to the lifeline of Lady Louisa’s news of wedding plans and rectory refurbishments, encouraging more details on even the most insignificant of matters.
Such malaise was not confined to the inhabitants of Ennismore and its surrounds. A sense of foreboding engulfed all of Ireland. Far from being quashed by the British victory of Easter week, as Lady Ennis had so confidently declared, the Irish Volunteer Movement was growing in numbers and was no longer confined to Dublin.
‘There’s more boys joining every day,’ said Anthony Walshe. ‘Sure didn’t I myself see them drilling out in the open in the middle of Castlebar a week ago.’
Mrs O’Leary grunted. ‘Dreamers, just like the boyos in Dublin. Don’t they realize what they’re up against? Didn’t they learn anything from so many young lads dying?’
Anthony shook his head. ‘Those fellers in Dublin might have failed but when the English made martyrs of them they woke a sleeping giant. ’Tis only a matter of time t’ill they try again. There’ll be new leaders coming up to take their place.’
‘At the minute they’re just a crowd of eejits playing soldier,’ said Sadie Canavan as she came into the kitchen. ‘They’ve no discipline at all. I hear some of them are running around down in Cork burning down manor houses like this one and chasing everybody out in their night clothes.’
‘Sure that’s just oul’ rumours Sadie,’ said Mrs O’Leary, ‘they’d never dare do such a thing.’
‘Sure didn’t I hear it from Lady Louisa with my own ears?’
Thelma looked up from stirring a pot of soup. ‘They wouldn’t come here, would they, Anthony?’
Anthony looked at Thelma’s worried face. ‘Who’s to say what they’ll do, Thelma? Stranger things have happened.’
‘Arrah now, Anthony, don’t be frightening the girl,’ said Mrs O’Leary.
Sadie Canavan got up and flounced out of the kitchen. ‘Well if they come, it won’t bother me at all,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I won’t be here. I’ll be living beyond in Castlebar with herself and the vicar. I’d say we’d be safe there. ’Tis the landlords they’re after. ’Tis about time they paid for the sins of the famine.’
‘You sound like Immelda,’ said Mrs O’Leary. She paused. ‘Now that I mention her, has anyone seen the girl?’
Sadie and Thelma shrugged. Mrs O’Leary looked at Anthony who had begun to speak but stopped.
‘Anthony?’
Anthony fussed with his pipe. ‘I heard tell she had a job on the late shift at Biddy Gillespie’s tea room. I saw her through the window one night serving a crowd of young fellers just in from the pub. I have to say she looked as sour as ever.’
‘That filthy oul’ place? Tea room, me arse! You’d never catch me drinking tea in the likes of it,’ said Mrs O’Leary.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Mrs O.’
‘I suppose so. Did you go near her?’
‘I did not!’
Mrs O’Leary shook her head. ‘She was always a strange one, God help her. I hope she’s found some peace.’
The family made no plans for a Christmas celebration that year, nor for a visit to Westport House, as had been their habit in the past. On Christmas Eve they dined together in near silence. Only young Julian was effusive, excited by the prospect of Christmas morning when he would open the gaily wrapped presents that waited for him under the tree in the library. Had it not been for Julian, Victoria thought, there might have been no acknowledgement of Christmas at all.
She was relieved when dinner was over. Her mother and aunt retired to their rooms and Sofia and Valentine guided a reluctant Julian up to the nursery.
Her father went alone to the library as he did every night when he was at home. She was about to climb the stairs to her own room when she hesitated. She turned back, walked to the library door and lingered there. She pictured her father sitting alone in the big room sipping his brandy and staring into the fire. Her heart ached as she thought of other happy Christmas Eves when the whole family would gather in there around the Christmas tree, dear Thomas playing carols on the piano, and everyone singing merrily.
She leaned against the library door and let her tears flow freely. True, she missed her family as they had been in happier times, but what she missed most, she realized, was her Papa’s affection. For as long as she could remember she had always claimed a special place in his heart. She smiled as she recalled the time she begged him to let Rosie be her friend – how kind his eyes had been as he smiled down at her, how filled with love. That love was still in his eyes when he left her in Dublin to work for Doctor Cullen, and again when he embraced her at the Fairyhouse Racecourse on Easter Monday. Now when he looked at her, if he did so at all, it was from the hollowed-out void that love had left behind.
Before she could stop herself, she tapped on the door and opened it. At first her father did not seem to hear her. He sat, as she had imagined him, in his old leather armchair staring into the glowing fire.
She crept towards him and stood at his side.
‘Papa?’ she whispered. ‘May I join you?’
He started, as if coming out of a trance, and turned to look at her. A smile creased his face as if he had momentarily forgotten his anger, but it quickly hardened into a stern mask. He looked away from her and back at the fire.
‘As you wish,’ he said.
She reached for a taper from the mantel shelf, thrust it into the flames, and walked over to the Christmas tree in the corner where she re-lit one of the candles that had gone out. She stood back smiling, admiring the glittering silver ornaments, inhaling the fresh, evergreen smell of Christmas and the smoky tang of the burning candles.
‘I always loved this time of year,’ she said.
Her father made no answer.
She turned back and sat down in a chair opposite him. She had not dared to look directly at him in some time, and now when she did she was shocked by how frail he had become. His shirt, the buttons of which used to strain against his chest, hung loosely on him, his usually ruddy face had a grey pallor even in the firelight, and his once thick hair had grown sparse. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together.
‘Please, Papa, can we put all this behind us? Can we go back to the way things were?’
‘You brought it all on yourself, Victoria.’ Lord Ennis’s voice was cold. ‘You have brought shame on this household, for which you have refused to show any remorse. In fact, you have been blatant in your refusal to admit any wrongdoing.’
The hairs stood up on the back of Victoria’s neck. She clenched her fists in an effort to control her anger. ‘That’s because I don’t believe I have done anything wrong, Papa,’ she said as calmly as she could manage. ‘I love Brendan, and he loves me. After our baby is born I intend to bring the child to visit his father in prison, and eventually Brendan and I will be married. Our child will grow up with a mother and father who love him. What can possibly be wrong with that?’
Lord Ennis sat up in his chair. ‘For God’s sake, Victoria, you know what’s wrong with it. You are going against all you have been brought up to believe.’
Victoria felt her temper rising in spite of herself. ‘You mean I am going against all the rules you and society have set down for me? In that case I plead guilty. But would you rather I had married someone ‘suitable’ who did not love me nor I him, and lived together in an indifferent tolerance of one another like you and Mama?’
She could have bitten her tongue when those last words slipped out. They had been unfair. She began to apologize, but her father was already on the edge of his chair, his cheeks florid with anger.
‘How dare you? If you were my son I would strike you.’
Victoria’s urge to apologize vanished. The last thing she had intended was to fight with her father, but now it was too late. ‘You know it’s true, Papa. Oh, maybe in the beginning you loved each other, but I saw little evidence of
it when I was growing up. Perhaps Mama turned against you when you began your trysts with house servants the likes of Immelda’s mother. How many others were there, Papa that I don’t know of?’
Her father appeared to struggle for words. ‘You are making me out to be a scoundrel. I can assure I was not as profligate as many of my acquaintances . . .’
Victoria laughed scornfully. ‘Not as profligate? That’s a good one, Papa. In other words you were following the rules of your society. Men were expected to cheat on their wives. No wrongdoing there!’ She paused for a moment. ‘Tell me, Papa,’ she continued in a calmer voice, ‘if Brendan had been a member of our society, an officer in the army perhaps, or the son of another landowner, would you have shut me out in the way you are doing now?’
‘That’s beside the point, Victoria!’
‘No, Papa, it’s exactly the point. I am accused of wrong-doing because I dared to fall in love with a man who is not of our class.’
Lord Ennis leaned back in his chair, sighing as if all his energy had been spent. ‘What is it you want from me, Victoria?’
Victoria, her anger exhausted, came forward and, kneeling down awkwardly in front of her father, took his hands in hers. ‘I want you to be happy for me. I want you to welcome your new grandchild. Papa, don’t you see that your old society, your old way of life, is dying? If you insist on standing in the way of such changes you will continue to be disappointed.’
Lord Ennis shook his head wearily. ‘You may be right, child. But I am an old man. I don’t have the strength to change. I will leave that to you and Valentine.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘I just don’t understand any of the things that are happening anymore. Maybe you children will protect me from the worst of it.’
Victoria laid her head in his lap. ‘Papa, don’t you know that we love you?’ she whispered. ‘We will not let you come to any harm.’
As Victoria knelt she sensed her father’s hand hovering over her head. Was he going to stroke her hair as he had done when she was a child? She held her breath and prayed that he would. And then it came, the lovely soft touch that she remembered.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 34
