The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  She cried out with joy then lay limp and breathless as he reached the pinnacle of his own pleasure with a groan. ‘Oh Dermot,’ she sighed, wrapping her arms around him. ‘If I had known what delights were to be had in these woods, I would have come sooner.’

  ‘You don’t regret it?’ he asked, pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Regret it? Why should I regret it?’ She laughed. ‘If I’m going to marry boring old Ronald, it’s only fair that I have a little fun of my own before.’

  ‘You’re going to marry Ronald?’ He rolled off her and lay on his back, staring into the thicket above him with disappointment.

  ‘Of course. You don’t think I can marry you, do you?’

  ‘I was hoping . . .’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘That’s just silly. You know I can’t. Now, forget about marriage, Dermot. Live in the moment.’ She rolled onto her side and traced a finger down his face. ‘When can we do that again?’

  Chapter 10

  Arethusa was excited about her new discovery. So excited, in fact, that her enthusiasm for trysts in the woods swiftly replaced her desire to help the poor and, as a consequence, her forays into this forbidden world grew more frequent. Now her visits to the poor with Aunt Poppy were mere decoys to hide what she was really up to. She shared the pony and trap and brought a basket of food as usual, but instead of spending time with the families she visited, she simply put the food on the table, said a few sympathetic words, then hastened across the fields to meet Dermot. It was illicit and wild, and the most thrilling thing she had ever done in her life.

  Arethusa was not unaware of the risks she was taking. She knew all about procreation, Charlotte had been very enlightening on the subject, and she had heard the local gossip about the odd girl in town who had got into trouble and had to hastily marry or flee to Dublin and God knows what happened to them then. Eily, her maid, was a real scandalmonger and loved nothing more than bringing her mistress the latest news, bad news especially. But Arethusa was bold, reckless even; she never expected Fate to be inconsiderate. Therefore, when her monthly arrived, as it always did, she was not at all surprised, or even relieved. It was as it should be. She expected nothing less. Dermot was for pleasure, Ronald for duty, and she was sure Fate would know very well which man would father her children. Everything was as perfect as a dewy rose.

  Then, in the middle of August, Poppy got typhus.

  Due to the high risk of contagion no one but her sisters was allowed in the house. The three of them took turns to nurse her and Arethusa, although desperate to be by her side, was forbidden entry.

  ‘It’s just preposterous! How many times did I tell her to keep her distance?’ thundered Greville during dinner in the dining room. Elizabeth ignored him and continued to tuck into her large plate of goose at the opposite end of the long table. The rest of the family respectfully suspended their conversations and gave him their full attention. ‘I dare say she is regretting it now,’ he added, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Poppy does not think about herself,’ said Adeline in her sister’s defence. ‘She only wants to help the poor.’

  Greville turned his glassy gaze onto his granddaughter, who looked down at her plate for fear that he might see in her eyes her secret and know what she got up to in the woods with Dermot McLoughlin. ‘And no more going to visit the poor for you, my dear,’ he said to Arethusa, pointing at her with his wine glass. ‘This is a clear example of what happens when one gets too close. I forbid it.’ He thumped his fist on the table, sending the silver salt cellar and pepper pot jumping into the air and causing the candles to flicker and spill wax. His wife continued to tuck into her goose oblivious.

  Arethusa did not argue with her grandfather. He’d had too much wine and when he was drunk he became bombastic and intolerant. She would find a way to see Dermot. It would be harder, of course, but the rewards would be all the greater for the challenge.

  ‘Isn’t it time Ronald made an honest woman of Tussy?’ said Rupert with a smile, ignoring his sister’s warning look across the table.

  ‘Is that Ronald Rowan-Hampton?’ asked Augusta, who was married to Greville’s diminutive cousin Stoke Deverill, and had come from London to spend the whole month at Castle Deverill. Sparkling in diamonds and pearls, her white hair teased and curled and rolled onto her head in an extravagant coiffure, Augusta Deverill, fifty-eight and formidable, was big enough to swallow her husband whole without anyone noticing. She sat with her fluffy Pekinese on her knee, stroking his fur with chubby, bejewelled fingers.

  ‘Ronald is Sir Anthony and Lady Rowan-Hampton’s eldest son,’ said Hubert, glancing at his wife, for although it was common knowledge that Ronald and Arethusa would most likely marry, Ronald hadn’t formally proposed and Arethusa was reluctant to commit.

  ‘All in good time,’ said Adeline gently, eyeing her daughter. ‘One mustn’t rush decisions which are then set in stone for the rest of one’s life.’

  Arethusa’s heart sank at the thought of anything being set in stone for that long – or indeed, at all. She pulled a face at Rupert, who grinned back triumphantly.

  ‘But she is young,’ said Augusta, looking at Arethusa with admiration, for Augusta was a vacuous woman who prized beauty above all else and Arethusa was an uncommon beauty.

  ‘I agree,’ said Bertie’s fiancée Maud, who shimmered in pale blue silk like a lovely icicle. Indeed, Augusta considered Maud’s beauty admirable also, if a little severe. There was no warmth in her face, which could have been carved out of marble. Her cheekbones were too sharp, her jawline too square and her lips on the thin side. However, her eyes were quite remarkable being so chilly a shade of blue and framed by such unfeasably dark eyelashes. Bertie, handsome with flaxen hair and the wide, insouciant smile of a man for whom life has only ever been fun and games, was very pleased with himself for having wooed her. Augusta did not imagine it had been easy. ‘I am twenty-one and will be just twenty-two when Bertie and I marry,’ Maud continued. ‘I think that is a very good age for a woman to wed.’ Bertie, who had been placed beside her, squeezed her hand lovingly.

  ‘In my day we married before we reached twenty,’ said Augusta. ‘A woman of twenty without a husband was already going off, like fruit left too long in the bowl.’

  ‘Times have changed, my dear,’ said Stoke, who was a man of few words, mainly because his voice was always lost in the hurricane that was his wife’s and he’d long given up trying.

  Greville grunted and his moustache twitched like a walrus’s. ‘Girls are married off in good time to keep them out of trouble.’ Again, he settled his imperious gaze onto his granddaughter. ‘I dare say Ronald will break you in swiftly, give you children to fuss over and keep you out of cottages riddled with typhus!’ Arethusa delighted in the knowledge that she’d already been well broken in by Dermot.

  ‘Oh, I do worry about Poppy,’ said Adeline. ‘She hasn’t a mean bone in her body. She’s good through and through. I pray to God she recovers.’

  ‘We will all pray for her, my dear,’ said Augusta. ‘It could happen to any one of us. Life is precarious. One must count one’s blessings. One has to be lucky and poor Poppy isn’t.’

  ‘I’m sure Dr Johnson will put her right,’ said Hubert hopefully. ‘He’s a fine doctor, from London, you know.’

  ‘An English doctor, well!’ Augusta gushed. ‘She’ll be right in no time. I would not be happy for her to be at the mercy of an Irish doctor.’

  Elizabeth put down her knife and fork with a clink. She was defeated by the second helping of goose. ‘Poppy will most likely die,’ she said, picking up her glass and taking a gulp of wine.

  Adeline did not reply but let her mother-in-law’s comment pass over her like an ugly cloud. She was too weary with worry to concern herself with her mother-in-law’s tactlessness.

  ‘Oh Grandma!’ Rupert exclaimed with a smile. ‘We can always count on you to be so wonderfully optimistic.’

  ‘Prayer,’ interrupted Augusta stridently. ‘When
the doctors have done all they can, we must rely on prayer.’

  And on a God who allowed her to get sick in the first place, thought Arethusa bleakly.

  Soon it became clear that Poppy was indeed dying. In spite of Adeline’s herbal tinctures which she lovingly brewed every day from the medicinal garden she cultivated in one of the greenhouses, it appeared that Poppy was slipping away. Arethusa was devastated. She couldn’t imagine life without her favourite aunt. In despair at the unfairness of the world she strode down to the beach to cry alone where no one would see her. Fat clouds with grey underbellies scudded across the sky on a wind that was blustery and cross. Seagulls squawked and a pair of corncrakes squabbled on the sand over a dead crab. Arethusa marched up the beach, her skirts billowing like sails as the gale propelled her over shallow pools and wet dunes. The sun battled bravely and won the occasional patch of blue sky, but those moments were fleeting. A storm was moving in from the east. As she tried to bargain with God the waves crashed noisily against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs where pirates had once hidden their loot in caves and above, puffins took refuge in nooks. Arethusa cried and her tears dried on her skin as soon as she had shed them.

  It was there that her mother found her. Adeline strode over the sand, her red hair swirling around her head as the wind tossed it about. Arethusa was not grateful for the company, but Adeline pulled her into her arms and hugged her tightly all the same. ‘My darling, we have to put our trust in God,’ she said emphatically.

  Arethusa let her mother embrace her, but she did not embrace her back. ‘A God that can take a soul as good and sweet as Poppy’s is not a God I want to believe in, Mama.’

  ‘There is a reason for everything, Tussy.’ Adeline linked arms with her daughter and began to walk slowly up the sand. ‘My darling, we’re spiritual beings having an earthly experience. We have all come here to learn and grow in light. That is our purpose.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ Arethusa found her mother’s discourses on spirituality baffling. It was like she was speaking another language.

  Adeline leaned towards her so that her voice would not get snatched by the wind. ‘Think of your soul as light, Tussy. The more you learn to love, forgive, empathize and open your heart in gratitude, the brighter your spirit will become. That is why we are here, because we are moving towards the greatest light of all and that is God.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Poppy?’

  ‘Because Poppy is a soul of light, too. She is here to grow brighter and lighter and when she has completed her life she will go home. She will return to the place from where we all come. To you and me it will seem that she has been robbed of her future, but she won’t have been robbed. We will have been robbed, but she will have done all she needed to do in this life and will be free. We have to accept that if she dies it will be her time. And through our grief we will grow too. It is through suffering that we learn the greatest lessons and grow the most.’

  ‘I don’t want to grow, Mama.’ Arethusa began to cry again. ‘I want Poppy to stay here.’

  Adeline stopped to hug her again. ‘So do I, Tussy, but if she goes, I will accept it as God’s will. Life is often painful, my darling. We cannot avoid losing people we love, it is inevitable and designed to wake us up to our true, spiritual natures. But resistance will only make it harder to bear. We have to learn to accept things we cannot change. Acceptance is one of the very things we are here to learn.’

  ‘Well, I can’t accept this. She will not die. I won’t accept it. God will just have to change his plans and give her some more years.’ Arethusa pulled away from her mother and shouted up at the darkening sky, ‘If you take Poppy, God, you will only teach me that it is wrong to look after the poor. Wrong to take them food and clothing and medicine. Wrong to touch them and comfort them. And I will never ever help another poor person again as long as I live. How do you like that, Mr God?’

  Adeline took her daughter’s hand. ‘Come, Tussy dear. Let’s go home. There are better ways to talk to God.’

  ‘He doesn’t hear our prayers so what’s the point?’

  ‘Of course He does. We are holding a special service tomorrow to pray for her recovery.’

  ‘It won’t make any difference. He’s not listening. And anyway, why bother praying if God has already decided?’

  ‘Because I’m willing to try everything.’

  Arethusa shook her head. ‘You see, Mama, you’re not even sure of your own argument.’

  The following day the whole Protestant community gathered in the church of St Patrick in Ballinakelly to pray for Poppy. All the upper servants of the castle who were Protestant attended also, the men in black coats and top hats, the women in toques. The farmers and gamekeepers wore bowler hats and the coastguard looked distinguished in their uniforms. Adeline had done the flowers, even though it was not her turn on the rota. No one had Adeline’s touch when it came to arranging flowers but even she had exceeded her own talent with the ravishing displays of Alchemilla mollis, rose and lily, picked from the gardens of Castle Deverill and lovingly assembled in big glass vases.

  Arethusa sat in the front row with her family, as was tradition, and behind her Ronald sat with his parents, Sir Anthony and Lady Rowan-Hampton, and his two fat, pink-faced sisters, Julia and Melissa. Ethel Hardwood, an elderly widow with a glass eye following an unlikely accident with a garden fork, played the organ in a jerky, hesitant manner, while Hazel and Laurel snivelled into their handkerchiefs. Arethusa could feel Ronald’s eyes on the back of her neck, for her hair was pinned in a thick chignon beneath the rim of her hat. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he proposed and then what was she to do? It had been a while since she’d been able to see Dermot. Right now, with Poppy slowly dying, Arethusa didn’t have the desire for Dermot’s brand of entertainment. Perhaps it was time to embrace her duty and begin the rest of her life. After all, she was going to have to start sometime.

  Reverend Millet gave an interminable sermon about acceptance, which Arethusa thought sounded a bit like her mother’s, although it was much longer and full of clichés. When it came to the prayers, she knelt on her prayer cushion and followed Reverend Millet’s words just in case God happened to be listening this time. The only light moment came when Lady Deverill nodded off during the sermon and began to snore. Arethusa got the giggles and couldn’t stop. Bertie elbowed her hard in the ribs, which only made her laugh even more. Maud was horrified but a cold stare from her had no effect on Arethusa, who was now unable to control herself. Her laughter was infectious and caught Rupert, whose shoulders shuddered so that behind him Julia and Melissa (who thought him the most attractive man in West Cork) grew even pinker in the face and began to snort like a pair of pigs. Lady Rowan-Hampton was a formidable woman and silenced her girls by rapping Melissa on the knuckles with her prayer book, but Rupert and Arethusa were lost. It was only when Lord Deverill nudged his wife and she came round with a gasp that the two miscreants were at last brought to heel. It had long been a family rule that Rupert and Arethusa were not to sit together in church, but distance seemed not to make the slightest difference. Simply knowing the other was in the same room was enough to set them off.

  ‘I’m not sure your behaviour in church is going to win you any points with my mama,’ said Ronald when they walked out into the yard.

  ‘I know, but I couldn’t help it. Grandma fell asleep and started snoring,’ she explained, smiling again.

  ‘I rather sympathize,’ said Ronald. ‘I’d like to have slept through Rev Millet’s sermon as well.’

  ‘Is there no one who can entertain in the pulpit?’

  ‘I think being able to give a dull sermon is one of the most important qualifications required for an aspiring rector. The entertaining men find something more interesting to do.’