by Sara Seale
Brian was trying his best. He kept edging towards the drawing-room, and she heard him murmur something about drinks.
“In the drawing-room?” Kilmallin’s rich tones floated up. “Nonsense, my boy, there’s no fire there. You fetch the tray while I go ahead and light the lamps.”
It was too late. She watched with fascination her father open the library door and in a moment there was uproar. Kilmallin’s oaths mingled with squawks and cluckings as hens and ducks poured forth from the library, some flying, some running, bewildered by the sudden light. Brian, with great presence of mind, opened the front door and began shooing them out, and Kilmallin strode into the hall again and yelled: “Clancy!”
She came running down the stairs, talking as she went. “It was my idea, Kilmallin. Brian only helped,” she cried. She had eyes only for her father, and none for the newcomer, temporarily forgotten.
“And wouldn’t I know it was your idea, you mannerless little tinker!” roared Kilmallin. “Is it also your idea of Irish hospitality to play practical jokes on strangers?”
She was nearly at the bottom now.
“It wasn’t meant for a joke, Kilmallin,” she said very quickly. “It was meant to make him feel at home. The English have queer ideas of the way we live. I’m sorry, Kilmallin, it was well meant, really it was.”
She extricated Michael John’s goat by the horns and evicted it on to the porch, slamming the door shut, then she made for the stairs.
“Clancy!”
She paused, and turned, one hand on the newel post. “Tea, Kilmallin?”
“Have you no manners at all? Shake hands with this gentleman and bid him welcome.”
Then she saw him for the first time. He was standing quietly, his hands in his pockets, surveying the scene with cool, heavy-lidded eyes. His face was quite expressionless, but she thought his mouth twitched slightly at the corners. She looked at him with dismay. He was quite young and he had very long legs which looked as if they would take the tower room stairs three at a time with the greatest of ease. “Are you the new tutor?” she asked slowly.
“Yes.” His voice was deep and pleasant and as expressionless as his face. “How do you do?”
“Tell her your name,” said Kevin, recovering his good humour all at once. “Tell my rebel daughter your name.” The Englishman’s light eyebrows lifted slightly.
“My name?” he said, with a quick glance of polite surprise. “My name is Cromwell.”
It was the most hated English name in the history of Ireland.
CHAPTER THREE
CLANCY sat down abruptly on the stairs, and Mark Cromwell continued to stand with his hands in his pockets, looking down at her with eyebrows that were raised again. Kevin shouted with laughter at the expression on his daughter’s face. His little joke had come off very nicely.
“Cromwell!” said Clancy, and her voice was outraged. She stared at him with utter loathing, then turned on her father. “You can laugh, Kilmallin,” she cried, “but it’s not a bit funny. I believe you did it on purpose. I believe you picked him just because of his name.”
Kevin was still laughing.
“Ah, stop your blather, Clancy, do you take me for a fool?” he said. “Come on now, and behave yourself. The joke’s over.”
“My name seems to have unfortunate associations,” Mark murmured, watching them both with amusement.
“It’s not a good name to bear in Ireland,” Clancy told him coldly.
His mouth twitched again at the corners.
“Even now?” he asked mildly.
She did not trouble to answer him and Kevin said tolerantly:
“The poor child doesn’t care for the English, Mr. Cromwell. She has no education, as you can see for yourself. You’ll find the boy more amenable, won’t he, Brian?”
“I will not,” said Clancy clearly, before her brother could speak, “take orders from any Cromwell, and so I’m telling you, Kilmallin.”
“I shouldn’t dream of giving you orders,” Mark said politely.
“You will, then, and plenty of them,” said Kilmallin, who was getting tired of the whole thing and wanted a drink. “You’d better start now, and tell the child to behave herself and treat her tutor with proper respect.”
Mark did not move, but he seemed to stiffen.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I did not undertake to teach a girl. I thought you had two sons, Mr. O’Shane.”
He saw Kevin wince.
“A mistake on the part of the lawyers, no doubt,” he said quickly. “Clancy is a son to me. She should have been a boy.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t alter the case,” Mark said pleasantly. “Girls are not in my line. I know nothing about them.”
“Ah, treat her like another boy,” said Kevin impatiently. “You can even wallop her if you think it would do any good.”
“Kilmallin!” gasped Clancy.
Mark smiled.
“I’m afraid that would be out of my province,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Shane, if there has been a misunderstanding, but I cannot accept your daughter as a pupil.”
Kevin felt nonplussed. There was a quiet adamancy behind this man’s lazy manner that was far more deadly than Clancy’s obstinacy.
“Ah, come on now, my dear fellow!” he said. “I don’t altogether blame you for not wishing to take on Clancy, after the reception she’s given you, but you’ll soon knock some sense into her, I can see that. What you want is a stiff drink. You’ll feel better after that.”
“It sounds an excellent idea,” said Mark courteously, “but it’s unlikely to change my mind.”
“We’ll see,” said Kevin tolerantly, “we’ll see. Well, what are we all standing here for? Brian, go and find your aunt. Clancy, clean up the library this instant, and tell us when it’s fit to come into. Ring for Biddy and tell her to bring drinks at once to the drawing-room. Come along, my dear fellow. The room will be cold, but we’ll move back to the fire as soon as the place is set to rights.”
Biddy brought the drinks and looked with frank curiosity at the stranger, then went back to the kitchen to report that the new schoolmaster looked an elegant gentleman entirely, and wasn’t it a shame Miss Clancy was so set agin the British?
“Now,” said Kevin, when he had settled them both with their whisky, “you’re not really serious, are you? Tell me you were only wanting to take the girl down a peg or two, and no wonder.”
“I’m perfectly serious, Mr. O’Shane,” Mark replied. “Apart from anything else, I’d scarcely get the best out of the child when she’s obviously taken such a dislike to me.”
Kevin waved an airy hand.
“Ah, don’t let that worry you. It isn’t you she dislikes, it’s just your nationality. It’s Conn Driscoll has filled her head with all this nonsense. He’s our nearest neighbour, you see, and Clancy has been running round after him ever since she could walk. His grandfather was killed in the trouble which made them all bitter, you understand, and Conn, as a boy, was a bit of a firebrand. He’s sobered down his notions now, but Clancy used to believe every word he told her. She’ll grow out of it. Now tell me about yourself, my dear chap,” Kevin finished, cunningly turning the conversation away from the point he had every intention of winning. “How did you come to take on a job of this sort? I should have thought you would have been building up a career of your own.”
“My story is very simple,” Mark said with a smile. “I was a schoolmaster who went on an expedition and after two years of a totally different life, I found I didn’t want to go back to teaching. I was just marking time when your lawyers got on to me. Derek Marsden, the junior partner, is one of my oldest friends, and he thought this might appeal to me as a stop-gap. I have a little money of my own now that my people are dead, but I want work as well, and I don’t particularly want to settle down in England yet.”
“I wouldn’t hesitate, old boy, if I were you. The job’s well paid and all found, and you’ll be able to
get the odd spot of fishing and what not. Some of these old Irish castles can be uncomfortable, I’m told, but this O’Shane is quite well off and you’ll be living in the lap of luxury compared to this country. Wonderful food, and a couple of kids who needn’t take up too much of your time. After all, you can always chuck it if, after a bit, it doesn’t appeal.”
The proposition had attracted him more and more as he turned it over in his mind. It would be very pleasant to get right away from old associations for a time, and he had never been to Ireland.
“Yes,” Kevin said, refilling the glasses, “things must be very different over there. Life here is much more leisurely. There is a feeling that tomorrow can take care of itself. Where did you go on your expedition?
“The Antarctic. I was a member of a joint team of explorers and scientists. We were away two years.”
“You know—” Kevin sounded ruminative “that kind of life is just what a young man needs. I wouldn’t have minded trying it myself, once. Well, now to return to the little matter of Clancy. Surely you wouldn’t turn the job down on her account? For all she’s so wild in her ways, she has a good brain when she chooses to use it.”
Mark hesitated. He liked Kevin, and he thought he would probably like Kilmallin.
“I’m very willing to remain and teach your son,” he said. “But really, a girl is quite outside my experience.”
“Clancy’s not like the usual girl,” Kevin said naively. “She’s used to being treated like a boy, and she needs the discipline more than her brother. She had those governesses of hers running round in circles and took French leave whenever she liked. If you’d had to put up with them as I did, Cromwell, you’d understand why I put my foot down and said no more women.”
Mark smiled.
“Have you never thought of sending the girl to school?” he asked. “She didn’t strike me as being the type for a governess!”
“School for Clancy?” said Kevin, with obvious surprise. “It would be a waste of money. What do women want with an expensive education? She’ll marry in a few years’ time, and then what’ll it matter whether she’s had all that schooling or not? By sharing her studies with Brian she’ll learn quite enough to be of use to her if she has the right teacher.”
“Perhaps.” Mark’s blue eyes twinkled a little.
“Then you’ll stay and take on the pair of them?” asked Kevin eagerly. “You’ll see for yourself, I can’t have Clancy just running round wild while her brother’s kept at his books. That wouldn’t make for discipline with Brian, would it?”
“Possibly not.” Really, O’Shane was very ingenious.
“She’ll get over her silly rebel notions when she knows you better. She’s a good child at heart, and it’s so important to me that Brian should be in the right hands. And mind you, if you stay, you will have no interference from me, so set yourself at rest on that score. You’ll have full authority over the both of them and I’ll make them understand that.”
Mark was silent for a moment. There was no real reason why he should object to teaching a girl.
“It isn’t, is it,” asked Kevin slyly, “that you’d be thinking you couldn’t handle a chit of an ignorant girl?”
“Certainly not,” said Mark, stung, then he smiled reluctantly as he saw Kevin grin. “Shall we leave it till morning, Mr. O’Shane?” he suggested. “I’ll know you all a little better by then and have more idea of what I’m taking on.”
Kevin groaned inwardly. If Clancy got wind of that she’d do her utmost to get him out.
“By all means, my dear fellow,” he said heartily. “A very sensible suggestion. You must be tired after all your travelling, and then to find at the end of it all was a girl and not another boy you were to school—and a mannerless little baggage at that—well, you should think it over. But I’m counting on you, Cromwell, remember that. I’m counting on you to take charge of my boy. Now, for the love of God, Clancy must have that room cleared up by now! And where on earth has that sister of mine got to? You won’t be thinking much of Irish hospitality, I’m afraid. Help me carry the tray and the glasses and we’ll get to the fire.”
They found Clancy picking the last feathers out of the rug.
“Where’s Brian? I thought I sent him to find your aunt,” Kevin said, as he set the loaded tray down on a table.
“Agnes wanted him,” said Clancy shortly. “Aunt Bea’s seeing to one of the maids who’s got scalded. She’ll be down presently.” She avoided Mark’s eye and made for the door.
“Well, go up to the schoolroom, then—no, wait a minute. You can stay here while we have another drink, and then you can show Mr. Cromwell his room.”
Clancy looked as if she was on the point of blank refusal, but she caught Mark’s amused expression, and sat down primly on the edge of a chair and said nothing.
Kevin kicked the turfs into a blaze and began talking about the Government. Mark was to find a slight confusion in their discussions at first, for to Kevin the Government naturally meant the Dail. Clancy listened silently, and when she thought he was not watching her, she frowningly inspected Mark’s face in the lamplight. At present she would admit nothing pleasant about him except his nose, which was straight and strongly shaped. She admired straight noses, her own being inclined to tilt. But his eyes were a blue with a chill to it, and she did not care for light hair; it looked negative.
She was unaware of a pause in the talk, so intent was she, until she suddenly found his cool gaze on her.
“Have you made up your mind yet?” he asked.
“About what?”
“The dirty English,” he said, and grinned suddenly.
She felt herself flushing. He had no business to take her so lightly and make her feel mannerless.
“You’re the first one I’ve met,” she muttered.
His eyes twinkled.
“What a responsibility! I hope I won’t discredit my country.”
“Your namesake did that in 1649,” she retorted swiftly.
“Did he, indeed? I’m no relation, you know.” He set down his empty glass and got to his feet. He was tall, as tall as Kilmallin. “Now, perhaps I might be taken to my room.”
She hesitated for a brief moment, then marched out of the library in silence. Still in silence she lighted one of a row of hurricane lamps which stood on a table, and he stood beside her, watching her still, dark little face bent over the flame, as she adjusted the wick to her liking.
Clancy swung the lantern off the table and said briefly: “Come on.”
He followed her down a dimly lighted stone passage which ended in a heavy door which stood open at the foot of a winding staircase. At the top of the staircase there were two doors, one, Clancy told him, leading into the main part of the house and the nearest bathroom, the other which she flung open and entered, saying over her shoulder:
“This is your room.”
She watched him resentfully, as he stood for a moment assimilating the unexpected comfort of the tower room. Lamps had already been lighted, and turfs piled glowing on the hearth, and the high octagonal walls gave it an air of unreality.
“This is a delightful room,” he exclaimed. “The view alone must be worth the climb.”
“This is the tower room,” Clancy told him austerely. “No one has used it since my grandfather’s time. In 1594, armed men watched from here for the coming of the English.”
He shot her an amused glance.
“You’re very pat with your dates,” he remarked. “History is perhaps your subject?”
“Irish history,” she said.
He smiled.
“Unfortunately it’s considered necessary to know a smattering of the history of other countries as well,” he said.
She edged to the door.
“I’ll be going now,” she said. “They ring a bell when dinner’s ready.”
“No, don’t go,” he said, sitting down in one of the easy chairs and crossing his legs. “I should like to talk to you for a little.”
She hesitated, then remained where she was by the door. He lighted a cigarette, then looked across at her with a quizzical lift of the eyebrows. “Come, over here to the fire and sit down for a moment.”
She came slowly across the room and sat on the arm of a chair, eyeing him suspiciously. He was not at all as she had imagined he would be and he made her feel at a disadvantage.
“I’m interested in your ideas on the English,” he said conversationally. “Tell me more.”
Put in this way, she could think of nothing to say. England had always been the hereditary enemy of Ireland and that was all there was to it.
“Have you ever been to Ireland before?” she asked.
He watched her through a haze of tobacco smoke.
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. The Irish have a great reputation for hospitality and courtesy, you know.”
He saw her flush, and smiled faintly.
“I think we are always courteous to our friends,” she replied quickly.
“Well, in England,” he said, “I think we count a friend a friend until he proves himself an enemy.”
She said nothing, and he remarked: “I don’t really want you for a pupil, you know.”
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing personal, but I’m used to teaching boys. I have an idea that a girl—almost any girl—would be an unsatisfactory sort of proposition.”
“Why?” she demanded again, this time with slight indignation.
“I don’t know. Girls don’t understand direct methods. They think they can get away with things, and when they find they can’t they cry and complain they’re hardly treated.”
“Well!” she cried. “Of all things! What sort of girls have you known?”
“Very few really. It was only an idea.”
