The English Tutor

by Sara Seale

  As they were crossing the hall, the front door opened, and Conn’s voice called: “Anyone about? Hi, Clodagh!! You left your scarf in the car.”

  Mark was explaining what had happened when a door opened on the landing above and Clodagh came running down the stairs, her hands outstretched, her bright hair flying.

  “Conn! Conn! I want you!” she cried. “Oh, Conn, it was awful. I’m frightened, Conn.”

  She ran straight to him and flung her arms about him.

  Clancy stood and watched them. Just so had she in other years sought comfort in Conn’s arms for childhood woes, and known the relief of easy tears. Clodagh might have been Kilmallin’s daughter, not his niece, so simply did she demand pity.

  “Ah, then, darling, it’s all right. It’s all right, I’m telling you. You’ve no need to be frightened...” Conn was saying in a voice gentle with concern for her.

  Mark had been watching Clancy’s face.

  “There’s a fire in the schoolroom. Take her up there and keep her quiet,” he said, and with a hand on Clancy’s shoulder, he gently pushed her into the library and shut the door.

  She went to the fire slowly, feeling unwanted and shut out. She should have been with them in the schoolroom, sharing in their companionship as she had always done. In times gone by it was she whom Conn had comforted while Clodagh listened and laughed.

  “It’s best that way,” Mark said. “She’s upset and he probably understands her.”

  She looked up at him, and the tenderness in his expression made her want to cry for the first time.

  “I didn’t think,” she said with difficulty, “that Clodagh cared so much for Kilmallin.”

  He sighed a little and shook his head.

  “Oh, Clancy, will you never learn?” he asked. “Will you always take people at face value? Clodagh was frightened, and she likes attention. By the morning she’ll have forgotten it except as an exciting happening. Now you’re going to sit by the fire and have some whisky and stop shivering. Come along.”

  He pushed her into Kevin’s chair, and mixed a drink which he put into her hand, then mixed one for himself.

  “I don’t like it very much,” she said, but he replied:

  “Never mind. I think we both need it.”

  She sat sipping her whisky, and the slow tears trickled down her nose and into the glass.

  “Come, now, Clancy, you’ve been so good,” he said kindly. “There’s nothing to worry about yet. Kilmallin will have to go a bit carefully, but I doubt if Doctor Boyle will give us any alarming reports.”

  She sniffed valiantly, and he offered her a clean white handkerchief.

  “What brought on this attack of your father’s?” he asked then.

  Clancy curled up in the chair and tucked her feet under her.

  “It was Clodagh really,” she said, and a grateful smile at Clodagh’s championship curved her lips. “She was trying to persuade Kilmallin to buy me a new dress for my birthday. A proper expensive evening dress from Dublin. She said she would choose it.”

  Mark looked surprised.

  “A very good idea,” he said. “Didn’t your father agree?”

  “No, he wouldn’t have it at all. Clodagh was silly, really, she never knows when it’s the right moment and when it isn’t. Doyle had lost one of the best cows and Kilmallin was upset about it. Clodagh would go on and on, and then Kilmallin started shouting the way he does, and suddenly it happened.”

  “I see,” said Mark.

  He set his empty glass on the mantelpiece, and stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets.

  “You’ll have your frock, Clancy,” he said. “I’ll speak to Kilmallin myself when he’s well.”

  “You? Oh, but, Mark, it’s not important,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind a bit. I’m not very interested in clothes.”

  “Certainly it’s important,” he said with a smile. “Clodagh does have sensible ideas sometimes. And by the same token, after your eighteenth birthday, I’m going to change our timetable.” She looked at him inquiringly. “We’ll relax the working hours, and you can choose your own subjects and work with me at times that don’t clash with Brian’s studies.”

  He talked to her in this vein for a little while, and saw that she had begun to forget the emotions of the evening. There were smudges of strain and weariness under her eyes, but she was no longer tearful or afraid.

  “Well, after this dissertation, I should think you had better go upstairs and wash your face,” he said, stretching out a hand to pull her out of the chair. “Doctor Boyle won’t be long now. I’ll let you know exactly what he says when he’s gone.”

  She stood before him, her smoky eyes intent on his face. “You’re really very nice,” she said shyly. “I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult for you.”

  He ruffled her hair.

  “You haven’t made things as difficult as you’d like to think,” he told her. “You have a tender heart, Clancy, but grow up, my child. Don’t let them keep you an adolescent too long. You’ll get hurt.”

  “You’re the only person who doesn’t think of me just as a child,” she said gravely. “Do—do you mind if I kiss you, Mark?”

  She made a hurried, slightly embarrassed little peck at his cheek and ran out of the room.

  The next day, things were back to normal. Kevin was roaring orders from his room where the doctor insisted he stayed for a couple of days to rest, and Clodagh departed for Dublin in a whirl of affectionate farewells and Mark’s private assurance that she could go ahead with her plans for Clancy’s frock.

  “Is it all right?” Clancy had asked when Doctor Boyle had gone.

  “Quite all right,” Mark assured her.

  No need, he felt, to tell her then that the doctor’s report had not been very satisfactory. Kevin’s heart was not in a good state, he said. He should stop drinking and not excite himself if he wanted to make old bones.

  “But what manner of use is it giving that sort of advice to a man of Kilmallin’s temperament?” Doctor Boyle had ended. “He’ll go his own way whatever you or I say, and after all, a man’s life is his own and he must hasten his end in his own way.”

  To Clancy, the three weeks before her birthday were the happiest she had ever known. Kilmallin was well again, and Conn, the dear friend and playfellow of her childhood, had returned to her. Mark had never found her so willing or so quick to learn. Her gratitude to all the world extended particularly to him for his solace in a bad hour, and she had about her a new radiance and maturity which a little disturbed him.

  He could say nothing against the repeated visits to Slievaun, for she never again abused the hours allotted to study, neither could he speak to Conn without committing an impertinence. But watching them together, seeing the little careless intimacies which he felt must mean so little to Conn, he was uneasy.

  Mark had had his way with Kevin about the frock, and Clodagh wrote ecstatic letters from Dublin, describing first one and then another of her finds, but keeping her final choice a secret until she returned. As the time approached, Clancy’s birthday became the main topic of conversation. Aunt Bea unpacked the best Sevres dinner service, which had not been in use since Kitty was alive, and fat Mary Kate in the kitchen devised suitable menus days before. Even Kevin began thinking of the choicest wines in his cellar, remarking tolerantly that it might be a coming of age party instead of an ordinary birthday, so much fuss were they making.

  “Perhaps,” said Clancy to Conn, “it will be a coming of age for me. No one can call you a child any longer at eighteen. Even Mark is going to stop my ordinary lessons.”

  “Coming of age—you!” scoffed Conn affectionately. “Why, you’ll be coming down to dinner in that old red jersey you’ve worn since you were fourteen and your hair like a bird’s nest. You wouldn’t be my Clancy if you were any different.”

  “You wait,” she said, “until you see what Clodagh brings.”

  Clodagh arrived the night before, bringing cardboard boxe
s of various sizes and her own large suitcase. She kissed everyone effusively, including Mark, lifting a glowing face to each. There was about her something that was subtly different, a softness, a radiance which matched Clancy’s but was altogether more sure.

  The cousins entwined their arms and talked excitedly and seemed loath to separate for a moment. All the evening they shut themselves in Clancy’s bedroom, trying on clothes, and when Mark asked her if the dress came up to expectations, she turned on him a starry gaze.

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” she said, “far too lovely for me. Clodagh says no one must see it till tomorrow night, so I can’t tell you what it’s like, but there are shoes from Aunt Kate, and nylons and underclothes, and even a bag to match. Clodagh did it all. Isn’t she a darling? Tonight she’s just like she always used to be, and I love her.”

  Mark, listening, felt an unaccountable pang. He had urged her to grow up. “Don’t let them keep you adolescent for too long—you’ll get hurt,” he had said. But tonight he had an unreasoning wish that she could remain a child. Growing up could hurt, too, and hurt most cruelly if one was as unprepared as Clancy.

  “It’s going to be a wonderful birthday,” she said, and he replied gently:

  “I hope so, Clancy. I hope so very much.”

  The day began perfectly. Even the weather was kind, and the gales of the past weeks had subsided to a cold breeze and no rain fell. There were presents arranged by Clodagh with great care on the breakfast table. A five-pound note from Kevin, who never could be bothered with shopping, handkerchiefs from Aunt Bea and two pairs of woollen gloves which she had knitted, and Brian had bought a box of marbles which he wanted himself, borrowing a shilling from Michael John to complete the purchase. Agnes, with rather misplaced optimism had proffered a well-stocked work-basket, and Clodagh had brought an expensive bottle of scent which she proposed to borrow that evening, but of all her presents, it was Mark’s which charmed Clancy most. He had found, in an old shop in Duneen, a delicately painted eighteenth-century trinket-box, which, when the lid was raised played three French bergerettes in tinkling succession. Brian speculated at great length upon what sort of present Conn would bring in the evening.

  “I know,” said Clodagh smugly. “I chose it.”

  “Oh,” said Clancy, disappointed. She would rather Conn had chosen her present himself. “He said he had a surprise for me, too. He said he had some news which would please me, but he was keeping it for the party.”

  “I know that, too,” Clodagh said.

  Both Clancy and Brian at once set on her and tried to coax the secret from her, but Clodagh would not tell. She said it would spoil everything to know before the party, and Conn must spring his surprise himself.

  “I know what it is!” cried Clancy triumphantly. “He’s made up his mind about the farm. He’s going to stay, and he’s bought that brood mare of Daley’s that he always wanted to stand to Regency. That’s it, isn’t it, Clodagh? I feel it in my bones that’s the surprise, for it would certainly please me very much, as he knows.”

  But Clodagh looked mysterious and would not say yes or no, and Mark, who had given them a holiday, said that if they were going to walk down to the village in time for the Meet, they had better be thinking of starting.

  By the evening they were all ready much too early, for Clodagh had harried everyone to such an extent to be dressed and waiting before Conn arrived, that they had been driven to their rooms soon after tea. Mark was the first down and he was having a drink with Kilmallin who had just come in from the farm, when Aunt Bea arrived, trailing the skirts of an out-of-date lavender tea-gown she had not worn for nearly twenty years, although she insisted upon keeping on her Shetland shawl.

  “The girls are just coming,” she said. “They look very nice.”

  There were voices and laughter on the stairs, and Clodagh, vivid in full green taffeta, flung open the library door.

  “Allow me to introduce you to the birthday queen, Miss Clancy O’Shane,” she announced, and stood back for Clancy to enter.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE came into the room slowly and a little uncertainly, and stood there, just inside the door, looking at them all shyly.

  Mark had to admit that Clodagh had been clever. She must have searched hard to find just that shade of smoky blue, and in every way the dress was a complete contrast to her own. The soft chiffon fell in folds of almost classic simplicity, and clung lovingly to her young bosom above the silver belt. The black curls had been brushed until they shone and were caught back with a narrow silver fillet, and there was about her, as she stood there waiting for their verdict, an air of delicacy and strangeness which Mark found very touching.

  He was the first to speak.

  “It’s lovely, Clancy,” he said. “You look like one of those lost princesses out of a fairy tale. I must say, Clodagh, I do congratulate you very sincerely.”

  Clodagh shut the door and rustled over to her favourite seat on the arm of a chair.

  “She wouldn’t wear lipstick for all my persuasions, but I don’t think it matters,” she said, with the critical air of an artist.

  “She was perfectly right,” said Mark. “She doesn’t need it.”

  “Kilmallin, you haven’t said anything,” Clodagh pouted. “I do hope you’ll appreciate all the finer points of Clancy’s ensemble, for you’ll get a shock when you see the bills.” Mark looked at Kevin curiously. He was standing quite still, staring at his daughter with the same sense of shock which he had worn that night in the summer when Clodagh had experimented with her hair, and Mark knew he was again being reminded of Kitty. For an anxious moment, he wondered if Kevin was going to spoil Clancy’s evening with another outburst, but he turned away at last, and helped himself to another drink.

  “Very nice,” he said dully, then added with an effort to be more gracious: “I’ve no doubt you’ve trained me, you minx, to say nothing of giving the girl fancy ideas about herself, but I will say the colour suits her. Mark, would you give the ladies some sherry, please.”

  Clodagh looked at the clock and gave a little scream. “Kilmallin, you must go and change!” she exclaimed. “Conn will be here any minute, and Mary Kate says we’re not to let the dinner spoil. It’s special.”

  “Och!” said Kevin, “I’m not changing. If you all want to dress yourselves up like a lot of monkeys you can, but I’m staying as I am.”

  “Kilmallin, you can’t!” Clodagh was horrified.. “You know it was all arranged. It’s a party and you can’t spoil it all by being the only person in dirty old tweeds.”

  Clancy laughed at her dismayed face.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s my party, and I don’t mind. Besides, Conn won’t have changed. I don’t think he’s got such a thing as a dinner jacket.”

  “He has, then,” said Clodagh quickly, and turned pleading eyes on her uncle. “Oh, please, please, Kilmallin, don’t spoil it all. It’s a very special occasion.”

  “Just because it’s Clancy’s birthday?” Kevin teased.

  “Because it’s her birthday, of course, and—oh, Kilmallin, be a sport.”

  “Your things are all ready, dear,” said Aunt Bea’s calm voice. “I put them out myself.”

  “Then something’s sure to be forgotten,” he retorted, resolved to grumble to the end, but he swallowed his drink and left the room, banging the door behind him.

  “Conn’s late,” said Clodagh, swinging a restless foot. “I hope that crazy old car of his hasn’t broken down.”

  She looked vivid and very pretty in her bright taffeta, and her excitement was even higher than Clancy’s.

  “Och, Conn’s always late!” Clancy said, and at that moment he arrived.

  Clancy sprang to her feet as he came into the room and with his first words, her ease returned.

  “Well, will you look at that now! Never in my life have I seen you look so grand, Miss Clancy O’Shane. A happy birthday, darling—come here to me at once!”

  She ran a
cross the room to him and he swept her up in a great hug. Then he tossed a package into her lap and turned to take a glass of whisky from Mark.

  “Oh, Conn, it’s lovely,” Clancy said, lifting cobwebby folds of peach-coloured chiffon and lace from their wrappings. “What is it?”

  “What is it, she says,” laughed Conn, “and I don’t blame you for not knowing at all. If you shake it out you’ll see it’s a nightdress.”

  Clancy shook.

  “But so grand, and so thin. I’ll never dare wear it, for it would split the very first time, and me leppin’ in me bed.”

  “Really, Clancy!” Mark laughed. “Me leppin’ in me bed! I thought I’d got you out of those phrases.”

  They were all laughing when Kevin came back, handsome but disgruntled in his ancient dinner jacket, and Clancy looked round at her family with pride.

  “How grand we all look,” she said. “It’s really great fun to dress up once in a while.”

  “There’s the bell,” cried Brian, leaping to his feet and making a dash for the door. He had been very bored with so much adult conversation and was looking forward to Mary Kate’s special dinner.

  “Come back!” called Kevin unexpectedly. “Since we’re all determined to make fools of ourselves, we might as well do it properly.” He offered his arm to Clancy with a solemn bow. “Miss O’Shane, may I have the honour of taking you into dinner?”

  Mark felt a momentary pang at the happiness which flooded her face, as she took her father’s arm, and he wondered if for tonight, at least, Kevin was taking pleasure in his daughter because she was his daughter and not his son. He offered his arm to Aunt Bea, and Conn squired Clodagh, and so they all tropped solemnly into the dining-room, with the impatient Brian bringing up the rear.

  As a general rule two oil lamps were placed on the long table, but tonight the old-fashioned chandelier of Waterford glass had been lit with candles. Candelabra burned on the polished table, denuded of its usual white cloth, and the room had a look of elegance and formality which affected them all.