Cesare told her about his meeting with Celia and how he had kept Bridie’s identity secret as she had asked him to. He told her that he had met Kitty at Lady Rowan-Hampton’s dinner table and he watched his wife’s face harden and her expression turn serious and severe. ‘I don’t wish to hear of those two women,’ she said coldly. ‘We were friends once but that was long ago in the past.’ After that Cesare downplayed the amount of time he had spent with the Deverills and swiftly changed the subject to their future. He certainly didn’t hint at the long hours he had enjoyed with Grace, nor at the other young women he had bedded in Cork. He decided he was going to enjoy living in Ireland – for a while at least.
They agreed that it would be madness to travel all the way to Ireland while she was pregnant, so they planned to move the following summer, by which time Bridie would be strong enough to endure the journey. Their baby boy was born in the early hours of February in New York. The birth had been quick and relatively easy. Bridie sobbed when she finally held her child in her arms. She sobbed for the babies she had lost and for this one whom she was permitted to keep. She gazed into his face and fell in love as she had never done before. Nothing in her life compared to this. Nothing fulfilled her so completely. It was as if God had rewarded her suffering with a double dose of maternal love and she knew then that her heart would surely mend. This tiny baby had come into the world with enough love to heal all his mother’s pain.
Cesare had waited in the study downstairs, pacing the floor as was tradition, while the doctor tended to Bridie in her bedroom. He was astonished when he was promptly informed that his son had been delivered for he had expected his wife’s labour to last for days. He climbed the stairs, two steps at a time, his heart racing with excitement. He opened the door to find Bridie sitting up in bed with their small son in her arms. Her face was glowing with happiness, her eyes soft and tender, a proud smile upon her lips. Cesare came to the bedside and sat down. He peered into the baby’s face. ‘My son,’ he whispered in awe and Bridie’s heart brimmed with pleasure at the deeply satisfied tone of his voice. ‘You are a clever and beautiful wife to give me a son,’ he said, kissing her tenderly. ‘You cannot imagine what this means to me.’
‘What shall we call him?’ Bridie asked.
‘What would you like to call him?’
She gazed into her son’s face and frowned. ‘I would like to give him a name that has no connection to the past. A name that has no connection to my family. A name that is his alone.’
‘Very well,’ said Cesare, who had spent the last nine months thinking of names. ‘What about Leopoldo?’
‘Leopoldo,’ said Bridie, smiling as she gazed upon her child.
‘Leopoldo di Marcantonio,’ he said and the words slipped off his tongue as if they were soaked in olive oil. ‘Count Leopoldo di Marcantonio.’
‘Indeed it has majesty and grandeur,’ said Bridie.
‘He might only be a count,’ said Cesare. ‘But he’s a prince to me. Here, let me hold him.’
When the summer arrived Bridie found that she was not ready to move to Ireland. She was afraid of returning to her past when her present was so happy. Afraid of seeing Kitty with her son, of not being able to be a mother to him, of having to carry so heavy a secret. Yet the castle called to her in whispers that woke her in the middle of the night but she resisted its allure and shut her ears to its insistent call. She dreamed of it, of running down the endless corridors, of chasing after Kitty, whose long red hair to run the length of the castle and was so thick that Bridie began to drown in it. She thought of the castle often and the shadow it cast across her soul grew dark and heavy and she began to fear it. She would go when she was ready, she resolved. She would be ready, eventually, she told herself, but not right now. Cesare was busy playing polo and enjoying the hectic round of social events; he was in no hurry to start a new life across the water. So they bought a grand house in Connecticut and delayed their move. Ireland would wait.
Kitty was on her knees in the garden, pulling out bindweed and ground elder from the borders. She dug with her trowel but the roots lay deep and seemed to form a complex network of wiry tentacles beneath the soil that thwarted her efforts, for every time she thought she had got them all she discovered more. The sun was hot on her back but a cool wind blew in off the sea and was pleasantly refreshing. Robert was in his study, writing. His books were successful and he was earning good money, which kept the wolf from the door. Florence was now five and JP ten and both children gave her enormous pleasure. They were a tight, united family and in that respect Kitty felt complete. Yet Jack O’Leary was a constant presence, like her shadow, inseparable from her however hard she tried to run from him. And like her shadow, there were times, when the sun shone brightly, that his presence was stronger and other times, on cloudy days, when he seemed barely there at all. But he never left her, nor did the Jack-shaped hole he had left in her heart; no one else could fill it.
She sat back on her knees and wiped her forehead with her gardening glove, smearing her skin with earth. Her mind drifted then as if Jack was demanding her attention from the other side of the world. She could see his face clearly: the wintry blue eyes, the long brown fringe, his unshaven face, angular jaw, crooked smile and the incomplete set of teeth he revealed when he grinned. She smiled at the recollection and put a hand to her heart as a wave of nostalgia crashed against it. She wondered, as she so often did, how he was faring in America. Whether he had finally settled down and started a family with someone else. It wasn’t fair to deny him happiness and yet she didn’t want him to marry or have children – she wanted to think of him as belonging exclusively to her, even though it had been her choice not to run off with him. The image she treasured was of a solitary man, standing in the Fairy Ring, gazing lovingly at her. And in that gaze he promised to love her always. But she accepted that he would have made a new life for himself. She imagined him now as a simple, wholesome farmer in somewhere like Kansas, with his scythe in his hands, chewing on an ear of wheat, standing in the sunshine beside his pick-up truck, thinking of her.
She was wrenched out of her reverie by the sound of a car crunching up the gravel. She turned to see Grace’s shiny blue Austin slowly approaching. She stood up and pulled off her gloves. ‘What a lovely day!’ Grace exclaimed, climbing out. She was wearing a floral tea dress with a rose-pink cardigan draped over her shoulders and ivory-coloured T-bar shoes. Her soft brown hair was swept off her face and falling about her shoulders in extravagant curls, but nothing was more radiant than her smile.
‘Hello, Grace,’ said Kitty, striding across the lawn to meet her.
‘Goodness, you’re gardening!’ Grace exclaimed.
‘After the rain the weeds have gone mad,’ Kitty replied. ‘Do you have time for a cup of tea? I could certainly do with a break.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Grace, linking her arm through Kitty’s and walking with her into the house. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. I thought it would be nice to catch up.’
They took their teacups outside and sat on the terrace out of the wind. Grace asked after the children and Kitty asked after Grace’s father. ‘Well, I told you those silly Shrubs would have their hearts broken and I was right. My father played with them callously like a fox with a pair of hens. The trouble is now he has neither he’s pining like a pathetic dog. Really, you should see him, he’s pitiful. He doesn’t want to go out. He won’t see anyone. He sits at home, smoking, reading and grumbling. He won’t even play bridge. Bertie’s four has broken up now that the three of them can’t be in the same room together and he’s begging me to do something about it. I wish Papa would pull himself together and stop behaving like a love-sick youth!’
‘And the Shrubs? I haven’t seen them in church . . .’
‘That’s because they’re avoiding Papa. It’s all so childish. You’d have thought they were in their twenties, not their seventies!’
‘Oh dear. What a mess. I thought one stopped suffering that so
rt of heartache at their age.’
‘Clearly one never does! Tell me, much more interesting, what the devil is Celia doing in South Africa?’
‘It seems like she’s been gone for ages,’ said Kitty. ‘I miss her so much.’
‘Not a word then?’
‘Nothing. Lord knows what she’s doing. I haven’t even been to the castle. I can’t bear to see it inhabited by that peacock of a count. I bet his wife is frightful!’
‘They haven’t arrived yet,’ said Grace, masking her smile behind the rim of her cup. She couldn’t wait for the Count to set up residence and for their afternoon trysts to resume. He was the only person she had encountered in the last decade who had the ability to take her mind off Michael. ‘I think we all have to accept change,’ Grace continued. ‘Time moves on and we have to move with it. Celia will find her old life in London, probably remarry, and you and I will find great entertainment in the di Marcantonios. Goodness, life would be dull without having people to laugh about. I do wish they’d hurry up and move. I can’t imagine why they’re taking so long. One would have thought that, having spent so much money buying the place, they’d be impatient to move in.’
‘I couldn’t bear it when Celia bought the castle, but now that she’s sold it to those silly people, I long for her to return. It was churlish of me to get so upset about it.’
‘Quite. It’s only bricks and mortar.’ Kitty nodded and wanted very much to agree.‘Now, my dear, I have something serious I need to talk to you about.’ Kitty put down her teacup. ‘Firstly, I have a confession.’
‘Oh?’
‘Between us, just like old times.’
‘All right. Go on.’
Grace put down her teacup too and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I have converted to Catholicism.’
Kitty raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Catholicism? You?’
‘Me,’ said Grace with a smile. ‘I have followed my heart, Kitty, and here I am a fully fledged member of the Catholic community.’
‘And Ronald doesn’t know, so hence the need for secrecy,’ said Kitty.
‘No one knows but you and the Doyles.’
Kitty flushed at the mention of the Doyles. Bridie and Michael’s faces appeared before her and she wasn’t sure which one was worse. ‘Why the Doyles?’
‘Because I needed a devout Catholic family to instruct me. Father Quinn insisted on it, seeing as I’m unable to attend Mass here in Ballinakelly and therefore unable to become part of the local Catholic community.’
‘What an extraordinary thing to do, Grace. But religion is a very personal matter, so I won’t question your beliefs. You must want it very badly to take the trouble, not to mention the risk, of converting.’
Grace sighed. ‘I feel light,’ she said happily. ‘I feel as if all the terrible things I did in the War of Independence have dissolved into nothing. I have been wiped clean like a dirty window.’
‘And you didn’t feel that the Protestant God could forgive you?’
‘The absolution I required was the Catholic sort. I am now in a state of grace and can enter Heaven. A relief considering the extent of my sins.’ Kitty wasn’t sure whether or not Grace was joking. Her expression didn’t commit to either gravity or humour but remained enigmatically somewhere in between.
‘All right. The important thing is that you feel your conscience is clean,’ said Kitty, half-expecting Grace to throw back her head and roar with laughter at her jest. But she didn’t.
‘Christianity is all about forgiveness,’ Grace continued. ‘I have been forgiven, through Christ, and I have forgiven those in my past who have wronged me.’ Her eyes suddenly looked at Kitty with more intensity. ‘I sense you carry a heaviness within you, Kitty, and I want to help alleviate it.’
‘Has Father Quinn asked you to seek a conversion from me?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Of course not, but I know now the lightness one feels after making one’s peace with those who have wronged one.’
‘Are you suggesting I make peace with those who have wronged me?’ Kitty asked, feeling her body stiffen like a threatened cat.
Grace’s brown eyes bored deeper. ‘I am,’ she said.
‘I carry no such weight, Grace. But thank you for offering to help me.’
‘But you do,’ Grace persisted. Kitty frowned. Grace’s gaze made her feel cornered but she couldn’t think of an excuse to get up and leave. ‘I know about you and Michael,’ she said quietly.
Kitty’s breath caught in her chest. Her mind darted about for the leak of information – Robert, Jack . . . no one else knew. ‘Michael told me, Kitty,’ Grace lied. ‘Michael told me what happened. He has confessed before God. But not before you.’
Kitty was so stunned she didn’t know what to say. She stared mutely at Grace while the older woman watched her with a cold compassion. ‘You don’t need to feel ashamed in front of me,’ she continued. ‘We have shared so many secrets. This is simply another one. But for your sanity, and for the peace of Michael’s soul, you must forgive him.’
Kitty was so outraged at this suggestion her voice came back to her in an explosion. ‘I must forgive him?’ she snapped and Grace was so startled by her tone and the fire that blazed in her eyes that she blanched. ‘For his sanity? If you had any idea what Michael did you would not be seeking his soul’s peace but the burning of his soul in the fires of Hell! How dare you even speak to me about it and how dare Michael send you in like a spy to seek my forgiveness on his behalf. If he was so desperate to be forgiven, why didn’t he have the courage to come himself?’
‘He would never presume to seek your invitation. He knows you wouldn’t agree to see him.’ Grace frantically sought another tack. ‘He sent me in not as a spy but as a mediator. I’m flying the white flag, Kitty.’
‘I always knew you cared for Michael Doyle,’ she said, her rage subsiding as Grace seemed to lose her footing. ‘You have always defended him. I should have known. Why, you were the only woman Michael listened to, the only woman he respected, and you, in turn, admired him back. That was plain to see, but I was too stupid to notice. All the while we were conspiring, carrying notes and guns and risking our lives for the cause, you were bedding Michael Doyle. How long have you known about the rape, Grace? Did he tell you the morning of the fire, after he burned down the castle and took me on his kitchen table? Did he betray Jack to the Tans and seek refuge in your home? Have you two been working together all along? Plotting like thieves and undermining us at every turn?’ Kitty wasn’t sure what she was saying, but the truth was beginning to seep into her consciousness like light slipping through a thin crack in a dark cave. She shook her head as the full extent of Grace’s betrayal became clear. ‘If it wasn’t for you Jack and I might have had a chance. Why, Grace? What was it about our love that made you so obstructive? I thought you were my friend.’
Grace’s face had gone puce. ‘I am your friend. I came here today to help and this is the thanks I get? You accuse me of every wrong that’s ever been done to you.’
‘And do you deny that you slept with Michael?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Grace firmly. ‘Michael is a troubled soul and I have taken it upon myself, as a good Catholic, to help him. If you do not forgive him, Kitty, you will be condemning him to a life of misery.’
‘And what about me, Grace? What about my misery?’ Kitty thumped her chest. ‘Do you think I walked away that morning and left my shame and my hurt and my anger in that kitchen? No, I took it with me and I’ve been carrying it around with me for over ten years!’
Grace wanted to accuse her of lying. She wanted to force her to admit that her shame arose not out of any violation but out of the disgrace of her own conduct. Kitty had encouraged him, for Michael was no rapist, and Michael had done what any man would have done in his situation, when faced with the open legs of a beautiful woman like Kitty. But she was too astute to ruin her relationship with the only person who could restore Michael to her bed. ‘Kitty,’ she said calmly. ‘Yo
u’re angry and you have every reason to be. But don’t let your anger cloud your judgement. I am your friend and I have always been your friend. You have my loyalty and my compassion. I don’t condone what Michael did but I see him as Jesus sees him – as an erring child of God. He has committed a terrible crime and has suffered through his guilt and regret. I only want your peace and his. But I see that I have greatly offended you and I’m sorry. I didn’t come to fight with you. I hoped to be able to release you of this burden. I see now that the only person who can release it is you, when you are ready.’
‘I will never be ready, Grace,’ Kitty snarled and she watched the muscles in the older woman’s jaw tense as she struggled to hide her ire. Kitty wondered why it was so important to Grace that she forgive Michael. She now knew her friend for what she really was and realized that there was only ever one ulterior motive and that was herself. The only person Grace was ever loyal to was herself. So how would Grace benefit from Kitty’s forgiveness? Kitty didn’t know.
Chapter 35
London
Celia returned to London to face Aurelius Dupree. The crossing was tiresome for this time there was no Rafael O’Rourke to divert her, only the truth about her father which induced a slow hardening of the heart the more she thought of it. She resolved to keep the information she had gleaned from the rest of the family; she didn’t think her mother would survive the shock of learning that Digby had a black son called Lucky! The fact that Digby was a murderer too would finish her off, if knowing about Lucky hadn’t already. She would tell them instead the good news about the gold mine and watch their jaws drop when she announced that she was going back to South Africa to run it. She had called the Rothschilds, the Oppenheimers and all the other financial dynasties who had been friends with her father. Since mining companies were already investing in deep reef mining in Witwatersrand and now in the Orange Free State, and since they had known her father, she had begun to raise the money for what she had named the Free State Deep Reef Mining Company.
Daughters of Castle Deverill Page 43
