The Hamiltons of Ballydown

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Did you not find out her first name, Sarah?’ her mother asked in turn. ‘Surely he didn’t call her Miss Slater?’

  ‘He didn’t call her anything. Not in front of me. I’ve a feeling he didn’t want me to know, now I come to think of it. He really didn’t want to give away anything. I’m sure if I’d had longer and asked more questions, he’d just have put me off.’

  They sat in silence in front of the stove, the big kitchen filling with shadow though the light was still golden across the road in the field the Jacksons had rented for their cattle.

  She searched her mind for any word or detail she might have missed, but there was nothing really to add to the simple account she’d given.

  ‘I do have one of the pictures I took of them. Harry did an extra one by mistake and I asked him for it. I’m not sure now whether it makes matters better or worse. I can’t throw it away till I’ve asked you.’

  John said nothing and Rose studied his downcast face for many minutes before she replied.

  ‘Oh, I think we should see it, Sarah,’ she said quietly, giving her a reassuring glance which he failed to see.

  She fetched the envelope from her bag, drew out the picture and handed it to her mother. She studied it coolly for a long minute and then passed it across to John without comment.

  ‘A well set up young man,’ he said, sharply. ‘If you diden know you’d never guess his Granda laboured tossing sheaves on a Galloway farm and went to Mass on Sunday,’ he went on bitterly. ‘Indeed, you’d hardly think his mother sewed wee babies’ dresses till her eyes ran red to keep him fed, and his wicked oul’ Uncle Sam that helped keep poor, evicted people from starvin’, spent a week’s wage to buy him an’ his brother the first books they iver had about steam engines.’

  He handed the photograph back to Rose.

  ‘Aye, maybe he’ll end up a big man,’ he said nodding. ‘He has the brains for it. An’ he’s picked a girl to get him inta the right places. Sure he might end up on the Board of Harlands and be Sir James.’

  He paused, a strange, grim expression on his face, so unlike him.

  ‘Wasn’t he lucky he had a good Ulster name like Hamilton?’ he continued at last. ‘Sure can’t he pretend he’s one of the Hamiltons of Clandeboye or Dufferin. He need never let on he’s only one of the Hamiltons of Ballydown.’

  He got up and marched across the floor.

  ‘I’ll just away out an’ see to Dolly. I can’t mind if I left her any oats earlier,’ he announced, as he picked up his cap and disappeared round the side of the house.

  ‘Da’s very upset,’ said Sarah sadly.

  ‘Yes, he is. But he’ll be all right given a bit of time,’ her mother replied calmly.

  ‘Do you think I should just have torn up the photograph?’ she asked, still utterly distressed by the bleak look on her father’s face.

  ‘No, I think you did right,’ she replied firmly. ‘The only thing to do with a hurt is to face it. I faced my loss some time back when there was no word after the second Christmas. But your father has no way of coming to terms with something unless he can see it and touch it. It has to be there in front of him. It’s often that way with men. The photograph was a gift. It helped him do what I’ve already done,’ she ended, with a great sigh.

  ‘So you’ve really accepted it, Ma?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Yes, love. There’s never any use wasting time on regrets. There’s so much else more worth doing. But perhaps it’s easy for me. Remember Sarah, I might not have been here to see Jamie turn his back on us. Death would have spared me the hurt. But I’d rather have life. I’m so grateful for all I’ve got.’

  Sarah got up and moved restlessly to look out the open door.

  ‘Will Da really be all right?’

  ‘Yes, he will. He’s hurt, but he knows he’s loved. Once the sharp sting passes, he’ll remember that and he’ll be fine again. Don’t worry, Sarah, he’s got over worse than this.’

  Sarah glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was only just after eight o’clock.

  ‘Ma, there’s something I need to say to Hugh,’ she said quickly. ‘I know I’ll see him tomorrow, but I’m afraid of losing hold of it. Do you mind if I leave you for half an hour or so?’

  To her great surprise, her mother smiled, her dark eyes springing back to life.

  ‘No time like the present, Sarah. I’ll see you later,’ she said encouragingly, as she caught up her cape from the hooks by the door.

  At the bottom of the hill, Peter Jackson and his father were driving the cows back up to their pasture. She waved, but called no greeting, the quiet in her head was so fragile she felt she dare not risk disturbing it.

  She walked quickly up the hill and down the avenue to Rathdrum, more aware of the scatter of yellowed leaves at her feet than of the clear sky now paling as the sun went west. There was no sign of Mrs Lappin in the kitchen or in her sitting room nearby, so she went down the hall to the dining room where the long, polished table was usually three-quarters covered with paper. She knocked gently.

  ‘Come in.’

  Hugh was bent over his documents. He glanced up and looked startled, but reassured by her smile, he stood up and came towards her.

  ‘Sarah, what a nice surprise,’ he managed, recovering himself.

  ‘There was something I needed to ask you Hugh.’

  He brought her a chair and placed it near to his own. She sat down without taking her eyes from his face.

  ‘I wanted to ask you if you ever feel lonely,’ she said, matter-of-factly.

  ‘Well, yes. Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering why you haven’t done anything about it.’

  ‘Should I have?’

  ‘No. There’s no requirement. But it’s a pity to be lonely if it’s not necessary.’

  He looked around him awkwardly, surveying the piled up pieces of paper as if one of them might just contain the answer. They had always been direct with each other. Candour had come to Hugh from his Quaker upbringing. It had been a characteristic of Sarah ever since he had known her.

  ‘If I were twenty-six and not thirty-six, there might be a possibility of a solution,’ he said with an effort, the struggle to choose his words drawing out the lines of weariness the last anxious week had brought.

  ‘You’d marry?’

  ‘I’d risk a proposal.’

  ‘So why would it be a risk?’

  ‘Because I feel old and tired and the woman in question is young and energetic and has infinite possibilities in front of her. Besides, were I to propose and be rejected, I would lose what is precious to me. It’s not worth that risk,’ he said, dropping his face in his hands.

  ‘Oh dear, you have had a bad week, haven’t you?’

  He looked up and saw her smiling, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

  He managed a feeble smile in response but said nothing.

  ‘I’ve had a rotten week too,’ she said softly. ‘I missed you. I wanted to be with you. I longed to be here helping you. I’ve been just as lonely. So what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Sarah, are you saying you’d be willing to marry me?’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s the general drift of my thinking,’ she replied, in a light teasing tone. ‘It might be a good idea if you forgot about age, yours or mine, and just concentrated on friendship and love.’

  ‘And cherishing whatever time we have?’ he said, reaching for her hand.

  His eyes wide with surprise, he found at last the words he needed.

  ‘Sarah, my dear love, will you marry me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As soon as possible?’

  ‘I have a half day next Friday,’ she said, her face straight for a few moments before she dissolved into laughter.

  He stood up, gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

  ‘I really ought to ask your father’s permission,’ he said, hesitantly.

  ‘We could go and do that now, couldn’t we?’ she said,
releasing him. ‘No time like the present, as the saying is,’ she added, thinking of her mother, who had finally shown her what she needed to do.

  Sunday afternoon was fine and warm when they drove off down to Corbet Lough with two bags of crusts for the swans. Back at Ballydown, Rose and John sat by the stove reading the Sunday papers.

  ‘Did you know this was goin’ to happen?’ he said suddenly, his paper lowered to his knees.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she replied, dropping hers on her lap.

  ‘Well, if it’s not a rude question, how did ye know?’

  ‘John dear, he’s been fond of Sarah since she was a wee girl,’ she said laughing.

  ‘Aye, ah know that. I’m not completely blind. But how did ye know Sarah was fond of him?’

  ‘I knew from the questions she was asking me. Only a week or so ago, she asked me how I knew you were the man for me.’

  ‘An’ you told her?’

  ‘Of course, I did,’ she replied. ‘That’s what mother’s are for.’

  ‘But why last night, Rose?’ he persisted. ‘Why did she suddenly away off when I was out seein’ to Dolly and the next thing we knew Hugh was askin’ my permission to marry her? My goodness, I’ve never seen a man shed the years like our Hugh last night. Sure, he cou’da been in his twenties and the sight o’ the pair o’ them standin’ there did my heart good.’

  ‘They say love does that to people, John. Had you forgotten that in your old age?’ she asked, teasing him.

  ‘Aye, well,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I am gettin’ old I suppose, but I haven’t forgotten that,’ he went on. ‘But ye haven’t answered me. Why, last night after all that talk about Jamie?’

  ‘I’m not sure, love, but I think suddenly Sarah saw her way. Maybe it was the contrast between her and Jamie. Jamie is ambitious, he has a plan and marriage is a part of that. Sarah has great hope. She wants to do things, but she could never use someone like Jamie could. With Sarah love must come first. She just had to be sure of herself. She may be young, but she wasn’t hasty.’

  ‘No, I can see that. Hugh wouldn’t let her do something that wasn’t the right thing for her. That’s why he’s never spoken.’

  He paused, staring at the flames through the open doors of the stove.

  ‘Do you think they’ll be as happy as we are, Rose?’

  She smiled and looked across at him, smartly dressed, with his Sunday coat hung over the back of his chair, his dark hair well dusted with grey at the temples. There were times when she felt such an overwhelming tenderness for this man with whom she had shared so much, she hardly knew what to do about it.

  ‘Yes, I think they’ll be happy. If they’re as happy as we’ve been, they’ll do well,’ she said, getting up and bending her face close to his to brush a kiss against his wind roughened cheeks. ‘Sarah told me Hugh said they should cherish the time they had. Good advice, don’t you think, love?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘Cherish the time an’ cherish the ones that love you. We’ve got so much, Rose, we’ll waste no time on regrets,’ he said, with an air of finality.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I am once again indebted to family, friends and complete strangers, who have spared me their time, told me their stories, allowed me to climb on their field-gates with my camera, or tramp across their land to explore some long-abandoned house.

  I am also grateful to librarians and the keepers of archives, particularly at the Irish Studies Centre and the Robinson Library in Armagh, and at the Banbridge Heritage Centre in County Down.

  Even more encouraging than these generous people are the people who put their names on library waiting lists as soon as they know there is a new novel due. When the work is difficult or demanding, these are the people who keep me going, both by their numbers and their comments.

  It is to them that I dedicate this novel: The Hamiltons of Ballydown.

  ANNE DOUGHTY

  ALSO BY ANNE DOUGHTY

  THE HAWTHORNS BLOOM IN MAY

  Now in her fifties and a grandmother, Rose Hamilton has much to be thankful for in the steady love of her husband, John, and their relative prosperity, but she is concerned for her children.

  Sarah, recently widowed, is broken-hearted at the loss of her beloved Hugh, and worried by signs of hostile Trade Union activity in the Sinton mills where she is struggling to keep up his commitment to hundreds of workers.

  Sam, married to cold and selfish Martha, is struggling to support his large family on a modest income.

  As world events impinge on the family with the sinking of the Belfast-built Titanic and the growing prospect of war in Europe, mother and daughter face new challenges in their daily lives. But it is events in Ireland that make the greatest demand when Sarah becomes involved in the Easter Rising of 1916.

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  About the Author

  ANNE DOUGHTY was born in Armagh, Northern Ireland. She is the author of twelve novels including A Few Late Roses which was longlisted for the Irish Times fiction prize. After many years living in England she returned to Belfast in 1998 and wrote the first of the novels that make up the Hamiltons series.

  By Anne Doughty

  The Woman from Kerry

  The Hamiltons of Ballydown

  The Hawthorns Bloom in May

  A Girl Called Rosie

  For Many a Long Day

  Shadow on the Land

  On a Clear Day

  Beyond the Green Hills

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

  12 Fitzroy Mews

  London W1T 6DW

  www.allisonandbusby.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2004.

  This ebook edition first published by Allison & Busby in 2014.

  Copyright © 2004 by ANNE DOUGHTY

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978–0–7490–1740–8