He swung around, his unease heightening when he heard the happy tinkle of her laugh. Hiding the teacloth, he stepped back in behind the counter.
“You are later than usual, you nearly missed me. I was about to lock up.”
“I started mixing and matching all my fabric to see had I enough for a patchwork quilt. I lost track of time.”
He straightened a stack of old newspapers, piled to the side. She could see he was nervous about something.
“Don’t tell me you don’t have Thursday’s Irish Times, Michael. I love reading that property section, my little bit of escapism.”
He laughed, reaching under the counter for the newspaper supplement. “Would I leave you without your favourite read of the week?”
“Michael, you are a star. I don’t know what I would do but for your kindness.”
“I remember when we used to deliver all the daily newspapers up to the Hall, bright and early, even before the rest of the shop was opened up.”
“Poor Arnold liked the idea of keeping up with the news and thought he could only do so if he got three newspapers a day. It was the slant in the reporting which was often important, he said.” She stopped and looked Michael Conway straight in the face. “You are trying very hard to hide something from me. What is eating you?”
It was always the same: she could sense his mood even before he knew it himself. He fidgeted, picking at the corner of the counter, where the Formica had split and the slivers of torn wood were visible.
“I will give you a lift home, if you give me a few minutes to lock up.”
There was a slight shake to his voice. She did not argue, but stood outside while he pulled out the cash drawer of the till and picked up his accounts book and keys. He handed them to her so he could pull down the shutter, letting it screech into place before he snapped a padlock on it.
Opening the passenger door, he took the heavy cash drawer from her and placed it on the back seat. She left him to the driving, enjoying the idea of a little spin, as he went around the long way, towards the Ballyheigue Road. So many times she had sat by Arnold when he took out the Rolls-Royce past the small town green and on to the square to buy an ice cream in Tierney’s on a Friday afternoon. That they could have walked the distance never occurred to Arnold, even when their circumstances had drastically changed and there was barely enough petrol to put into the old car. Sometimes they had to scrape together the coins to buy two 99s.
“Michael, have you a delivery to make?”
He stared out the windscreen, indicating before turning in the entrance to Ludlow Hall. She did not at first notice the gates were open and swept back, a furrow from a previous car’s incursion cutting through the moss on the avenue.
“What has happened?”
He slowed to a halt and turned off the engine.
Alarm swept through her. She felt her breath catch, so that he put his hand out and held hers. In all the years, she had not come inside the gate. No more than a half-mile down the road and she could not bear to visit.
“I am not sure how to tell you this, only to say it straight out. Ludlow Hall has a new owner, Eve, and she wants to live here.” He cupped her hand tighter in his, fumbling in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief with the other. “You knew it would happen one day, Eve, especially since Carter died.”
“Who is she?” Her mouth was dry, her voice croaky.
“Carter’s widow.”
Eve let the tears flow down her cheeks.
“The poor woman. I hope she finds what she is looking for at Ludlow Hall.”
He told her as much as he knew, his words swirling about her, battering over her head. At one stage, he reached over, gently wiping away her tears with the hankie.
“I brought you out here in case you wanted to walk around the place. There is a lot of talk that she might close up the gardens and the land.”
“She can do whatever she wants, if she owns it.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “You might like your own moment, see the house before it all changes.”
“What good will it do?”
He did not answer, but got out and went around to the passenger side, opening the door. “We can take a stroll up the rest of the avenue, turn back whenever you give the word.”
She thought she had never met anybody quite so considerate as Michael, as she allowed him to help her from the car.
She had not been back in four years, since that last day she walked down the avenue, but until now it had always been a comfort that the old house was here, all her furniture too. Maybe she had always harboured a hope that she could return to sit in these rooms. That was hardly going to happen now.
They walked and she linked her arm in his, because nobody was about and, once the road had veered to the left, nothing could be seen from the public road.
When they rounded the last bend, they stopped, the house spread out in front of them. The wood hoarding had darkened and dirtied in the intervening years, the house entombed without windows on the world.
“I am getting a few men to take down all those boards tomorrow, before she goes into the house.”
Eve flinched to think of anybody else within the four walls of Ludlow Hall, but she pretended nothing to Michael.
Sensing her sadness, he pulled her to the left. “We can shoot past the front lawn, slip into the yew walk from the side, go to the lake.”
She knew he was avoiding bringing her past the back of the house and the old barn. She resisted, staying where she was.
“I have seen enough, Michael. My memories of the yew walk are beautiful; I don’t need to see it to know the cherry blossom has danced across it, mixing with the bigger rhododendron blooms and petals. I have fine memories from there. Bring me home please, will you?”
There was a softness about her face but a determination in her eyes, so he did as he was bid.
When she got to her terraced house, she did not invite Michael in. He was not insulted, knowing she needed time to spend with the memories the short walk at Ludlow had revived.
Eve got to work on her supper straight away, taking down a deep frying pan and using a small splash of oil to brown the steak. Next, she chopped two shallots and threw mushrooms around the meat, letting them soften before she plopped water in to make a gravy. She sliced a few boiled potatoes from the night before into the gravy, leaving the stew to simmer, the meaty aroma filling up the room.
Reaching under the armchair, she pulled out a dark wooden box. How soon would it be before she had to sell off a piece? It was a tragedy that part of the Brannigan history could be cashed in to fill the oil tank for next winter. Slowly, she pulled out a small, plush burgundy velvet box and snapped it open. Rose gold, the necklace held a ruby dropping down to a single washed pearl.
For a moment, she was transported back: the excitement in the air, the anticipation of going out. Only six months married, they were invited to a dinner dance at the Gresham, Dublin. She was agitated, not sure if the dress she had picked in Gorey was grand enough. She brought three more home and paraded in front of the housekeeper and then her husband. Arnold liked the deep ruby-purple dress with the black lace at the bodice and the inside of the pleat, so that when she walked a froth of lace was kicked out. He was quite insistent and could not be persuaded on the blue silk dress, which was entirely more figure-hugging, with a padded neckline.
She remembered he became nervous, lest she not take on board his opinion. It was on the evening of the dinner dance, before they set off for Dublin, that she realised the reason for his anxiety. She was standing in the large hallway waiting for him, impatience rising in her that he was still not ready, when he came downstairs, his hands in his trousers pockets.
“Take your hands out of your pockets, it will ruin the line of your trousers,” she snapped, a bit too severely.
He laughed, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. “Darling, I have been waiting for the right moment to give you this. It belonged to my grandmother and I wo
uld like you to wear it tonight.”
She opened the box, her hands shaking in excitement. “It is perfect.”
He clipped it on her and kissed her neck. “This was the first gift of my grandfather to my grandmother. My father also gave it to my mother. It is my first gift of jewellery to you. I want you to wear it and treasure it and, in the future, even if times are hard, to keep it and hand it down to our son when he meets the woman he wants to marry.”
She ran her finger along the ruby, moving down to lightly glance off the pearl.
She had promised Arnold so easily she would never let it go, but now, decades on, she was not so sure she could keep her promise. Her loyalty had been tested and replaced almost by a festering anger. He had opted out, thrown in the towel; put any name you like on it, but he had left her here to face everything alone.
Even if his death had wiped out the bank debt, she would still have been left alone, unable to keep Ludlow Hall going herself.
She sat down, picking at her steak and gravy stew, her appetite gone, a knot of worry expanding in her stomach. Eve snapped the velvet case shut and put it back in the wooden box, kicking it under the chair with her toe. Reaching for the kettle, she filled it under the tap and got her hot-water bottle ready. When the kettle whistled, she filled the bottle carefully before carrying it upstairs. Shoving it between the sheets, she undressed, switching off the light as she got into bed. Curling up in a ball, Eve let the tears rack through her body, knowing when she was spent she would fall into a dead sleep which brought no rejuvenation or rest.
She knew, too, she would wake up when it was still dark outside, to go over every detail of that day when Arnold made the decision to leave her.
It had been such a busy day: the huge trailer had come early and taken away the sheep. Arnold stood by the window of the landing, watching the sheepdog round up the animals for the last time, wheeling across the paddocks, doing his job as diligently as if it still mattered. She met the driver and thanked him for coming early, so those in the village might not notice. He nodded sympathetically at her, muttering he was sorry. When the truck trundled down the driveway out of sight, Arnold went to his study to sit and read.
She brought him a cup of tea and he seemed to perk up a bit, asking if the newspapers had arrived.
“I will call in to Michael’s when I am out and about later.”
“He is going to lose all his business if he does not deliver promptly in the morning,” Arnold said, reaching for last Sunday’s paper.
She had not the heart to tell him how, when they came back from Dublin, the day a judge in the High Court granted judgement of just over two million euros against them, Michael called her aside.
“Eve, I hate to bring this up, but the newspaper bill has not been paid for the last six months.” He was frowning; she could see it pained him to tell her.
“He is supposed to pay you every week. I have given him the money myself.”
“Arnold is under a lot of pressure, maybe there are other bills.”
She knew by his voice he was not telling her everything. She didn’t blame him.
“Give me the bill. I will pay it off bit by bit, over the coming weeks. Meanwhile, cancel the newspapers altogether.”
“All of them, Eve?”
She hesitated for a moment. “What can I do? I don’t know how I will tell him.”
She never could tell Arnold and, to be fair to Michael Conway, each day when he had a newspaper left over, he swiped the masthead off and gave it to Eve.
If Arnold knew what was happening, he said nothing, bar a brief comment that Michael Conway had gone to the dogs if he thought customers would accept torn newspapers and magazines. When he complained bitterly the newspapers were not delivered any more, Eve humoured him so Arnold could pretend life was going on as normal.
That morning, it was Eve who walked the empty fields, mourning the loss of the Ludlow flock, closing the gates, old habits dying hard.
When the time came for her to meet the Ludlow Ladies’ Society in the town for a quick meeting over tea in a café, she was glad to escape from Ludlow Hall. Before she left, she called in to Arnold, pushing a tray of soup and sliced bread on to his desk.
“I am going out for a bit. I should be back around 3.30 p.m.”
“You have a good time, dear, you deserve it,” he said, but he did not look up from his crossword. She was worried about him, but then she was always worried about him, these days. Stopping at the door, she called his name softly. When he looked up, she thought he was upset about something.
“Would you rather I stay?”
‘No, dear, you grab any moment you can to enjoy yourself. Who knows what is ahead?”
She hesitated, but when he shook out his newspaper as if he was impatient to read it, she left.
At first she walked with a heavy step, but by the time she got to Rosdaniel her head had cleared. Kathryn Rodgers was in full swing when she arrived.
“I can’t understand why they don’t stock Earl Grey; they know it is the only tea I will drink.”
“I doubt if there is much of a run in Rosdaniel for Earl Grey,” Eithne Hall sniped.
“For God’s sake, Earl Grey was being served around the world when Rosdaniel was only a few houses alongside a dirt track. If this café is to keep up, it would want to cop on to the ways of the world.”
“Myself, I think I would prefer it if it served a few gin and tonics with a slice of lemon,” Bernie Martin said, and the others laughed.
“I suppose I will have to make do with a black coffee,” Kathryn said, annoyed.
‘Now would that be Ethiopian, Indian, Colombian, Italian or French?” Dana Marshall interjected, and they all roared laughing.
Kathryn did not answer, but reached for a slice of coffee cake.
They were still giggling when Eve joined them at the long table at the café window.
“We are thinking of putting a picket on the café, because they don’t stock Earl Grey,” Eithne said.
“Are you willing Eve to walk up and down with a placard?” Dana asked.
‘What is this nonsense? Tea is tea,” Eve laughed.
“As much as I disagree with that statement, because tea is never just tea, I would like if we could get on to discussing the reason for this particular gathering of the Ludlow Ladies’ Society: our entry to the country agricultural show,” Kathryn said in her marbles-in-her-mouth voice.
Eve ordered a coffee to avoid any disturbance, but they all giggled when Kathryn asked for any ideas and Dana piped up:
“Tea cosies.”
Later, humming a tune as she ambled up the driveway, Eve hastened her step as she moved past the empty fields where the sheep used to graze. Deliberately looking away, towards the copse of hazel trees and the bank of rhododendron at the bend, she picked up speed, anxious to get home. Stepping into the kitchen, she noticed the dog was not there to welcome her. Calling out to Arnold, she switched on the kettle and took down two mugs, shouting out did he want tea or coffee? When there was no answer, she made for his study, thinking maybe he had fallen asleep. He was not there. His soup left untouched on its tray, the butter on the bread congealing. She was not worried yet; she knew he hated the sliced white bread, complaining it was nothing, only factory-pressed. She headed upstairs to check the bedroom. Empty.
Fear studded through her. He hardly went out to walk the land; he avoided having anything to do with the farm these days. Her voice shaking, she shouted out his name, called the sheepdog. Nothing.
Bolting down the stairs, she almost tripped on the last step in her rush out to the yard, catapulting down the yew walk, its dark canopy a menace rather than a reassurance. At the lake, she stood, scanning the water as the ducks, disturbed, skittered across the surface.
Doubling back, she darted past the stables, where the last two horses stared at her confusion, their calm gaze compounding her panic.
She screamed Arnold’s name as she raced to the barn. The door ajar made
her hesitate. Her head throbbing, fear tightened across her heart. Poking at the door with her fist, it pushed back, creaking loudly. She saw the dog first, lying, his head blown off, warm blood seeping across the floor.
Arnold had his brown leather shoes on. He was suspended, hanging still over the hay that had been saved on a warm August day. Pain burst through her bones, buckling her knees.
A scream screeched through her, but there was no sound. She did not hear anything, only the pain of the words as they tore across her throat.
Arnold stayed still, suspended, the old chair from the cow byre next door tipped over, resting where he had kicked it in his final act.
5
There was a skitter about Rosdaniel. Word spread: Ludlow Hall was back on the map and Michael Conway was looking for help to get the hoarding off the windows. Four men volunteered to help, arriving shortly after nine, starting with the front door, easing the old timber from where it was wedged, sealed in with layers of dirt and black damp. Earwigs and beetles darted for cover as the wood was prised away to show the front door, its white paint dulled and streaked with dirt where water had seeped in and stained it during the winter storms.
Next, the ground-floor bay window at the side, light streaking across the room to every corner as the boards were lifted away. When the front drawing room windows were exposed, the workmen stood back and inspected the house.
Before they got the ladders to the upstairs windows, they stopped, poured tea into paper cups from a flask one of the wives had sent down, and stood around smoking cigarettes, all the time stamping their feet to keep out the cold.
“What does she want living in a place like this when she could flog it for a fortune?” one of them asked.
“An old place like this vacant for four years, it might as well be forever, it will be so damp,” another piped up.
Michael Conway swung around, snapping. “It’s none of your business. And aren’t you getting a good clean day’s work out of it,” he said. The men, sensing his annoyance, stamped their cigarettes out on the ground and threw away the last of the tea from their cups before going back to work.
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 4
