Cashelmara

by Susan Howatch

  “Papa is somewhat changed,” Katherine observed wonderingly. “I declare he has become quite mellow with age.”

  “Like an elderly lion,” said Patrick, and I could see he was already sketching the lion in his mind’s eye. “A lion who’s tired of hunting and wants to lie in the shade and snooze.”

  “Edward,” I said tentatively later, “about Patrick’s future …”

  “I have it all arranged,” he said, smiling at me. “Patience!”

  So I restrained myself with an effort from meddling further with that subject and cast all my energies into organizing the family dinner party that was to take place on the evening of our wedding anniversary, the twentieth of June.

  As it was such a special occasion, Thomas and David were allowed to stay up and dine with us, but since this brought the number to thirteen the concession did create difficulties.

  “If only George didn’t have to come!” I said, but Edward said that George, as his only nephew, had a right to be there. Finally I solved the problem by inviting Lord Duneden’s two married daughters and their husbands. They were special friends of mine, as well as being Katherine’s stepdaughters, and Edward had known them since birth. This brought the number to seventeen, a clumsy total, but at the last moment Alfred Smith excused himself from attending on account of a touch of fever, and this reduced us to the splendid number of sixteen.

  Instinct told me then that the evening would be a success, and so it was. To this day I can remember walking into the dining room at Cashelmara and seeing all the Georgian silver gleaming in the soft candlelight and the long red velvet curtains glowing like some sumptuous backcloth behind a richly decorated stage. I can remember Hayes, in a gale of excitement, opening the champagne and tiptoeing reverently around the table to fill the glasses, and, best of all, I can remember Patrick rising to his feet to propose the toast. I was so proud of him because hė did not stammer but spoke as if he had labored long in preparing the speech and even longer in memorizing every syllable.

  “… and I’m sure Papa will not mind,” he concluded, “if I ask you all to drink especially to Marguerite, who has drawn us all together for …” He hesitated for the first time, stopping before he could say “for this family occasion” and instead merely repeating “who has drawn us all together.” At that point Annabel said “Hear, hear!” in a very Annabelish fashion, Madeleine smiled at me fondly and Katherine abandoned her haughty mien to regard me with childlike affection.

  I felt quite overcome.

  Patrick was saying, “So let’s all drink to Papa and Marguerite on this their seventh wedding anniversary!” And as everyone raised his glass David’s mellow contralto was heard saying, “Mama’s face is exactly the same color as a tomato, and it doesn’t at all match the color of her hair.”

  Everyone laughed. Thomas looked peeved that he had not made the remark himself, but the next moment his vanity was appeased when Patrick summoned him to present the family gift. It was a salver, inscribed in memory of the occasion, and after we had inspected it admiringly Edward rose to his feet to reply to the toast.

  He thanked his children for coming to Cashelmara; he thanked them for their present; he thanked me “for more than could ever be expressed in words,” and just as David was watching my tomato hue again with interest Edward said to his eldest son, “I would like to drink a toast to you too, Patrick, in belated celebration of your coming of age. Now that you’re grown up I shall look forward to ceding part of your inheritance to you to administer as you think fit. It’s a great comfort to me at my time of life to know that I have a son upon whom I can rely for help.”

  Poor Patrick was immediately far more overcome than I was. I saw the tears in his eyes and prayed hard that Edward would not notice, but fortunately he was already looking at the others as he raised his glass.

  “I shall do my very best to help you, Papa,” Patrick assured him when he had recovered his poise. “Which portion of Woodhammer did you intend me to administer?”

  “Woodhammer?” said Edward, surprised. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking of Woodhammer. You know the estate there well enough already. I was thinking that now is the time when you should learn more about Cashelmara.”

  I saw Patrick’s expression and my heart sank. I tried to kick him to warn him not to object, but I only succeeded in kicking Annabel instead.

  “Good God!” said Annabel. “There’s a colt under the table!”

  “Oh, Annabel!” I exclaimed feverishly. “Do tell Edward about that colt you bought the other day at Letterturk fair. It was such an amusing story!”

  Annabel needed no further encouragement. The situation was temporarily saved, but later after the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room I said privately to Edward, “Dearest, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve decided to put so much trust in Patrick. I’m sure he feels very honored and pleased. Of course he’ll find it a little lonely here at Cashelmara, especially after we leave for England, but if he had company for a little while I’ve no doubt the prospect wouldn’t seem so intimidating to him. Couldn’t Derry come to stay for a week or two? After all, Derry’s acquitted himself so well in Dublin, hasn’t he, and you never truly blamed him for that wretched business with Katherine which was all my fault. And now that Patrick’s grown up … well, the situation is so different, isn’t it, from the days when he was just a boy and easily led into mischief? I dare say too that Derry is quite settled down now that he’s been called to the bar. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm if he visited Cashelmara—don’t you agree?”

  Of course he agreed. Edward was not going to disagree with me on that night of all nights, and once again I preened myself on my successful meddling and thought how clever I was at managing my family’s affairs.

  III

  Derry arrived two weeks later on the morning after Katherine and Duneden had departed. Madeleine had long since returned to her hospital, and because Edward was anxious to attend the closing sessions of Parliament we intended to return to London ourselves the following week. However, I wondered if he would be fit enough to travel, for after the party his arthritis had troubled him so severely that he had been unable to ride around the estate. Patrick had been obliged to go out alone with MacGowan, and Edward, who had been looking forward to instructing his son, had been frustrated in his desire to accompany them.

  Another matter frustrated him too. When the pain was bad during our times alone together there was nothing he could do except dose himself heavily with laudanum and wait for the pain to pass.

  “You mustn’t worry on my account,” I said at once when he became upset.

  “But what are we going to do?” he said. “How are we going to manage? What’s to happen to our marriage?” He was so weakened by the pain that he could no longer fight the despair.

  “Everything will be well,” I said, “as long as you trust me. If you can love me enough to do that, I shall love you more than enough not to miss what we had before.”

  He looked at me. I saw his cynicism and his worldliness battle with his immense desire to believe, and suddenly I was filled with a rage such as I had not known since my unhappiest days in New York, a rage against fate for having meted out unfair treatment. If Edward had been over seventy I might have been more resigned to his ill health, but he was still a long way from seventy and his mind remained active and young.

  “Promise me!” I said fiercely to him, trying not to think of those endless twilight years that stretched ahead of us. “Promise me you’ll trust me!”

  “I promise,” he said, the effects of the laudanum blurring his voice to a whisper, and he fell asleep with his hand curled peacefully in mine.

  It was the very next day that Derry Stranahan arrived. Both Annabel’s daughters almost swooned when they saw him, for they had lived a secluded life with their grandparents in Northumberland and had never before been confronted with such a good-looking young man. But Derry had learned his lesson. Not even his worst enemy could have accuse
d him of flirting with Clara, whose prettiness he obviously admired, and as soon as he set foot in Cashelmara his behavior was impeccable.

  Thomas and David became disgruntled because Patrick spent all his spare time in Derry’s company, but I could hardly complain to Patrick about that when I had imported Derry solely to make Cashelmara tolerable to him. I did think it was a pity that Patrick could not even spend half an hour a day with his brothers, but perhaps I had come to take his devotion to the boys too much for granted. Naturally it was more fun for him to be with Derry, and I decided to hold my tongue on the subject during the two weeks of Derry’s visit.

  The days passed. Our life at Cashelmara remained uneventful until at last on one morning in early July Maxwell Drummond jogged up the drive in his donkey cart to make a mockery of my painfully constructed family peace.

  IV

  Maxwell Drummond, uncouth and brash, his boots ringing insolently on the marble floor of the hall—I was standing upstairs in the gallery as he demanded to see Edward, and as I watched I remembered how he had disgraced himself in Edward’s eyes by abandoning the opportunities of the Agricultural College to run off with a schoolmaster’s daughter.

  “My lord’s unwell,” Hayes was saying guardedly. “He’ll not be receiving visitors today, Maxwell Drummond.”

  I will not write the word Drummond used to describe this statement. To say that the word was coarse would do injustice to its gross vulgarity.

  “It’s the truth, so help me!” cried Hayes indignantly.

  “——the truth,” said Drummond. “I’m staying here till Lord de Salis sees me, Robert Hayes, and you’d best tell him I’m here before that bastard Derry Stranahan walks through this hall or else it’s a murder you’ll be witnessing, and may God forgive me if I lie.”

  I found myself at the head of the stairs. When Hayes looked up I saw the relief in his eyes. “My lady …”

  “I’ll see Mr. Drummond, Hayes.”

  Drummond gave Hayes a smug look and bowed low to me. “God save you, my lady.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” I said in a chilly voice and swept ahead of him to the blue morning room which was set aside for receiving people of lesser quality.

  The room was damp and cold. Outside a mist was creeping down from the mountains and pushing clammy fingers toward the lough.

  “Well, Mr. Drummond,” I said when we were alone, “my husband is unwell, but perhaps I can help you. I understand you wish to make a complaint about Mr. Stranahan.”

  “Himself, my lady,” said Drummond. “My lady, I’m a peaceful man and I’m not uneducated and I can accept any situation as long as it’s fair and just, and to be sure Lord de Salis is the fairest landlord west of the Shannon, which is why I know this time there must be some mistake. I can take a great deal from Ian MacGowan, the mean Scots bastard, because at bottom it’s an honest man he is and him only trying to do his job as best he can, but I’ll not be taking a tinker’s curse from that son of a tinker’s bitch Roderick Stranahan, and that’s my last word on the subject.”

  “Mr. Drummond, if you would kindly come to the point I would be greatly obliged—”

  “Giving himself such airs! Pretending to be such a gentleman when everyone knows he used to play barefoot in front of that hovel down the bohereen from my own home—when everyone knows it’s the worst drunkard and gambler his father was from here to Clonareen—”

  “Mr. Drummond …”

  “My lady, is it the truth that Lord de Salis has given Mr. Patrick all the land on the north shore and told him to do as he likes with it?”

  I stared at him. I did not answer.

  “And is it the truth that Derry Stranahan won’t be returning to Dublin because Mr. Patrick has turned the land over to him to treat as he pleases?”

  Some small noise made me whirl around. Neither of us had heard the door open, but now as the floorboard creaked I saw we were not alone. On the threshold, leaning heavily on his walking stick, stood Edward, and one glance at his face told me he was in a towering rage.

  V

  “Leave us, Marguerite, if you please,” said Edward, and I left them. I ran all the way to the hall and caught Hayes as he emerged from the dining room.

  “Hayes, do you know where Mr. Patrick is?”

  “To be sure, my lady, he was riding up the drive to the stables a whileen past.”

  I rushed down the passage to the side door and tore through the rain to the stables. There was no sign of Patrick, but as I turned to run back to the house he rode into the courtyard with Derry. They both waved when they saw me, and then I saw their expressions change as they came nearer.

  Patrick dismounted quickly. “Marguerite! For God’s sake, what’s the matter?”

  I was too angry and too sick at heart to care what I said. “You fool,” I said to him, my voice shaking. “You stupid fool! How dare you turn over your new responsibilities to Derry! Your father gave that land to you as a gesture of confidence and generosity. How dare you wash your hands of it and throw that gesture back in his face!”

  “Lady de Salis,” said Derry smoothly as Patrick stared at me in stupefaction, “you must have a very rough justice in America if you treat a man as guilty before you’ve even given him a fair hearing.”

  “I’ve heard enough to realize this is all your fault!” I shouted at him, enraged by both his coolness and his criticism.

  “Then you haven’t heard enough,” said Derry, still smooth as glass, “for the fault’s not mine but yours.”

  “How dare you suggest—”

  “You brought me here. You implied you wanted me to help Patrick.”

  “I implied no such thing! I simply wanted Patrick to have some companionship because—”

  “Ah, it’s so touching how concerned you always are for Patrick’s welfare!” said Derry, and as I saw the malice glitter in his eyes I was shocked—as if I had picked up a precious stone and seen vermin crawling in the earth beneath. “It’s lucky your husband’s old enough to be blind to your most private philanthropies, isn’t it, Lady de Salis?”

  I stared at him. For a second I glimpsed a truth that lay far beyond the borders of his insolence, and then the glimpse vanished before I could identify it, and my anger took control of me again.

  “Mr. Stranahan,” I managed to say, “it is quite beneath my dignity to argue with a man—I cannot say a gentleman—who has addressed me as you have just addressed me. I find your behavior rude, insolent and altogether quite intolerable, and I shall certainly inform my husband that as far as I am concerned you are no longer welcome at Cashelmara. Good day.” And turning my back on them, I stumbled through the mud toward the house just as the mist thickened in the courtyard to chill me to the bone.

  VI

  There was an appalling quarrel.

  I tried not to listen, but I had no choice. The quarrel filled the house.

  Drummond was dismissed, and from the window of the gallery I watched him saunter down the steps to his donkey cart. He was whistling, and his swagger grazed my raw nerves. After a long interval Derry too left. I was in my room by this time, but since this faced the drive I saw him wait with his baggage for the trap to come from the stables to the front door. When he left he never once looked back, so I did not see the expression on his face.

  Meanwhile Edward had turned to Patrick. Unable to bear to listen to their shouting, I retreated to the farthest reaches of the west wing, the part of the house reserved for guests, and in the last bedroom I closed the door, sank down on the window seat and stared across the straggling vegetable patch to the wet darkness of the larchwoods.

  At last when I nerved myself to leave I returned to my room with the intention of remaining there in seclusion, but as soon as I opened the door I saw with a shock that Edward was there. I was in such a state of apprehensiveness that I might well have panicked by bolting from his presence if I had not realized he was in pain. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and dosing himself with laudanum.

>   “Oh, there you are,” he said, perfectly calm. “I was about to ask your maid to look for you. Marguerite, there’s a doctor in Westport. I forget his name, but he attends Lord Sligo now and then at Westport House. Could you write the note to send for him? I feel so unwell that I don’t believe either the arthritis or Patrick’s imbecility can be entirely to blame.”

  “Of course!” In my distress I forgot all my apprehension. “I’ll send for him at once. Do you have a fever?”

  “I don’t think so, but there’s a damnable pain in my stomach. My digestion has been playing me tricks lately for some reason or other.” And with a terrible passion he added, “God, how I hate growing old!” and covered his face with his hands.

  I kissed him. “I’m sorry you’ve been so troubled when you’re unwell,” I said unsteadily. “It’s all my fault, I know, for pressing you to give Patrick more responsibility.”

  He shook his head, let his hands fall from his face. “No, your idea was sound. The fault was mine. I turned a blind eye once too often to Derry Stranahan.”

  “If only Patrick hadn’t abdicated his responsibilities in that fashion—”

  “He said he wanted only to please me. He said he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to manage the work successfully, so he asked Derry to help him. He said he hadn’t intended me to know he was afraid of the responsibility.”

  “And Derry had no motive other than kindness?” I could not help but be skeptical, sure enough Edward answered bitterly, “Derry intervened out of greed and the desire to revenge himself on those who caused his expulsion from the valley years ago. He was trying to extort money from Drummond and the O’Malleys.”

  “I confess I’ve been greatly deceived by him,” I said after a pause. “He hides his true feelings much too well.”

  All Edward said was “He’s no damned good.” He was staring hard at the floor, and his clenched fists dug into the mattress at his sides.