Cashelmara

by Susan Howatch

  So near, I’d think every day, yet so far. And I’d long for Ireland with such a craving that I dreamed every night I was riding down into the valley toward Cashelmara, fairy-tale Cashelmara, shimmering mysteriously like an unspoken promise, beckoning me on and on and on to the very end of my dreams.

  “The dear little Queen’s forgiven you at last, Max,” said Phineas Gallagher.

  I saw the round hall and marble floor of Cashelmara and the library with its walls lined with books and its huge square desk which stood by the window. I could remember old Lord de Salis sitting at that desk and telling me he was sending me to the Royal Agricultural College in Dublin, and I could remember him telling me later that since I’d squandered my opportunities he wanted nothing more to do with me. Old Lord de Salis was the toughest Saxon I ever met for all he was the best landlord west of the Shannon, and he was the only man who ever put the fear of God into me. I could remember him rising to his feet. He was a very tall man, far taller than I was, and he held himself very straight and his eyes were a dark hard blue, like splintered slate.

  “Be quiet,” he said to me. “I’ll hear no more insolence from you. I could ruin you tomorrow if I chose, and don’t you forget it.” His voice was smooth as polished steel, and though he never raised it once I was afraid of him, for I was just wed then and my wife was already pregnant and it was a bad time to fall out of favor with my benefactor. Old Lord de Salis had been a big fish, as Eileen might have said, and he had swum in a pond on which the sun had never set—but that was all long ago now, long, long ago, and I would never look upon his face again. Instead I’d sit at that desk where he himself had sat, and around me would be his house, Cashelmara, and I would call his house my home.

  “We must celebrate!” said Sarah with shining eyes, so we all dressed up and went out to dinner at Locke-Ober’s, which is the grandest restaurant in all Boston. Sarah was worried that it might be too expensive, but I was determined to take her to a place where everyone would admire her beauty and know her for the titled lady that she was.

  “It was a lovely dinner, Maxwell!” she said after we had washed down the prissy food with champagne, and when she smiled my heart nearly burst for joy that she was happy again after those long hard months of waiting.

  We went home, we went to bed—and everything was well between us, so well it was hard to remember the bad times had ever happened. We moved together for a long while, and when I slept at last I dreamed not of Cashelmara but of MacGowan, riding away through the great gates on his way to eternal damnation.

  III

  “Maxwell,” said Sarah, “what are you going to do with MacGowan?”

  It was the morning after our triumphant dinner, and Ned had already departed for school. We were in our bedroom. Sarah was arranging her hair, I was smoking a cigarette and far away in the kitchen we could hear the maid washing the breakfast dishes.

  “What do you think I’m going to do with him?” I said with a smile and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling to tease her.

  She smiled back at me in the mirror. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?” she said.

  “It’s protecting you I am! A lady like you shouldn’t have to bother herself with thinking of a bastard like MacGowan.”

  She put down her comb and turned to look at me. “I’ve reached the stage where I like to think of him. I’ve thought of him every day for years now, just as you have.”

  I blew another smoke ring at the ceiling and felt the bed move as she lay down beside me.

  “Don’t keep your plans to yourself,” she said. “Let me share them.”

  Our glances met. The cigarette burned unsmoked between my fingers. After a pause I said, “It’s better if you don’t know too much. That way you’ll find it easier later to act surprised and innocent.”

  “But—”

  “Sarah, I’ll be running risks. I’m entitled to say how many risks I’m not going to run, even for you.”

  “But can’t you at least tell me—”

  “Sure I can. You’ll have all the revenge you’ve ever wanted for Hugh MacGowan.”

  “All?”

  “All except the necklace, and I’d give that to you except there must be no mark on his body which can’t be explained away by a fall from a horse.”

  She laughed, then shuddered. “That was always just a joke, Maxwell!”

  “Was it?” I said, and she didn’t answer.

  After a moment I felt her shudder again. “Maxwell, I’m very frightened. I don’t want you to end up in jail a second time. I’d rather MacGowan went scot-free.”

  “MacGowan’s not going to go scot-free,” I said, “and I’m not going to go to jail. Now, don’t be frightened, sweetheart, for all’s going to be well, I promise you. We must just be careful, that’s all, and take every precaution we can. For example, I was thinking we’d best win your husband’s brothers to our side, and as they dislike MacGowan that surely shouldn’t be too difficult for us to manage. Why don’t you write to them, tell them you’re returning to Ireland with Ned and say you’d like to meet them in Galway to discuss the situation.”

  “Should I mention you?”

  “No, they’re more likely to turn up in Galway if they think you’ll be alone with Ned.”

  So she wrote to the two young de Salis brothers, although as we planned to leave Boston before the end of the month we knew there would be no possibility of receiving a reply before we sailed.

  “I suppose I should speak to Ned,” said Sarah nervously. “What shall I say to him?”

  “Tell him his uncles are going to be waiting for us in Galway and that they’ll be helping you sort things out with his father. There’s no need to say anything else. That’s more than enough to reassure him.”

  But Ned didn’t think it was enough at all, and there was an awkward moment while he decided to be mulish.

  “What will my uncles say when they see Mr. Drummond?” he demanded when Sarah had hesitantly explained the situation to him.

  “Darling, I’m sure Thomas and David will understand that I preferred not to travel unescorted.”

  “Do they know you’re living with Mr. Drummond? What will they say when they find out you’re Mr. Drummond’s mistress? Are you going to go on living in sin openly when you get back to Ireland?”

  “Ned!” cried Sarah in an agony of embarrassment. I suppose ladies don’t like to hear their sons talking about such things.

  “Why don’t you leave us for a moment, Sarah?” I said. “Ned and I’ll discuss this together.”

  Sarah went off obediently, and Ned looked grumpy. That was when I knew he had wanted to embarrass her.

  “Well, Ned,” I said pleasantly when we were alone, “the answers to your questions are: Yes, your uncles must know I’m living with your mother since your father knows, and no, we won’t be indiscreet once we’re back in Ireland, as we don’t want to spoil your mother’s chances for a fair hearing in the divorce court. Satisfied?”

  “I suppose so. Mr. Drummond, I realize all you’ve done to help my mother in the past and indeed no one’s more grateful to you than I am, but I really can’t go on allowing you to inconvenience yourself on our behalf. I’m quite old enough now to take care of my mother, and I think—”

  “Look, sonny,” I said. “Do you want to spend the next few years growing up at Cashelmara or don’t you?”

  “Well, I do, of course, but—”

  “Then give me the chance to deal us a hand that’ll suit us both. I know you’d prefer your mother was living as chastely as a nun, but she’s not and she’s never likely to be—and that’s not such a disaster either, for there are scores of husbands and wives who’d give their back teeth to be as happy as we are, and besides, I’m going to fight for her harder than any husband ever fought for his wife. So trust me and let’s be allies, just as we should be, for if we quarrel your mother’ll suffer more than we will, and to be sure that’s the last thing either of us want.”

  “Yes, sir,” he
muttered, not looking at me, but I heard the respect in his voice and knew the battle was won. I was just heaving a sigh of relief when he said, “What kind of a hand are you going to deal Mr. MacGowan?”

  “Oh, Mr. MacGowan’s going to be leaving Cashelmara,” I said. “He’s been cheating your father out of too much money. Agents can always be dismissed for dishonesty, you know.”

  “Who’s going to dismiss him?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if your uncles couldn’t arrange it if they went to court and declared your father unfit, but maybe MacGowan will resign of his own free will once he knows the game’s up.”

  “Oh. I see. Yes. I won’t have to see my father, will I?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But won’t he stay at Cashelmara?”

  “With MacGowan gone?”

  “Oh, you mean my father will go away with Mr. MacGowan and I can take my mother back to Cashelmara.”

  I smiled at him without replying.

  “I feel better now I know what’s happening,” said Ned. “I’m sorry I was rude to you. I know you’re doing all you can to help us.”

  “But of course I am!” I said soothingly. “Didn’t I promise you long ago in New York that one day I’d take you and your mother home to Cashelmara, and do you think I’m not the kind of man who keeps a promise?”

  Of course I don’t think that, sir,” he said hastily, and we were friends again, although I’ll admit he’d given me a fright with all his questions. He was a sharp lad and growing sharper every day.

  We sailed for Ireland at the end of June after some busy weeks of preparation, and all the Gallaghers came to the docks to see us off. We were traveling by the best steamship, of course, thanks to Phineas’ generosity, and as soon as I saw the enormous monster sitting on top of the water I knew my second journey across the Atlantic was going to be a very different experience from my first.

  The two youngest little girls cried to see Ned go, and Clare shed a tear as well, but Kerry just giggled. “Don’t fall overboard!” she said to Ned, and Ned giggled too. She was wearing a pink dress that made her look plumper than ever, and as she scampered about, her skirts hitched up, I could see the holes in both her stockings.

  “Such a plain child,” said Sarah afterward, and I had to agree that Kerry was indeed as plain as a pat of butter. But butter can be so delicious when it’s served fresh from the churn.

  Of course we’d never breathed a word to Ned about our plans for Kerry, and so it was a shock to Sarah when Ned said to the girl, “Come to Ireland for a visit one day.”

  “Sure—why not?” said Kerry. “We’ll all come, won’t we, Pa?”

  Phineas said yes, it had always been his heart’s desire to go home for a visit one day, and as soon as Kerry’s back was turned he gave me a benign knowing look.

  We left. The sun was shining. The shores of America faded into a hot misty haze, and then there was nothing between us and Ireland at last except three thousand miles of sparkling sea.

  Chapter Six

  I

  I SAW THE IRISH skies with their scudding clouds, and when the sun came up the light was soft and gentle, so different from the hard glare of a summer day in Boston or New York.

  “How wonderful to see land again!” exclaimed Sarah in relief, but I couldn’t speak. I saw the dark-blue hills of Clare slumbering while far away the sun shone on Galway Bay, and it was as if I was already on the road to Oughterard, heading north to Connemara and the Joyce country.

  “How strange it will be to see Galway again,” said Sarah uneasily, but I could no longer see anything except the blurred shimmer of light upon water beneath the Irish sky.

  “Look at the meadows above Salthill!” cried Ned in wonder. “Look at the color of the fields!”

  And the soft Irish rain came out to meet us, though the sun was still shining upon the mountains far away.

  “Look, Mama!” said Ned. “Look at the spires … and all the boats … and the houses of the Claddagh packed together like boxes …”

  All I could think was: God help those poor Irish-Americans who’ll never look upon this sight again. I thought of Phineas and his money, and I pitied him.

  “It does look pretty from the sea,” Sarah was saying to Ned. “One can’t see the squalor and the poverty from here.”

  “No man’s poor who lives in Ireland,” I said, and Sarah squeezed my hand with a smile and said how exciting the return must be for me.

  I thought of icy winds blasting down the long straight streets of New York and dirty, stinking sidewalks reeking in the sweating summer heat. I thought of lighting a candle and seeing the cockroaches run, of lying awake in the dark and listening to the rats. I saw the drunken derelicts lying in the streets and the painted wrecks of women in the cabarets and the mutilated beggars smelling of the sewer.

  “It’s over,” I said. “I’m home.”

  The reek of fish and worse was in the air, but it didn’t matter, and when we reached the dockside I hardly saw the beggars or the narrow cobbled streets littered with dung. My feet were on Irish soil again and Irish voices were in my ears and, Lord, I swear there wasn’t a man alive who was as happy as I was at that moment.

  “I’m back!” I shouted, throwing my hat in the air. “I won! I beat them all! I’m home!” And I grabbed a flower seller who was hovering plaintively at Sarah’s elbow, kissed her and gave her a gold sovereign. “Be sure and drink my health tonight, sweetheart!” I cried, seizing six bunches of violets as she almost fainted with shock. “For I’m an Irishman who’s come home from beyond the grave!”

  “Car, your honor?” said a carman who had seen the flash of gold and was already darting ahead of his rivals.

  “An inside car!” I said grandly, clinking the gold coins in my pocket, and there I stood, every Irishman’s dream, a man who had gone to America with nothing but the shirt on his back and come home with his pockets lined with gold.

  “The Great Southern Railway Hotel!” I ordered the carman, and the name of the grandest hotel in Galway City rang out as true and clear as the singing coins in my pocket. Sarah clutched my arm. She was laughing, looking so pretty and smart and gay, and I felt as if I already had a jug of poteen inside me with another dancing on the table before my eyes.

  “Dear Jesus!” I gasped. “I’m in heaven!”

  “We’re all in heaven!” cried Sarah, kissing me as the car lurched uphill to the square.

  So we went to the grandest part of Galway, and there before us lay the mighty hulk of the hotel with all the mashers of western Ireland going in and out of its front door.

  “I want the finest suite of rooms you have,” I said to the flunkey who greeted us. “I don’t care what it costs, but I must have the best. And I want champagne wine, very cool, in a bucket with ice in it, and caviar in a silver dish, and six potatoes baked in their jackets with a bowl of butter.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the flunkey, pop-eyed.

  From somewhere a long way away a man’s voice said disbelievingly, “Sarah?”

  I swung around. Facing us was a spindly young man with carroty hair and owllike spectacles.

  “Thomas!” cried Sarah in delight and ran into her brother-in-law’s arms.

  II

  He was more than a mere brother-in-law to her; he was also her cousin, the child of her favorite aunt, and so she had every excuse for being pleased to see him, but I thought he looked a feeble little Saxon, and I didn’t like the look he gave me one bit. But I knew I had to be meek and agreeable to him, so I smiled politely as I waited to be introduced.

  “… and is David here too?” Sarah was asking.

  “He’s upstairs. We arrived only an hour ago. Good heavens, how Ned’s grown! How are you, Ned?”

  More family reunions followed.

  “I see Mr. Drummond has been kind enough to accompany you,” said Thomas afterward.

  Sarah nearly fell over herself making the formal introductions and apologized to me for being so slow.


  “As if it mattered,” I said, smiling at her, and wondered if young de Salis would offer me his hand to shake.

  He did. My opinion of him went up a notch or two.

  “Good afternoon, Drummond,” he said with courtesy, and then he suggested we should all meet later after we had had time to recover from the journey.

  “Dearest Thomas!” said Sarah happily as we were shown upstairs to our suite. “He’s grown to look so like Marguerite.”

  “Never mind who he looks like,” I said with relief. “He’s here to meet us, that’s all that matters, and that must mean he and his brother are taking your side against MacGowan.”

  When we reached our suite we found that it faced the square. There were gold-tasseled curtains on the windows and thick carpets on the floor, and in the sitting room the furniture was upholstered in red velvet.

  “This’ll do, I suppose,” I said. “Is there a bathroom?”

  There was. It was hardly up to the standard of the Marriott bathrooms, but I said I supposed that would do too.

  “It’s lovely!” said Sarah. “We can have the main bedroom, and Ned can have the smaller one on the other side of the sitting room.”

  The porters were beginning to bring up the bags, and the next half hour was spent straightening ourselves out. The champagne arrived with the caviar and potatoes, and afterward Ned asked if he could go out for a walk in the square.

  “Sure, if you like,” I answered, and when we were alone together I said to Sarah, “Look, I’m not anxious for long conversations with your brothers-in-law tonight, and besides it’s certain they’d prefer to dine alone with you and Ned. Could you make some sort of excuse for me, do you think, and at the same time hint that I’m anxious not to intrude too much? I want to make a good impression on them.”