The Last Secret of the Deverills

by Santa Montefiore

  When JP arrived back at the Mess he was surprised and delighted to see, greeting him with a ‘Hello, JP, what a sight for sore eyes you are!’, Stanley Bradshaw. The two men embraced and Jimmy Robinson’s name resonated silently between them.

  Kitty had been so preoccupied with her affair with Jack that she had barely spared a thought for Bridie Doyle and the castle. She had long given up on it ever being restored to her family and it surprised her that she could live only a few miles from it and yet never bump into its inhabitants. Bridie and she had not crossed paths in all the five years that Bridie had lived there. Kitty heard stories from her maid, who knew the maids working for the Countess and was only too ready to pass them on to Kitty: The Count shouted at the Countess; Leopoldo was a terror; Mr and Mrs Doyle (Sean and Rosetta) were at the end of their tether with the Count, whom they despised because of the way he treated his wife, and it seemed to be no secret that he had bedded many of the less virtuous girls in Ballinakelly and beyond – indeed, Kitty’s maid took great relish in telling how he was even infamous in Cork! Kitty wondered whether Bridie knew and she would have felt sorry for her had she had time to dwell on the gossip. She didn’t. She was much more concerned with thinking about JP, looking after Laurel and concealing her trysts with Jack from Robert.

  So she was taken by surprise when, returning from town across the fields one early autumn evening, she bumped into Bridie. There was no way of avoiding her without being rude, and Kitty did not want to be rude, so she lifted her chin and continued walking until they came together on the bridge that straddled the stream where once, as children, they had searched for frogs in the undergrowth with Celia and Jack.

  ‘Hello,’ said Bridie.

  ‘Hello, Bridie,’ Kitty replied. They looked at each other steadily. Bridie’s eyes were very black and her guarded expression showed no sign of yielding. Kitty searched for her old friend behind the frostiness but found nothing but resentment. JP would always be an obstacle to their reconciliation, Martha, if Bridie ever found out, the death of it. But Kitty was determined that Bridie would never know that the twin she believed had died lived. ‘How are you?’ she asked, hoping to get the pleasantries over with so she could be on her way and put an end to this awkward meeting. She had successfully managed to avoid Bridie for five years; she would make sure she avoided her for the following five.

  ‘Well,’ Bridie replied tightly. ‘I trust you are well in the White House?’

  Kitty was affronted at the implication. Did Bridie expect Kitty to be grateful to her for agreeing to the peppercorn rent that Celia had arranged with the Count? ‘As you know, it has been my home for many years now. We are very happy there.’ She didn’t want Bridie to think that she was still hankering after the castle. It was woeful indeed that Bridie had the power to evict them at any moment.

  ‘How is my son?’ Bridie asked suddenly and the blackness in her eyes seemed to soften slightly with craving.

  Kitty’s heart caved in then for she could only imagine Bridie’s agony. In spite of everything that had happened, JP was still Bridie’s son and it was only natural that she should ask after him. ‘He is a fighter pilot, Bridie,’ she said softly, watching Bridie’s face light up.

  ‘He’s flying planes?’ she asked.

  ‘Spitfires,’ said Kitty. ‘The King gave him a medal at Buckingham Palace.’

  Bridie put her hand on her heart and her severe expression collapsed into a tender smile. ‘A medal? God be praised.’

  ‘He’s a flight lieutenant with letters after his name,’ Kitty continued proudly. Bridie was too moved to speak so Kitty went on. ‘He’s not fighting now. He’s training men to fight. It’s an important job and a safer one, I’m glad to say.’ Bridie pursed her lips and nodded and Kitty noticed the tears welling in her eyes. ‘How is Leopoldo?’ she asked, changing the subject, which was much too thorny to take any further.

  ‘He’s the light of my life. I’ve been blessed,’ said Bridie, recovering slightly.

  ‘Well, I’m glad we have finally met and that, even if we can’t be friends, we can at least be cordial,’ said Kitty, edging past her. ‘I will detain you no longer.’

  Bridie looked disappointed, but Kitty couldn’t imagine what more she had to say to her. However, Bridie hunched her shoulders and took a breath and Kitty dreaded the words she was about to deliver. ‘If you hear any news, you know, about JP, you will let me know, won’t you? I can count on you to show me kindness.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Kitty quickly.

  ‘I know I can’t ever be a mother to him, but he’s still my blood. I have a right to know how he is.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Kitty agreed. Bridie held her gaze, as if she was determined to keep her there, but Kitty tore it away and marched through the field as fast as she could go. If JP ever found out the truth, would he forgive her? She couldn’t bear to think about it. He simply couldn’t know, not ever. Kitty would do everything in her power to prevent it.

  Chapter 21

  The following spring, as the war finally came to an end, Celia and Boysie joined the thousands of people who took to the streets of London in celebration of the Allied victory. But amidst the joy there was sadness as they remembered Harry. They had always been three and now they were two and the missing part was felt as keenly as a severed limb.

  Maud returned to Chester Square much diminished. She looked old and defeated as if Harry had taken all her joy with him, leaving a black void where negativity and self-pity were left to fester. She found London battle-scarred and bruised and gazed onto the rubble with dismay. Once this had been the seat of her pleasure, but now it was the centre of her pain. She thought of Ballinakelly and the quiet town which had once bored her suddenly offered her refuge, comfort and relief. She remembered the peaceful hills and gently meandering streams, the sound of the ocean and the cries of gulls, and in her mind they took on an enchantment that they had never had in reality. Her spirit yearned for the protection of those thick castle walls, for the soggy grass and light summer rain and for the contentment to be found in her memories. How she longed to withdraw into those recollections. But when she suggested to Arthur that she take a short break in the bosom of her family he got down on one knee and proposed, stealing her breath and her intentions in the surprise. ‘Ask Bertie for a divorce and I will make you my bride,’ he said pompously, as if he were at last granting Maud her dearest wish. And Maud was momentarily distracted from the deep longing that now ran in a hidden current in her heart because Arthur offered her a diamond ring, security and respectability. The vision of Ballinakelly was quickly forgotten in the more immediate relief of Arthur’s proposal and Maud withdrew from the lure of the past, focusing instead on divorce and how she might obtain it.

  Boysie felt nothing but resentment when his wife Deirdre returned home. He resented her for not knowing of and therefore not understanding his deep love for Harry. He resented her for the sham that was their marriage and he resented her for the limitations she unwittingly imposed upon his lifestyle. While she had been safely out of London he had worked through his grief in the only way he knew how: in the arms of strangers. Men who could temporarily alleviate his suffering during the long nights when Harry’s death caused him the greatest suffering. Now she was back, fussing around their daughters who were seventeen and fifteen years old and desperate to have some fun in London after almost five years in the countryside toiling on their grandfather’s estate in the place of the men who had gone to fight. Boysie’s work at Bletchley Park came to an end with the war and he returned to his old job at Christie’s, and to his old friend Celia, who understood him in a way his wife never would.

  Celia had moved back into Deverill House with her children who had come home from South Africa, and set up her office in her father’s old study, looking out onto the avenue of tall plane trees where once Aurelius Dupree had stood menacingly in the shadows. The memory of that broken man served only to strengthen her desire to keep her father’s atrocious past se
cret and to honour those who had helped her restore the fortune he had lost, like Duchess and her son Lucky Deverill. Without them the family would have surely sunk in debt. It gave her a deep sense of gratification to look after those two people her father had so callously abandoned.

  When Celia reminded Boysie of their plan to return to Ballinakelly at the end of the war Boysie was only too ready to escape. He told his wife of their plan, which didn’t include her, and braced himself for the customary tirade of hurt and accusation, but it never came. She accepted his decision with a smile and Boysie wondered whether five years of living apart had in some way been conducive to the kind of marriage he wanted to have: one where he was free to live as he chose, without being reproached for neglect and self-interest.

  Kitty was delighted that she was going to see Celia again. She had missed her cousin dreadfully while she had been in South Africa and the thought of her returning to Ballinakelly with Boysie filled her with excitement. It would be just like the old days, she told herself, when they had enjoyed picnics on the beach and long evenings laughing and gossiping on the terrace at sunset. She felt a sudden regret at not being able to play croquet and tennis, which had been so much part of summer life at the castle, but it was gone as quickly as it had come for she had much to be thankful for. JP was coming home for the first time since he had left Ireland at the outbreak of the war, and she had Jack. Jack, whose love meant more to her than bricks and stones ever could.

  JP returned to Ballinakelly with a sense of trepidation. The last time he had made this journey across the Irish Sea his heart had been full of excitement at seeing Martha again. Now painful memories hung over the coastline in a grey mist that threatened to engulf him for Martha was gone and every dream of happiness had gone with her. He was looking forward to arriving home and seeing his father, Robert and Kitty, but he dreaded the emptiness he would find there for it would surely resonate with Martha’s absence.

  JP had thought of Martha often during the war. Time and again she had crept into his consciousness undetected only to flower onto his mind with her endearing smile and tender gaze to remind him most cruelly of what he had lost. Now, as he approached the harbour, he wondered whether she had suffered as much as he had – whether she ever thought of him – whether she had managed to get on with her life, successfully putting him behind her, or whether, like him, she had been forever scarred by her loss. He still found it hard to comprehend that he had a twin. That he had, in a single moment, found her only to let her go. It didn’t seem right that she lived on the other side of the world, that such a monumental discovery should be so readily discarded. And yet how could it be otherwise? He loved her in a way that was inappropriate for a brother to love his sister and he doubted that would ever change.

  With these thoughts he stepped onto Irish soil. To his delight Kitty was on the quay to meet him with Robert smiling at her side. They waved vigorously and he dropped his bag and ran towards them to embrace them fiercely. It was only then, as he held them tightly, that he realized how much he had missed them. He had grown into a man in the five years he had been away, but inside there was still something of the boy he had left behind, and it was that small part that wept with relief because, after everything he had been through, he had made it home at last.

  JP had endured many battles in the skies above Britain and France and stared into Death’s dark face more times than he cared to remember, but home had always been at the root of his courage, steadying his resolve and giving him the strength to carry on when he might otherwise have given in. Home had been the point on the horizon towards which he had always dreamed he would one day navigate, once this bloody war was over. Now it was, he allowed himself to grieve for the friends he had lost in the arms of the woman who had raised him.

  They set off in the motor car and Kitty explained that Florence had wanted very much to come and meet him too but was unable to leave Laurel on her own in the house. ‘She’s been bedridden for six months now,’ she explained. ‘And she’s lost most of her marbles, but Florence is a saint for looking after her the way she does. I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for it.’

  ‘You do your bit too,’ Robert interjected.

  ‘Such as it is,’ she laughed. ‘I’m really not much help at all.’

  Kitty had realized very soon after inviting her great-aunt to stay that she would never leave. As Jack had said with a grin, ‘The only way she’ll be going is feet first!’ but Laurel was in no hurry to do so. There were times when Kitty’s humour ran dry. Only Florence had the resources to care for her with patience and affection. The solemn girl was now eighteen years old but showed no inclination for parties and courtships. She sat at Laurel’s bedside, read her poetry and stories and talked to her, even though the old lady was almost entirely lost in her befuddled imagination and called her Adeline or Hazel.

  ‘Oh, but it’s so lovely to have you back,’ Kitty exclaimed, smiling at JP in the rear-view mirror. ‘Papa is longing to see you.’ She didn’t add that since Harry’s death Bertie had taken to the bottle again. She hoped that JP would restore his beleaguered spirit and give him a reason to stop drinking.

  At last the car motored up the drive to the White House, which hadn’t changed in the slightest since the last time JP had been there. He dislodged Martha from his thoughts as he hurriedly climbed out to embrace his niece who was waiting on the doorstep to welcome him home. JP had grown to well over six feet and towered above Florence. He lifted her off the ground in an affectionate hug so that her feet dangled in the air. She protested weakly, kicking them, while secretly enjoying her uncle’s enthusiasm and the feeling of his strong arms around her. She too had missed him. When he put her down she pushed him playfully to hide her emotions. ‘Just because you’ve been flying planes doesn’t mean you can get above yourself,’ she said, smiling through her tears. But she couldn’t fail to notice the deep lines that had appeared around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes, fanning out across his temples, and the heaviness in his gaze. She realized then that the war had changed him profoundly. ‘Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea,’ she suggested, walking back into the hall. ‘I bet you’re dying for a cup of Bewley’s finest.’

  As soon as she was home Kitty telephoned her father. Ten minutes later Bertie was marching into the house with his two big dogs panting behind him, calling out JP’s name. ‘JP, where the devil are you?’ He strode into the sitting room to find JP, still in his RAF uniform, standing up to greet him. ‘My dear boy!’ said Bertie, pulling his son into his arms and patting his back with a firm hand. ‘My dear, dear boy.’ He took in JP’s face with moistened eyes. ‘Back from the war, thank the Lord. At least He saw fit to bring one of you home.’

  ‘Have a cup of tea,’ Kitty interjected, not wanting her father to dwell on Harry.

  ‘Might you have anything stronger?’ he asked. ‘I think this requires a celebration, don’t you?’

  Kitty handed him a cup of tea. ‘You can celebrate with this,’ she said stiffly, as if talking to a child.

  Bertie sat down in the armchair and JP returned to his place on the club fender where the ash remained cold from the last of the winter fires. ‘How long are you home for?’ Bertie asked, sipping his tea and wishing it was whiskey.

  ‘I’m going to leave the RAF,’ JP replied. His family looked at him in amazement. ‘I want to go to Trinity College, Dublin and study as I always intended and then I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll take everything as it comes. I’m weary of obeying orders and I’m weary of war. I want peace. I know I can find that here.’

  ‘That is wonderful news!’ said Florence.

  ‘Wonderful,’ repeated Kitty, noticing suddenly how acutely tired he looked.

  ‘You’ve made a wise choice, JP,’ said Robert.

  Bertie drained his teacup. ‘I suggest you change out of that uniform then and put on your riding breeches. Start as you mean to go on, I say. There’s nothing like the wind in your face
to revive you. Of course you’ve had an awful lot of that in your plane, but it’s quite different on horseback and a great deal safer.’ He stood up and beamed at his son, the old twinkle restored to his grief-stricken eyes. ‘How about it, JP?’

  ‘Ready when you are,’ JP replied, eager to get back on a horse where he felt most at home.

  ‘Let’s not dawdle then,’ said Bertie, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’ll meet you at the stables in half an hour.’

  JP had been back over a week before he turned his mind to Alana. He was out riding with Kitty when she reminded him of the girl’s letters and the part she had played in enabling her to correspond with him. ‘I think you should go and see her,’ she suggested. ‘She’s a lovely girl and she’s sweet on you. It would be polite to pass by and say hello.’

  Having fantasized about riding round to her house and surprising her, JP felt differently now that the war was over. There was a strange sense of anti-climax and he had been taken over by a feeling of inertia. He was a little embarrassed too about the amount he had written to a person he had only met once, and a child at that. Alana knew things about him that he hadn’t even shared with Kitty, his fears and his failings mostly. He had only told Kitty the good things. He had told Alana the bad things and had felt better for it, admittedly, but only because he had believed he would never see her again. He had unburdened himself of his dark thoughts as if in a confessional, but he hadn’t really considered the person on the receiving end of his unburdening. She had certainly helped him get through the war. Her letters had entertained him and he had allowed himself to grow fond of her even though he couldn’t remember for the life of him what she looked like. He realized now that she had been little more than a mirage in a desert. A vision of home during the bleak and lonely years of fighting. He didn’t know what he’d say to her, but Kitty had a few suggestions.