‘He’s a Deverill,’ she retorted. ‘They’re bad blood. You said so yourself.’
‘Don’t blame him for Kitty’s wrongdoing, Alana. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. You and he deserve to be happy.’
‘I don’t want anything to do with that family.’
‘I don’t imagine JP has declared that he’ll have nothing to do with an O’Leary. He has just as much right as you to resent us. I doubt he does though. I think he loves you for you. You should return him the same courtesy and love him for himself.’ Alana did not yield. ‘Think about it,’ he added. Then he walked away.
Alana’s jaw stiffened. Only her hair gave in to the wind. She felt no better for having talked with her father. She thought of her poor, betrayed mother and felt just as miserable as she had before.
Robert Trench had never suspected his wife of infidelity. He had never had any cause. Kitty had always been loving, attentive and seemingly content with her life. Sure, there had been times when she had been distracted, like when Bridie Doyle bought the castle, and he had had to have words, but he’d never doubted their unity as a couple. Now he realized that their marriage hadn’t been the only relationship she had committed to over the years. He had won her hand but Jack O’Leary had long ago won her heart, years, in fact, before Robert had even set foot in the White House. Their bond had been forged over decades of shared experience, strengthened by conspiracy and sealed by the constant intervention of Fate that thwarted them at every turn. Robert believed it was the fact that they could never have each other that made their longing so intense.
After Alana had revealed Kitty’s love letters Kitty had confessed everything. Robert wondered whether she was perhaps a little relieved to share it with him, for as she had recounted her story, from their childhood friendship to their involvement in the War of Independence and later their plan to run off to America and start a new life together with JP, Robert saw the passion unconcealed in her eyes as if the fire of her love for this man could not be doused even by the shame of exposure. It had wounded him deeply.
Now Kitty had run off to London to lick her wounds with her cousin Celia while Robert decided what to do. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that she loved him in her own way. He was well aware that it was possible to love more than one person at a time – he’d written about that in one of his novels, after all – but it was the fact that she had given into that forbidden love and broken her marriage vows that upset him the most. He was of the belief that once a person committed to another it was only right that they should honour that commitment, and in Kitty’s case, sacrifice a love they couldn’t have. Not only had she betrayed her husband, she had let her daughter down and JP as well. She had torn out not only their hearts but the heart of her family. He wouldn’t have believed her capable of such selfishness. That wasn’t the behaviour of the woman he had married. How could he have shared a bed with her for so long and never really known her? So, what was he to do?
Robert didn’t believe in divorce and he didn’t believe in giving in or giving up. Jack was back from the dead. What was to stop their affair from resuming? Robert certainly was not prepared to give Kitty what she wanted after she had behaved so abysmally. He wanted her to pay for the suffering she had caused him. Yet beneath the hurt and the desire for revenge, in the secret recesses of his soul, he wanted her to love him with the ardour with which she loved Jack.
Robert sat in the garden eating a sandwich and watched the crows pecking at the earth. It had rained for most of the day and the skies were heavy and grey, and yet there was something intrinsically beautiful about the place: even in the dullest light the hills radiated with a vibrant, spiritual energy. He loved Ireland and he loved his family. Florence meant the world to him and JP was like a son. He loved Kitty too. He shook his head and tossed a piece of bread at the crows. Goddamn it, he thought, I love Kitty too.
Mrs Maddox was amazed when Martha knocked on her door. She hadn’t seen Martha since before the war and her letters, which had at first arrived monthly, had dwindled to a few a year and short ones at that. She had often wondered how Martha was and whether she had at last found happiness. Then she had received a letter only a few weeks ago, sent from London, informing her that Martha was planning on coming to Ireland. Mrs Maddox had been both surprised and elated. But Martha hadn’t been more specific about her timing. The sight of the young woman now standing on her doorstep took her breath away.
‘Oh, I missed you, Goodwin!’ Martha gushed, embracing her old nanny fiercely. The two women held each other and the years of separation melted away in the warmth of their enduring affection. Martha looked at the older woman with tenderness. ‘You’ve changed, Goodwin. You’ve grown younger and plumper. Marriage suits you.’
Mrs Maddox smiled. ‘Well, I have to admit I’m very happy. And what about you? What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ Martha grinned secretively. ‘You’re not going to tell me on the doorstep, I don’t suppose,’ Mrs Maddox added. ‘Come inside then and I’ll ask Molly to make a nice pot of tea. John is out so we have the house to ourselves.’
The house was a pretty rectory made of grey stone with a grey-tiled roof and large windows placed symmetrically either side of the front door and on the floor above. It looked much like Reverend Maddox, Martha thought, cheerful and smiling, if a little pleased with itself.
Mrs Maddox showed Martha into a square sitting room where a turf fire burned beneath a mantelpiece of knick-knacks and black-and-white photographs in ornate frames. Above was a large mirror where Martha now checked herself. She couldn’t help but notice that she had changed too. She looked older and wiser, a little gaunt in the face perhaps, but nothing that Irish potatoes wouldn’t fill out. She wondered whether Goodwin would notice too.
Mrs Maddox asked Molly to bring them tea and porter cake. ‘The Irish love porter cake,’ she said, then she laughed remembering Martha’s comment about her fuller figure. ‘I suppose I eat much too much of it.’
‘Life is good,’ said Martha.
‘Oh, it is,’ Mrs Maddox replied. ‘It really is. To think I thought I would die alone.’
‘It is funny how life can suddenly turn on its head in the blink of an eye.’
‘Well, it did that night I found John again.’
‘I’m happy for you, Goodwin. I really am.’
‘Enough about me. Tell me about you. Your parents? Are they well?’ At the mention of Larry and Pam Wallace Mrs Maddox’s face lost its gaiety and she looked at Martha anxiously. ‘You didn’t give much away in your letters.’
Martha shrugged. ‘Life went back to normal very quickly,’ she told her. ‘Of course, it could never really go back. But I never told them what I’d found here. I only shared it with my grandmother and only recently. I didn’t feel I could tell my parents. I didn’t want to hurt them and I didn’t want to relive it. It was too painful.’
‘So, you just swept the entire episode under the carpet?’
‘I suppose I did.’
‘And they didn’t ask?’
‘They told me they loved me and made every effort to make up for having kept it secret.’
‘And Edith?’
‘She was young. She didn’t know any better. But I’m still struggling to forgive Joan, Goodwin. That’s the truth. I understand why my parents kept it quiet, but I fail to understand why Joan told Edith. I’m not a good person, but I’m trying to be.’
‘My dear Martha, you have every right to be hurt and angry—’ Mrs Maddox began but Martha cut her off.
‘No, I’m trying to walk in God’s light, Goodwin. I need to learn to forgive.’
Mrs Maddox frowned. The maid brought in the tray and they paused their conversation while she put it on the table and poured the tea. When at last she left, Mrs Maddox put her fine china cup to her lips and looked at Martha steadily. Something was different about her, besides ageing seven years, but she couldn’t work out what it was. ‘My dear, where are you staying?’<
br />
‘At the castle. The Countess invited me.’
Mrs Maddox was surprised. ‘Really? She just invited you and you came all the way from America?’
Martha laughed. Goodwin did seem a little put out. ‘No, I came to work at the American Embassy in London, which Daddy arranged for me, but I wrote to the Countess asking for her help.’
‘With what?’ Mrs Maddox asked, intrigued.
‘With my conversion to Catholicism,’ Martha replied.
Mrs Maddox put down her teacup. ‘You’re converting to Catholicism?’
‘Yes, it was my mother’s religion, after all.’ Mrs Maddox wasn’t sure which mother she was talking about, but she could safely assume that both had been Catholic.
‘Why would you want to do that? It’s the same God, after all.’
‘Because I have found my calling.’
Mrs Maddox now looked a little afraid. ‘Your calling?’
‘Yes, God has called me and I am going to become a nun.’
There was a long and heavy pause. Martha sipped her tea and Mrs Maddox struggled to find the words. Martha watched her old nanny’s face flush and smiled sympathetically. ‘I know this has come as a shock to you, Goodwin, but I’ve had years to prepare myself. I know I’m doing the right thing. I’m following my heart.’
‘Is it because JP broke it?’
‘No,’ Martha stated firmly. ‘I won’t pretend JP wasn’t the catalyst. I should thank him, really. If it wasn’t for him I would never have found my true vocation.’
‘But you’ll never marry and have children.’
‘You never had children, Goodwin, and yet you were happy, weren’t you?’
‘I’m happy now with the man I love. I would have adored to have children. It’s what we’re made for. But it wasn’t to be. Now I have John, I’m complete. I want that for you, Martha.’
‘But I don’t want it for myself.’
‘So, how do you become a nun?’
‘It will take years, but Bridie is helping me. She arranged for me to meet Father Quinn, who is supervising my conversion. When I am Catholic I’ll go to Dublin and with the Countess’s recommendation I will start the process at the Convent of Our Lady Queen of Heaven.’
‘The one where you were born?’ Mrs Maddox asked in surprise.
‘Yes, isn’t that extraordinary! Bridie has connections there and can recommend me. You see,’ Martha said with satisfaction. ‘God works in mysterious ways.’
‘And I suppose the Countess will finance you?’ said Mrs Maddox and her tone betrayed her disapproval. She corrected it swiftly by adding, ‘She’s a very generous woman. She gave money to a charity of mine and a considerable amount at that. One cannot say that she’s not generous.’
‘I’m going to work, Goodwin. I’m going to teach the children. Father Quinn is going to arrange for me to help in the school.’
‘I don’t imagine you’ll get paid as much as you did at the Embassy.’
‘I’ll be rich in satisfaction,’ Martha told her. ‘And I’ll keep Bridie company. I think she’s lonely.’
‘Really? How sad,’ Goodwin sighed. Loneliness was a terrible thing.
‘She lives in that enormous place with her sister-in-law and brother and they have lots of children, but I feel she’s desperate to be loved. There’s something rather pathetic about her which makes me want to be kind to her. I think she’s suffered a lot.’
‘You know, she lost her husband in the most dreadful way not that long ago. He was murdered and found buried in the sand up to his neck. It was awful.’
‘That’s terrible. Who did it?’
‘They never found out, but rumour has it that he was running off with O’Donovan’s daughter.’
‘Rumours are often false,’ said Martha.
‘Of course, I don’t listen to rumour, but one can’t help hearing it. Ballinakelly is a small town. But that isn’t all. Let me tell you about Kitty . . .’ Mrs Maddox was relieved to be able to change the subject and talk about something other than Martha’s desire to become a nun. She hoped the girl would realize her folly, or meet a delightful man and fall in love. That would put an end to her silly idea. Really, the way to get over heartbreak was not to become a nun!
Chapter 29
On the anniversary of Cesare’s death Bridie took Martha to the church of All Saints to visit his grave. It was a bright summer’s morning. Birds twittered playfully in the trees, whose delicate green leaves were now fully unfurled, and the sun bathed the graveyard in its jubilant light. Cesare’s grave was at the far end in the shade of a large horse chestnut tree. They placed flowers at his headstone and Bridie said a few words of prayer with her head bowed and her eyes closed. Martha did the same and prayed for the man she had never met who had died in such a horrible way and asked God to take care of his soul. It was tranquil there among the dead and she inhaled the scent of cut grass and flowers and felt the serenity of the place infuse her spirit with peace. Since she had arrived in Ballinakelly she had felt a surprising sense of belonging, as if she really had found her roots at last. She didn’t know what to make of it, because she had assumed that any such feeling had been connected to JP. Now she was here without JP and still the place appealed to her on a deep, unconscious level. It just felt right.
Martha thought of Adeline often. She felt her presence everywhere, as if she was in the sunshine and the rain, her voice brought to her in whispers on the wind. Most of all she felt her in the castle. Sometimes the feeling was so strong it was as if she was standing right beside her, only Martha couldn’t see her. How she wished she could. Now she felt her again, here in this graveyard, and there was something insistent about her, as if she was willing Martha to do something, but Martha couldn’t work out what. She looked at Bridie, her head bowed and her hands clasped as she remembered her dead husband, and Martha’s heart swelled with compassion.
‘I loved him in spite of his faults,’ said Bridie when her prayers were done. ‘He was vain and proud and pleasure-seeking, but one cannot choose who one falls in love with. The heart doesn’t listen to the head, but works on its own and is often wilful, at least mine was. But I won’t give it away again.’ She put her hand on her chest and smiled at Martha. Bridie had never acknowledged Cesare’s shortcomings to anyone, not even to Rosetta, but she felt she could tell Martha anything and that she would not judge her, or think less of her husband. ‘I don’t believe there’s a man alive worthy of my heart like Cesare was,’ she added softly.
‘I don’t think a woman needs a man to be happy,’ said Martha.
‘Indeed, I shall be very happy living out my widowhood here in the place where I grew up. But you’re young, Martha, and your heart is tender. You must be very certain that you don’t need a man’s love to give up the possibility of it forever.’
‘I am certain, Bridie,’ she replied firmly. She hesitated and frowned and a shadow of hurt darkened her face. ‘I loved a man once but I couldn’t have him,’ she said quietly. Bridie knew of whom Martha was speaking, but she revealed nothing of what Mrs Maddox had told her. ‘I’ll never love another, I’m sure of that,’ Martha continued. ‘I believe one has to know that kind of love in order to reject it, so loving JP taught me a valuable lesson and through my suffering I heard God’s calling.’
Bridie had to pretend this was a revelation. ‘You loved JP Deverill?’ she asked.
‘I did.’ Martha sighed. She was surprised at how easy it was to share her feelings with Bridie. ‘He was my first love and my last. It wasn’t to be.’
Bridie took her hand and held it fiercely. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said with feeling. She wondered whether JP was the reason why the two of them had bonded so swiftly: they both loved him, and, although in very different ways, they had both been rejected by him. ‘I know what it feels like to love someone you cannot have.’ Bridie caught herself before she revealed too much. Yet the emotion bubbled into her chest. ‘I have suffered terribly because of that.’
Martha rec
ognized the pain in Bridie’s eyes, for she had seen it too many times in her own. Impulsively, she put her arms around her. Bridie opened her heart and allowed the grief to trickle out slowly and quietly as Martha held her close. It felt good to cry and it felt right to do it in Martha’s embrace. Martha had come into her life like an angel and swiftly banished the loneliness. Bridie silently thanked God for His intervention. Surely He had brought Martha to her for that very reason.
Martha had shared her story with her grandmother, now she wanted to share it with Bridie. She knew Bridie would understand. She knew she wouldn’t be appalled or horrified. She trusted that Bridie would be compassionate and kind. But now was not the time. It was a long story and Martha didn’t feel strong enough to tell it. She wasn’t sure Bridie was strong enough to hear it. Bridie was remembering her husband and Martha did not want to distract her from that. The moment would come and then she would unburden her heart to Bridie.
Martha now realized, as she rested her head on Bridie’s shoulder, that for all her beauty and glamour Grace Rowan-Hampton had fallen short of the mother Martha had longed for her to be.
If my mother had lived, Martha thought, closing her eyes and speaking silently to Bridie, I’d like her to have been just like you.
Adeline was moved. She had never given much thought to Bridie Doyle, and she felt sorry for that. If death had taught her anything it was that love is the only thing that truly matters. Martha was not just a Deverill, she was a Doyle too and Adeline had been wilfully blind to that fact. It was right, no, it was imperative, Adeline thought resolutely, that Bridie should know the truth; that her daughter hadn’t died at birth but was beside her now, as ignorant of their relationship as Bridie was. Adeline had hinted and urged as much as she could from where she was and she knew that Martha was sensing her influence, but she could do no more than that. It was deeply frustrating. She hoped that Martha would confide in Bridie eventually. Of course such knowledge would really put the cat among the pigeons, and put Kitty and Bertie in a very difficult position, but it could not be helped. The pigeons would all settle in the end, Adeline was sure of that. Oh what an unnecessary mess we humans make of our lives! she thought.
The Last Secret of the Deverills Page 34
