The Irish Earl

by Patricia Bray

  As he approached, the two ceased speaking and turned to greet him.

  “Lord Kilgarvan,” Dennis said, with a nod of his head.

  Dan O’Sullivan pulled off his cap and clutched it to his chest. “Your lordship,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word.

  “Dan here was just after telling me that you were hiring men on to clear the road to Cork.” There was not quite a question in his overseer’s voice.

  “Indeed,” Kilgarvan replied.

  “And what were you thinking? Did you simply want the road cleared and leveled? Or should we send to England for Mr. Macadam, and ask him to put in one of his fine new roads?”

  This time the sarcasm in his tone was obvious. Young Dan flinched, but Kilgarvan was an earl, and made of sterner stuff. “A simple clearing should suffice,” he said. “Once the worst of the rock slides are cleared, and the holes filled in, the road should be passable. A dozen men ought to be able to finish this before the harvest. You can start with Dan O’Sullivan here, and then find eleven stout helpers.”

  “I thank you, sir,” Dan said, his young face beaming with pleasure. “And my mother thanks you, and my father as well. And a hundred thousand blessings upon you and your new wife—”

  “Yes, yes,” Kilgarvan said, before Dan could begin to recite the names of his ancestors, and to express his gratitude on their behalf. “Go home and tell your neighbors that we’ll need five more men, and Dennis will pick half a dozen from the valley. Just one man from each family, and make sure they are fit for the work. It will be hard labor, but I will pay a shilling a day until it is done.”

  Dan expressed his thanks several more times before he was finally persuaded to leave.

  “Come,” Kilgarvan said to Dennis. “We will walk, and you can tell me what you have been up to these past weeks.”

  Dennis fell into step beside him. “I’m right glad that you are here,” he said. “We’d been expecting you any day now this past fortnight. And you could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard you were bringing the new countess here. I thought you were to leave her in Dublin.”

  “I had not bargained on Lady Felicity’s determination,” Kilgarvan said. “She would not be left behind, and insisted on making the journey here.”

  “And so you took her by the Cork road, hoping to discourage her,” Dennis said with a grin. “Seems she isn’t the type to discourage easily.”

  “No. She has a will of iron.”

  Dennis thought this over a moment, then nodded. “I’d say you were well matched, being as stubborn as the devil yourself. All in all, I’d say you had got yourself a rare one. Fortune, beauty and character.”

  “Thank you,” Kilgarvan said, but he did not wish to discuss his wife, not even with his oldest friend. Not while his feelings toward her were so confused.

  “Has John Bradshaw arrived?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Not yet, but he sent a letter ahead, and should be here any day.”

  As they left the village, they followed the road as it curved west along the lake, and Dennis began pointing out various projects that had been started.

  A section of the common meadow had been cleared and fenced in, awaiting the bull that Dennis had purchased in Nedeen. Equipment had been ordered from Killarney, including iron plows for the farmers, and saws and hammers for the laborers.

  “Myself and Jerry O’Connell have gone round to all the cabins and made a list of repairs that are needed. Some need doing right away; others can wait for a bit. And some of the cabins are in such miserable shape that it might be cheaper to tear them down and build anew. But we did not start the work, waiting for you to decide what needed to be done first.”

  It was hard to believe any of the cabins could be salvaged, but Jerry O’Connell had been a master builder, and if he said so, it must be true.

  “I will see Jerry O’Connell tomorrow, and we three can go over the lists,” Kilgarvan promised. “As for the rest, once John Bradshaw arrives, he can start with the surveying.”

  “It is just a fortnight till the rent is due. Are you still of a mind to forgive the half-year’s rent?” Dennis asked.

  “It seems the decent thing to do.”

  Dennis shook his head. “You forgive the rent and they’ll spend it on poteen at the fair, and they’ll be no better off than before. No, if you are of a mind to be charitable, you should collect the rent and use the money to build a fishing weir that all can work in common.”

  There was sense in Dennis’s words, and an understanding of his own people. While some might indeed save the money, or spend it on the necessities such as food or clothing, there were those who were unaccustomed to having any spare coin at all. The coins would slip through their fingers, and they would spend the next half year wondering where their good fortune had gone.

  “Very well,” Kilgarvan said. “Though I doubt if half of them will have the full rent.”

  “And you’ll have to make up the rest of the cost of the weir. Not to mention the twelve shillings a day for those working the road, and the tools we will need to give them to do the work. And what with the other schemes you have begun, it will not be long before you spend the budget you gave me.”

  “You may leave that to me,” Kilgarvan said, repressing a sigh. He had already reached the same conclusion. The marriage settlements had paid off his debts, and included the sum of one thousand pounds for improvements to the estate. That would not be enough for the changes he wished to make, and yet to spend more he would need the concurrence of his wife.

  It would feel very much like begging, and he felt a surge of self-loathing, and anger toward his father, who had placed him in this impossible position. If his father had not squandered his inheritance, he would never have been in such a position of dependence.

  He did not know how Felicity would react when he asked her for more funds. Would the trust and friendship they had developed during their journey survive? Or would the money come between them again, as it had at the start of their marriage? He closed his eyes, feeling a moment of despair as he realized that he might never be free of the millstone of debt and responsibility that held him chained.

  Felicity was furious with Kilgarvan for leaving her alone in her new home with strangers while he rushed away. Surely there was no estate business so urgent that he could not have stayed long enough to see her settled, and to show her around his home.

  Instead she stood in the bare, empty entrance hall, in the company of two women, whom Kilgarvan had introduced as Mrs. O’Connor and her daughter Bridget, along with the comment that they were the mother and sister of Dennis O’Connor, whom she had just met. Mrs. O’Connor was a short, plump woman, with graying hair and a round, cheerful face. Her daughter Bridget was a thinner and younger version of her mother. She had the same cheerful face and ready smile. Both wore dresses of a dark blue wool, and spotless white linen aprons. Mrs. O’Connor had a cap as well, and a set of keys tied around her belt. Their attire was far superior to that of the ordinary villagers Felicity had just seen.

  “Isn’t that just like himself, to be rushing off without scarce time to catch his breath,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “And you the stranger here, and wondering what it is that you have let yourself in for.”

  Her words echoed Felicity’s sentiments exactly. “Indeed,” she said. “And not even a proper introduction. Am I to assume that you are the housekeeper?”

  “Ah, no, though I may as well be for now. We haven’t had a housekeeper here for near a dozen years, not since the countess’s last visit. Nora Murphy does the cooking, and cleans for himself when she gets the notion, and her sister does the washing, but beyond that, there’s nothing been done.” She lowered her voice a bit and leaned forward as if to impart confidential information. “It was just the two gentlemen, and then the old earl died, God rest his soul, and naught but young Gerald left. And he was never one to spend money on luxuries.”

  “But you were the housekeeper before?” Felicity
asked.

  Mrs. O’Connor laughed. “And sure I thought you knew this all along. My husband was the agent for the old lord, before his death, and my son Dennis is his agent now. When Dennis learned Kilgarvan was bringing home a bride, he asked me to see to things until you could find a proper staff. The village women are willing enough, but most have no training, and none of them speak English.

  Mrs. O’Connor observed her shrewdly, and Felicity knew that she was being summed up. It was apparent that none of them, not Kilgarvan, not his family and certainly not his dependents, had expected her to wish to live in the wilds of Ireland with her husband. After seeing Glenmore and the countryside of Kilgarvan, she could well understand their doubts. She could not picture the dowager countess in such a setting.

  “Well, I am grateful for your help,” Felicity said. “And now, if you would be so kind as to show me around. After such long neglect, I am certain there is much to be done, and we should start at once.”

  “What would you like to see, my lady?”

  “Everything,” Felicity said firmly.

  Mrs. O’Connor turned to her daughter. “Bridget, tell Nora Murphy that I am with the countess, and that she is to see to a proper dinner for the earl and his wife. And then find the O’Hanlon sisters. They should have been finished scrubbing those floors an hour ago. See that they are not slacking off, and lend them a hand if they need it.”

  “Yes, mum,” Bridget said.

  “If you would come this way, my lady?” Mrs. O’Connor said, indicating the grand stairs. “The upper floors are the worst, so we can begin there.”

  Felicity learned that Arlyn Court had been built only forty years before by Kilgarvan’s grandfather. Made out of local blue-gray limestone, it had been designed as a central block, following the fashion of the time. Flanking the entranceway were two small receiving rooms. An elaborately carved mahogany staircase led up to the second floor. The east end was given over to the bedrooms for the family. Felicity found that two bedrooms had been made up, one for her and one for Kilgarvan. The two rooms connected through a shared sitting room, which held a beautiful view of the lake.

  It was obvious that the rooms had been well cleaned and aired, yet even as she complimented Mrs. O’Connor on their appearance she found herself wondering if Kilgarvan would share her bed tonight, or if she would sleep alone.

  On the west end were bedrooms for guests, and at the far end was the nursery. These rooms were in even poorer shape than the master bedrooms. The drapes were threadbare, the wallpaper faded and peeling. Most rooms lacked rugs of any sort, and she would wager the floors had not been waxed in years.

  In one room the wall was stained, showing where water had leaked in at some point. The floor in that corner was slightly warped, and Mrs. O’Connor explained that no one had noticed the leak for days, perhaps weeks, so seldom did anyone venture to this part of the mansion.

  Save for the earl’s chamber, the rooms felt chill and empty. There were no pictures, no flowers, no knickknacks or curios. Felicity felt an absurd urge to whisper.

  Above the second floor were small attics, with quarters for servants, though there were none living there at the present, Nora Murphy and her helpers preferring to live in the village.

  Descending the staircase, they examined the first floor. On the east side, beyond the small reception room, was a larger salon, and beyond that was the dining room. It was clear that the maids had been busy here, for the mahogany table shone glossy and bright.

  The west side of the house held a library whose shelves were forlornly empty. Connected to the library was a music room, although no instrument stood within. Beyond that was a small room that had served as a breakfast room when the countess was in residence. And at the south end of the house was an enormous drawing room with large glass windows that looked out onto a small terrace, from which twin staircases led down into a terraced garden. The gardens, like everything else, had been much neglected. Mrs. O’Connor lamented the fine roses that had grown here when she was a girl.

  Returning inside, they descended to the lowest floor, which held the kitchens, pantry and servants’ hall. It could be more properly called the cellar, and although the north end of the building held no windows and was virtually underground, the kitchen was in the south end, and had the advantages of windows to provide sunlight and fresh air.

  Felicity accepted Mrs. O’Connor’s offer of a cup of tea, and joined her in what had been the housekeeper’s room, just off the kitchen.

  “So what do you think?” Mrs. O’Connor asked after they had each sipped their tea.

  “It is not as bad as I expected. You and your helpers must have worked very hard to get all this ready in such a short time.”

  Mrs. O’Connor beamed. “And I thank you for your praise. But shame on us if we didn’t have things set to rights. We’ve been working on this for over a month, since Dennis came back from London with the news that the earl was to be married.”

  So Dennis O’Connor had been with her husband in London. The two were of an age, and from what Mrs. O’Connor had said, it was likely that they were friends rather than simply employer and employee. But if so, why had he not come to their wedding? For surely Kilgarvan would have introduced them, had he been there. It was a puzzle, but one she could solve later.

  Felicity put the thought from her mind. She had more important matters to think about. Arlyn Court needed a firm hand if it were to be made a fitting residence again. Fortunately this was a task with which she had experience. Many times she had set up housekeeping in a strange land with her father. Arlyn Court was hardly the worst she had seen. And this time she had the satisfaction of knowing that she would be here to enjoy the fruits of her labors.

  She could hardly wait to get started. But a glance at her watch showed that the afternoon was nearly gone, and soon it would be time for dinner.

  “We will start by making lists tomorrow,” Felicity said. “And I’ll need recommendations from you. We’ll need to hire more servants to finish the cleaning, and to begin painting and making repairs. And we should make a list of things we need from Cork.”

  Remembering the poverty of the villagers, she resolved to hire as many servants as she could find tasks for.

  “There are plenty of folks who are willing to work,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “But my Dennis said the earl had authorized only a small staff. Mayhap you’ll want to talk with him before you begin.”

  Felicity shook her head firmly. “No, there is no need to trouble Kilgarvan with this. I am sure he has enough to occupy himself with the estate. Restoring the house is my task, and I have funds enough of my own that we need not trouble him.”

  “It has been a long time since Arlyn Court had a countess,” Mrs. O’Connor said.

  “But surely his lordship’s mother—”

  “Her ladyship is a Dublin woman,” Mrs. O’Connor said with a sniff of disdain. “Meaning no disrespect, but she was never happy here. She stayed here in the beginning, when Master Gerald was a baby and the marriage was new. Then each year she spent more and more time in Dublin, until one year she did not return at all. No, what the house has always needed is a proper countess, one who knows the way of setting things right.”

  “That is something I can do,” Felicity replied.

  Fourteen

  It was nearly full dark when Kilgarvan returned to Arlyn Court, and Felicity was fuming. How dared he treat her so? He had told her that he would return soon, after he had a word with his agent. Assured by Mrs. O ’Connor that the earl kept country hours, at sunset she had dressed for dinner. But there had been no sign of her husband.

  Felicity sat in the front parlor, which held a good view of the path from the village. She sat and waited. Mrs. O’Connor kept her company for a bit, until Felicity could no longer bear the speculation she saw in the woman’s eyes. So she dismissed the housekeeper, saying there was no sense in both of them missing their dinners. She watched from the window as Mrs. O ’Connor walked toward Gle
nmore, following the path her daughter had taken earlier.

  The golden sunset gave way to pale gray twilight, and still there was no sign of her husband, no message telling her that he was delayed. She wondered bleakly if he intended to come home at all, or if he planned to stay away for the night.

  She had so looked forward to this first dinner together, the start of their life together in what was to be their home. But as the clock tolled the hours, her anticipation turned to anger. Unable to sit, she paced back and forth in the parlor, rehearsing the dressing-down she would give Kilgarvan when she saw him.

  As the clock struck nine, she decided she could take it no more. She would go to Glenmore and find what was keeping her husband. And if it was another woman, she would cheerfully wring both their necks. But first she had to change her attire. Her flimsy slippers and evening gown would serve her ill on her expedition.

  She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the door open behind her. She continued her march.

  “Felicity,” he called.

  She turned and saw him standing in the entrance. The few candles lit threw dark shadows, and if not for his voice, she would not have known who it was who stood there.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “Out,” he said. There was a long pause as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the pool of light in the main hallway. “I am sorry I am late,” he added.

  Angry words trembled at the tip of her tongue, but she bit them back as she caught a glimpse of his face. Kilgarvan’s face was set in grim lines, revealing his unhappiness, and his carriage drooped with exhaustion. She felt a sudden rush of sympathy.

  “There is time to wash up, if you like,” she said. “And if there is anything left of dinner, I will ask Nora Murphy to bring it to the dining room.”

  Her jest produced only the faintest of smiles. “That would be kind,” he said.

  Felicity ventured into the kitchen, where Nora Murphy waved a spoon as she berated her at length. Though Felicity did not speak Gaelic, she had experience enough of cooks to know that Nora was complaining of the impossibility of preparing decent food under these conditions. Felicity ignored the tirade, and invoked her husband’s name in a firm voice. Eventually the cook nodded and began to place items on a tray, muttering under her breath all the while.