by Anna Jacobs
‘Why not? It was his dying wish that his wife come back where she belongs and Kieran refuses to go and tell his mother or even to write to say she must come back, and cousin Michael won’t go, either. So . . . I thought maybe I could go. I’d do anything for Papa Largan. He was always so kind to me, kinder than anyone else ever has been. What do you think, Mrs Maguire?’ She began to fiddle with the material of her skirt, pleating it then smoothing it out.
‘You could just write to her.’
‘I don’t like writing letters.’
‘I could write for you.’
‘No. My mind’s made up. I want to go and see her myself, persuade her to help me.’
‘You know she’s living with Conn. You said you never wanted to see your husband again.’
Kathleen’s fingers stilled for a moment. ‘I don’t want to see him, but I must if I’m to see her. Since Mr Largan died, people have started treating me differently, as if . . . I’m a divorced woman or something terrible like that. It’s all because of Conn being a convict. I hate being married to a traitor.’
‘You are in a difficult position,’ Fenella admitted. Only James Largan’s influence had made sure that Kathleen was still accepted in the houses of the local gentry after her husband was transported.
‘So I’ve decided to go to Australia, see Mrs Largan, tell her what her husband wanted and try to persuade her to come back and live with me. That’d be more respectable, don’t you think? People would talk to me again if I was living with her.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘Conn can rot in hell for all I care!’
Fenella didn’t know what to say to that. If Kathleen moved out of the district, she didn’t think anything would make up for the fact that her husband was a convict who’d been transported to Australia. Socially, her young friend was ruined and would remain in a sort of limbo unless Conn died and she remarried. Even then, some people would refuse to socialise with her.
Fenella too would have looked askance on a convict’s wife if she hadn’t known the family and Kathleen all her life. She’d never been able to believe that Conn was a traitor. ‘Australia. That’s a long way to travel on your own.’
‘That’s why I came to see you. You told me your son wrote to tell you he’s going to Australia and you’re all on your own here now. You said last time I saw you that you were bored, so I thought perhaps you’d like to come with me, to make it all respectable.’
Fenella stared at her in shock, unable to speak or move for a few moments, then slowly the idea began to seem . . . possible . . . interesting even. She’d never travelled, never really wanted to until now, but she didn’t enjoy being a widow, particularly now that all her children had left home. In fact, life had become rather tedious and without Ronan to cheer her up, she couldn’t see it improving.
She sat and thought about it, vaguely aware of Kathleen staring at her, grateful that her companion didn’t say anything to interrupt her thoughts.
Should she go? Dare she go?
The alternative was to stay here and die of boredom. She’d had more than enough of that.
She was only mildly surprised to hear her own voice, sounding to come from a long way away. ‘Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go to Australia with you. Why not? What have I got to keep me here at Ardgullan?’
Maia went to sit on the front veranda on her own. She felt too restless to sleep and since the night was mild with a full moon shining, she went to stroll round the gardens, which were only half-finished. They didn’t have proper flower beds yet, but there were paths winding among the remaining trees and a few bushes had been planted, some of which were in flower. There was always something in flower in Australia.
She didn’t try to stop the tears tonight. She tried not to weep at the thought of being separated from Xanthe, especially in front of her twin, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it. They’d always been so close, she and Xanthe.
After a few minutes she ended up on the far side of the stables and went to lean on the rough fence, made from sapling trunks alternating in a zig-zag pattern, each one set on top of another. She didn’t realise someone else was there until a man moved forward and she couldn’t help crying out in shock.
‘It’s only me.’
She’d recognise Conn’s voice anywhere. ‘It’s – um – a beautiful night, isn’t it?’
‘Too beautiful to be crying. What’s wrong?’
She scrubbed at her eyes, not knowing what to say, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
‘Ah, Maia!’ He pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘Are you fretting because your sister wants to leave?’
‘I don’t think I can bear it. We’ve never been parted before.’ She sobbed against him, unable to hold back the tears that had built up over the past few months.
When her weeping eased, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled handkerchief. ‘Here. It’s more or less clean.’
She tried to take it from him but her hand was shaking so badly she dropped it and when he picked it up, he clasped her fingers around it with his big warm hands and then stilled. She heard him suck in his breath sharply and looked up at him. The moonlight was shining down on them both like a blessing.
For a moment neither of them moved, then he pulled her close to him and said simply, ‘It won’t go away, this feeling between us, will it?’
‘No. Conn, I know I’m only a maid, but I lo—’
He pressed his fingers to her lips. ‘Shh. Don’t say it. I must tell you something. I should have done it before now, once I realised how you felt.’ He turned her to stand with her back to him, wrapping his arms round her, so that she fitted comfortably against his body. ‘Maia, I’m attracted to you, too, of course I am, but I’m already married.’
It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. ‘Married!’ she whispered, through lips that suddenly felt icy cold. ‘But you have no wife here, and you’ve never mentioned one. Nor has your mother.’
‘She’s in Ireland still and I hate her, hope I never see her as long as I live. It wasn’t a happy marriage – wasn’t really a marriage at all – but my father and hers were eager for it; and my father was upsetting my mother, blaming her for my refusal to consider the marriage. Kathleen seemed pleasant enough while we were courting, eager to please. Best of all, she had a love of horses to match my own. I thought that might be enough to get by with and I’d never met anyone else I’d had a fancy for, so in the end I said yes.’
His laughter was low and yet harsh, seeming full of pain. ‘It wasn’t long before I found out how badly I’d been fooled. Kathleen refused point-blank to let me into her bed. What’s more, she’s a shrew, treats her servants and everyone she considers beneath her badly. When I asked her not to be so harsh she began to quarrel with me. I was always hobnobbing with servants, you see, giving away my money to any fool who told me lies, not behaving properly. I think her idea of good manners had been beaten into her by her parents and she seemed unable to change any of the “rules” they’d set in her mind.
‘And then, when they arrested me, she immediately believed the worst. She didn’t come to see me once in jail, sending a message that she wanted nothing to do with a traitor.’
‘Oh, Conn! That’s dreadful. How sad you must have been.’
‘Yes. I should have had the marriage annulled. I had grounds for doing so. But once I was in prison I didn’t have any chance to do that and since I’ve been here, I’ve not seen any reason to bother. It’d take years and what decent woman would want to marry a convict, anyway?’
‘I would.’ She heard him suck his breath in sharply and wondered if she’d been too forward.
‘Oh, my dear, you’re the last person I’d burden with a convict husband. You’re young and unspoiled, and I pray you’ll stay that way. You deserve so much more.’
‘Not so young. I’m twenty-seven.’
‘And I’m several years older.’
‘What if I don’t change my mind?’
‘Then I’ll have to send you away, so that you can recover from your madness. I love you too much to mar your life.’
There was silence and she didn’t know what to say, how to persuade him that she’d never be able to forget him. Before she could think, he’d gone on speaking.
‘My father was as bad as Kathleen. He didn’t believe me when I told him I was innocent, I don’t know why.’
‘When did he die?’
‘He isn’t dead. Crippled as she is, my mother left him and ran away to join me here because—’ he hesitated.
‘Because she believed you were innocent,’ Maia finished for him.
‘Yes. She’s a wonderful woman, with a keen sense of justice. She knew I’d been wrongly accused. But my cousin Michael provided so-called proof and I was convicted out of hand.’
There was silence but they didn’t move apart, then he said quietly, ‘So you see, I can do nothing about our love without ruining you. And I won’t do that, my dear.’
She waited for a moment to be sure she meant it, because she knew what she said would damn her in most people’s eyes and perhaps in his, but she loved him so much, she couldn’t bear to think of leaving him, living without him. ‘I’d be honoured to become your mistress, Conn.’
‘Honoured!’ He pushed her away, turning her to face him as he did so and giving her a little shake. ‘Do you think I’d do that to a wonderful, decent girl like you? Maia, I love you far too much to ruin you. I’d have sent you away before now if my mother didn’t need you so much.’
She smiled and lifted one hand to caress his cheek, something she’d longed to do for months. ‘I’d not go, not now that I know you love me.’
‘Then heaven help us both, because if it was hard to keep my distance before, it’ll be a Herculean task now.’
‘I don’t want you to keep your distance, Conn.’
‘I must. I couldn’t live with myself if I ruined an innocent girl.’
He didn’t push her away, though, so she allowed herself to nestle against him. Once he sighed softly and a little later dropped a kiss on her hair, as ephemeral as a butterfly landing there.
She could have stood there in his arms all night, but she heard Xanthe calling from the kitchen door. With a sigh, she pushed away from him.
He pulled her back to press another of those gentle kisses on her cheek, then turned away and walked back towards the stables.
Drawing a deep breath, Maia took a moment to calm down, then turned towards the house.
4
Ronan and Bram boarded the steamship at Southampton on a stormy evening that had even that large vessel heaving up and down at its moorings. It was an auxiliary vessel using both steam and sail, but the masts were bare of canvas just now. The two men were immediately separated, he to go to a cabin he’d paid extra to keep to himself and Bram to go into the single men’s quarters in the steerage section below.
His cabin had been described by the agent as ‘spacious’ but it seemed very cramped to him once his huge cabin trunk, which opened out like a set of drawers, was in place. His previous journeys had meant a brief Channel crossing then travelling on by train usually for all the longer stretches. For the first time it sank in that he’d be spending more than two months in this restricted space. He’d have to spend a lot of time out on deck, hated the feel of this dark place with its tiny porthole window.
There would be some respite from the cramped conditions in Egypt, where they had to leave this ship and travel overland from Alexandria to Suez to board another vessel. He felt a moment’s temptation to run off the ship and give up this foolish idea, then smiled at himself. Was he such a weakling that he couldn’t stand a journey which many thousands had taken before him?
It’d have been nice to have company, though, someone like Conn in the cabin next door. Travelling would be a lonely business unless the other passengers were very congenial. Bram didn’t count because apparently cabin and steerage passengers lived fairly separate lives.
Within the hour Ronan was feeling a faint nausea and when the steward came to tell him that dinner would shortly be served in the day cabin, he shuddered and waved one hand in dismissal. ‘I don’t feel like eating.’
The steward gave him an assessing look. ‘Feeling sick, are you, sir? It’ll soon pass, but I’ll fetch you a bucket and fasten it beside the bed. Just in case. Ring if you need anything else, but I can’t promise to attend to you immediately, I’m afraid, because it’s always very busy just before we set sail and you’re not the only passenger who isn’t feeling well.’
The weather continued stormy and Ronan grew rapidly worse. He missed the moment of sailing and felt vaguely sorry not to be able to say farewell to England, but couldn’t face the thought of staggering up to the deck and perhaps disgracing himself in front of other people.
He spent the next two days lying in his bunk suffering from debilitating seasickness, and if he could have turned round now, he would have done. The steward kept assuring him that for most people this was just a temporary phase which lasted until they ‘got their sea legs’. It didn’t feel temporary. He seemed to have been ill for a black eternity.
He ate nothing, but kept forcing cups of tea and boiled water down. He didn’t need the steward to urge him to do that, because it stood to reason you needed liquid to keep your body functioning. You could go without food for a long time if you had to, but not without water.
On the second day at sea, the steward showed Bram into the cabin and left them together.
‘They told me you were ill, Mr Ronan.’
‘Damned seasickness. Are you all right?’
‘Right as rain. I’ve got some very clean, pleasant neighbours below decks, which makes a big difference, and I’m nicely settled in. Now, shall I tidy the cabin a bit and perhaps you’d like me to read to you? There’s talk of starting a ship’s newspaper, did you hear that?’
‘How can I hear anything lying here?’
Bram grinned at him. ‘It’d make me grumpy, too, to be seasick – sir.’
Ronan was surprised into a smile. ‘Yes. Sorry. You can tidy up, but don’t bother to read to me. I can’t concentrate. My head’s muzzy and my mouth tastes like a dungheap.’
‘Could I borrow a book, do you think, sir? I’ll be careful with it.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He’d forgotten how well Bram had done at the village school, how the teacher there had urged the family to let the boy continue his education. But James Largan had been furious, saying education wasn’t for the lower classes and only gave them ideas above their station. He’d insisted on the boy going to work as a stable lad and since the family all worked on the estate and knew he’d turn them all off if they upset him, Bram’s parents hadn’t dared refuse this job for their son.
Ronan and Conn had lent Bram books from time to time as they all grew up, doing this with great secrecy, however, for his sake. And Bram had bought others when he could, tattered volumes of anything at all from passing pedlars, just to feed his brain.
While he set the cabin to rights Bram chatted quietly, describing the steerage quarters with their rows of narrow bunks in small compartments of four, with long central tables between the compartments. The steward had kept things clean here, bringing water, emptying slop buckets, but hadn’t had time to tidy up properly because several of the other cabin passengers were also suffering from seasickness.
Bram must have been born tidy, Ronan thought as he watched. His friend had been the same when working in the stables. Even the smallest piece of harness was always where it should be. Kathleen had lost a valuable employee for the Largans when she dismissed him. Her brother-in-law wouldn’t be pleased about that.
The groom’s gentle voice was so soothing that Ronan found himself drifting towards sleep, welcoming the brief respite from sickness.
When he woke, it was morning and he was surprised to have slept so long. He felt much better, only slightly queasy now. He smiled, able now to believe the stew
ard was right and his sickness was a temporary thing. He went across to stare out of the porthole and saw that the sun had come out and the sea was much calmer.
He thought he could face a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast. He’d not try anything else till that had stayed down.
But he was feeling hopeful again, and looking forward to seeing some exciting new places.
Fenella led the way on to the ship, shivering in a downpour of rain and feeling that twinge in her belly again, just a niggling pain that sometimes happened, so annoying. It always went away again, but it made her uncomfortable for a while.
Behind her Kathleen was grimly silent, her heavy features not flattered by long strands of hair that had blown out of the tight bun. The two of them were followed by Kathleen’s maid Orla, whom they’d agreed to share while they were travelling.
The two ladies were also going to share a cabin, though how that would work out, Fenella had no idea. She was wondering if she’d been right to come, though she wasn’t going to back out now, not after the way her son Hubert had carried on about this venture. Why shouldn’t she travel a little? She wasn’t that old! He wanted her to sit quietly in her parlour till she died, probably of boredom, and she wasn’t going to do that.
It was strange that she’d had three sons so different in personality. Hubert was a quiet, reclusive man, who cared more about his acres and horses than he did about any human being, while Patrick, now living in England, was hunting mad and moved with a fast set, thanks to his wife’s money. But Ronan, ah, her middle son was the darling of her heart, such fun to be with, and sometimes she couldn’t help being glad he’d never married and kept coming back to live with her – though this couldn’t go on, if she was to have grandchildren from him. Such splendid children they’d be if they were anything like him.
She felt a little apprehensive about what he’d say when he found out she was travelling to Australia on the same ship as him – and worse, travelling there with Kathleen, whom he couldn’t stand. Ah, the two of them would settle down after they’d been on the ship for a while, and that’d end their quarrelling, surely it would? It wasn’t good for neighbours to be on bad terms.
