by A. O'Connor
“Imagine, your sister will be a duchess!” said Caroline.
Charles laughed lightly. “We’ve been used to having a duchess in the family since the day Gwyneth was born!”
“Yes, she’s very regal,” agreed Caroline, her eyes fixed on Gwyneth.
Charles tried to engage Arabella in conversation throughout the dinner, but she seemed more interested in chatting to Harrison.
“So what do you do in Dublin all day long?” he inquired over the main course of baron of beef and lamb.
“The same as most young women my age do everywhere, I imagine,” she smiled at him.
“Do you have many brothers and sisters?”
“One brother, one sister – I’m a middle child,” she said before turning quickly to Harrison. “Don’t forget we’re going to the Gaiety on Thursday night.”
“How could I forget? You’ve reminded me five times today already.”
“You’re a fan of the theatre?” asked Charles.
“Yes, I adore it,” she said.
But not as much as you adore Harrison, thought Charles as he observed them enter into another whispered deep conversation.
“When do you return to Dublin?” asked Charles, interrupting their private chat.
“We are going back on Sunday,” said Arabella.
“I’m taking Arabella on the grouse shoot tomorrow,” said Harrison. “She has never been on one before so I promised to take her.”
“Are you going on the shoot, Charles?” asked George.
“Well, if everyone else is – why not me?”
“Well, I’m not and neither is George. We don’t enjoy rural pursuits,” said Caroline.
After dessert was served and then coffee and liqueurs, the tables were cleared away and the orchestra took up position at the top of the ballroom. As they began to play people moved onto the dance floor.
As the evening wore on, Charles was increasingly irked by Arabella’s indifference to him. He set about gathering a handful of young beauties he knew around him. Most of them were daughters of his parents’ friends who he had known over the years. Their attention was all very well as they circled around him, laughing at his conversation, but his own attention was on Arabella who was either dancing or deep in conversation with Harrison.
Eventually Charles walked over to Harrison and Arabella who were speaking with the Tattingers.
“Ah, Charles, perhaps you could settle an argument for us,” said Sir George. “Do you think the whole Home Rule question is dead now Charles Stewart Parnell has disgraced himself with this affair with the married woman?”
Charles thought quickly – he hadn’t given either topic any thought. “Em, no, I don’t suppose it is.”
“My thoughts exactly!” said Sir George. “The way I look at it, this is an ongoing thing since Catholics got the vote and the agitation after the Famine. It won’t stop until the Irish get an independent country.”
“Well, hopefully that will be a long time off,” said Caroline. “I can’t imagine Dublin not being part of the United Kingdom.”
They continued their discussion in depth and Charles wondered if this was all they talked about in the parlours of Dublin.
“Arabella, could I ask for this dance?” asked Charles.
Arabella looked at him in surprise. “Eh . . . I’m afraid I’m too tired after all the earlier dancing so I’m afraid not.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Harrison. “Off you go!”
“I’d really rather not. It was such a long journey from Dublin today,” said Arabella.
“Oh don’t be so silly, Arabella! Go dance with Charles,” urged Caroline.
Arabella looked awkwardly at Charles as he indicated the dance floor to her.
Then she stepped unsmiling onto the floor and Charles slipped his left hand into her right and his right arm around her waist. They then joined the other couples swirling around the dance floor to the loud music. He held her firmly, as she tried to keep her distance.
He was going to try to enter into conversation with her but, as she looked off coolly into the distance, he knew he would only get one-word answers till the dance ended.
“Thank you for the dance,” she said, nodding politely when the music stopped before quickly walking back to Harrison.
Emily sidled up beside him.
“They make a beautiful couple, don’t they?” she smiled and indicated Gwyneth and the Duke of Battington.
“Yes, they do,” said Charles, but his eyes were focused on Harrison and Arabella.
Charles made his way to the back of the hall behind the grand staircase and through the door that led down to the servants’ quarter. He passed startled staff who were rushing up the stairs to the ballroom with trays of drinks and bottles of alcohol.
As he entered the kitchen which was an extensive semi-basement at the back of the house, he saw it was a hive of activity with servants rushing around. The head cook Mrs Carey was there giving orders and she got a start to see Charles.
“Mr Charles! What are you doing down here?” she asked.
“Oh, don’t mind me, Mrs Carey, I’m just looking for your medical supplies. Slight headache, you see,” explained Charles.
“Follow me, sir,” said Mrs Carey as she marched to one of the small rooms off the kitchen.
“Now . . . what have we got for headaches?” she mused, perusing the shelves of bottles.
“Mrs Carey, I’m being a bore and a chore. You have enough to be doing with the ball – you get back to your work.”
“No, it’ll just take me a minute,” she said, peering at the bottles.
There was a sudden large crash in the kitchen and a scream from a kitchen maid.
“What on earth?” snapped Mrs Carey as she rushed from the storage room to the kitchen.
Charles closed the door and started examining the bottles.
As the ball carried on into the early hours, the alcohol continued to flow as the joviality became louder. Charles waited for his moment, carefully scrutinising Harrison as he finished his glass of champagne and then offering to refill it for him. Making sure he was unobserved he quickly took out the bottle he had got from the kitchens and poured a part of it into the glass before filling the glass to the top with champagne. He then gently shook the glass, making the liquid swirl inside, before heading back to Harrison and handing it to him with a smile.
He then watched Harrison chatting happily to Arabella as he drank from the glass.
“I’d better not have too many of these,” laughed Harrison. “The grouse shoot starts at eleven in the morning. I don’t want to have too bad a head for it.”
It was four in the morning before the last of the guests went to their rooms or made their way to the awaiting carriages which would take them to their accommodation. Charles was the last to leave the ballroom as he drank back his champagne and placed the empty glass on a nearby table.
He walked upstairs and down the corridor to Harrison’s room. He opened the door and walked in. Harrison was sitting on his bed bent over double, his face contorted in agony.
“Harrison! What’s wrong?” said Charles, rushing over.
“I don’t know! I started getting these pains in my stomach an hour ago. I feel like I’m going to be sick all the time.”
“Probably too much champagne,” said Charles.
“I feel wretched.”
“Maybe mixing the wine with the champagne?”
Harrison suddenly jumped up and, placing his hand over his mouth, he went racing to the door and down the corridor.
Charles casually walked over to the door and closed it.
“Looks like I won’t be sharing a room tonight after all,” he said aloud.
chapter 2
The next morning the servants were up early putting the house back into its normal spick-and-span condition as Margaret issued them orders. It was nearly noon and the grouse-hunting party had set off an hour before. Arabella and her parents sat in the dining room, having fin
ished a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausages. Arabella was dressed warmly for the day of shooting ahead in a dress with a dark-grey knitted V-line top over it.
She looked up at the clock. “Where has Harrison got to?”
George chuckled. “I imagine he’s sleeping off a hangover, my dear. He did knock back the drink last night.”
At that moment Harrison and Charles walked into the dining room.
Arabella took one look at Harrison, who was as pale as a ghost and shaking, then rose to her feet and rushed over to him.
“What’s wrong, Harrison?”
“I haven’t been to bed all night. I’ve been throwing up for most of the night.”
“A hangover?” suggested George.
“No, it’s more than that,” objected Harrison as Arabella felt his forehead.
“Perhaps something he ate,” Charles suggested.
“Well, whatever it is, you need a doctor immediately,” said Arabella.
“No. The worst of it is over. All I need to do now is go to bed and sleep. I’m exhausted.”
“My poor darling!” Arabella stroked his cheek.
“But what about you?” said Harrison.
“What about me?”
“You were so looking forward to going on the shoot.”
“Oh, it’s not a worry. I’ll just stay here in the house,” said Arabella.
“But you’ll miss the shoot!”
Charles stepped forward. “Well, you can accompany me, Arabella. I’m setting off to join the others shortly.”
“No, thank you,” said Arabella firmly.
“But that’s a great idea,” said Harrison. “Thank you, Charles, that’s very good of you.”
“I couldn’t possibly burden you with me for the day,” insisted Arabella.
“No burden at all,” said Charles.
“Thank you but no.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Arabella,” interjected Caroline. “You wanted to go and here is your opportunity.”
“But . . .”
“That’s decided then,” said Charles happily. “I’ll get the groomsman to bring our carriage to the front. I’ll meet you there in – say – twenty minutes?”
With that he turned and walked out of the room.
Arabella walked out the front door of Armstrong House and took in the view. It was a clear late-August day and she looked across the expansive forecourt beyond which was a series of terraced gardens leading down to the lake, which stretched out for miles to the other side.
She couldn’t see Charles and strolled across the forecourt then turned and looked up at the house. She took in the majesty of the baronial three-storey granite house. The third storey was tucked just under the black tiled roof. A flight of stairs led up to the front double doors and the windows were tall and gothic.
She heard a horse and carriage approach and saw a smiling Charles enter the forecourt in a phaeton two-seater carriage.
He waved at her and smiled.
“It is a good day for the shoot,” said Charles as he jumped down from the carriage and assisted her up.
She nodded as she sat down.
He jumped up beside her, turned to her and smiled broadly. He shook the reins and the horse took off down the long avenue.
Arabella was entranced by the beautiful views as they rode through the narrow roads of the estate.
“It is exactly as beautiful as Harrison described it,” said Arabella. “You’re very lucky.”
“Am I?”
“Well, all this is going to be yours as the future Lord Armstrong.”
“Yes but, having said that, with it comes responsibility, or so my father is always insisting. I think the younger children of peers have it easier.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, they are free to choose whatever they want in life. I envy that.”
“I can’t see you working in a bank like Harrison,” Arabella said.
He was surprised she had made any judgement of him at all as she seemed to pay no attention to him.
“But Harrison doesn’t have to work in a bank. He can do anything he wishes but he chooses to work there. It’s that choice I envy.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be more than compensated with an eight-thousand-acre estate and all the other benefits you’ll get . . . Ah, there are the others, see!” She pointed at the crowd scattered across a hill, walking along with dogs.
“Yes – I see.”
Charles parked the carriage and they walked towards the others to join the shoot. As they did so she kept her distance from him.
“Is Gwyneth on the shoot today?” she asked.
“No. She will be in Armstrong House dissecting the success of her debutante ball with anyone who will listen to her.”
“She’s entitled to talk about it.”
“She’ll be married to the Duke in a few months and go to live in Battington Castle or Battington Palace or whatever he owns. And there she will stay forever in her ivory tower, deigning to come amongst us mere mortals only on special occasions.”
Arabella glanced at him. “You sound contemptuous.”
“Not contemptuous. Just disappointed in people that they take an easy route, and Gwyneth has taken the easiest route of all . . . but then she was always going to.”
“She’s just following her destiny, like you are yours.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Is that what you think of me? I want a lot more than just taking over from my father here in Armstrong House.”
She stopped and glanced at him. “I’m sure I don’t think of you at all.”
Arabella held the gun shakily while Charles got into position to guide her. He stood close behind her, putting both arms around her arms and holding the gun with her.
“You watch your prey very carefully,” he said in a low voice as they watched the grouse in the distance. “Then you follow it with your gun until you have it in your sights . . . What’s the real reason you’re not having a debutante ball?”
She was startled with this sudden question. “I was going to have one this year but it was cancelled.”
“And why was it cancelled?”
“Because I had met Harrison by then, and knew we were meant for each other. Can we just concentrate on the shooting?” she urged.
He pulled his arms closer around her as he tightened his grip on the gun.
“I’d have thought a girl like you would have had many options.”
“I do.”
“Then why Harrison?”
She was becoming incredulous. “Why not Harrison?”
“I just thought you’d have aimed for something a little . . .” he tilted the gun upwards as a grouse came into view, “higher.”
He suddenly pressed his trigger finger over hers and the gun fired a shot into the distance. The shot missed its target and the grouse fled.
He didn’t move from the position he was in.
“We missed,” she said eventually. She pulled away from him quickly and faced him. “I’m quite glad actually – I don’t think shoots are for me.” She handed him the gun back. “Let’s go back to Armstrong House.”
“But I bet you’re glad you tried it!” he called after her.
Most of the guests that had attended the ball had left by the Saturday evening and Lawrence and Margaret hosted a dinner party for close friends in the dining room that night. The Tattingers were among the twenty present. Charles found himself that night at the polar end of the dining table from Harrison and Arabella. He found it hard to keep his eyes from straying to observe them constantly.
“Well, congratulations, Lady Margaret, on a magnificent ball,” complimented Caroline Tattinger as she enjoyed her duckling.
“We’re well used to entertaining at Armstrong House – but I was so busy introducing Gwyneth.”
“Introducing her to everyone she already knew,” said Charles.
“That’s not the point, Charles. I was officially introducing her as a young woman come
of age,” said Margaret.
“I meant to say before,” Sir George interjected, “I met friends of yours at a function recently.”
“Really? Who?” asked Lawrence.
“The Earl of Galway and his wife.”
Lawrence looked displeased. “Yes, the Galways were friends of ours. But we never see them any more.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid the Galways live in their London house permanently now. Their manor in Galway is left in the care of an elderly housekeeper and their estate left to the running of a particularly nasty land manager. They have joined the ranks of those absentee landlords who see their estates as nothing more than moneymaking devices to squeeze every last penny from, to fund their extravagant lifestyle in London.” Lawrence shook his head in disgust.
“Maybe they are just scared to spend too much time on their estate with the Land War going on?” said George.
“If they are targets, then they have made themselves so!” snapped Lawrence.
Caroline was surprised. “We found them very agreeable.”
“Now, Lawrence,” cautioned Margaret firmly, “what the Galways do is really none of our business.”
“But –” began Lawrence.
“And the Countess of Galway had impeccable table manners, from what I remember,” Margaret smiled and nodded at Caroline in an approving way.
Arabella was sitting at the end of the table, engrossed in conversation with Harrison.
“Well?” asked Harrison. “What is your verdict so far? Is Armstrong House what you expected? What do you make of everyone?”
“It’s exactly as you described it. And everyone is exactly as you described them. Everyone is lovely,” said Arabella.
Harrison smiled proudly. “It won’t be long before we have a beautiful home and family too.”
She reached forward and stroked his hand in delight.
Harrison looked worried. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to afford to give us a beautiful home just yet, not on my wages.”
“Father says you’ll continue to gallop up the ranks of the bank.”
“Still – in the meantime that doesn’t help us. I spoke to my own father and he said we can live in his Dublin house on Merrion Square for however long we want.”
