It wasn’t until dessert that Maud picked up the chocolate box. Kitty blanched as her mother looked at it quizzically. ‘Really, Beatrice, you spoil us with all these delicious chocolates.’ And then she opened it. Kitty’s breath caught in her throat. Elspeth and Victoria smirked triumphantly. Celia, who had only just noticed the box, blushed scarlet. There was a moment when time seemed to hang suspended over the table, delay as Maud saw the frog and took a second to register what it was. Then she gasped and cried out in terror, ‘A frog!’
Elspeth and Victoria pretended to look surprised and stared accusingly at Kitty. Harry tried to suppress his smile – he couldn’t help but find his little sister’s mischievousness amusing. Maud snapped the box shut and swallowed hard in an attempt to control her outburst.
Bertie was on his feet. He strode round the table and picked up the box. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he barked, glaring at the children. Kitty’s eyes began to brim with tears. She knew she was about to be rumbled, for Victoria and Elspeth would only too happily betray her. She clenched her fists, anticipating the pain of Miss Grieve’s riding crop.
And then Adeline laughed, a light laugh that sliced through the horrified silence and diverted every eye in the room. ‘Silly me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Really, O’Flynn must have thought it was full of chocolates. I found the dear little frog in the morning room and thought I’d keep him for a while. Isn’t he lovely?’
Maud stared at her mother-in-law. ‘It’s your frog?’ she asked in disbelief.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Maud, my dear, if it gave you a fright. Give it to me, Bertie. I’ll ask one of the children to put it back in the garden.’ Adeline looked down the table, as if deciding whom to ask. Then her pale eyes settled on Kitty, who stared at her grandmother with love and gratitude. ‘My darling Kitty, you like animals. Why don’t you find a nice damp place to put him. I really shouldn’t have kept him in a box. It’s awfully cruel of me. Celia, why don’t you go with her? Now, who would like some more dessert?’
Chapter 8
There is nothing in the world like an Irish summer. The air is damp with gentle rain, thick with the smells of heather and rose, alive with the sounds of the sea birds that live off the rich fruit of the ocean and the abundant fodder of this fertile land. But when the sun shines it is surprisingly warm. The skies clear, bright and clean after the rain, the clouds disperse, revealing a canopy of indigo blue. The sun sets with a grand display of flamingo pink and fiery crimson, and in that moment, when the dying day melts into the horizon, turning the water to liquid gold, one might believe there is nothing more beautiful on earth or in Heaven.
Kitty, Celia and Bridie stood at the very top of the castle and gazed out of the window across the sea. The spectacle rendered them speechless. Their tender hearts were touched by the otherworldly magnificence and a sense of something so much greater than themselves, but of which, in some incomprehensible way, they were part. Bridie thought of her father and wondered if he was out there somewhere, in that magical light. Her heart ached for him in an intense and urgent longing, but the melting sun sinking into the ocean filled her soul with something soothing but unidentifiable. Celia was too young to know what it was in the sunset that resonated deep within her but she was captivated by the wild mystery of Ireland. She recalled Kitty’s Fairy Ring and wished with a sudden rush of passion that she could leave England altogether and live here in this enchanted place. Kitty, whose senses were so much in advance of her years, was overcome with love for her home. She knew for sure that, whatever happened in her future, wherever she was made to go, she would always carry Castle Deverill inside her – and there was nothing anyone could do to take that away from her.
The sun disappeared and the sky darkened over the sea. It was the beginning of September and the night of the Castle Deverill Summer Ball. Grand carriages rattled up the drive, pulled by fine horses driven by men in livery. On either side of the track flares illuminated the way. The castle, a proud and majestic symbol of British ascendancy, stood royally in the light of the full moon that was now beginning its steady climb. The girls raced to the other side and stood over the front door to watch the ladies in ball gowns and gentlemen in tail coats climb the steps to be graciously received by their hosts, Lord and Lady Deverill.
Kitty and Celia wore their very best dresses with wide sashes at their small waists and patent-leather shoes on their delicate feet. Their hair had been brushed so vigorously by their governesses that it shone like spun copper and gold. Bridie looked at them with a mixture of admiration and envy. She would have to return to the kitchen below stairs to help her mother. It was all very well being persuaded to accompany Kitty and Celia upstairs, but her mother would be wondering where she was and, if anyone caught her there, in the private side of the castle, she’d be in grave trouble.
‘Will you tell me all about it in the morning?’ Bridie asked the cousins.
‘We wish you could come and spy with us,’ said Kitty truthfully. ‘Don’t we, Celia?’
‘We do, Bridie. You’re like Cinderella, having to work in the cellar while her sisters are allowed to go to the ball.’
‘If only I had a fairy godmother to wave a wand for me,’ Bridie replied with a sorry smile. She shrugged. ‘But I don’t.’
‘You have a fine pair of dancing shoes,’ said Kitty. Bridie’s cheeks flushed scarlet as she remembered with a stab of pain the moment two girls at school had mocked her: ‘Oh here comes Lady Deverill,’ one had said, her voice full of scorn. To which the other had replied with equal derision, ‘Oh no, it’s only Bridie wearing her charity shoes, just like a tinker!’ Bridie hadn’t worn them since but had put them back in their box for safe keeping, like a priceless treasure.
‘I need more than fine shoes, Kitty,’ she said quietly.
Bridie hurried to the end of the corridor and slipped through the door which led down to the basement via the servants’ staircase. The kitchen was like an ants’ nest with maids and footmen coming and going, and in the middle of the room was Mrs Doyle, the ant queen, shouting orders as she made the final touches to her dishes. Bridie’s brother Sean was back at the castle for the night, going through the castle rooms to check the fires were blazing and to add more turf as required, but Bridie was too young to help in the private side. She took her place by the kitchen sink and began to dry the wet dishes.
From the stairs Kitty and Celia watched the grown-ups coming into the hall. They awarded points for beautiful dresses and jewellery and minus points for the ladies who, in their opinion, had not made enough effort. In came the couples, one after the other, greeting Lord and Lady Deverill and moving on into the growing throng of guests. Lady Rowan-Hampton arrived on the arm of her portly husband Sir Ronald, in a dazzling silk dress of the palest blue. Kitty awarded her ten points for her dress and another ten for the diamonds and sapphires that glittered against her creamy décolletage. Grace raised her eyes, sensing that she was being watched, and smiled at the two little spies hiding behind the banisters on the landing halfway up the grand staircase. ‘We had better keep ourselves in check tonight,’ she said to her husband. ‘Look at those two monkeys.’
Sir Ronald turned his rheumy eyes to the stairs and waved up at Kitty. ‘My dear, I always keep myself in check. You’re the one who throws caution to the wind. Perhaps tonight you’ll be more careful not to embarrass me.’
‘Look, there are Adeline’s hilarious sisters, the Shrubs. Come, let’s say hello.’
‘Two sillier women I have yet to meet,’ said Sir Ronald rudely. ‘They should be pulled out by the roots. You go and give them a good weed. I will find entertainment elsewhere.’ And the two parted, Lady Rowan-Hampton into the drawing room, Sir Ronald into the library where Bertie was holding court by the fireplace, smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey with Cousin Digby and his racing friends.
‘Isn’t this a lovely ball, Grace,’ said Laurel, as Lady Rowan-Hampton joined them.
‘The castle looks beautiful with all the candl
es,’ said Grace.
‘Beautiful, simply beautiful,’ echoed Hazel enthusiastically.
‘Have you seen the ballroom? They’ve had a fire in there for the last three days to get rid of the damp,’ Laurel told her. ‘It took O’Flynn and an army of boys three weeks to take down the chandeliers and polish the pieces. Imagine all those candles, but the effect is quite magical.’
‘Then I shall dance until dawn,’ said Grace happily. ‘Ah, my dear Maud, you look lovely,’ she gushed as Maud glided through the crowd to join them. Grace kissed her cheek. ‘Goodness, you’re cold. You should go and stand by the fire.’
‘Yes, you really should, Maud,’ Hazel agreed.
‘Are you quite well?’ asked Laurel, her round face shining with sweat. ‘It’s almost too warm in here for me. It’s enough to make me wilt.’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Maud replied.
‘Where are the girls?’ Hazel enquired. ‘We haven’t seen Victoria since she went to London but we hear that she created quite a sensation. It won’t be long before there’s a wedding, no doubt.’
‘Ooh, I love weddings!’ exclaimed Laurel gleefully. ‘I expect she’ll win the heart of an English aristocrat.’
Maud sighed melodramatically. ‘And leave Ireland, as they all do. I shall end up alone, see if I don’t.’
‘She might marry an Irishman,’ said Grace optimistically. ‘You never know, there are some very handsome ones here tonight.’
‘But they’re poor,’ said Maud, casting her eye about the room and catching sight of the DeCourcey brothers, both high-born and good-looking, but lacking in the one thing that would enable them to marry girls like Victoria and Elspeth: money.
‘Tom and William DeCourcey,’ said Grace, following Maud’s gaze. ‘There, two of the finest huntsmen in Ireland with a castle to boot.’
‘But precious little land,’ said Maud disparagingly. ‘And no money to last through to the next generation. Tom will inherit Dunashee Castle, William will flee to America or Australia, and Tom’s children will be left with nothing but a shell to live in when Tom’s inheritance runs out, which it surely will. No, I’d rather rich Englishmen for my daughters.’
‘But you married an Irishman,’ said Grace softly. ‘And you haven’t done half badly.’
‘We are the last generation to enjoy this.’ Maud swept her long fingers through the air. ‘Harry will one day be Lord Deverill, but our lands are shrinking, the tenants we have left rarely pay the rent and Hubert is much too lenient – they take him for a fool. It is only a matter of time before they all rebel—’
Grace laughed. ‘Oh, they are much too lazy for that!’
‘Bertie will be just as incompetent as his father. He’s more interested in hunting and fishing than pawing over the accounts. He thinks there’s a limitless pot of gold at the bottom of his rainbow and that the sun is always shining. He’s considering buying a new hunter, for goodness’ sake, but he already has a dozen. Harry will have nothing to live on and I will sit back in my threadbare sofa and say “I told you so”. But by then it will be too late. Yes, I hope my daughters marry Englishmen because there will be nothing left for them here.’ Laurel and Hazel, usually so bright and jolly, looked at Maud in confusion. Neither knew what to say or what to make of her bitter outburst.
‘Well, that’s not very jolly,’ said Grace, trying to make light of Maud’s grim soliloquy. ‘I hope my girls marry Irishmen, because Ireland is the most beautiful place on earth. I wouldn’t leave it for all the money in the world.’
The Shrubs smiled again. ‘Neither would we,’ they trilled in unison.
‘Come, Maud, let’s go and talk to Roddy Fitzgerald. I hear he’s over for the summer, staying with the Claremonts, and he is such a charming fellow.’ Grace and Maud disappeared into the party.
‘What was that all about?’ Laurel asked.
‘She’s not very happy,’ said Hazel.
‘She was born unhappy, that one,’ said Laurel. ‘I’ve always found her cold.’
‘Yes, indeed. Very cold.’ Hazel sighed. ‘Poor Bertie. I hope he finds comfort elsewhere.’
‘My dear, that’s just the problem. If he found comfort at home his wife would have no reason to be bitter at all.’
Kitty and Celia were having a delightful time wandering around the rooms. The grown-ups they knew made a fuss of them, the ones they didn’t found them as charming as pretty dolls and made a fuss of them too. Dinner was served in the long gallery upstairs where a table for two hundred guests had been laid up among large gilt-framed paintings of ancestors going back to Barton Deverill, the first Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly. The children were once again put together at the very end, because Adeline had never subscribed to the notion that children should be kept out of sight. Victoria was seated between two boys her own age whom she had known since childhood. But they struggled to make conversation with a girl who had lost interest in Ireland and set her sights on the stately homes and castles of England. Her cousins, Vivien and Leona, were only too happy to have the dashing DeCourcey brothers to entertain them with stories of hunting and had agreed by the main course to ride out with them the following morning. Elspeth had always found Peter MacCartain incredibly handsome. He was a stunning tennis player and masterful on a horse, but her mother had told her often enough that she would never consent to an Irishman unless he was the Marquess of Waterford. George and Harry found friends from school who had also returned to Ireland for the holidays and spent most of dinner discussing cricket.
Dinner was long and by the end the children were restless. The candles had burned down and the plates been taken away. O’Flynn had clearly been at the bottles of wine for he was weaving around the room as if it were a ship in a storm. At last the sound of music wafted up from the ballroom downstairs and one by one the adults were lured away from the table like rats in the town of Hamelin. The DeCourcey brothers disappeared with Vivien and Leona and Elspeth agreed to dance with Peter MacCartain, but Victoria refused all offers with a graceless yawn. Kitty and Celia hurried downstairs to watch the dancing. The ballroom was magnificent, lit up with hundreds of candles whose golden flames reflected in the mirrored panels along the walls. The crystal chandeliers glittered as if they weren’t made of glass at all, but Cousin Digby’s diamonds. A small orchestra had been set up on a raised platform and the music rose and fell in an irresistible waltz. Couples took to the dance floor and began to glide around the room in a glorious kaleidoscope of colour. Kitty and Celia watched in wonder, longing to be old enough to be swung around the room. ‘Elspeth has flat feet,’ said Kitty with a laugh as her sister plodded a clumsy waltz.
‘Vivien is no better,’ Celia added.
‘But look at the Shrubs!’ Kitty exclaimed, pointing at her two great-aunts who were dancing with Kitty’s uncle Rupert and a reluctant Sir Ronald. ‘They dance better than everyone!’
The girls watched for a long while. Kitty noticed Peter MacCartain’s hand drop dangerously close to Elspeth’s bottom. She also saw that the adults had grown unsteady on their feet. The women’s faces flushed with the effects of champagne while the men had become ruddy and dishevelled, puffing on their cigars, filling the air with the sweet scent of tobacco. No one noticed the children now; they might as well have been invisible as they wandered around listening to snippets of conversation, giggling when they heard something inappropriate.
It was well after midnight when Kitty and Celia, weary of spying on grown-ups, decided to wander the corridors upstairs. Candles in hand, they crept through the rooms like a pair of mice. Suddenly Kitty saw a shady figure at the end of the corridor. Curious, she strode on, her cousin following after. The music got fainter as they made their way further into the depths of the castle. Every time Kitty felt they were getting nearer the ghost, it disappeared again. ‘Come on, walk faster.’
‘Why the hurry?’ Celia whined.
Just as Celia was about to lose courage, Kitty stopped walking. The ghost, who she could now see clearly,
was Egerton Deverill, Barton’s son. Of all the Deverills stuck in Limbo, Egerton was her least favourite. He had a mean and menacing energy. He was staring at her with dark eyes and a scowling face, standing by a door beneath which there spread a shallow puddle of light.
Celia put a hand on Kitty’s arm. ‘There’s someone in there.’
Kitty grinned at her. ‘Aren’t you even a little curious?’ she asked.
‘I’m frightened!’
Just then Barton Deverill loomed out of the dark. Kitty caught her breath. Barton began to remonstrate with his son but Kitty couldn’t hear; she could just feel the anger in the atmosphere and the chill that now enveloped them. She knew Barton didn’t want her to go in.
Kitty was too courageous for her own good. While Celia backed away, Kitty, unable to surmount her curiosity, turned the knob and pushed open the door an inch. What she saw inside was so terrible it smothered her daring as surely as peat on fire. Her father was on the four-poster bed with his trousers pulled down, thrusting into Grace, whose legs were wrapped around his waist and hooked at the ankles. She hadn’t even taken her shoes off. Kitty was disgusted. Barton slipped through the wall. In a moment he was by the mantelpiece. With one swipe of his hand he swept a decorative ceramic shepherdess onto the floor. It landed with a loud crash and shattered into many pieces.
Kitty didn’t wait to see what happened next. She backed away and hurried down the corridor with her cousin following close behind. She didn’t look back. Sick to her stomach by what she had witnessed she wanted to be as far away from that room as it was possible to be.
Bridie sat on the edge of her bed and gazed out of the window at the moon. It was so round and fat it looked as if it were pregnant with lots of little moons. She watched it for a moment, hypnotized by its mystery. High in the sky it could surely see half the world below it. Countries that Bridie would never visit, people she would never meet, seas she would never sail. Was her life to be always here, in Ballinakelly, following her mother’s well-trodden path? Was there another future out there for her if only she could find the key to unlock the secret door? Was it simply a question of searching for it? But where would she start?
Songs of Love and War Page 9
