The Irish Upstart

by Shirley Kennedy

  “It’s time we talked about the future,” said Sinead. It was as if she’d read her daughter’s mind. She sighed and took Evleen’s hand. “I shall be leaving soon.”

  “Don’t. You mustn’t say it.”

  “It must be said.” A look of despair filled Mama’s eyes. “I confess, I’ve thought and thought, but I don’t know what to do. The eight hundred pounds is gone. As you well know, what little money we have comes from the English lessons I give... gave, I should say. I cannot teach anymore.”

  “Then I can do it, Mama. My Gaelic is as good as yours.”

  “True, daughter, and I’m relying on you, but the money from the lessons won’t be nearly enough.”

  “There’s the sheep.”

  “They bring in but a pittance.”

  Evleen said firmly, “Somehow we’ll make do.”

  “I wanted my daughters to find good husbands. I wanted Patrick to go to Trinity College in Dublin.” Sinead laughed with bitter irony. “Well, he won’t now, will he? He’ll likely end up just another poor fisherman while you girls, unless you marry, will be forced into service where you’ll spend your days scrubbing hearths and emptying chamber pots.”

  “What a dreadful future.” Evleen replied, wanting to make light of Mama’s dire prediction. She smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand. “In the first place, you’re going to get better. In the second, somehow or other, we’ll scrape by.”

  “Scrape by,” Sinead repeated mockingly. “I wanted better things for you.”

  “I can always marry Timothy, you know.”

  “Saints preserve us. After all these years you’re finally admitting you’d be best off with Timothy Murphy? Will wonders never cease. What brought on this change of heart?”

  “I’m twenty-four, time is passing, and I know Timothy would be good to our family.” Speaking humorously, she went on, “I used to think someday a knight in shining armor would come knocking at my door. He would be handsome, wealthy, kind, tender, and—”

  “Irish.”

  “Very Irish. We would fall in love and he would carry me off to a life of bliss. That’s what I used to think. Lately I’m not so sure.”

  “Now you’re getting some sense in your head.”

  “I know I could be happy with Timothy, at least reasonably so.”

  “That’s wise, especially since the chances of your prince finding his way to our humble cottage are rather slim.”

  A sudden pounding on the door caused Evleen to jump up in alarm. “Who could it be at this hour?” She went to the one small window and looked out, but it was dark outside, and raining, and she couldn’t see a thing. “One of the neighbors must be in trouble,” she surmised as she flew to the door and swung it open.

  Lord Thomas.

  She gasped and stiffened. There he stood, completely unexpected, drenched and looking miserable. He bowed low, water pouring off his beaver hat. In an unconcerned voice, he said, “Ah, good evening, Miss O’Fallon. Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You.”

  “Yes ‘tis I.” He glanced over his shoulder at two horses and a curricle, barely visible in the black night. “I would have arrived at a more decent hour, but it seems I got lost and ran off the road in the dark.” He smiled wryly. “Actually, I am wet and close to freezing. You have no idea how much I’m hoping you’ll allow me into your warm abode, despite my being an Englishman.”

  “I wouldn’t let a dog stay outside on a night like this.” Evleen swung the door wide, pleased with herself for finding an apt riposte despite her shock at seeing him again.

  “First, my horses,” he said. “Your stable–?”

  “The stable’s in the back,” Darragh said over Evleen’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of room.” In an excited voice, she added, “How lovely to see you again, Lord Thomas.”

  Lovely? thought Evleen. Dread filled her heart. Lord Thomas could be here for only one reason.

  Minutes later, the cottage was bustling as Darragh made tea and Evleen threw an extra lump of peat into the fireplace. Lord Thomas, finally warm after standing shivering for a time by the fire, sank into a chair and remarked, “Ah, warm at last. I would not recommend such a journey to my worst enemy.”

  “Can we assume, sir, you were just passing by?” Evleen asked, tongue-in-cheek.

  “No, you cannot assume.”

  Evleen had to take a moment to gather her wits. Her emotions were mixed, to say the least. Her mother’s words lay heavily on her heart. Not only was she still in a state of astonishment over Thomas’s unexpected arrival, she found his presence most disturbing. Over the months, she had never been able to clear his handsome image from her mind. Now here he was again, looking more handsome than even she remembered. Despite what must have been a grueling journey, he sat at ease in his chair, his well-formed, muscular legs stretched out before him, a glint of mockery in those marvelous flashing dark eyes. “I suppose I do know why you’re here,” she said frankly. “Lord Trevlyn sent you.”

  “Exactly so.”

  Darragh asked, “He would not take no for an answer?”

  “He wants his grandson. You can understand why.”

  “Well, he’s doomed to disappointment,” Evleen adamantly replied. “My mother would never, under any circumstances send Patrick to England. My mother–”

  “Your mother will speak for herself,” came Mama’s voice from the doorway. She had thrown a dressing gown over her nightgown and now stood clinging to the doorpost, looking deathly pale.

  “You should not be out of bed,” exclaimed Evleen.

  Lord Thomas leaped to assist. “Let me help you back–”

  “No,” Sinead answered firmly. “I shall sit at the table, if you please.” With a grand wave she indicated the chairs arranged around the table. “Kindly join me, Lord Thomas... Evleen? Darragh? We shall let the younger ones sleep.”

  When they were settled at the table, Sinead asked Lord Thomas, “Are you here for the reason I think you are?”

  “Lord Trevlyn wants his grandson,” Lord Thomas replied. “To that purpose, he’s sent me to inform you in person of what he now proposes.”

  Sinead eyed him with suspicion. “Did I not make it clear I would never allow Patrick to set foot in England?”

  “Your letter was extremely clear. A mind can be changed, though, can it not?”

  “Why even listen to him?” Evleen interjected, addressing her mother. “What could he say that could possibly make you change?”

  A corner of Lord Thomas’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I’ve come a long way, Miss O’Fallon. Kindly hear me out.”

  “You should at least hear what he has to say,” said Darragh, who was listening with rapt attention.

  Sinead replied, “Very well, tell us, but I warn you, it won’t do you any good. Patrick is my son, sir. Have you any children?”

  “I have never married.”

  “Then how could you even presume to know how I feel?”

  “I don’t presume.”

  Sinead sat back and looked him squarely in the eyes. “That’s good that you don’t presume because you won’t know what matters in this life until the day you have children of your own. Then you will realize how the bond between you and your children is more precious than any amount of money.”

  Oh, dear God, thought Thomas. How he wished he were anywhere but here. His reluctant journey had been extremely arduous, but nothing compared to now. Darragh seemed pleased to see him, but the wrathful eyes of Sinead and Evleen burned into him, as if he had horns and a tail and had just arrived via his hired curricle through the gates of Hell. Perhaps he should give up, go home, explain to Lord Trevlyn that nothing in the world would move Sinead from her dogged position. Still...

  Honor must prevail, Thomas realized glumly. Lord Trevlyn had entrusted him with a vital mission. He would see it through to the bitter, and no doubt, unsatisfactory end.

  Sinead spoke again. “As you can see, Lord Thomas, I am not well.”
>
  “I am terribly sorry,” Thomas said sincerely. He had been shocked when he first saw Sinead. In but a few months the woman’s health had obviously declined and she was now but skin and bones.

  “So am I sorry, sir,” answered Sinead, a grim smile touching her lips. “At a time like this, I need my family around me, all my daughters, and, of course, Patrick. I assume Lord Trevlyn has sent you with additional persuasions, but you will find I cannot be persuaded, no matter what.”

  Thomas could tell by the firm set of Sinead’s jaw that, indeed, she meant what she said. Still, he would try. “I can see you mean your every word, madam, but I’ve come a long way, so at least hear me out.”

  After a pause, Sinead answered sharply, “Go ahead. Since you’ve come all this way, I am curious to know what additional enticements Lord Trevlyn has in mind. Although, I can assure you, you’re wasting your breath.”

  “Mama,” cried Evleen. “Why even listen to him? You said you would never–”

  “Quiet, Evleen.” Sinead, her jaw set, leaned resignedly back in her chair and addressed Thomas again. “So begin, sir.”

  At least she’ll listen to me, thought Thomas with some relief, although he still didn’t hold out much hope. “To begin with, Patrick will have everything—wealth, position, power.”

  Evleen sniffed disdainfully. “Jonathan Swift said, ‘Power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the innocent.’”

  Blast the girl. At least she was literate. “Well, then, if you are against Patrick going to England alone, then Lord Trevlyn invites you and your entire family to come to England. He will see that you are more than amply compensated for this major adjustment in your life and will provide a home of your own choosing, as well as an ample income to last the rest of your life. Your new home would be close to your son, of course. Or, if you prefer, you are welcome to come live with Lord Trevlyn at his home—”

  Sinead burst into laughter. “My, my, he must be desperate. But no, that’s going too far. I could never go to England.” She eyed Thomas intently. “What else?”

  “Then...” Thomas flicked a quick gaze at Evleen before he continued, “If you are concerned about Patrick going to England alone, Lord Trevlyn has suggested one of your daughters could accompany him.”

  “And how would she be treated?” asked Sinead. “For all I know, Lord Trevlyn would make a servant of her, force her to share a cold, tiny room in the attic with a scullery maid.”

  Lord Thomas drew in a patient breath. “If you would allow it, the daughter, whichever one you chose, would be accorded every consideration, every luxury. She would have a Season, as well as clothes, jewels, and, as Lord Trevlyn put it, ‘baubles to her heart’s content’.”

  “Baubles,” Sinead repeated, voice oozing with contempt. “You ask a true daughter of Ireland to trade her beloved land for baubles?

  Blast. Thomas had known this would be difficult, but nothing like this. It was obvious that despite her illness, Sinead was still a willful woman, tenacious in her beliefs. He would treat her as such and lay down the hard facts. He’d not patronize her because of her present condition.

  “From what I understand, aside from your two adult daughters, you have a girl of fifteen, one of fourteen, and then Patrick, of course, who is ten.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “May I be brutally frank?”

  “By all means.”

  “I do not pretend to know your finances, but I would surmise, since you’re not in good health, these are difficult times for you.” At Sinead’s bare nod, Thomas proceeded. “Then think, madam, of what forty pounds a year would do. Fifty. I am sure Lord Trevlyn would be happy to raise the amount.

  “And in return I lose my son.”

  “You don’t lose him. England isn’t that far away. Of course you will see him from time to time and–”

  “I’ll lose him,” came Sinead’s anguished cry. “He’ll turn into a bloody Englishman.”

  Thomas could almost smile at the unexpected use of such a forbidden word coming from a lady—and Sinead O’Fallon was a lady, despite her poverty. “I assure you, Patrick will never forget his Irish heritage. Take my word, Lord Trevlyn is a reasonable man with great sensitivity. He’ll not turn Patrick into an Englishman, not ever. To make doubly sure, I would make him aware of your feelings.”

  “Would you?” Sinead sat thinking so long that Evleen, who had been listening with obvious growing concern, now spoke up.

  “Mama, you’re not seriously entertaining the thought of relenting, are you?”

  “I’m old and I’m sick,” Sinead answered. “Until this moment I never considered letting Patrick go, but the future of all you children is at stake. Lord Thomas has helped me see that perhaps, considering the wretched state of my health... I hate even to think it, but perhaps sending Patrick to England would be the right choice after all.”

  Evleen was flabbergasted. “You’re not thinking of going to England?”

  “Of course not. I shall never leave Ireland.” In deep thought, Sinead bit her lip and pondered. “Evleen, would you go with Patrick if I asked you to?”

  Before Evleen could answer, Darragh, her face reddening, spoke up. “Why does it have to be Evleen? I’ll go, Mama, I would love to go.”

  “Be quiet, Darragh,” Sinead commanded. “Well, Evleen?”

  Thomas watched as Evleen’s heavy lashes flew up in surprise, followed by a mixture of confusion, bewilderment, and downright astonishment spreading across her face. “I can’t believe this, Mama. That you would even consider—”

  “Would you go, daughter?”

  “Ireland is my home,” Evleen declared. She flashed a glance at Thomas that well displayed her indignation.

  “Mama, I would gladly go,” cried Darragh. “She doesn’t care, but I do. I—”

  “Silence,” Sinead declared, her voice stronger than Thomas had yet heard tonight. “I’ll not hear one more word.” Pushing with both palms flat on the table, she shakily arose. “Help me to my bed, girls. Good night, Lord Thomas. You must stay the night—the girls will make a bed for you by the fire. Meantime, I shall think on Lord Trevlyn’s proposal and give you my answer in the morning.”

  * * *

  Thomas couldn’t sleep. In his makeshift bed in front of the fireplace, he thrashed about this way and that, his mind in a scramble. What have I done? His arrival had created a turmoil that would affect the O’Fallons for the rest of their lives, no matter what Sinead’s decision might be. If she said yes, Patrick would be given a chance at a privileged life, but the family would be torn apart. If she said no, who knew what bitter recriminations might emerge in the future? Darragh’s feelings already were obvious. But might not Patrick someday resent his mother’s denial of his inheritance?

  And then there was Evleen ...

  He’d had to catch his breath when the door swung open and he saw her standing there, a surprised light vivid in her sapphire blue eyes, her hair hanging loose and like a wavy cloud around her delicate face. For a moment he allowed his gaze to drop to her tiny waist and those enticing rounded curves he’d been seeing in his dreams ever since he first laid eyes on her. He was loathe to admit it, but Evleen O’Fallon disturbed him in every way. Her slim, wild beauty haunted his thoughts, yet he must be sensible. Sinead would reject Lord Trevlyn’s request, he was sure of it. But what if she said yes? And further, what if she decided Evleen should accompany Patrick to England? That would mean...

  Good God. The journey back to England would take at least a week. He was faced with being in close proximity to a woman who’d dwelled in his thoughts since the moment they met. Driving a drafty carriage across Ireland... sailing across the Irish Sea in a flimsy ship... they would be thrown so closely together he would be hard put to keep his hands off her. He must not touch her, of course. Judging from those gritty looks she’d given him, she was in no mood to be civil to him, let alone entertain any modicum of friendship, let alone affection.

  I w
ould be better off with Darragh, Thomas thought grimly. The younger sister’s whiny attitude was so off-putting he would have no trouble keeping his distance.

  An errant flame sparked in the fireplace, then died down until the snug room was wrapped in complete darkness. Thomas inhaled a sweet whiff of peat. How different from home, he thought, where his valet would have laid out his night clothes, turned down his bed, warmed his sheets with a warming pan if the air held the least chill. Strange, but despite the humbleness of this cottage, he felt just as comfortable and at ease as he had ever felt in his own bedchamber at Northfield Hall. The O’Fallons had made him feel at home.

  He wished he could fall asleep. Why was he still wide awake? Evleen. She must be in her bed by now, only a few feet from where he lay, those long, lithe thighs, that full, curved bosom all tucked snug, warm, and beguiling beneath the covers. And her shiny raven hair spread over her pillow. She was probably asleep already...

  Which, dammit, I am not.

  Wide awake, Thomas thrashed about in his makeshift bed, rearranging covers that needed no rearranging. He’d be lucky if he got but a jot of sleep before morning.

  * * *

  The sun had not yet risen when Evleen, hearing her mother’s faint call, threw a shawl around her voluminous white nightgown and went to her mother’s bedchamber. “You’re awake early, Mama,” She sank to a chair by the bed.

  Sinead sat straight in her bed, fully awake. “I’ve hardly slept. I lay here thinking most of the night, and then I went to speak to Patrick.”

  “Have you decided?”

  Darragh entered, shivering in her nightgown. “Yes, Mama, tell us. I’m dying to hear.”

  “Go build up the fire and heat the porridge, girls. Wake Lord Thomas, if he isn’t already awake. Wake Sorcha and Mary. Patrick’s already awake. When we’re all at breakfast, I shall tell you my decision.”

  * * *

  At the table, Evleen found herself holding her breath as they all sat waiting for Mama to speak. Patrick had a strange look on his face. Sorcha and Mary did not appear concerned, but then, Evleen concluded, they hardly knew what was going on. Not so Darragh, who sat with eyes alert, so eager to hear Mama’s decision she could hardly contain herself. And Lord Thomas...