The Irish Upstart

by Shirley Kennedy

  He was up and dressed already when they came to rekindle the fire. Now he sat, seemingly at ease, yet Evleen perceived a certain tautness of his body and an alertness in his eyes.

  Somehow Mama had found the strength to drag herself to the table again. Although she looked as pale and wan as ever, she sat straight, a look of serenity upon her face as if her decision, whatever it was, had given her great peace of mind. She was about to speak. Evleen pleaded silently, please, Mama, let Patrick stay. Let me stay, too, because you need me.

  Sinead addressed Lord Thomas. “I have a question for you, sir, but first–” she looked at Patrick “—tell Lord Thomas your feelings about becoming an Englishman.”

  Patrick stood, squared his shoulders and fervently declared, “Even though my father was English, I shall never be an Englishman.”

  “Tell Lord Thomas who you are, son.”

  Patrick proudly lifted his chin. “I am Patrick O’Fallon, son of Sinéad Coneeley O’Fallon, daughter of James Coneeley, Duke of Dormonde, whose roots can be traced back to Macha Mong Ruad, the red-haired queen who reigned over the land nearly three hundred years before Christ.”

  Sinead nodded her approval. “That’s enough, Patrick. I do believe Lord Thomas can see what your background is. Now tell us what you know of the part England has played in Irish history.”

  Without hesitation, Patrick continued, “After King James the Second landed in Ireland, to try to regain Britain from William and Mary, he was defeated at the River Boyne. Then the Irish who had not rallied to his cause, both Catholic and Protestants, were punished severely.”

  “By measures from which we suffer to this very day,” Sinead interjected, with a meaningful glance at her visitor. “And that, Patrick, is one of a plethora of reasons why we do not like the English, is that not correct?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed it is, Mama.”

  Sinead turned to Lord Thomas. “There you have it, sir. Does it appear to you the boy would, under any circumstances, ever forget his Irish heritage?”

  “No, it would not appear so,” he replied. Evleen noted that if he was the least perturbed by Patrick’s words, he showed no sign of it.

  Sinead smiled faintly. “I know what you think of us in England. The Irish are sinners, you say, and that’s true enough, but we’re much more. We are a mix of sinners, saints, gamblers, gentry, peasants, priests, rebels, heroes, villains, but we’re all Irish, and proud natives of this emerald isle. Lord Thomas, I must make it plain to you that Patrick is Irish through-and-through. If he lives to be a hundred, he will never be an Englishman.”

  Lord Thomas nodded solemnly. “I cannot argue.”

  Sinead continued, “Then my question is, do you honestly believe Lord Trevlyn would want a grandson who is so thoroughly Irish? Who could never be molded into an Englishman, no matter what measures Lord Trevlyn employed?”

  Lord Thomas took his time in answering, seeming to mull his answer carefully. Finally he said, “You understand I cannot speak for Lord Trevlyn.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “I can only tell you what I think Lord Trevlyn would say, an assumption I would never dare make if it weren’t for the fact he sent me here to represent him.”

  “Understood.”

  “Then it’s my strong belief Lord Trevlyn would say, Patrick will do very well in England.” Lord Thomas smiled at Patrick. “Your grandfather is old now, and somewhat feeble, but all his life he has been a man of strong character who believes a man must have a purpose to his life. He would applaud your Irish independence. To his mind, a tenacious belief in oneself and one’s principles is a virtue. Never would he try, as your mother puts it, to mold you into something you are not.” Lord Thomas paused to reflect, then said to Sinead, “Patrick is the heir to a vast estate. As such, his grandfather will be more busy instilling in him the virtues of honor and hard work, rather than the rather dubious advantages of being an Englishman. I cannot imagine any circumstance in which Lord Trevlyn would allow his grandson to dissipate his time, wealth, and health, as I regret to say, many of my fellow Englishmen do.”

  “Well said, sir,” answered Sinead. Evleen thought so, too. Their visitor had been forthright, and she admired that quality in a man. She suspected Lord Trevlyn’s lofty virtues might be Lord Thomas’s virtues, too.

  “If Patrick should go to England, I have one condition,” said Sinead.

  “Which is?”

  “That if, after a reasonable length of time, he’s not happy in England, he may return to Ireland, no recriminations, and his return passage paid.”

  “I am sure I speak for Lord Trevlyn when I say he’ll happily agree to those terms.”

  “It’s settled, then.” Sinead looked around the table. “Patrick shall go to England,” she announced in a voice that brooked no further argument.

  “No, Mama you cannot,” cried Evleen, feeling her throat close up.

  “No,” cried her sisters,

  Sinéad firmly set her jaw. “It’s for the best.”

  Looking cool and detached as ever, Lord Thomas spoke up. “Will you come also, madam?”

  “Did I not make it clear I would never leave Ireland?” Mama turned a piercing gaze on Evleen. “My eldest daughter shall accompany Patrick to England and stay as long as she likes.” She looked to Thomas. “As with Patrick, if she decides she doesn’t like it there, will Lord Trevlyn pay her passage back?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  Despite her own shock, Evleen’s attention was diverted by Darragh’s wail, which doubtless could be heard clear to Dublin and beyond.

  “No, Mama. How could you send Evleen when she doesn’t want to go and I do? How could you–?”

  “That’s enough, Darragh,” Mama sternly interrupted. “Evleen is the eldest, and therefore the most entitled to go. She deserves to travel, see a bit of the world. Besides, I need you here, not only to take care of Sorcha and Mary, but, quite frankly, me.”

  Evleen felt like crying out her protest, too, but if she did, she would sound as whiny as Darragh. In an agony of doubt, she shook her head. “You talk of my seeing a bit of the world, Mama, but I have no wish to. I have what I want right here. Let Darragh go.”

  “Yes, let me go.” Darragh eagerly bobbed her head. “I would love to have a Season. I would love the clothes, the parties, the baubles. I would love to be a part of The Polite World. After all, isn’t that where we belong? And besides, what of Timothy?”

  Sinead had listened patiently. “We won’t worry about Timothy. Besides—” a corner of her mouth lifted wryly “—Evleen has never appeared to be in any great rush to marry him.”

  Evleen could not help casting a quick glance at Lord Thomas, although why she should need to see his reaction, she wasn’t sure. “Darragh has a point, Mama. Timothy will most certainly disapprove.”

  Sinead replied, “I am not the least concerned with what Timothy Murphy thinks, and I suspect that deep down, neither are you. I have made up my mind and you shall go. At least give it a chance. Then, if you really want to come home, you may do so. Meantime, if Timothy loves you, he’ll gladly wait.”

  “It’s not–” Evleen began, then stopped abruptly. The granite set of her mother’s chin told her further argument was futile. She had been going to tell her mother it really wasn’t Timothy who concerned her, that she wanted to remain at home because of her health. Besides, for some unfathomable reason, she felt uncomfortable discussing Timothy in front of Lord Thomas.

  Sinead turned fond eyes to Patrick, who looked dazed by the news. “Patrick and I have already talked. He agrees I’ve made the right decision.”

  “You had better talk to me, too, Mama.” Evleen had to speak over a lump in her throat. She turned her eyes to Lord Thomas. “It appears your visit has changed our lives.” She had spoken the words flatly, yet the bitter accusation in her voice was unmistakable and she made no attempt to hide it.

  Lord Thomas was silent a moment. It was as if he was keenly awar
e of the roiling emotions he had caused and knew he must choose his next words with the utmost care. “I can make no apologies, Miss O’Fallon,” he began softly. “I am only the messenger, don’t forget. But need I point out that henceforth Lord Trevlyn will be furnishing your family fifty pounds a year? I am sure you will admit it’s an amount which will provide your loved ones with a much more comfortable life. And need I point out that Patrick will soon be receiving every advantage a young boy could possibly receive? And you, too, actually.”

  “You need not point those things out, sir.” Evleen stood, inwardly reeling from this shocking turn of events in her life. “When would we leave, Mama?”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “Enough to say goodbye to my friends... and Timothy.”

  “Day after tomorrow then? I shall immediately direct a letter to Lord Trevlyn, telling him we’re coming.”

  “Fine,” Sinead replied, finality in her voice. She directed a glance at Evleen. “If it turns out Lord Trevlyn is an ogre, you are to bring Patrick home immediately, fifty pounds a year or no.

  “Rest easy. Lord Trevlyn is no ogre,” Thomas assured her. With a look of the utmost admiration, he continued, “You’re a brave woman, Sinead O’Fallon.”

  She returned a small smile. “I trust you can stand one more night on that makeshift bed.”

  “I’ve slept on worse.” He shrugged dismissively. “And so will Patrick and Miss Evleen, I fear. The journey to England won’t be an easy one.”

  “I’m not worried about their journey,” said Sinead, “It’s what happens after they get there that causes me concern.”

  And well it might, Thomas thought but wisely didn’t say.

  * * *

  It was morning and time to go. Outside the cottage, dressed in a coarse blue flannel gown covered by a yellow and pink shawl, Evleen took one last, lingering look down at the far shining sea, the sparse, bent trees that stood on the cliffs below, and, closer, the cottage and its small walled garden. Her heart swelled with the pain of parting as she said, “Oh, Mama I shall miss you all so very much.”

  Sinead, supported by Darragh, gently pressed her palm to Evleen’s cheek. “My prayers go with you.”

  “Mine, too,” Darragh said sincerely. She could not contain herself and burst, “Mama, how could you just let her go off with that man?” She looked over at Lord Thomas, who was hitching the curricle. “Evleen should have a chaperone.”

  “Don’t be silly, Darragh,” Sinead replied. “Leave chaperones to those pampered English young ladies who must be treated like children. You should be grateful we don’t live in such an artificial society. Besides, Lord Thomas is not an monster. Even if he were, Evleen is quite capable of taking care of herself.”

  “You realize I shall soon be living in your so-called artificial society,” Evleen declared.

  Darragh pounced on Evleen’s words. “It will be the ruination of her, Mama. Evleen won’t know how to handle herself amidst the ton. All those rules, those fancy manners. She won’t have the least notion what to do.”

  “Ah, yes she will.” Sinead regarded her eldest daughter with proud eyes. “I have every faith that wherever she goes, whatever she does, she’ll remember the lessons I have taught her. She will at all times act courageously, and with fortitude. She will always see the best in people and ignore the worst. She will always do what she knows is virtuous and right. Those are rules that will keep her safe, not only in Ireland but wherever she goes.”

  “But what if my head is turned by the clothes, the jewels, the baubles?” asked Evleen, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

  “To be sure, you will find yourself in difficult situations, my daughter, but I have no doubt you will stay the course, see it through. Just one thing more.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Never love an Englishman.”

  Evleen started to laugh. “You’ve said that before, I don’t know how many times. If you’re thinking of Lord Thomas—”

  “As I have said, he appears to be a kind man, and I’m sure you’ll travel in safe hands. Still, he’s English and not to be trusted.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I had better have your word. Forget what I said before. I want you to enjoy your life in England. Go to the parties, the routs, the balls. Find a rich, titled Englishman and marry him.”

  Evleen stared at her mother, astounded. “Marry an Englishman? But you said—”

  “I am only being practical,” Mama answered. “What I said was, never love an Englishman because if you do, he’ll break your heart. But I never told you not to marry one, not as long as he can offer you wealth and a fine title.”

  “But this is so unlike you. I never thought I’d hear you say these things.”

  “I lay awake the night, reflecting,” answered Sinead. “At dawn, it all came clear. My love of Ireland has clouded my thinking. Don’t you see? Much as you don’t want to face it, I shall be gone soon. The girls will marry and be gone, too. So what is there for you to come back to? Timothy Murphy and his fishing boats? No, Evleen. You, with your beauty, your warmth and wit and charm were made for better things.”

  “But Ireland is my home,” cried Evleen. “I want to come back. I want—”

  “Men will adore you in England.” Sinead gripped her daughter’s arms. “Listen to me. There’s nothing for you here, child. Nothing except poverty, and want, and a marriage with a man you could never love. I know what’s best for you, and I know you must make a fine marriage in England. Just don’t do anything foolish. Always listen to your head, not your heart and you’ll do fine.”

  Still shaken from her mother’s astonishing turn-around, Evleen asked, “What if I don’t find a rich and titled Englishman?”

  With an amused smile, Sinead answered, “You will. Promise me you will. Before I die, I want to know your future is secure. It’s what I want for you more than anything else in this world.”

  A thousand objections crossed Evleen’s mind, but one thing she knew: she could never deny her mother. “I... suppose. Yes, I promise I shall try.”

  Sinead shaded her eyes and looked down the road. “Ah, speaking of Timothy, here he comes to say goodbye.”

  * * *

  In the lower corner of the garden, Timothy, resentful and confused, looked down on Evleen, his brows pulled together in an affronted frown. “I cannot see why you are doing this,” he said.

  “It’s for Patrick,” Evleen informed him for at least the third time. She felt terrible. Timothy had dressed in his Sunday finest to come and say goodbye. He looked his very best in his grey frize coat, linen shirt with the collar fastened by a black ribbon, corduroy trousers with a bunch of ribbons floating at the knee. She wished with all her heart he would understand, but so far, nothing she said seemed to penetrate. “I must go with Patrick. He’s too young to go alone.”

  “Ah, Evleen, why must you go so far away?”

  Why wouldn’t he listen? “It’s not so very far—only across the Irish Sea to Holyhead, then we take a coach to London, and then another to Hertfordshire, near Hatfield, to an estate called Aldershire Manor.”

  “Names I never heard of.”

  “But you will. I shall write as often as I can.”

  “But when shall we be married?”

  This was going to be hard, but with her future as uncertain as it was, she knew she must be truthful. “We are not betrothed, Timothy. It would be unfair of me to promise I’ll marry you, when the future is so unsure.” There, she’d said it. She expected he’d be deeply hurt, but to her surprise, Timothy didn’t appear wounded in the least. It was if he hadn’t heard her.

  “I’m buying another fishing boat,” he said, “and by the time you return I’ll have built our new house.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Before Timothy could answer, Mama called, “Evleen, are you ready?”

  “In a moment, Mama.” Evleen gazed up at Timothy and thought how strange it was that now s
he was leaving she felt fonder of him than she ever had before. And he did look handsome in his Sunday clothes. “I must go, Timothy. I pray you understand.”

  “Kiss me goodbye.” As Timothy pulled her into his arms, she felt self-conscious. This was no time to be pulling back, but despite herself, she sneaked a glance to where Lord Thomas had been hitching the two bays to the curricle. Good. His back was practically to her and he was examining the harness, not paying the least attention. Timothy’s arms encircled her. She raised herself on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his.

  “Sure and you can do better than that.” He crushed her against him and brought his lips hard against hers. They swayed for a long moment. She felt a ringing in her head until finally he let her go.

  “Oh,” she said, quite surprised. In the few times they’d kissed, he had never been this passionate before.

  Timothy stepped away and looked down on her, his honest face shadowed with concern. “You won’t forget me now.” He cast a resentful glance at Lord Thomas. “And promise you’ll be careful of Himself over there. I don’t trust the man any farther than I could throw that fine carriage of his.”

  Timothy was bound to be jealous, Evleen thought, and hastened to reassure him. “The only duty Lord Thomas has right now is to escort Patrick and me to England. I hardly know the man, but he seems dependable. Mama likes him, anyway. He mentioned he plans to breed Thoroughbreds at his estate near Abingdon. I’m sure he’ll leave for there immediately after we arrive at Lord Trevlyn’s, so I doubt I shall ever see him again.”

  That said, Evleen could not prevent herself from sneaking another peak to where Lord Thomas was still busy checking the harness, oblivious to her and Timothy. A good thing, she thought. She would not have wanted Lord Thomas to witness hers and Timothy’s parting kiss and close embrace.

  * * *

  Thomas had to grip the harness and look out at the sea an extra moment to steady himself. He was shocked at the roiling wave of pure jealousy that surged through him when he observed Timothy Murphy slide his arms around Evleen O’Fallon. Never had he been a man to pry into the private affairs of others, yet, unable to prevent himself, he surreptitiously watched as Timothy’s hand intimately caressed the small of Evleen’s fine, straight back as he pulled her closer, ever closer, then crushed his lips to hers.