The Secret of the Irish Castle

by Santa Montefiore

  “That would be lovely,” said Grace, settling into the sofa where she had so often sat when Adeline and Hubert had lived here. “It’s terribly cold and damp today.”

  Bridie pulled a cord that rang a bell in the kitchen, and a butler soon appeared in the doorway. Then she sat down opposite Grace and folded her hands in her lap. Bridie might have been mistress of the castle, but it was Grace who led the conversation.

  “I am sorry to hear that your grandmother passed away,” she said. “Old Mrs. Nagle was a sweet woman. I had the pleasure of meeting her when I used to visit your mother.”

  “You used to visit my mother?” Bridie asked.

  “Yes, I feel very at home in the Doyle kitchen.”

  Bridie assumed that she had visited her mother out of charity. “How kind of you to take the trouble,” she said.

  Grace waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing but a pleasure. I gather she won’t be coming to live with you.”

  “No,” said Bridie. “She won’t leave the house she used to share with my father.”

  “Ah well, that’s understandable. And Michael?” Grace bit her bottom lip.

  “He has chosen to stay with her.”

  Grace shook her head and sighed, as if awed by the admirable qualities of the man. “He’s a good son. Truly he is.”

  “I don’t think he’d feel right about coming to live here,” she said, and Grace understood that Bridie was referring to his bitter hatred for the British. Bridie wouldn’t have known that it was Michael who had burned down the castle and had his wicked way with Kitty the following morning when she had stormed over to confront him. She didn’t know either that Grace and Michael had been lovers or that Grace had bedded Cesare when he had come to Ireland to buy the castle. Grace watched Bridie like a snake watching a mouse and wondered how well she really knew her oldest brother and her husband.

  “How does Michael get on with his new brother-in-law?” she asked, and she betrayed nothing of her deeper interest.

  “I would say they are cordial at best,” Bridie revealed before regretting her indiscretion. There was something in Grace’s gaze that punctured holes in her, causing her to leak like a sieve. “They like each other,” she said weakly, trying to make up for her blunder. But Grace had already seized upon such tantalizing information and was gobbling it up greedily.

  “They are very different, of course,” she said. “I had the pleasure of meeting the Count when he came over to look at the castle. I didn’t realize then that he was your husband. It was a great surprise when the Countess’s identity was revealed. Though, there are some who are not too happy about it.”

  “Indeed, there are bound to be,” Bridie said quietly.

  “Have you seen the Deverills?” Grace asked bluntly. Bridie blushed. She didn’t want to think about Lord Deverill, or Kitty, or the fact that her son was only a few miles away and yet a stranger to her, which caused her terrible pain.

  “No,” she replied curtly. “I haven’t, and I don’t see any reason why I should.” Grace saw the softness in Bridie harden as she drew her defenses around her like a cloak of steel. “If the Deverills hate me for having bought their home then they should look more closely at themselves and see the part they played in my fate. If Lord Deverill had been a gentleman I would never have been forced to leave Ballinakelly in the first place. He set the ball rolling, and now it has landed here. Some would say he has got his just deserts.” Grace was stunned by the girl’s defiance. She wasn’t the lost child she had been when Bertie had sent her up to Dublin pregnant and afraid. She had been meek and compliant then. Now Grace could see the resentment that burned in her eyes, and she dropped her gaze into her hands as she recalled her part in Bridie’s fate.

  Both women looked to the door with relief as Cesare strode in, bringing with him an air of self-importance and vanity. He wore a sports jacket with exaggeratedly broad shoulders, an open-neck shirt and wide gray trousers that were meticulously creased down the center and cuffed at the bottom. He took off his flat cap when he saw the ladies and raked his black hair off his forehead with strong fingers. Grace’s face beamed with pleasure. Bridie looked down at her hands and found that they were shaking. “What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, taking Grace’s hand and bringing it to his lips. His heavy eyes looked at her knowingly, and Grace felt a frisson of excitement hurtle through her limbs as he was so clearly recalling those nights of pleasure they had shared in her bed—and she recalled them too and the blood scalded her cheeks.

  “My darling,” he said to his wife, and Grace withdrew her hand, afraid that he might have given them away by looking at her like that. But Bridie seemed unaware of the tremor that vibrated in the air between them. “Grace was a most generous hostess when I first visited Ballinakelly,” he told her. “I was without a friend, and this delightful lady took me under her wing and introduced me to her friends.”

  “Which I will gladly do again,” Grace offered.

  Cesare settled into an armchair and crossed one leg over the other, revealing brown-and-white two-tone shoes and brown socks. He had brought the glamour of America to Ballinakelly, Grace thought with admiration. “I want to fill the castle with people. I want to entertain lavishly. In America we were the toast of New York. I do not want to die of boredom down here in county Cork.” He smiled, baring his big white teeth, but Grace, ever sensitive to the hidden currents that moved people, detected a sliver of a threat beneath his boasting. She was quite certain that if he didn’t get what he wanted in Ballinakelly he would think nothing of hot-footing it back to Manhattan.

  “Allow me to help you,” she said, turning to Bridie. “I will be your guide in this matter. We must spread our net wider than Ballinakelly, for this is Deverill territory and you won’t find many friends here.” Grace knitted her fingers and considered the Catholic world in Dublin that she had secretly penetrated and courted while converting. “I know just the people to entertain you,” she said.

  “Good. I want to host a ball,” Cesare rejoined. “The biggest and grandest ball Castle Deverill has ever seen.” At the mention of a ball Bridie’s heart lifted. With her wealth and Grace’s help she would show the Deverills that a triumphant new era had indeed begun; an era that would outshine any before it in both glamour and grandeur. Uninvited, Lord Deverill and Kitty would be forced to watch the night’s sky glowing above the castle with a thousand lights and realize that their destinies were entirely of their own making. As the Bible put it so beautifully: Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

  After Grace’s visit Bridie found the confidence to show her face in town. She went to Mass. The church of All Saints with its austere gray walls and soaring spire was the same as when she had been a child, and Father Quinn had changed only in the grayness of his hair and skin and in his stoop. But Bridie had changed, and now she sat in her finery in the front pew with Leopoldo and her dashing husband in his elegant brown suit and fur-trimmed coat. They were like a trio of golden pheasants next to moorhens, for Michael and Mrs. Doyle, who shared their pew, looked somber in their habitual black attire and Bridie knew that the only thing saving her from her mother’s disapproval was Mrs. Doyle’s belief that Cesare was a papal count, a title granted by the Pope himself. Bridie had not enlightened her with the truth. Rosetta sat with Sean and their five children in the pew behind, aware that every eye in the church was trained on the Count and Countess, who exuded an air of royalty, and the congregation was awed into silence.

  JACK O’LEARY TOOK Emer’s hand and smiled at her reassuringly. She smiled back from beneath the brim of the blue cloche hat that Jack’s cousin Loretta had created for her. Jack looked into his wife’s gentle face and kind eyes and tried to dispel the image of Kitty staring at him through the glass of the milliner’s atelier that had haunted him ever since. He turned his attention to Father Quinn, who was directing his sermon at Bridie Doyle and her pompous-looking husband, and remembered creeping out of Bridie’s bed without so much as a good-bye. Wh
at would she make of him now that they were once again thrown together?

  Jack watched Bridie’s hat move as she turned to whisper something to her son and knew that her occupation of Castle Deverill was the stuff of Kitty’s nightmares. Kitty Kitty Kitty—he angrily rejected her name once again and tried to concentrate on the sermon.

  Emer knew nothing of his life before they met. It wasn’t that she was naive. Her own father had been involved in criminal activity in New York, and she knew that the work her husband had done for the Italian gangs was just as unsavory. She knew too that Jack had been hired by the Mafia boss Salvatore Maranzano to deal with his rival “Lucky” Luciano and that the plot had been foiled, for they had fled to Argentina and lived in hiding for almost eight years before Jack had deemed it safe enough to start afresh in Ballinakelly. She knew too of the bounty on his head, of the gun he kept beneath his pillow and of the constant fear that someone would show up out of the past to claim that bounty.

  But Emer knew nothing of his love for Kitty or his brief encounter with Bridie. She had already settled into life in Ballinakelly as if there had always been an Emer-shaped space waiting just for her. She had been embraced by Jack’s large family of siblings and cousins and by his mother, Julia, whose happiness was complete now that her son and grandchildren had come home at last. Everyone loved Emer on sight, and the small community welcomed her into their midst as if she were already one of them, and they clamoured to raise their glasses in toasts to Jack as if he were a conquering hero.

  When Mass was over everyone made their way outside to chat in the sunshine. Cesare escorted Mrs. Doyle, who took his arm gladly and tried not to succumb to pride, while Michael walked with Bridie and Leopoldo. Behind them Rosetta and Sean followed with their children. Outside, Jack waited for Bridie to see him, but Michael saw him first. His face showed surprise as he spotted him through the crowd even though word had already reached him that Jack O’Leary was back in town with a wife and three children in tow. The last time the two men had met had been nearly fifteen years before on the track from Ballinakelly to the Doyle farmhouse. Driven into a blinding rage after having learned that Michael had betrayed him to the Royal Irish Constabulary, Jack had lain in wait for him in the darkness, and the two men had fought almost to the death. That was before Michael had gone to Mount Melleray Abbey. Before he had sobered up and been forgiven of his sins. Now he was a respectable man of piety. He shifted his black eyes, and Jack saw nothing of the jealousy that simmered behind them as once again the image of Kitty Deverill rose up between them like a ghost.

  Then, as Bridie walked down the path toward the road, she saw him too. Her lips parted and her face paled and her eyes hid nothing of the hurt he had inflicted. For a long moment they stared at each other, and it was as if she were walking through tar, slowly and laboriously, and getting nowhere. But it was Jack who dropped his gaze, out of shame for the callous way he had behaved, and Bridie lifted her chin and walked on.

  Bridie did not wish to linger outside the church and quickened her pace, but Julia O’Leary had other plans. Ever since her late husband had told her the story of the first Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly building his castle on O’Leary land, she had despised the Deverills. She knew, as only a mother could, about the way Kitty Deverill had tortured her son, playing with his heart like a cat with a ball of string, and she was determined to see that the woman came nowhere near Jack now that he was back. As she strode up to Bridie she couldn’t help but notice the handsome little boy by her side who looked like he was the same age as Liam, Jack and Emer’s boy, and only a little younger than their elder daughter Alana.

  “Bridie,” she said, her voice stopping Bridie in her tracks.

  Bridie turned and knew that it would be impolite not to greet Mrs. O’Leary, whom she had known as a child. “Hello, Mrs. O’Leary,” she said.

  “Julia, please. We’re old family friends. I was hoping to see you today. I wanted to tell you that I know that your grandmother died and I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and Bridie was grateful for her compassion.

  “Thank you, Mrs. O’Leary,” she replied, emphasizing that she did not wish to be familiar.

  “I can see her now in her chair by the fire, smoking her clay pipe.”

  “I miss her,” said Bridie, but more than that she missed what the old woman had represented: a past that Bridie could never get back.

  “I know you do, dear. When my Liam died it was as if someone had scooped out my heart with a spoon.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. I’m sorry too. He was a good man and a wise vet.”

  “I don’t like change, but everything changes nonetheless. Look at you, now, mistress of Castle Deverill.”

  “I bought it to save it from strangers,” Bridie said, suddenly feeling the need to explain to this woman who had always considered the Doyles to be beneath her why the daughter of the cook should want to purchase a grand castle.

  But Julia O’Leary did not seem to think less of her for it. “You acted wisely,” she said. “It’s heart-warming to know that that beautiful home is in the hands of someone who understands it; after all, you and your mother practically lived there. I’m proud of you, Bridie. I’m proud of what you’ve achieved in your life. Most never leave their hometown, but you went to America and made something of yourself. You’re a fine example, and Ballinakelly is fortunate that you’ve chosen to come back.” Bridie was disarmed by Mrs. O’Leary’s warmth and was lost for words. “Have you met my daughter-in-law, Emer? She and Jack have just come back from Buenos Aires. She’s the same age as you, I suspect, and has three children who would make lovely playmates for your boy.”

  Bridie put her hand on Leopoldo’s shoulder. “He’s seven,” she said.

  “The same age as little Liam,” said Julia. She beckoned Emer with a wave. “You’ll love Emer, everyone loves her. Not a mean bone in her body.”

  Emer’s smile was like balm to Bridie’s soul. She didn’t look her over with suspicion or dismiss her for being above herself; she simply greeted her politely and shook her hand as if Bridie had always been a countess. For a fleeting moment Bridie felt like she was back in New York again, where people accepted her for who she was now. “We are both newly arrived in Ballinakelly,” said Bridie.

  “And I’ve fallen in love with it already,” Emer replied. “I like the peace and quiet here. New York and Buenos Aires are big, noisy cities, but Ballinakelly is small, and I like living by the sea. The sea is in my bones. I don’t think I’m going to miss those cities because in a way I’ve come home to my roots. My family are from county Wicklow, you see.”

  “She’s Irish to her marrow,” said Julia proudly. “May we visit you up at the castle?” she asked. “I never desired to see it when it belonged to the Deverills, but now you are mistress there I would be curious to see inside.”

  “I think we must leave the Countess to settle into her home before we descend on her,” said Emer, embarrassed by her mother-in-law’s lack of restraint.

  “Not at all,” said Bridie, suddenly thrilled to be in demand again. “You must bring your children. My brother Sean and his wife, Rosetta, have five. We can have a tea. It’ll be fun, and I’d be delighted to show you around the castle. I’m still getting to know my way around myself!”

  “Hello, Bridie,” said Jack, stepping in beside his wife.

  “Hello, Jack,” said Bridie, lifting her chin. There was an awkward silence before Jack’s mother broke it with another attempt to reinvent the past.

  “Our families were so close, Emer. Jack and Bridie used to play together all the time as children.”

  “Jack always loved animals,” said Bridie.

  “Bridie was afraid of insects,” he said.

  “Hairy mollies especially,” Bridie added.

  “And rats.”

  “No one likes rats,” said Bridie.

  “Jack does,” interjected Emer with a laugh, and they all laughed with her, for Emer had the gift of radiating light into
the darkest places. “Isn’t it nice that we’ve all come to live here at the same time?” she added, turning to her husband.

  “It’s grand,” said Jack. “You’ve done well for yourself, Bridie.”

  Bridie frowned, for she didn’t expect Jack’s support, but then she remembered that Kitty had betrayed him and she smiled, hoping he would see the forgiveness in it, for Kitty was her enemy and, by all accounts, it appeared that she was Jack’s enemy too. “Why don’t you all come for tea?” she suggested happily. “I must tell you about our plans for a magnificent summer ball . . .”

  Chapter 7

  Ever since Kitty had seen Jack O’Leary through the window of the milliner’s shop she had been in a state of deep anguish, for never had she imagined that he would come home. She had finally managed to move on, finally found contentment with Robert, JP and Florence, finally learned to live without him. How she wished he were still in America where she could manipulate his image to her will. But he was here, now, in Ballinakelly, and he belonged to someone else.

  Kitty hated herself for despising his wife and yet she couldn’t help it. The fact that the woman possessed the serenity of someone whose happiness is complete made her despise her all the more. It made no difference to Kitty that it had been her choice not to run away with him to America, to stay with her husband, to have a child with him. It made no difference at all. She knew her arguments were irrational, and yet she felt as if Jack had grabbed her by the heart that morning in Ballinakelly—and his hand was as cold and hard as his eyes had been.

  Kitty moved about the house in a trance, barely hearing the demands of her daughter, Florence, or her husband’s conversation at the dinner table. She could scarcely swallow her food for the tightness in her throat, and she awoke in the middle of the night with her pillow damp with tears. How was she going to cope with Jack living in Ballinakelly? How could she pretend that everything was fine when Jack’s fingers were squeezing the life out of her heart? She didn’t think she had the energy for charades anymore. She would simply have to stop going into town. She would remain in the house as much as possible and hope that by hiding out here she could avoid bumping into him.