Daughters of Castle Deverill (14 page)

‘If he hadn’t, you’d have lagged behind with the old ladies,’ said Bertie.

‘I hate to admit it but those aunts of yours, the Shrubs, were more accomplished in the saddle than I was.’

‘Do you remember when Rupert scaled down the front of the castle?’

‘Adeline nearly had a seizure!’

‘So did your mama. I’m sure I remember her fainting flat on her back and someone calling for her smelling salts.’ The two men laughed. Then Bertie turned serious. ‘I miss
Rupert,’ he said wistfully.

‘He was a good man,’ said Digby.

‘If he was here now, and finding solace in whiskey as you do, Bertie, what would you say to him?’

Bertie’s face reddened. ‘I’d tell him to give it up. I’d make him see reason.’

‘I want
you
to give it up, Bertie,’ said Digby softly. ‘It’s destroying you and I can’t sit back and let you do that to yourself.’

There was a long silence as Bertie digested his words. Then he stiffened. ‘I don’t have a problem,’ he said crisply. ‘We Irish like our whiskey.’

‘You’re not Irish,’ Digby retorted. ‘And you drink too much of it.’

‘With all due respect, Digby, what business is it of yours?’

‘I’m family,’ he replied with emphasis.

Bertie heaved a sigh. He turned and stared at his cousin with rheumy, bloodshot eyes. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. I’ve lost everything.’

‘That’s no excuse to drown your sorrows in drink.’

‘Oh, it’s easy for you to say, Digby. You with all your millions, a good wife and Deverill Rising that hasn’t been burned to the ground by rebels, intent on pushing you out of
the country your family has lived in for over two hundred and fifty years. You have your parents still. You have the golden touch, Digby. The Devil’s luck and probably a blonde in every port.
In fact, life is just dandy, isn’t it? Well, for some of us it’s a struggle. I had a mistress, you know. I loved her. But I lost her too.’

Digby was losing patience. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The truth is, you’re not very attractive when you’re drunk – and you seem to be drunk most of the time. She
probably got sick of the stench of alcohol on your breath.’ Digby saw it coming, the punch that would have hit him in the jaw had he not reacted like quicksilver and caught Bertie’s arm
with surprising strength and agility. Bertie stared at him in bewilderment, breathing heavily like a bull at bay.

Digby bore down on him. ‘You’re a damned idiot, Bertie Deverill. I’m not surprised Maud left you and as for your mistress, well, you’ve brought it all on yourself,
haven’t you? Weak, that’s what you are, weak. You’re not even fit to carry the Deverill name. If your father could see you now he’d probably punch you one himself. As he
isn’t here, I’m going to do it for him.’ Digby drew back his fist and landed a blow beneath Bertie’s ribs. Bertie bent double and gasped for breath, but managed to swipe at
Digby’s legs, causing him to reel off balance. The boat rocked from side to side as the two men fought like boys in a playground dispute. But Digby goaded him with every insult he could think
of, hoping that Bertie would eventually collapse with exhaustion and see the error of his ways. He didn’t collapse, however. He flung himself upon his cousin and they both tumbled over the
edge of the boat into the cold sea. A moment later their heads bobbed up, taking in large mouthfuls of salty water and air. Shocked by the cold they were unable to speak.

Digby was the first to make it back. He heaved himself up with difficulty for his clothes were waterlogged and heavy. His boots were like rocks attached to his feet, pulling him down. He flopped
onto the bottom of the boat like a fat walrus, fighting for breath. Then he remembered his cousin. He scrambled up and threw himself against the side. Bertie was struggling. His clothes and boots
were making it almost impossible for him to tread water. ‘Do you want to die?’ Digby shouted. ‘Is that what you want? Because if you do, I’ll let you go. But if you choose
to live you have to give up the drink, Bertie. Do you hear me? It’s your choice.’ Bertie coughed and gagged, sinking suddenly only to propel himself up with a desperate kicking of his
legs and flapping of his arms. ‘What will it be, Bertie?’ Digby shouted.

Bertie did not want to die. ‘Life!’ he managed to shout, taking a gulp of salty water and coughing madly. ‘Please . . . Digby . . .
Help . . .’

Digby lifted one of the oars out of its oarlock and carefully held it over the water so that Bertie could grab the blade and haul himself towards the boat. He remained for a moment with his arms
flung over the edge, panting. ‘Come on, old chap. We’ve got to get you home before you die of exposure,’ said Digby gently. He grabbed Bertie’s sodden jacket and heaved him
over into the body of the boat, where he lay shivering with fear as well as cold.

‘You bastard,’ Bertie gasped, but he was smiling.

‘You chose life, Bertie, and I’m going to hold you to it.’ Digby held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation his cousin took it. Digby pulled him to his feet.

Bertie tottered, then found his balance. ‘I won’t let you down, Digby.’

‘I know you won’t.’

The two men embraced, wet and frozen to their bones, but the feeling of camaraderie had never been warmer.

Kitty hadn’t been able to see Jack since their hasty meeting at his cottage after his father’s death. He had been staying with his mother, who was inconsolable with
grief. They sent each other notes, just as they had done in the old days when they had used the loose stone in the wall in the vegetable garden, but this time Kitty sent the stable boy. They met at
the Fairy Ring and snatched stolen kisses, witnessed only by the gulls that wheeled above them like kites on the wind. As the day of their departure loomed Kitty felt it more like the steady
approach of an axe, poised to sever her from her home. She dreaded it and longed for it in equal measure. She grew short-tempered with Robert. She snapped at Celia and she cried at the smallest
thing.

And then God intervened.

Once she knew her fate a calmness came over her. A resignation that comes from total surrender. It was as if she was letting out a long, slow breath and with it came a sense of peace. She was
certain now of what she was going to do. There was no question, no doubt, no indecision, her mind was as clear as crystal. Even the pain of knowing how much hurt she was going to inflict seemed
dislocated, belonging to someone else.

The morning before they were due to take the train to Queenstown, Kitty rode over the hills to Jack’s cottage. She didn’t allow herself to cry. She set her jaw and clenched her teeth
and let the cold wind numb her emotions. When she arrived she tied her horse to the fence as usual and pushed open the door. Jack wasn’t there, but his bag was packed and ready in the hall.
She sat down at the table and waited as the weak winter light retreated slowly across the floorboards.

At last she heard him outside, whistling for his dog. A moment later he opened the door and said her name. ‘Kitty.’

Then he knew. Even before he saw the expression on her face, he knew. This time he didn’t sweep her into his arms, promise her he’d wait for her and kiss the pain away. He stared at
her in utter disbelief and exasperation, knowing that what she was about to tell him would wound him as surely as a bullet. ‘Why?’ he demanded.

Kitty stared at her fingers, knitted on the table before her. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she replied. Jack swayed as if struck. Then she added in a quiet, steady voice, ‘It’s
Robert’s.’

Jack sat down opposite her and put his face in his hands. There ensued a heavy silence. So heavy that Kitty’s shoulders dropped beneath the weight and her head began to ache. ‘Are
you sure?’ he asked finally.

‘I’m sure,’ she replied.

‘How could you?’ He looked at her in desperation.

‘He’s my husband. I couldn’t deny him.’

‘You could have. You could have, Kitty.’ He raised his voice. ‘If you had wanted to.’

She lifted her chin and dared to look at him. Every twist and turn of their ill-fated love affair seemed to have dulled the light in his eyes a little further and he looked entirely desolate. He
shook his head. ‘So this is it?’ he said. ‘This is what it’s come to? After all we’ve been through. After all the years we’ve loved each other. This is where we
are?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

He banged his fist on the table. ‘Sorry! You’re sorry!’

Kitty’s eyes stung with tears. ‘I
am
sorry.’

‘Well, sorry doesn’t cut it, Kitty Deverill. You’re sorry for spilling tea. Sorry for putting mud on the rug. Sorry for every little fecking thing. But sorry isn’t a word
that even begins to put right the wrong you’re doing to me. Do you understand? I’ve waited for you.’ His face contorted with disgust. ‘But I’m done waiting.’

A tear splashed onto the table. ‘There’s nothing more I can say.’

‘Did you ever truly love me, Kitty?’

A flood of emotion filled her chest. She pressed her hand against the pain. ‘Oh yes, I did, Jack,’ she gasped. ‘And I
do
, with all my heart.’

‘No, you don’t. If you loved me you’d be ready to give up everything for me.’ He stood up and walked to the window, turning his back to her to throw his gaze over the
sea. ‘God knows I’ve loved you, Kitty Deverill,’ he said wearily. ‘God knows too that I’ll probably never stop loving you. It’ll be a curse I’ll just have
to live with, but I’ve survived worse, so I’ll survive
this
.’

Kitty got up slowly, her body aching. She walked over and slipped her hands around his waist. He said nothing as she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades. She could smell the past on
him. The scent of turf fires, hot tea, porter cake and horse sweat. The aroma of damp earth and brine. She closed her eyes and saw themselves as children, balancing on the wall, pottering about the
river in search of frogs, kissing at the Fairy Ring, watching the sun sinking into Smuggler’s Bay. Then she heard the guns, the cries of men, the shouts of the Black and Tans dragging him off
the station platform and she wanted to cling to him and never let him go. He invaded her every sense until she was too overcome to hold back her grief. She held him fiercely, but he remained with
his hands on the window frame, gazing stiffly out to sea, and she knew that she had lost him.

She left the cottage. Jack didn’t turn round. If he had she might have buckled. She might have run to him; she might even have changed her mind. But he didn’t. She mounted her horse
and slowly rode back up the path, her heart a boulder in her chest. The wind dried her tears and the sight of those velveteen fields of Co. Cork soothed her beleaguered spirits as they always had
done. Ireland was the one love she could count on.

As she headed for the hills she knew that Jack was right. A pregnancy was the only thing that could keep her from running away with him – and she had known it and allowed it to happen.
Fate had played no part nor had Destiny. Kitty had prayed for a child to save her from herself. She knew as surely as she lived and breathed that she belonged here, at Castle Deverill. Not even
Jack O’Leary, with the extraordinary power he had over her heart, could tear her from her home.

Kitty’s despair was Adeline’s frustration. If Kitty married Jack and somehow returned to claim the castle from Celia, the spirits caught in limbo might at last be
released. She watched Kitty ride for home and knew, as well as she knew her own heart, that Kitty’s could not be changed. She had chosen Ireland, as she always had.

Adeline stood on the hill overlooking the sea. The wind blew inland off the water in chilly gusts. The waves rose and fell in ever-changing swells and their peaks extended upwards as hands
reaching towards Heaven. They crashed against the rocks, their efforts reduced to white foam that bubbled and boiled as the water rolled in and out in a rhythm that only God understood. But Adeline
heard the melody beneath the roaring and her soul swelled like the sea as she contemplated the land she loved so dearly.

Ireland. Wild, mysterious and deeply beautiful.

‘If only Hubert could inhabit these hills as I can,’ she thought sadly, contemplating the red sky and fiery clouds that seemed to flee the setting sun like sheep with their wool
aflame. But instead he had to remain in the castle with the other Lord Deverills and in her opinion the place really wasn’t big enough for the lot of them.

Death had changed them little. They were still the people they had been in life, only unencumbered by their earthly bodies. They still grumbled and moaned, argued and complained and generally
made a nuisance of themselves. Adeline wondered whether Celia would rue the day she’d decided to rebuild, for Barton’s son, Egerton, could be very tiresome when taken by the desire to
create mischief. He enjoyed treading heavily down the corridors, making the doors creak and rattling the furniture. It was frustrating not being either on earth or in Heaven, burdened by all the
grievances one had in life, only no longer limited in perspective. They had at least gained a little understanding of what their existences had been all about. Life after death was no longer an
uncertainty. Time was simply an illusion. Yet, while their souls were drawn to a higher state, they were imprisoned behind bars they could not see, cursed to glimpse the light but remain in shadow,
their mortal egos balls and chains about their necks.

Adeline, on the other hand, could go where she pleased. Heaven awaited her with the gates flung wide. Only love tied her to Hubert. While she waited for the curse to be lifted she could see the
whole world and as she turned her thoughts to other lands she was once again drawn to the small part of Ireland, and herself, that had strayed across the water . . .

Connecticut, 1926

Martha Wallace knelt on the window seat and stared in wonder at the snow that fell like fluffy white feathers onto the garden below. Today was her fourth birthday and her
English nanny, the kind and gentle Mrs Goodwin, had told her that God’s present for her was snow. The little girl spread her palms against the glass and raised her peat-brown eyes to the sky
to see if she could make Him out up there in the clouds, but all she could see were millions of fat flakes, constant and thick and falling fast, and Martha lost herself in the magic of them.