Songs of Love and War (13 page)

When she recovered sufficiently to travel Maud took Elspeth to England to stay with Victoria, leaving Kitty to live with her grandparents in the castle she loved and with the dreaded Miss
Grieve. Kitty was delighted. With her mother out of the way life could continue without restraint. There would be no tiptoeing around the house for fear of disturbing her, no talking in hushed
voices, no tension in the air as the servants hurried up and down the stairs with boiling tea, hot water, compresses, extra blankets, night-burning oil, smelling salts and always the anxiety that
their efforts would somehow fall short and merit a sharp lashing from her tongue, which, in her frayed condition, was more poisonous than usual.

The castle was run at the slow and stately pace of a bygone era. The servants were ancient and doddery and Kitty’s grandparents creatures of habits grown thick and inflexible over the
years. The regular ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall was a soothing beat, piercing the silence like the gentle tapping of a poker on a dusty floor. The invisible presence of ghosts gave
the castle an air of timelessness, as if it, too, were somehow set apart from the rest of the world, and Kitty settled into it with the pleasure of a cat sinking into a bed of feathers after the
hardness of a stone floor.

She missed her father, but her grandfather was a reassuring male presence around the castle and his obvious affection for her, and indulgence of her, made Bertie’s absence easier to bear.
Hubert and Adeline were very sociable and the house was filled most evenings with the Shrubs, who came to sit around the green baize table to drink sherry and play whist, and neighbours whose
husbands were old enough to have fought in the Boer War. The men discussed the fighting, puffing on their cigars and sipping whiskey, and all agreed that the war would be over by Christmas, if not
then certainly by spring. As for Home Rule, the House of Lords would never let the bill through, they concurred; therefore if the war didn’t bury it, the Lords would and hopefully forever.
Two hundred Irishmen had joined up in Irish regiments to serve Great Britain. Most Irish people supported the war in the same way the English did and the Shrubs had been convinced by Reverend
Daunt’s opinion that, as dreadful as war was, the silver lining would be the unification of Ireland and England and the melting away of the dream of Home Rule, which, in his opinion, had
always been an impossible dream to begin with.

Kitty enjoyed playing whist. She was formidable at the bridge table and was close to beating her grandfather at chess. She painted with her grandmother, who with patience and humour taught her
to play the piano, pottered about in the greenhouses and joined the Ballinakelly hunt, riding out as often as twice a week with as courageous a heart and the same disregard for inclement weather as
any young man. Miss Grieve continued to tutor her, but had relinquished control long ago on account of Kitty’s wilful character. The child had grown into a fearless young woman and Miss
Grieve could no more wield her riding crop than persuade her that she was English.

Kitty was defiantly Irish. As much as she loved her grandfather, his loathing for Catholics was something she could neither understand nor condone. She had spent too much time with Bridie and
Jack to be ignorant of the true state of Ireland’s poor and the perfectly understandable reasons the nationalists had for wanting to govern themselves.

Kitty was not alone in her defence of the Irish. The trouble was her ally was now a woman she despised, having found her in flagrante with her father the night of the Summer Ball. Grace
Rowan-Hampton had once been the woman Kitty admired above all others, after her grandmother Adeline. She had marvelled at her beauty, been dazzled by her charm and flattered by her attention. When
she had peered through the bedroom door and seen her in such an uncompromising, not to mention undignified, position, she had been irrevocably wounded. The disappointment had been tremendous. Even
though she knew nothing of sexual relations between a man and a woman she had witnessed the mating of animals often enough to know what they were doing, and it had repelled and frightened her. Not
once did she blame her father, however; the fault lay in its entirety with Grace. She had seduced him, lured him into the shady recesses of the castle and had her wicked way.

Not only had Grace seduced her father but she had betrayed her mother, who was meant to be her friend – and Kitty knew all about friendship. Even though Kitty felt little affection for
Maud, she was conditioned to be loyal; after all, like it or not, she belonged to her. Too young to understand the complicated tangle of her mother’s bitterness, she did understand betrayal.
It had a strong scent like onions and she had smelt it whenever Lady Rowan-Hampton had come to visit, which, before her mother had sunk into depression and taken to her bed, had been as much as
three times a week. Now Bertie was in Flanders and Maud recuperating in England Grace didn’t come so often but Kitty saw her out hunting and somehow managed to slip away whenever she came
close. Sir Ronald had also gone off to war along with their sons and Grace wore her unhappiness well. Her black riding habit set off her pale skin and pink cheeks to her advantage and the black
veil reached just below her nose where her wide and sensual mouth smiled valiantly in the face of despair.

Kitty was now used to swallowing the tender memories of Grace like regurgitated food drenched in bile. She questioned whether her kindness had simply been part of her ploy to win the affections
of her father. Had she felt any real warmth for Kitty at all? Since the Summer Ball four years before Kitty had given her a wide berth, which wasn’t difficult considering her mother’s
desire to keep her out of sight. When they
had
met, at family dinners, hunt meets and the various tennis and croquet parties, Kitty had greeted her politely and extricated herself as quickly
as possible. Whether Grace had sensed her remoteness she couldn’t tell. But on this frosty, late-November morning as the Ballinakelly Foxhounds met outside the castle for a glass of sloe gin
or port, she found herself positioned next to Grace before she had time to kick her horse into motion.

‘My dear, how you are growing,’ Grace exclaimed, her soft brown eyes searching Kitty’s face with a fondness Kitty dismissed as disingenuous. ‘Tell me, have you news of
Harry?’

Kitty lifted her chin. ‘Harry doesn’t write, which infuriates Mama, but Papa writes warmly of home. He misses Mama,’ she lied, hoping to torment Grace, but the older
woman’s features betrayed nothing.

‘I miss Ronald and my boys dreadfully. They say that it will be over by Christmas but I’m not so sure. I sense it will go on for a lot longer than we think. I pray for them and try
to live as normally as possible. The trick is to keep busy.’ Kitty noticed how thin she was looking behind the veil. Her cheekbones were more prominent, the flesh thinner: she had lost some
of her gloss. ‘Tell me, how is your dear mama?’

‘She is better, thank you,’ Kitty replied tightly.

‘That’s good. I miss her, too.’ She smiled. ‘Do you remember that day in church when you said she looked like a weasel?’

Kitty stiffened at her attempt to break through her frostiness. ‘Well, I suppose I’ve grown up since then,’ she retorted bluntly. She hated herself for her rudeness. There was
a part of her, deep down, that still craved Grace’s affection.

The older woman frowned. ‘This beastly war!’ she exclaimed suddenly, turning her face away. ‘It’s taking its toll on all of us. What is more important than the people we
love?’ She sighed and when she looked back her brown eyes blazed with an intensity that took Kitty by surprise. ‘Love for our country, that’s what! Yes, Ireland. We come and go
and leave nothing but memories in the minds of our children, but they fade too and eventually we’re gone, as if we never lived. But Ireland remains with all its beauty and all its tragedy. I
hope we win the war, but let’s not forget we have an enduring war on our own soil that must not be cast aside. I know you agree, Kitty. In that we are sisters, are we not?’

Kitty was so taken aback by Grace’s sudden outburst that she didn’t know what to say. Usually so quick-witted, she was lost for words. ‘You are cold towards me, my dear, and I
don’t know what I have done to offend you.’

Now Kitty looked at her steadily, her wit returning like the crack of a whip. ‘And how might you know that I agree with your politics, Lady Rowan-Hampton?’

‘Your dear father has told me of them, in despair of course, for he is loyal to king and country.’ She laughed indulgently, giving away her clear and enduring fondness for
Bertie.

‘In which case you should know exactly how you have offended me.’ Kitty gave a little sniff. ‘I hope you enjoy the hunt, Lady Rowan-Hampton. The weather is cold enough for the
hounds to find a line but the ground is hard so we must take care not to fall off.’

‘Please, Kitty, call me Grace—’ But Kitty had given her horse a gentle kick and moved away.

Later she sat in her father’s library in the Hunting Lodge, which had been locked up and covered in dust sheets since her mother’s departure a couple of months before. It still smelt
of cigar smoke and damp. She had lit the fire, which crackled weakly against the cold, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders while she waited for Bridie and Jack to come and meet her, as they
promised they would, after tea. No one would find them there.

She felt despondent. Her confrontation with Grace Rowan-Hampton had pained her and she had to keep reminding herself of the scene in the bedroom at the Summer Ball to keep her heart from
softening and her thoughts from remorse. She wasn’t lonely; she had Bridie and Jack and letters from Celia were frequent enough to keep their friendship alive and strong. She wasn’t
bored, either. But something was missing. Her days were full but still, at night, especially when the stars were bright, she craved something that she couldn’t identify; a curious longing
that made her morose and restless.

The door opened and Jack and Bridie entered, bringing in a draught of icy air. They took their usual places, Jack in Bertie’s leather armchair, Bridie on the sofa beside Kitty, neatly clad
in a black dress and white apron, her hair combed and pinned onto the top of her head now that she worked up at the castle as scullery maid. Jack smoked languidly from the fireside. He was sixteen
now, tall and handsome with a feisty, rebellious energy, inflamed by patriotic talk he heard from the older boys in O’Donovan’s. Even though he was too young to fight in the war, he
would have resisted enlisting and resented his father for joining the Royal Irish Fusiliers.

‘Fancy a swig of sloe gin?’ Kitty asked, handing Jack the hip flask her father took out hunting.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Jack with a smile. He looked at the silver flask and admired the Deverill crest engraved on the front with Bertie Deverill’s initials.
‘Nice,’ he said with an appreciative nod.

‘It’s even nicer inside,’ Kitty joked, watching Jack take a swig.

He then held it out for Bridie, who vigorously shook her head. ‘Go on! Just a little. It’s very sweet,’ he cajoled.

Bridie was unable to refuse Jack, who she admired above all others. She took the flask and put it to her lips, where only a moment ago Jack’s lips had been. She swallowed the gin and gave
a cough. ‘That really burns!’ she said, turning red. Kitty and Jack laughed.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Jack, taking it back and having another swig. ‘So, tell me, how’s the charming Miss Grieve?’ he asked Kitty.

‘As charming as ever, thank you, Jack!’

‘Why don’t you get rid of her? How long do you have to have a governess anyway?’

‘Until I come of age.’

‘That’s a long way away.’

‘It is, but I can manage her. I think she’s a little afraid of me.’

‘Well, you’re a bold girl now,’ said Jack, his light eyes twinkling at her.

‘If the castle is haunted, as they say it is,’ said Bridie, proud to be party to Kitty’s secret. ‘Why hasn’t she been scared away? I know
I
would be if I saw
a ghost.’

Kitty frowned at her friend, remembering how it had been Barton’s son, Egerton, who had led her to that bedroom the night of the Summer Ball. She hadn’t told Bridie, she hadn’t
even told Celia, what she had seen in there. Since then she hadn’t been very keen to mingle with spirits. But Bridie had a point. It was the least Barton could do to make up for his
son’s cruel joke. ‘Because she sleeps like an old sow,’ said Kitty meanly. ‘Nothing would wake her, not even a noisy ghost.’

‘I’ll climb the wall and scare her if you like,’ said Jack, blowing a stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Just tell me which is her bedroom window and
I’ll do the rest.’

Kitty narrowed her eyes. Jack’s idea was inspired. ‘All right,’ she said with a smile. ‘So long as you don’t do something silly.’ She described the window
overlooking the box garden. ‘If Grandpa sees you he’ll shoot you and I’m not joking.’

Bridie blanched. ‘I’m sure it’s not a good idea, Jack.’

‘It’s good training,’ he replied.

‘For what?’ Kitty asked.

‘I’m going to join the Volunteers and fight for our liberty.’ Kitty’s eyes widened.

Bridie looked startled. ‘You’ve been listening to Michael, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘I imagine that’s what they all talk about in O’Donovan’s every
night. Freedom from British rule. I hear nothing else when I’m at home.’

‘You’re too young to join the Volunteers, surely,’ said Kitty.

‘I can help.’

‘What’ll your father say?’ asked Bridie.

‘He won’t know. Right now he’s on the Western Front fighting for England.’ Jack shook his head disdainfully. ‘He shouldn’t be cannon fodder for the British.
He should be fighting for Ireland.’

‘He
is fighting
for Ireland, Jack,’ Kitty interrupted. ‘England’s war against the Germans is Ireland’s war too. They’re our common enemy. That’s
what Grandpa says.’

‘Your grandpa would say that, wouldn’t he! Well, I’m not going to sit back and let the English stamp away our identity.’ He had clearly heard that from someone else,
Kitty thought. ‘I’m going to stand with my brothers and fight for our freedom. For Home Rule.’