Songs of Love and War (16 page)

While Kitty was inclined to disorder and ill-discipline, in spite of a severe upbringing by the late Miss Grieve, Bridie was naturally tidy and well-organized. She was surprisingly quick to
learn, regretful of her mistakes and always intent on doing better. Miss Lindsay interpreted her enthusiasm as a reaction to having laboured in the kitchen as a scullery maid, but in truth her
eagerness was fired by ambition. She watched Kitty and her privileged world Upstairs and knew for certain that she wanted more than her poor upbringing in Ballinakelly could offer her. Perhaps
Kitty would take her to London when she left at eighteen. Once in London the opportunities would be endless, for sure. Kitty might marry a great man, a duke or even a prince, and then Bridie would
rise as high as a domestic servant could rise. Kitty was her friend but also her ticket to a better life – she observed and she copied, for Kitty was as fine an example of a lady as ever
there was.

After Christmas Kitty’s new tutor arrived. He was tall, with flaxen hair, a long, expressive face and intelligent brown eyes looking out solemnly through a pair of
round-rimmed spectacles. Serious and perhaps a little shy, he did not smile when introduced to Kitty, but shook her hand and gave a small bow. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss
Deverill. I look forward to tutoring you to the best of my ability.’

Kitty wanted to giggle at his formality but, as she was in the presence of her grandparents, and not wanting to embarrass him, she simply replied that she was delighted to meet him, too, and
asked him, somewhat tactlessly, if he hunted, to which the poor man responded that he didn’t. She tried not to look at his left leg, which didn’t bend at the knee, but gave in to her
curiosity when he was shown upstairs by O’Flynn.

‘My dear, you will see worse afflictions than that before the war ends,’ said Adeline sadly.

‘They said it would end by Christmas,’ Kitty replied, thinking of her father and suffering a sudden pang of anxiety.

‘And they were wrong.’

‘But it will end soon, surely?’

‘I hope so,’ said Adeline, but the cloud that darkened her face told Kitty her hope was optimistic.

‘I wish Papa had a stiff leg.’

‘Kitty!’

‘Then he wouldn’t have to fight either.’

‘Your father wants to fight, my dear.’ Adeline turned her eyes to the stairs. ‘I’m sure Mr Trench would like to fight too.’

Mr Trench was indeed a serious man. Kitty tried all sorts of shenanigans to make him smile, but nothing seemed to work. She tried jokes, flattery, self-deprecation and wit, all to no avail.
‘He’s so very grave,’ she complained to Bridie one evening as they lay on her bed after Kitty had returned cold and wet from a hard day’s hunting. ‘He finds nothing
amusing at all. What do you think he does in his free time?’

‘He reads,’ Bridie informed her.

‘What sort of books does he read?’

‘Long ones, apparently!’ The two girls fell about laughing.

‘Well, he
is
very clever, isn’t he?’ said Kitty. ‘It’s a shame he’s so dull. What’s the point of being clever if one has no wit?’

‘At least he’s not unkind,’ Bridie reminded her.

‘No, he’s not unkind.’

‘Poor Miss Grieve.’

Kitty changed the subject. The mention of Miss Grieve’s name made her decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Cousin Beatrice should have sent someone who could ride, not a cripple. What’s
the point of coming to Ireland if one can’t hunt?’

‘He hasn’t come to hunt, Kitty, he’s come to teach.’

‘Yes, and I’ve asked him to teach me Irish history. I want to know the history of the country I live in and love, not that of a country which is foreign to me and for which I have no
affection.’

‘You should talk to my brother Michael. He’s against fighting for England. He says the Irish should rule themselves. He gets very angry about it.’

‘Jack tells me everything I need to know about
that,’
Kitty retorted. ‘It’s Jack who reminds me where my loyalties lie.’

‘Well, is Mr Trench going to teach you Irish history or not?’ Bridie asked.

‘He has no choice. I folded my arms and started singing the moment he started going on about Oliver Cromwell from the British point of view. He didn’t even smile at that. In the end
he relented. I’m learning about the history of this country from Irish patriots like Robert Emmet, who strove to end British Conquest. For seven hundred years the Irish have suffered at the
hands of the British. My family are ancestors of the first conquerors. They drove the natives into the marshlands and the woods across the Shannon and into the Connaught and took the best land for
themselves. I was so ignorant of my own history, Bridie. Ignorant of what happened right here at Castle Deverill.’ She sighed heavily as if her new knowledge were a burden weighing heavily on
her conscience. ‘He told me not to tell my grandfather.’ She laughed. ‘Everyone’s afraid of Grandpa. Perhaps it’s because he’s got a shotgun and he’s not
afraid of using it!’

As 1915 progressed there seemed little hope that the war would end. People learned to dread the sight of the boy in navy uniform with red livery delivering telegrams. The
bereaved wore black bands around their arms and grief etched forever on their faces. Prayers of hope were said in all the churches of Ireland and Catholics and Protestants mourned with equal
heartache.

Bertie, Uncle Rupert and Harry came home on leave and put on a good show of bravado, but Kitty heard Harry crying in his room in the middle of the night and saw the glow of light beneath his
door because he had grown fearful of the dark. Maud returned with Victoria and Elspeth and stayed in the castle for it was too much bother to open the Hunting Lodge for just a few weeks. Kitty
found her sisters intolerable with their incessant talk of London and their complaints about the damp in Ireland. They sounded like their English cousins, which is exactly how they
wanted
to
sound. But Kitty was a bold girl and bit back with remarks that hurt. ‘Didn’t Victoria say that if one doesn’t find a husband during one’s coming-out season it is because
one is ugly, dull or both? Oh sorry, Elspeth, it was Mama.’ And to Victoria: ‘Shouldn’t you have produced an heir and spare by now? I’ve heard it on good authority that a
wife of an earl loses her head if she doesn’t produce a son.’ So her sisters avoided her as best they could, which suited her well. They were shallow, ignorant girls whose conversation
was full of nonsense, and neither had the wit to retaliate. Kitty preferred to talk to Jack and Bridie; at least they were interested in Irish history and the progress (or lack of, at present) of
the Home Rule bill.

Maud had hoped a taste of war might have given Bertie an appreciation of home; after all, didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder? Perhaps it did and his heart hadn’t grown fonder
of
her,
but of Grace. He disappeared every morning on horseback and returned after dark. She knew he was spending time with Grace for his departure every morning was done with enthusiasm and
vigour and his return full of reluctance and regret. If smelling her perfume on his collar wasn’t enough he had a faraway look in his eyes which he didn’t even try to conceal. Maud
demanded his attention but he was deaf to her whining.

When Maud first laid eyes on Kitty she was astonished to find her daughter was flowering into a beauty. She had grown taller in the six months her mother had been in England, her face had
thinned and she had acquired a certain poise she hadn’t had before. Her contribution at the dinner table reflected the astonishing progress of her education. She debated the Irish Question
with her grandfather and her argument was sound. Even Bertie and Uncle Rupert were surprised by the eloquence of her speech and the confidence with which she delivered it. Those eyes of hers had
attained an intelligence that made her more formidable. It seemed that, while Maud had been away, Kitty had grown beyond her control.

It wasn’t until she was introduced to Mr Trench that Maud realized the reason for her intellectual flowering, and that the damage had already been done; he had unleashed in Kitty a power
which was quite beguiling and there was precious little she could do about it. Comparing her to Victoria and Elspeth with their poor education, she resented her youngest for having benefited, in
such a short time, from Mr Trench’s tutoring. This child, whom she had done her best to keep out of sight, was now in full view of everyone and, to add insult to injury, a great success. If
one more person told her how brilliant Kitty was she would scream. Kitty was a dazzling card player, Laurel had told her. Kitty was a fearless horsewoman, Hubert had raved. Kitty was a beautiful
dancer, Hazel had admitted, after confessing to have taught her herself. Maud had responded by ignoring their comments and pushing her other daughters forward. Elspeth was celebrated in London, she
told anyone who would listen, and with so many suitors she couldn’t count them. The fact that the only young man to have shown interest was the third son of a meagre baronet who was now at
the front, with all the other eligible young men in the country, was not mentioned.

Kitty worried about Harry. He was withdrawn, as pale as porridge and fidgety. He couldn’t sit still. It was as if his nerves were frayed and the slightest movement made him jump. Maud, who
had never disguised the fact that she loved her son the most, fussed around him, making his nerves even more ragged. She second-guessed his wishes, asked him if he was all right twenty times a day
and pressed him for details about the war. She unwittingly drove him out with the hunt, which he hated on account of his lack of courage, but anything was better than sitting at home with his
mother. If he confided in his father, Maud never knew, because the two of them walked out with their guns and the dogs, putting up snipe and shooting hares, and Bertie never shared their
conversations with his wife. It infuriated Maud to think he might share them with Grace. It hurt to think that Grace might know more about her beloved son than she did.

Then the night before Harry was to be sent back to the front Kitty decided to talk to him. She couldn’t bear to lie awake thinking of him sobbing into his pillow with no one to comfort
him. Who looked after him out there in France? Might he die as so many had? Would she perhaps never see him again? She put on her robe and picked up her candle and tiptoed down the corridor. It was
cold out there but she hurried on, determined to give comfort where she could.

At last she reached his bedroom door. It was firmly shut but a faint light glowed beneath it. She pressed her ear to the wood. For a moment she heard nothing, then came a muffled sob. Needing no
further confimation of his misery she turned the knob and quietly pushed open the door. The curtains were closed around his bed. The embers were dying in the fire. Outside, the wind howled like a
pack of wolves. She crept to the bed and pulled back the curtain. Not one, but two faces stared back at her in horror and surprise. Kitty’s jaw dropped. Harry sat up abruptly.
‘Kitty,’ he hissed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Kitty looked from her brother to Joseph, the first footman. Both were young, naked and handsome – and looking guilty. Scattered on the bed were loose sheets of poetry written in
Harry’s hand.

‘I heard crying. I thought you needed comfort.’ She grinned, shock making her want to laugh out loud. ‘I see Joseph got to you first.’

Harry’s face reddened, the fear in his eyes exposed. ‘You won’t tell,’ he said.

‘Of course I won’t tell. I’ve got more secrets than you can imagine, Harry.’

‘You promise me. Even if I die in France, you swear you won’t tell?’

‘I cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘Now go and we won’t ever speak of this again. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’ She dropped the curtain and crept out of the room. When she reached her bedroom she sank onto her bed, trembling. She knew what her father had been doing to Lady
Rowan-Hampton at the Summer Ball all right, but was it possible Harry was doing that to Joseph? She thought not. They were simply cuddling – and why shouldn’t Harry be comforted by a
loyal servant? But, as she climbed beneath the blankets and blew out her candle, she instinctively knew that what Harry and Joseph were doing was wrong; after all neither had had any clothes on and
the terror in their eyes had told her as much. But Kitty was a master at keeping secrets. She’d guard this one closely in the same way she guarded the others. It gave her a feeling of power
to know so much.

The following day Harry went back to the war. He gave her a hug, which was out of character, and a look which silently begged her to honour her word. Bertie left a few days later. He
didn’t know the secret she kept for
him
but he embraced her all the same. Uncle Rupert went off to the front as if he were going to a party. He waved extravagantly and threw his head
back with laughter and only
he
knew how much of a brave face he put on in order to conceal the crippling fear inside.

Before Maud left for England she managed to take Mr Trench to one side under the pretext of discussing her youngest daughter’s education. Once they were alone she spoke directly. ‘Mr
Trench, I see you are giving Kitty a wonderful education and my husband and I are very grateful to you. However, I feel you might be happier in England. Ireland is very damp and cold and this old
castle is terribly creaky.’ She looked down at his leg. ‘And I can’t imagine what you get out of a country that is obsessed with horses. Might it not appeal to you, Mr Trench, to
come and tutor my daughter, Elspeth, instead? She’s a bright girl and I’m sure it won’t be long before she marries, but every young woman should be in possession of a good
education, don’t you think?’ Maud was quite satisfied that Mr Trench would leap at the chance to leave Ireland. However, he replied with equal directness, for he belonged to the same
social class as Mrs Deverill and was by no means afraid of her.

‘Mrs Deverill, I am flattered that you should offer me a position in England but I fear I must disappoint you. Kitty is a very rewarding student and I am enjoying tutoring her immensely.
As for Ireland and this castle, I have grown very fond of them indeed. It would take more than you could offer to lure me back to England.’