Songs of Love and War (17 page)

Maud was enraged. She tried another tack. ‘Life is terribly unfair,’ she said, pulling a pitiful face. ‘Kitty has every advantage and my poor Elspeth—’

‘I am not unique, Mrs Deverill,’ Mr Trench replied. ‘In fact, I’m sure there are many like me in London who would be grateful for a job.’

‘There aren’t any like you in London,’ Maud replied tightly. ‘They are all away fighting the war. Well, if I can’t persuade you now, I leave my offer open. When
Ireland gets too much, and I assure you it
will
get too much, you may change your mind.’

Maud left for England with Victoria and Elspeth and the castle was Kitty’s once again. She resumed her lessons with Mr Trench and the more she learned about
Ireland’s history the more her patriotic fire was fanned. She saw a great deal of Jack for with his father away fighting on the Western Front he was the only vet in Ballinakelly and Castle
Deverill had many animals. When he didn’t ride up to the castle, she rode to find
him,
and sometimes they arranged to meet on the hills where they cantered over the heather, their
laughter carried on the wind with the mournful cries of gulls. They would lie on the grass and talk as the days grew longer and the little purple flowers of mountain thyme opened in the sun. Often
they would meet at the Fairy Ring to watch the sun set behind it, elongating the shadows until it looked as if the very stones were brought to life.

It was in that spring of 1915 that Jack began to look at Kitty with different eyes and Kitty, drawn close to Jack because of the secret they shared and their mutual love of Ireland, began to
feel a budding tenderness in return. She began to look forward to their meetings with impatience, and the heaviness in his gaze when he looked at her wielded an irresistible power that turned her
stomach to jelly. When she wasn’t with him she found herself staring out of the window thinking of him, and the idea of their shared patriotism grew ever more romantic.

By 1916 all hope of an imminent end to the war disintegrated. Battles were fought in Europe and the Middle East at devastating human cost on both sides. Soldiers dug themselves
into trenches like rodents and there seemed little in the way of advancements, only death. As the black bands on the arms of grieving mothers and wives grew in their number in Ballinakelly, the
shadow of death had not yet reached Castle Deverill. The Deverills prayed for the continued safety of their loved ones and tried to live their lives in the normal way, for what else could they
do?

The year before, their English cousins had come to stay for the summer as usual, but Digby and George were absent, as were Bertie, Harry and Rupert, leaving old Hubert and Stoke to entertain the
ladies. Victoria was still not pregnant in spite of Eric returning on leave and Elspeth was yet to find herself a husband. Kitty wasted no time in telling Elspeth that she should find a nice
Irishman as there were plenty about who had not gone to war, to which Elspeth replied that only Kitty would do such a thing and send their dear mama to an early grave.

There had been picnics on the beach, croquet and tennis, dinner parties and grand lunches, but beneath the gaiety was a desperate anxiety as news filtered through in the newspapers of the
horrors of battle and the thousands dead. One night Beatrice got particularly tipsy and broke down in tears as she described the shocking sight of the wounded soldiers in London who were too
crippled to rejoin their regiments. ‘They’re like the walking dead,’ she sniffed. ‘And all I can think of is George and Digby and our boys.’ Augusta tried
everyone’s patience by declaring that she would welcome her own death in order to avoid the terrible suffering her son and grandson were putting her through.

But in April 1916 Ireland suffered her own tragedy during the week of Easter. An uprising by Irish Republicans intent on ending British rule in Ireland brought the clatter of gunfire to the
streets of Dublin. ‘Bloody knackers,’ boomed Hubert furiously, throwing down the
Irish Times.
‘Isn’t there enough bloodshed in the world!’ But Kitty was
secretly excited. The Irish rebel forces had seized key locations in Dublin and proclaimed the Irish Republic independent of the United Kingdom. For a glorious six days it looked as if they were
going to win but then the British Army suppressed them with their artillery and felled them like ears of barley.

‘In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her
freedom,
’ Kitty read from the Proclamation that Jack had given her, signed by the seven leaders of the Easter Rising at the General Post Office, Dublin, having declared themselves the
provisional government of the Republic of Ireland.

‘They’ve shot three of them,’ he told her solemnly, picking a sprig of heather and twiddling it between his thumb and finger.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kitty replied truthfully. ‘Do you think they’ll shoot them all?’

‘All the leaders who signed that bit of paper and more, I suppose. Maybe they’ll shoot the lot of ’em.’

‘Must be horrid to die like that,’ said Kitty quietly.

‘I’d rather die in battle than be blindfolded and shot by a firing squad, a little white rag pinned to my chest to show them where my heart is.’

Kitty winced. ‘Is that what they do?’

‘The Irish Citizen Army was no match for the British Army, Kitty. There were only two thousand of them, against twenty thousand soldiers. Jaysus, they didn’t stand a pup’s
chance in hell!’

‘But if the Germans had helped, they might have had a chance?’

‘If the German supply of arms had reached them, perhaps. But it didn’t.’

‘What’s going to happen now?’

Jack looked at her steadily. ‘We rally, we train, we keep up the pressure. We don’t give up.’

‘Jack—’

‘You think shooting hundreds of rebels by firing squad or sending them to the hangman is going to stamp out the desire for independence? No, Kitty, it’s just going to make us all
stronger. There’s not a single man, woman or child in the whole of Ireland now who doesn’t want to be free of British rule. The Rising has made sure of that.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve joined the Volunteers, Kitty. We’re about fifty of us in Ballinakelly, but as Napoleon said,
“In war, it is not the men who count, it is the
man.
”’

‘How do you know what Napoleon said?’ Kitty asked with a smile.

‘I heard it,’ he retorted defensively. ‘They’re not all as poorly educated as I am.’

‘I want to be part of it.’

Jack stared at Kitty in amazement. ‘You’re English, Kitty. You’re one of them.’

Kitty rounded on him furiously. ‘I’m Irish, Jack, and you know it. Do you think I’d be your friend if I were one of them? Do you?’

‘You’re too young.’

‘I’ll be sixteen in September.’

‘You’re a child.’

Kitty sat up and stared out to sea. ‘I’m old for my years and you know better than anyone how good I am at keeping secrets.’

‘This isn’t a game, Kitty. Look what’s happened to Countess Markievicz. Well, she’s one of you, don’t you know, and she’s going to be shot like all the
rest.’

Kitty was appalled. ‘They won’t shoot a woman, surely.’

‘She renounced her status as a woman by joining the rebels, wouldn’t you say? They’ll court-martial her like all the rest, see if they don’t.’ Jack smiled fondly at
Kitty. ‘You want independence for Ireland, same as us. You want an end to poverty and exploitation of the Irish people by the British same as us. But you haven’t thought about what
comes after, have you? What’ll happen to Castle Deverill and your grandparents? You’ll have to leave, all of you. It’ll be too dangerous for English people to carry on living
here. Have you thought about that? Are you prepared to give it all up for your cause?’

‘I won’t give it up. The Deverills are Irish. We’ve lived here since 1661 . . .’

‘On
our
land,’ said Jack with a grin.

Kitty lowered her eyes. ‘I can’t help what happened over two hundred years ago, Jack.’

‘But that’s the point, isn’t it? You Anglo-Irish can never shake off the fact that you’re part of the conquering power, given land that wasn’t yours.’

‘What do you want me to do, Jack? Give it back?’

‘There’s no chance of that now.’

‘There, you see? Nothing can be done about that.’

‘They’ll want you out all the same, Kitty.’

‘Not if I fight for the rebels.’

Jack laughed at her naivety. ‘You’re not going to fight for anyone,’ he said softly.

Kitty stared at him with her grey eyes full of knowing. ‘You’re going to need me one day, Jack O’Leary, and, when you do, I’ll remind you that you laughed at
me.’

‘Out of the hundreds arrested, only fourteen rebels executed,’ Hubert complained over breakfast, slamming down the newspaper. ‘I ask you! Bloody Shinners!
They should have shot the bally lot of ’em.’ Hubert huffed furiously and left the dining room. He folded his shotgun over his arm and strode out of the castle with his dogs. As he
walked onto the gravel he saw a boy in navy uniform cycling towards him. Hubert stopped. The dogs at his heels sat down as the boy approached. On the back of his bicycle was a brown parcel tied
with string. Hubert’s mouth went dry. His bravado evaporated and the cold hand of fear squeezed his heart. ‘Top of the morning to ye, Lord Deverill,’ said the boy. Hubert
couldn’t speak. He stood there and waited. It seemed a long time before the parcel was placed in his hands along with a telegram edged in black. The boy cycled away. He had delivered bad news
too many times to be affected by it now. Hubert remained outside on the gravel, unable to move. One of the dogs whined and looked up at him in a silent plea. There were snipe in the marshes and
hares in the heather but Hubert felt the weight of the parcel and wept.

Adeline, drawn by a sense of foreboding, reached him as the heavy clouds above them released a light drizzle. She looked at the parcel in his hands, at his ashen face and white lips, and read
the telegram through a blur of tears. Rupert had been killed at Gallipoli.

She slipped her arm through her husband’s and led him slowly back into the castle. O’Flynn’s weary old eyes flicked from their faces to the parcel and his shoulders stooped a
little lower. Once in the library O’Flynn poured his master a strong whiskey, then, noticing Lady Deverill’s distress, poured her one too. They gulped it back gratefully, but nothing
could dull the pain of losing a son.

With a deep breath Adeline untied the string and opened the parcel. Inside was Rupert’s uniform, his soldier’s small-book, a packet of letters tied with ribbon and a silver hip flask
his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday. She wiped her wet cheeks with trembling fingers. Now she was no different from the other mourning mothers in Ballinakelly for there is no
discrimination in death.

Kitty was called out of her lesson with Mr Trench and given the news. For some inexplicable reason she had believed her family exempt from death on the battlefield. She had told herself that
Deverills didn’t fight on the front lines. They had always been special; but no one was special in war.

She ran up to her bedroom and rang for Bridie. ‘Uncle Rupert’s dead,’ she sobbed as Bridie entered. ‘He’s been killed. Will it be Papa next?’ Bridie put her
arms around her friend and felt her tears seeping into her uniform. ‘I know you understand because you lost your father.’

‘I do understand,’ said Bridie gently.

‘When will it end? When will Papa and Harry come home? It’s beastly, just beastly!’

‘The war will end and Master Harry and your father will come home. They will. It can’t go on forever, can it?’

‘I don’t know? Can it?’ Kitty took Bridie’s hands. ‘You must miss your papa.’

‘I do. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of him, God rest his soul.’

‘It makes little difference that I know Uncle Rupert is in Heaven now because he’s not here, where he should be. Grandma was crying her heart out even though she knows he’s in
Heaven too and not dead on that battlefield. A ghost is not the same as a living person. You can’t touch a ghost and a ghost can’t hold
you.’
Kitty squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Oh God, please don’t take Papa.’

The hardest part about Rupert’s death was the fact that there was no body to bury. His home was boarded up like a tomb because it was part of the Deverill estate and Adeline couldn’t
bear to clear out his things, or for anyone else to live there. She organized a small service in his memory in the church of St Patrick in Ballinakelly, outside of which many of the locals and
tenants gathered to pay their respects. It was there that Adeline noticed how hungry they all looked. She gazed in horror at the scrawny bodies and gaunt faces of the children and wondered why she
hadn’t noticed before. The sight hauled her out of her grief and galvanized her into action. She arranged for herself and Kitty to drive into town the following morning with a cart full of
food baskets for the tenants. With the help of the gardeners they raided the green-houses for vegetables and instructed Mrs Doyle to set about baking loaves of soda bread.

Their charity was so gratefully received that Adeline made it her mission to care for the poor. It was a way of suppressing her grief; she buried it beneath the distraction of activity and
purpose. The gardens were large enough to grow plenty more produce, she said, giving orders for more seeds to be sown and nurtured and harvested. ‘It’s wrong of us to keep it all for
ourselves.’ Hubert huffed and puffed like an old engine, complaining that his wife’s undertaking to save the poor would only end in bankruptcy.

When the family reunited for the summer she put the women to work. Gone were the days of croquet and tennis, dinner parties and lunch parties, and languid afternoons in the sunshine playing
cards beneath parasols. The people needed them and they would rise to their need and save them from starvation, just like Adeline’s mother-in-law had done during the famine with her soup
kitchen.