Songs of Love and War (19 page)

‘Kitty’s in love, don’t you know,’ she told him one Sunday in October as they ambled slowly up the road.

‘What makes you think that?’ Jack asked.

‘She’s dreamy.’

‘She’s
always
dreamy,’ said Jack, smiling fondly.

‘It’s a different kind of dreamy altogether. She’s all sighs and soft looks.’

‘Who’s she in love with, then?’

‘I believe it’s Mr Trench.’

For a moment Jack’s face darkened. ‘Mr Trench?’ he exclaimed.

‘Her tutor.’ She shrugged. ‘Who else could it be?’

‘Have you been earwigging, Bridie?’

Bridie was affronted. ‘I don’t go putting my nose through cracks in doors, Jack, and you know it. She spends all morning with him and indeed he’s a fine-looking
fella.’

‘I don’t doubt you, Bridie.’ Jack sighed. ‘I’m just surprised.’

‘I’m not. Why shouldn’t she fall in love with Mr Trench? His stiff leg only makes him more romantic’

‘Sounds like you’ve taken a shine to him yourself.’

‘I have not,’ Bridie retorted, flushing. She wished she could be honest and confess how much she shone for
him.

‘I do believe you’re blushing, Bridie Doyle!’ he laughed. When she didn’t reply he nudged her gently. ‘I’m only codding ya!’

‘Well, don’t. It’s not a laughing matter.’

‘You sound hoity-toity these days, Bridie. You’ve been mixing too much with them up at the castle.’

‘I have to talk proper up there,’ said Bridie, pleased that he’d noticed. ‘I’m a lady’s maid.’

‘It’s grand, Bridie.’

She looked at his profile and wondered where the boy had gone for he was surely a man now. ‘Michael doesn’t want me and Mam working for the Deverills but he can’t deny my
wages.’

‘They’re generous, I give them that.’

‘And you, Jack? How are you? We don’t see much of you these days.’

He sighed heavily, the sigh of a man whose days were burdened with toil and uncertainty. ‘It’s all work and no play, Bridie. With Dad fighting—’

‘I pray for him, Jack.’

‘So do I,’ he said quietly.

As they parted at the end of the road, where the town stopped and the countryside began, Bridie turned. ‘You won’t tell Kitty now, will you, Jack?’

‘May the Devil carry me if I ever do,’ he replied, taking off his cap and waving it at her. ‘Tell her I say hello.’

Bridie laughed. ‘For all the good it will do! Kitty has eyes only for Mr Trench!’ and she walked back to the castle with a bouncing stride.

Kitty hurried through the garden, holding tightly onto her shawl so it didn’t blow away. She looked around once or twice to make sure that she wasn’t being
followed, or watched. Brown leaves were heaped into piles, discarded by the wind and left to rot with the summer foliage. The borders, once bright with flowers, were now bare and decomposing for
the old gardeners didn’t have the time or the energy to cut back and clear away. Kitty hurried on, her breath leaving her lips in puffs of smoke, her red hair loose and wild, curled into
thick waves by the damp.

When she reached the wall she stopped. Glancing around like a vixen about to steal a hen, she made sure that she was quite alone. When she was satisfied that only the rooks spied from the
treetops she crouched down and removed a loose stone, clothed in a soft covering of green moss. Behind it, in the dry hole, was a white piece of paper folded neatly into a square. Jack always
folded his paper in the same way, doubling it over, tucking it in, so that once opened it was impossible to fold again. She pulled out of her skirt pocket the note she had written and placed it in
the hole, securing it safely behind the stone.

She hurried excitedly to one of the greenhouses and sat on the iron bench where she used to sit with Celia and Bridie in the summertime and they’d hatch their plots. Now she was alone. She
took a deep breath and opened the note.

Kitty read it again then pressed it to her heart with a long, satisfied sigh. It never occurred to her that her future with Jack was by no means assured. They were from opposite sides of the
social and religious divide and she was well aware that she was expected to marry an Englishman. But Kitty loved Jack and to her their love was strong enough to smash through every barrier. She
knew in her heart that nothing would keep them apart, not her mother nor her father, and she could count on her grandmother to fight for her.

She didn’t waste time changing into her riding habit but hurried to the stables to saddle her mare, mounting in her black buttoned boots, dress and shawl. Mr Mills was nowhere to be seen,
but one of the stable lads watched her curiously from beneath his black fringe, wiping his dirty hands on an old rag.

Kitty felt a sense of defiance and freedom. No one could tell her what to do or when to do it. She was seventeen now and the stable boys stood for her when she stepped into their midst. Her
mother was in England, her father at the front, her grandfather in Dublin, where he seemed to now spend a great deal of his time. If her grandmother saw her riding out in her dress she would smile
to herself and shake her head, for Adeline admired her granddaughter’s spirit. As for Mr Trench, he was her tutor, not her nanny, and was in no position to question her whereabouts. But as
Kitty galloped up the avenue of trees he was returning from a long walk around the estate. She didn’t see him crossing the lawn where they played croquet in the summer months, his footsteps
darkening the wet grass as he went, and she didn’t see the wistful expression on his face as he removed his glasses and gazed after her. She was too busy looking at the setting sun.

Once at the Fairy Ring she dismounted and flung herself into Jack’s embrace. The wind blew in salty and cold and he wrapped his arms around her tightly to shelter her. His lips found hers
through her tangle of hair that flew about her head in long red tendrils like a mermaid’s in the sea. She pressed herself against him so that not even the wind could slip between them. He was
warm and solid and familiar and she inhaled his scent like a drunkard smelling whiskey after a day of sobriety. Jack kissed her icy cheeks and her soft neck then held her face in his hands to look
at her. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Kitty Deverill.’

‘And you’re a handsome man, Jack O’Leary.’ She laughed, gazing into his eyes which were old and wise beyond his years.

‘I love the bones of ya.’

‘And I love the bones of you too. Every one.’

‘Do you love me more than Mr Trench?’ His tone was light but his eyes betrayed his anxiety.

Kitty frowned. ‘What’s brought that on? I don’t love Mr Trench at all.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea, Jack?’

‘I’m a jealous man, Kitty.’

‘You have no need to be jealous. I’m yours, body and soul. Don’t ever doubt that.’ He kissed her again, deeply and fiercely, as if he knew in his heart that one of these
days he’d kiss her for the last time; that Kitty would never belong to him. And Kitty, unaware of his deep fear, laughed at his fervour and lifted her chin so he could bury his face in her
throat.

Maud returned to Castle Deverill with Victoria, Elspeth and Harry for Christmas. Harry had insisted on coming. He was still recovering from the wound to his shoulder. When
Kitty saw him she was immediately struck by how different he looked. Gone was the carefree boy and in his place a man, haunted by what he had lived through, haunted by what he had seen. Maud fussed
over him more than ever and instead of tolerating her he lost his temper, stunning her into silence by his uncharacteristic outbursts. He insisted on having Joseph as his valet and only Kitty knew
why. She didn’t dare enter his room in case she found them in bed together again, but something told her that Harry wouldn’t mind. The fact that she knew his secret seemed not to bother
him any more. If anything it brought them closer. He sought her company on long walks up and down the beach and rowing out to sea in their father’s fishing boat, and, although it was never
mentioned or even alluded to, he was more at ease in her company than in anyone else’s.

Bridie listened to the chitchat in the kitchen. Molly, the maid with whom she shared a room, was an avid gossip. Assigned to look after Kitty’s mother and sisters, she revealed that Maud
was prone to shouting at her daughters, who were clearly afraid of her even though the eldest was a countess. She was particularly impatient with Elspeth, reminding her at every opportunity that
she was getting old and if she didn’t find a husband soon she would be left gathering dust on the shelf. Elspeth had replied, in her defence, that there were precious few men around, to which
Maud had snapped, ‘If you can’t find a duke, find a
crippled
duke, but for goodness’ sake don’t humiliate me. I don’t want to be the mother of a
spinster.’ Bridie was shocked by that revelation. She couldn’t imagine a mother being so heartless, but Maud was a vain and self-centred woman. Only Harry drew her out of herself.
‘He’ll find a suitable bride,’ Molly reported her saying to her daughters. ‘He’s handsome and heroic and heir to a great estate. He’ll have to fight them off.
It’s a great shame you weren’t all born boys.’

Kitty only spoke to her mother when she had to. She was always polite, kept her sentences short and made sure she asked her about herself. ‘There won’t be a London Season next
spring,’ her mother told her over lunch the day before Christmas. ‘So you might as well stay here.’

‘How will Kitty find a husband then?’ asked Victoria smugly. ‘Poor Elspeth hasn’t had much luck.’

‘Is that the only thing that concerns you, Victoria? Marriage?’ said Kitty.

‘What else is there?’ her sister replied.

‘If that’s the only option for a woman I rather wish I’d been born a man,’ Kitty retorted.

Elspeth rolled her eyes. ‘You sound like a suffragette.’

‘Suffragettes don’t want to be men, Elspeth, they just want equality,’ Kitty said, bored by her sisters’ ignorance.

‘A woman’s place is in the home,’ Hubert interrupted. ‘Politics is no place for the fairer sex.’

‘I do feel for young women these days,’ said Adeline. ‘The war is wiping out an entire generation.’

‘Then we’ll all have to marry Irishmen,’ said Kitty provocatively. Her words got the reaction she hoped for.

Maud’s lips pursed furiously. ‘That’s a ridiculous idea, Kitty,’ she exclaimed.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Elspeth rejoined, thinking of Peter MacCartain, who she had always found handsome.

‘Deverill girls are no beggars,’ said Hubert. ‘My granddaughters will marry the finest England has to offer.’

‘The finest are being shot in their thousands,’ said Harry suddenly. ‘Mother, I think it’s disgusting that all you can think about is marrying your daughters off. Men are
dying over there and those who aren’t will never be the same again. Excuse me if I don’t sympathize with your predicament.’

Maud paled. Hubert wiped his mouth with his napkin. O’Flynn stood to attention as if he hadn’t heard. ‘That’s enough, Harry,’ said his grandfather sternly.
‘The war is indeed robbing the nation of its young men, but life must go on and your sisters must marry. It is a natural concern for a mother.’

‘Don’t think I don’t worry about your father, Harry,’ said Maud stiffly, her jaw tightening as if in a vice. ‘Don’t think I don’t grieve for Rupert and
George and all the other boys we know who have lost their lives in the war. Don’t think I don’t grieve for you and ask myself where the gentle boy I raised has gone.’

Harry looked at her steadily. ‘He died on the battlefield, Mother. It is no place for a boy.’ Maud’s eyes glittered.

Adeline gestured to O’Flynn to take the plates away. ‘Let’s raise our glasses to Bertie,’ she said. ‘Let’s pray for his safe return and an end to this beastly
war.’ They all lifted their wine glasses and in that, at least, they were united.

The following day the family went to church. Hubert drove Adeline, Harry, Maud and Victoria in the Daimler while the others went in the pony and trap with Mr Mills. Kitty and
Elspeth sat side by side beneath a blanket and for a while neither spoke. They looked out under their hats at the bleak countryside and the gulls wheeling like gliders in the ice-cold sky, each
alone with their thoughts. Then, finally, Elspeth spoke. ‘I loathe Mama,’ she said.

Kitty was stunned. She turned to face her sister and noticed how pale and thin she looked. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘I’m sick of
her,’
she said bitterly. ‘I envy you, Kitty. You’re here with Grandma and Grandpa and you can do what you like. Why do I have to live with her
in Kent? It’s like being imprisoned.’

‘Surely it’s not that bad.’

‘Eric’s a bore.’ Elspeth laughed guiltily. ‘He’s the dullest man in England.’

Kitty put her glove to her mouth. ‘Elspeth, Victoria would kill you if she heard you denouncing her husband.’

‘She doesn’t love him. I’m not even sure she likes him. But he’s rich and that’s all that matters.’ She looked at her sister forlornly. ‘Isn’t
there more than that? Isn’t it possible to feel something for one’s husband?’

‘Grandma loves Grandpa, I’m certain of it,’ said Kitty, thinking of Jack and feeling the familiar warmth envelop her heart like a fur glove.

‘Do you think Mama loves Papa?’ Elspeth asked.

‘In her own way,’ Kitty replied truthfully. ‘I don’t think Mama truly loves anyone other than herself.’

Elspeth turned away and sighed. ‘She never liked you. Why?’

Kitty shrugged. Even though she didn’t like her mother, her rejection still hurt. ‘I don’t know.’

‘She’s frightened of you, I think. I can see it in her eyes. She can’t control you. That’s why. You have spirit. I wish I had spirit like you.’