Songs of Love and War (2 page)

It was her paternal grandmother, Adeline, Lady Deverill, who told her that the year 1900 was auspicious and that her date of birth was also remarkable, on account of it containing so many nines.
Kitty was a child of Mars, Adeline would remind her when they sat together in Adeline’s private sitting room on the first floor, one of the few rooms of the castle that was always warm. This
meant that her life would be defined by conflict – a testing hand of cards dealt by a God who surely knew that Kitty would rise to the challenge with courage and wisdom. Adeline told her much
else, besides, and Kitty far preferred her stories of angels and demons to the dry tales her Scottish governess read her, and even to the kitchen maids’ tittle-tattle, mostly local gossip
Kitty was too young to understand. Adeline Deverill knew about
things
. Things at which Kitty’s grandfather rolled his eyes and dismissed as ‘blarney’, things her father
mocked with affection and things that caused Kitty’s mother great concern. Maud Deverill was less amused by tales of spirits, stone circles and curses and instructed Miss Grieve,
Kitty’s Scottish governess, to punish the child if she ever indulged in what she considered to be ‘ghastly peasant superstition’. Miss Grieve, with her tight lips and tight
vowels, was only too happy to whack the palms of Kitty’s hands with a riding crop. Therefore the child had learned to be secretive. She had grown as furtive as a fox, indulging her interest
only with her grandmother, in the warmth of her little den that smelt of turf fire and lilac.

Kitty didn’t live in the castle: that was where her grandparents lived and what, one day, her father would inherit, along with the title of Lord Deverill, dating back to the seventeenth
century. Kitty lived on the estate in the old Hunting Lodge, positioned by the river, within walking distance of the castle. Overlooked by her mother and too cunning for her governess, the child
was able to run wild about the gardens and surrounding countryside and to play with the local Catholic children who took to the fields with their Tommy cans. Had her mother known she would have
developed a fever and retired to her room for a week to get over the trauma. As it was, Maud was often so distracted that she seemed to forget entirely that she had a fourth child and was irritated
when Miss Grieve reminded her.

Kitty’s greatest friend and ally was Bridie, the raven-haired daughter of Lady Deverill’s cook, Mrs Doyle. Born in the same year, only a month apart, Kitty believed them to be
‘spiritual sisters’ due to the proximity of their birth dates and the fact that they had been thrown together at Castle Deverill, where Bridie would help her mother in the kitchen,
peeling potatoes and washing up, while Kitty loitered around the big wooden table stealing the odd carrot when Mrs Doyle wasn’t looking. They might have different parents, Kitty told Bridie,
but their souls were eternally connected. Beneath their material bodies they were creatures of light and there was very little difference between them. Grateful for Kitty’s friendship, Bridie
believed her.

Because of her unconventional view of the world, Adeline was happy to turn a blind eye to the girls playing together. She loved her strange little granddaughter who was so much like herself. In
Kitty she found an ally in a family who scoffed at the idea of fairies and trembled at the mention of ghosts while claiming not to believe in them. She was certain that souls inhabited physical
bodies in order to live on earth and learn important lessons for their spiritual evolution. Thus, a person’s position and wealth was merely a costume required for the part they were playing
and not a reflection of their worth as a soul. In Adeline’s opinion a tramp was as valuable as a king and so she treated everyone with equal respect. What was the harm of Kitty and Bridie
enjoying each other’s company? she asked herself. Kitty’s sisters were too old to play with her, and Celia, her English cousin, only came to visit in the summer, so the poor child was
friendless and lonely. Were it not for Bridie, Kitty might be in danger of running off with the leprechauns and goblins and be lost to them forever.

One story in particular fascinated Kitty above all others: the Cursing of Barton Deverill. The whole family knew it, but no one besides Kitty’s grandmother, and Kitty herself, believed it.
They didn’t just believe, they
knew
it to be true. It was that knowing that bonded grandmother and granddaughter firmly and irreversibly, because Adeline had a gift she had never
shared with anyone, not even her husband, and little Kitty had inherited it.

‘Let me tell you about the Cursing of Barton Deverill,’ said Kitty to Bridie one Saturday afternoon in winter, holding the candle steady in their dark lair beneath the back
staircase, which was an old, disused cupboard in the servants’ quarters of the castle. The light illuminated Kitty’s white face so that her big grey eyes looked strangely old, like a
witch’s, and Bridie felt a shiver ripple across her skin, something close to fear. She had heard her mother speak of the Banshee and its shriek that pre-warned of death.

‘Who was Barton Deverill?’ Bridie asked, her musical Irish accent in sharp contrast to Kitty’s clipped English vowels.

‘He was the first Lord Deverill and he built this castle,’ Kitty replied, keeping her voice low for dramatic effect. ‘He was a right brute.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He took land that wasn’t his and built on it.’

‘Who did the land belong to?’

‘The O’Learys.’

‘The O’Learys?’ Bridie’s black eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. ‘You don’t mean
our
Jack O’Leary?’

‘The very same. I can tell you there is no love lost between the Deverills and the O’Learys.’

‘What happened?’

‘Barton Deverill, my ancestor, was a supporter of King Charles I of England. When his armies were defeated by Cromwell, he ran off to France with the King. Later, when King Charles II was
crowned, he rewarded Barton for his loyalty with a title and these lands where he built this castle. Hence the family motto: A Deverill’s castle is his kingdom. The trouble was those lands
didn’t belong to the King, they belonged to the O’Learys. So, when they were made to leave, old Maggie O’Leary, who was a witch . . .’

Bridie laughed nervously. ‘She wasn’t really a witch!’

Kitty was very serious. ‘She was so. She had a cauldron and a black cat that could turn a person to stone with one look of its big green eyes.’

‘Just because she had a cauldron and a cat doesn’t mean she was a witch,’ Bridie argued.

‘Maggie O’Leary was a witch and everyone knew it. She put a curse on Barton Deverill.’

Bridie’s laughter caught in her throat. ‘What was the curse?’

‘That Barton Deverill and every male heir after him will never leave Castle Deverill but remain between worlds until an O’Leary returns to live on the land. It’s very unfair
because Grandpa and Father will have to hang around here as ghosts, possibly forever. Grandma says that it is very unlikely that a Deverill will ever marry an O’Leary!’

‘You never know. They’ve come up in the world since then,’ Bridie added helpfully, thinking of Jack O’Leary whose father was the local vet.

‘No, they are all doomed, even my brother Harry.’ Kitty sighed. ‘None of them believes it, but I do. It makes me sad to know their fate.’

‘So, are you telling me that Barton Deverill is still here?’ Bridie asked.

Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘He’s still here and he’s not very happy about it.’

‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

‘I
know
it,’ said Kitty emphatically. ‘I can
see
him.’ She bit her lip, aware that she might have given too much away.

Now Bridie was more interested. She knew her friend wasn’t a liar. ‘How can you see him if he’s a ghost?’

Kitty leaned forward and whispered, ‘Because I see dead people.’ The candle flame flickered eerily as if to corroborate her claim and Bridie shivered.

‘You can see dead people?’

‘I can and I do. All the time.’

‘You’ve never told me before.’

‘That’s because I didn’t know if I could trust you.’

‘What are they like, dead people?’

‘Transparent. Some are light, some are dark. Some are loving and some aren’t.’ Kitty shrugged. ‘Barton Deverill is quite dark. I don’t think he was a very nice man
when he was alive.’

‘Doesn’t it scare you?’

‘It used to, until Grandma taught me not to be afraid. She sees them too. It’s a gift, she says. But I’m not allowed to tell anyone.’ She unconsciously rubbed the palm of
her hand with her thumb.

‘They’ll lock you away,’ Bridie said and her voice quivered. ‘They do that, don’t you know. They lock people away in the red-brick in Cork City for less and they
never come out. Never.’

‘Then you’d better not tell on me.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t.’

Kitty brightened. ‘Do you want to see one?’

‘A ghost?’

‘Barton Deverill.’

The blood drained from Bridie’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know . . .’

‘Come on, I’ll introduce you.’ Kitty blew out the candle and pushed open the door.

The two girls hurried along the passageway. Regardless of the disparity of their colouring, they could have been sisters as they skipped off together for they were similar in height and build.
However, there was a marked difference in their clothes and countenance. While Kitty’s dress was white, embellished with fine lace and silk, tied at the waist with a pale blue bow,
Bridie’s was brown and shapeless and made from a coarse, scratchy frieze. Kitty wore black lace-up boots that reached mid-calf, and thick black stockings, while Bridie’s feet were bare
and dirty. Kitty’s governess brushed her hair and pinned it off her face with ribbons; Bridie received no such attention and her hair was tangled and unwashed, almost reaching as far as her
waist. The difference was not only marked in their attire but in the way they looked out onto the world. Kitty had the steady, lofty gaze of a child born to privilege and entitlement, while Bridie
had the feral stare of a waif who was always hungry, and yet there was an underlying need in Kitty that bridged the gap between them. Were it not for the loving company of her grandparents and the
sporadic attention lavished on her by her father when he wasn’t out hunting, shooting game or at the races, Kitty would have been starved of love. It was this longing that gave balance to
their friendship, for Kitty needed Bridie just as much as Bridie needed her.

While Kitty was unaware of these differences, Bridie, who heard her parents and brothers complaining endlessly about their lot, was very conscious of them. However, she liked Kitty too much to
give way to jealousy, and she was too flattered by her friendship to risk losing it. She accepted her position with the passive compliance of a sheep.

The two girls heard Mrs Doyle grumbling to one of the maids in the kitchen but they scurried on up the back staircase as quiet as kittens, aware that if they were caught their playtime would be
over and Bridie summoned to wash up at the sink.

No one ever went up to the western tower. It was chilly and damp at the top of the castle and the spiral staircase was in need of repair. Two of the wooden steps had collapsed and Kitty and
Bridie had to jump over the gaps. Bridie breathed easily now because no one would find them there. Kitty pushed open the heavy door at the top of the stairs and peered around it. Then she turned
back to her friend. ‘Come,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t be frightened. He won’t hurt you.’

Bridie’s heart began to race. Was she really going to see a ghost? Kitty seemed so sure. Tentatively and with high expectations, Bridie followed Kitty into the room. She looked at Kitty.
Kitty was smiling at a tatty old armchair as if someone was sitting in it. But Bridie saw nothing besides the faded burgundy silk. However, the room was colder than the rest of the castle and she
shivered and hugged herself in a bid to keep warm.

‘Well, can’t you see him?’ Kitty asked.

‘I can’t see anything,’ said Bridie, wanting to very much.

‘But he’s
there
!’ Kitty exclaimed, pointing to the chair. ‘Look
harder.’

Bridie looked as hard as she could until her eyes watered. ‘I don’t doubt you, Kitty, but I can see nothing but the chair.’

Kitty was visibly disappointed. She stared at the man scowling in the armchair, his feet propped up on a stool, his hands folded over his big belly, and wondered how it was possible for her to
see someone so clearly when Bridie couldn’t. ‘But he’s right in front of your nose. This is my friend, Bridie,’ Kitty said to Barton Deverill. ‘She can’t see
you.’

Barton shook his head and rolled his eyes. That didn’t surprise him. He’d been stuck in this tower for over two hundred years and in all that time only the very few had seen him
– most unintentionally. At first it had been quite amusing being a ghost but now he was bored of observing the many generations of Deverills who came and went, and even more disenchanted by
the ones, like him, who remained stuck in the castle as spirits. He wasn’t keen on company and there were now too many furious Lord Deverills floating about the corridors to be easily
avoided. This tower was the only place he could be free of them, and their wrath at discovering suddenly, upon dying, that the Cursing of Barton Deverill was not simply a family legend but an
immutable truth. With the benefit of hindsight, they would have gladly taken an O’Leary for a bride and subsequently ensured their eternal rest as a free soul in Paradise. As it was they were
too late. They were stuck and there was nothing they could do about it except rant at
him
for having built the castle on O’Leary land in the first place.

Now Barton turned his jaded eyes onto the eerie little girl whose face had turned red with indignation, as if it were somehow
his
fault that her plain friend was unable to see him. He
folded his arms and sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. The fact that she sought him out from time to time did not make her his friend and did not give her permission to show him
off like an exotic animal in a menagerie.