Songs of Love and War (24 page)

Maud smiled as if she had just worked out who was behind Elspeth’s subversion. ‘Very well,’ she replied quietly. ‘I’m not going to fight you. God forbid I put your
happiness above my own! In any case, there’s no point if I don’t have your father’s support. But don’t think you’ll find suitable husbands here.’

‘Will
you
be staying, my dear?’ Bertie asked his wife.

‘I will stay for Harry,’ she replied, lifting her chin. Harry looked embarrassed as the weight of her gaze fell on
him.
‘When it’s no longer safe I will persuade
you to come to London. You’re not going to find an heiress in Cork and you’ll need an heiress if you’re to inherit the castle. God only knows where the money will come from
otherwise.’ She turned to her daughters. ‘If you silly girls want to sit it out, you’re welcome to do so, but don’t snivel with remorse and regret when I tell you I told you
so.’ With that she placed her napkin on the table and left the room. Kitty grinned at Elspeth who began to tremble.

Their father waited for the door to slam then acted as if nothing had happened. ‘Tell me, Harry, how do you like your new hunter? She goes well, doesn’t she?’

The following week Peter MacCartain made an appointment to meet with Kitty’s father. They talked for a whole hour in the library while Kitty and Elspeth tried to listen
at the door, but their voices were so low they could hear nothing but mumbling. When at last the door opened Peter walked into the hall to find Elspeth waiting for him. ‘What did he
say?’ she hissed, accompanying him outside.

‘He has to talk it over with your mother.’

Elspeth’s face fell. ‘She’ll never agree.’

Peter squeezed her hand. ‘Perhaps not, but your father prizes your happiness.’

‘Then there’s hope?’

Peter grinned. ‘Plenty of hope, my darling,’ and he kissed her briskly on the cheek.

There ensued the most terrible row between Bertie and Maud. Kitty and Elspeth eavesdropped in the room above the library through a glass pressed to the floorboards. Maud was screaming at Bertie,
her voice rising and falling, the word ‘I’ punctuating every phrase as she turned each argument around to herself. ‘I’ve had a terrible year,’ she wailed. ‘And
now this! How much more do I have to endure?’ A moment later she added, ‘After all I’ve done for that child! A mother’s life is nothing but self-sacrifice. The least you can
all do is appreciate what I do for you!’ Elspeth wondered whether there was, in fact, any hope at all, and tears welled in her doe eyes as she declared resolutely that if she couldn’t
marry Peter she’d marry Jesus and become a nun.

The house fell silent and Elspeth was duly summoned to the library. Kitty remained in the room above, her ear glued to the glass. The voices were soft but she could hear her father’s every
word. He would give his consent if it was what Elspeth wanted. ‘If the war has taught me anything, Elspeth,’ he said solemnly, ‘it is the value of love. Love for one’s
fellow soldiers, love for one’s children, love for life. When I was at the front it was all that mattered. So, if you think Peter can make you happy, you have my blessing.’

‘Oh Papa!’ Elspeth cried and Kitty imagined them embracing. Her mother remained silent: her objections had been loud enough. Kitty knew he would never give his consent to her
marrying Jack, even if Jack would make her happy. There was a limit to his beneficence. Not only was Jack a different class and a different religion, but he was an Irishman. Her father would never
stand for a Sinn Féiner as a son-in-law.

A while later Elspeth ran up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room where Kitty was waiting for her. ‘He said yes!’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her sister.
‘If it wasn’t for you I’d never have had the strength to defy Mama.’ Elspeth was trembling. ‘But I did it and Papa says I can marry Peter if he makes me
happy.’

‘And Mama?’ Kitty asked.

‘She left the room as white as a sheet.’

Maud locked her bedroom door and sank into the chair in front of her dressing table. She put her face in her hands and stared at her reflection. Where did it all go wrong? she
asked herself. Didn’t she raise Elspeth with a good moral compass? She knew which way pointed north: how hard was it to follow? But she now insisted on marrying an Anglo-Irishman with no
money to his name. Acclaim for being one of the best huntsmen in the land was not going to pay for their lifestyle. What would become of Elspeth in a country that was unravelling around their ears?
Didn’t she realize that her future was in England, where it was safe? Victoria had chosen well, she was a countess of a great country not a Mrs of nowhere. Maud rubbed her temples. One day
Hubert would die and
she
would become Lady Deverill, but of what? A castle which was once one of the greatest in Ireland, but was now nothing more than a pile of stones with precious little
land to call its own, surrounded by rebels intent on hounding them all out. What good was a castle in Ireland? She cursed herself for her own foolish choice of husband. As for happiness, how long
had it been since she was happy? She bit her lip. She couldn’t tell; it had been too many years. If one was going to be unhappily married the least one could do was marry an aristocrat with a
stately home, pots of money and a grand title pertaining to the greatest empire on earth. Didn’t Elspeth understand that there was consolation in
that?

At the beginning of the following year the British sent a special task force to Ireland to reinforce the police. Due to a shortage of traditional bottle-green uniforms they
were given khaki trousers and black berets, a combination of colours which inspired their subsequent nickname: ‘Black and Tans’. Shortly after they arrived, Hubert invited their colonel
to dinner at the castle. A tall, oily man with glossy brown hair and a thick thatch of a moustache neatly trimmed above pink fleshy lips, Colonel Manley had returned from the war with a reputation
for heroism and an equally high regard for himself. Hubert greeted him warmly, patting him on the back and offering him a glass of whiskey. ‘It’s a good thing you’ve arrived,
Colonel Manley,’ said the old man, showing him into the drawing room. ‘We’re in a state of emergency. This sort of uncivilized behaviour simply can’t go on.’

‘You can rest assured, Lord Deverill, that we will see that it doesn’t,’ Colonel Manley replied confidently. ‘We’ll put Paddy in his place!’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Hubert. ‘The ladies will feel safer with you lot about.’

When the Shrubs came down for dinner with Adeline, Colonel Manley bowed, most certainly
not
a nod, Laurel reported later, and brought their hands up to be tickled by his moustache, which
they found thrilling. He sat on Adeline’s right with Hazel on his right and Laurel opposite, gazing eagerly into his clear blue eyes that shone with equal brilliance on all three sisters.

‘Charming man,’ said Hazel, when the ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner, leaving the men to their cigars and port.

‘One has confidence in a man like that, wouldn’t you say?’ said Laurel.

‘I don’t know,’ Adeline deliberated. ‘I think he has a cruel glint in his eye.’

‘You think he was mocking us?’ Hazel asked.

‘Well, he knows how to compliment a lady,’ said Laurel. ‘He’s a gentleman – only a
true
gentleman knows how to get the right balance between flirtation and
good manners.’

‘If his eyes have a cruel glint, Adeline, it might be just what these people need to put them back in line. I must inform the colonel that only yesterday the shop girls in Flanagan’s
were sneering at me . . .’ and Hazel sank into the sofa to tell her sisters all about it.

As winter thawed into spring Bertie saw less and less of Grace even though he was trying to consume a reduced amount of alcohol and conduct their affair with the utmost
discretion, as he had before the war. She claimed she had business to attend to in Dublin and disappeared for weeks at a time, which left him as heartbroken as a lovesick schoolboy. He saw Sir
Ronald out hunting and at the races, but Grace, usually such a keen horsewoman, was often absent, and he missed her dreadfully. It had been
her
letters and
her
words of encouragement
that had supported him through the war, like the wind beneath the wings of an eagle, he thought unhappily. Without her he didn’t have the will to fly but remained earthbound and in despair
like a miserable chicken.

Maud was no longer speaking to him. Bertie welcomed her silence but he didn’t welcome the unpleasant atmosphere she created in the house. She was rude to the servants and ruder still to
her daughters; only Harry was untouched by her desire to inflict gloom on everyone around her. While her daughters kept a safe distance from their mother, Harry remained close out of guilt and
loyalty. Maud was adept at manipulating her son with a mixture of emotional blackmail and favouritism and she was determined not to lose him, as she had clearly lost Elspeth. If Kitty was the
influence behind Elspeth’s surprising rebellion she was damned if she was going to let Harry slip into her power as well.

One morning Bridie was leaving Kitty’s bedroom with the dirty linen when she saw Mr Deverill sitting in a heap at the other end of the corridor. At first she thought she should pretend she
hadn’t seen him and disappear behind the green baize door. But compassion overcame her caution and she put down the linen and approached him. ‘Mr Deverill, are you all right,
sir?’ she asked. Bertie looked up at her, his eyes cloudy and alien. ‘Can I get someone to help you? Mr O’Lynch, Mrs Deverill?’

At the mention of his wife’s name he seemed to come alive. ‘No no . . .’ he stammered, trying to get up. Watching him there, floundering on the floor, impelled her to assist
him. She held his arm and let him use her as a lever to push himself up. When he reeled, she held him tighter.

‘Are you all right?’ she repeated lamely, for it was clear that he wasn’t.

‘Take me to my room,’ he said, leaning on her. They walked slowly down the corridor. Once in his bedroom she made to leave. He sat on the side of the bed and shook his head.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that, Bridget.’

‘It’s Bridie, sir,’ she corrected him. ‘I’m Miss Kitty’s lady’s maid.’

‘Bridie,’ he repeated.

Suddenly she noticed a trickle of blood running down the side of his face from his head. ‘You’re bleeding, sir.’

‘Am I?’ he asked, putting trembling fingers to the wound.

She hurried to the bathroom and returned with a towel. ‘May I, sir?’ she asked. He nodded and frowned as if he wasn’t quite sure why he was bleeding. As she dabbed his injury
she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. ‘I think I’d better call for Mr O’Lynch, sir,’ she said, referring to his valet.

‘I must have fallen and hit my head,’ he muttered. ‘That’s what happened. I hit my head. How silly of me.’

‘I think I should call for Mr O’Lynch, sir,’ she said again.

‘If you must.’

She rang the bell beside the bed. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’ She went to the dresser where there was a jug of water and a glass.

‘Thank you, Bridget,’ he said, taking it.

‘It’s Bridie, sir.’

‘Bridget to me, Bridget.’ He took the towel and looked at the bloodstains in bewilderment. Then he put it to his head again. Bridie noticed his hand was shaking. ‘You’re
a good girl, Bridget, and a pretty girl, too. Let’s keep this just between us, all right?’

Bridie smiled. ‘Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She bobbed a curtsy and left the room. She retrieved the linen she had discarded on the floor and made her way back up the corridor,
passing Mr O’Lynch hurrying the other way.

‘What are you up to, Bridie?’ he asked.

‘Fetching Miss Kitty’s linen, Mr O’Lynch.’

‘Then be quick about it,’ he said, marching on. Bridie hummed a tune as she washed the linen. That was the first time anyone had ever said she was pretty.

The Shrubs reported insults daily, taking unnecessary trips into Ballinakelly just so that they could return loaded with more ammunition for Colonel Manley. Every morning over
breakfast, Hubert reported ‘atrocious acts of violence’ committed by the ‘bloody Shinners’. He would thrust his nose into the
Irish Times
and grunt and groan like an
old walrus at the tales of murder and arson against the British Army and their property. ‘It’s time Colonel Manley and his men showed their mettle,’ he said before describing the
outrages to the women as they drank their tea and buttered their soda bread.

The Black and Tans were quick and decisive in their response to the atrocities. Rumours spread of reprisals carried out all over Ireland with the murder and abuse of innocent people. Shops and
hay barns, homes and businesses were destroyed. Men were stopped and searched at random, shot at, assaulted, arrested, tortured, threatened and deported. It seemed that the Black and Tans could do
just about anything they liked, without censure. ‘They’re above the law,’ Jack told Kitty when they were able to meet at the Fairy Ring. ‘Colonel Manley’s the most
hated man in Ballinakelly. He doesn’t think twice about killing innocent men if he thinks it’ll terrorize people into line.’

‘Be careful, Jack,’ said Kitty anxiously. ‘Keep your head down. You have to be above suspicion.’

‘I don’t like to say this, Kitty, but your grandfather must be careful. If I were him I wouldn’t socialize with the likes of Manley.’

‘He only came to dinner.’

‘I know, but word gets round and he’ll get into trouble.’

‘Grandpa’s old.’

‘And we don’t want him to see his grave before it’s time.’

Kitty blanched. ‘Ballinakelly people are loyal . . .’

‘No they’re not, Kitty,’ Jack growled. He took her arms as if he wanted to shake her. ‘It’s war. It’s not about soup kitchens and feeding the poor –
they resent you all the same. Shooting those men after the Easter Rising did the British no favours. Oppressing the people with violence will only deepen their hatred and unite them in their
determination to be free.’ He released her and wrapped his arms around her instead, pulling her against him with a ferocity that shocked her. ‘I wish to God you’d
leave.’