Songs of Love and War (30 page)

Once back in her bedroom she rang for Bridie. Her secret missions and liaisons with Jack had kept her so busy she hadn’t noticed Bridie’s increasingly white face and quiet demeanour
as she discreetly went about her work. But now, when she came to the door, her raw eyes and swollen cheeks were too evident to overlook. ‘Bridie, what’s the matter?’ Kitty ran to
her friend and led her to the bed where she sank into the mattress like a rag doll.

‘I’m leaving, Kitty,’ she said, buckling beneath her sorrow.

‘What do you mean you’re leaving? Why would you want to leave?’

‘Mr Deverill says it’s a good opportunity. A promotion. I’m going up in the world, Kitty.’ She began to sob.

‘Papa is sending you away?’ Kitty was aghast. Bridie nodded, withdrew a handkerchief out of her sleeve and patted her eyes. Kitty noticed her father’s initials on the
handkerchief and clicked her tongue. ‘He’s sending you away even though you don’t want to go!’ She took the handkerchief out of Bridie’s hand and held it up.
‘How callous of him! When did he tell you?’

‘This morning.’ Bridie reached for the handkerchief and pressed it to her heart. Kitty would never know how much it meant to her.

‘At least he gave you something to wipe your eyes with!’ She stood up. ‘I shall go and talk to him. He can’t send you away because I need you.’

‘I
want
to go,’ Bridie said quietly. ‘It’s a good position for a girl like me. I’ve never been to Dublin.’

Kitty swung round. ‘Dublin? Papa is sending you to Dublin?’

‘Yes, Dublin.’ Bridie twisted the handkerchief into a knot. ‘Didn’t I say?’

‘You’re not going to leave me, Bridie! We’re like sisters, you and I. I
need
you!’

Bridie thought of Jack and his love for Kitty and her resolve hardened. She looked down at the handkerchief which Mr Deverill had used to dry her eyes the first time he had kissed her, and
folded it into her hands. ‘I have to go, Kitty. There’s nothing for me here but you. If I stay I’ll end up like my mother.’

‘That’s not so terrible, surely,’ Kitty argued.

‘I want more from my life than this.’

‘So, what’s Papa arranged for you in Dublin?’

Bridie couldn’t look at her and lie so brazenly. She stared into her lap. ‘I’ll be working as a lady’s maid for a grand lady in a beautiful house. That’s all I
know.’

‘What’s the difference to working here? Aren’t I grand enough for you?’ Kitty grinned but Bridie could tell she was angry. ‘I’ll always treat you well,
Bridie. You know that. If it’s money, I’m sure Papa can pay you more . . .’

‘It’s not money.’ Bridie looked at her steadily. ‘I had a fella, but now—’

‘Well, why didn’t you say?’

‘It’s over. He doesn’t want me any more.’ Bridie’s shoulders began to shake. ‘I need to get away. Far away.’

Kitty sat beside her and put her arms around her. ‘Oh Bridie, you should have told me. Did he break your heart?’ Bridie nodded. ‘The toad!’

‘It doesn’t matter. He was too good for me anyway.’

Kitty wondered whether she was speaking of Jack, but didn’t dare ask; that subject was much too sensitive. ‘Nonsense,’ she soothed. ‘You’re too good for
him,
Bridie. You have a heart of gold. Any man would be lucky to win it.’

Bridie leant her head against her friend and felt a warm feeling wrap her up like a blanket. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends. Isn’t that so?’ she said.

Kitty held her fiercely. ‘You’re my best friend in the whole world, Bridie. I love you like a sister. You promise to write to me every week?’

‘I promise.’

‘If she’s mean to you, or you’re unhappy, or you simply miss home, your place here will always be open for you.’ She felt her own eyes prickling with tears. She squeezed
Bridie harder. ‘Or if you simply miss me, I’ll come up to Dublin. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll come and visit you. You only have to say the word.’

Bridie arrived in Dublin sick with nerves about leaving home and frightened about her uncertain future. The only consolation was the child growing inside her whom she already
loved with the passion of someone who has lost everything. When she pressed her hand to her belly she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her, drowning her fears and filling her with optimism.
Surely she could persuade the nuns at the convent to let her keep her baby? But Bridie was naive to believe that
her
wishes would ever be considered.

Grace had answered Bertie’s cry for help and agreed to take Bridie in as a maid in her Dublin home for the duration of her pregnancy. When Bertie had told her of the girl’s plight,
Grace had understood the situation immediately and made the arrangements with the efficiency of a colonel in the British Army. The girl had to be removed discreetly and Bertie’s child put up
for adoption at once. Grace rose to the challenge; after all, she prided herself on her ability to get things done. ‘Once you have been delivered of your child I shall arrange for your passage
to America,’ she told Bridie. ‘Sir Ronald and I have many friends in New York and I have already started looking for a position for you. It will be exciting starting a new life in a new
city. I’m sure you’ll make your family very proud.’ Grace faltered when she saw the girl’s stricken face. It was clear from the light slowly extinguishing in her eyes that
Bridie had hoped to keep her baby. But this wasn’t just
any
baby: this was Bertie’s baby, and there was nothing in the world that would have convinced Grace to let her keep it.
‘I’m afraid a girl in your position, Bridie, simply can’t bring up a child on her own. This way is better for both of you.’ Grace averted her gaze. She couldn’t bear
the sight of Bridie’s despair. She was only a child herself, the same age as Kitty. ‘One day you will thank me,’ she said, before leaving Bridie to the care of her housekeeper.
But Bridie felt as if she had just delivered her death sentence.

After Bridie left, the summer disintegrated into wet days and the leaves fell dejectedly onto the soggy ground. Autumn blew inland in gales that sent the waves crashing against
the cliffs and the wind thrashing against the castle walls. Kitty met Jack whenever she could, but it was dangerous to be seen together. Kitty could not be observed associating with local men
already under suspicion of being involved with the IRA for fear of breaking her cover. So they met in secret at the Fairy Ring, in the caves on Smuggler’s Bay, in Adeline’s greenhouses.
Their kisses were stolen and therefore more precious than ever. They had become a small island surrounded by a hostile ocean, with enemy ships on every side. They clung to each other, living
intensely and in the moment, because neither dared look beyond for the future was as dark as night.

In July both sides had agreed to a truce to end the fighting but the violence had continued nonetheless, especially in the North. When Hubert read that thirty people had been killed in Belfast
he threw the paper onto the breakfast table in disgust and walked out with his gun, shouting through the hall that he was taking the dogs for a walk and woe betide any Shinner who dared step into
his path. In December Kitty and Jack celebrated the Anglo-Irish Treaty which was signed in London between the British Government and the Irish delegation, declaring Southern Ireland a Free State,
but allowing the North to opt out and stay British if it so desired; and it did desire. This meant that Ireland would be partitioned into two parts: the independent south and the British North. But
it was a compromise and compromises never please everyone. Many Irish nationalists regarded it as a betrayal and Michael Doyle was one of them. He challenged Jack to agree but Jack was growing
tired of the violence. The fire in his spirit was now tempered by his deepening love for Kitty. The vision of settling down with her and starting a family was a pinprick of light at the end of a
black tunnel, impossibly small but tantalizingly visible. The more he set his sights on it the more real it became. He began to dream of peace so that he and Kitty could walk over the hills hand in
hand for all the world to see. But Michael wasn’t going to let him give in so easily.

The night before Christmas Adeline sat up in bed. It was as dark as slate. The wind moaned around the castle walls like a restless ghost but the ghosts themselves were quiet.
Her heart beat frantically as if sensing a danger she hadn’t yet understood. She climbed out of bed and made her way across the cold room to the window. Pulling back the curtains revealed
nothing but her own white face and nightdress reflected in the glass, staring uneasily back at her. She sighed heavily and wondered whether to wake Hubert. She could hear him snoring loudly in his
bedroom next door. His lungs were like bellows as he took in great snorts of air. She was suddenly overcome by a desire to curl up beside him, like they had done in the old days when they were
young and in love. She wanted to take comfort from his big, warm body that smelt of cigars and whiskey and dog. But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep with the noise. Finally she
crept back into her own bed and curled into a ball beneath the blankets. She closed her eyes but her heart would not quieten for all the gentle thoughts she poured into it.

Kitty lay in bed blinking into the darkness. An owl hooted into the gale and what sounded like a pheasant screeched somewhere deep in the wood. Kitty shuddered. Her stomach churned with an
anxiety she didn’t recognize. She lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to find the reason for her disquiet but finding nothing. Then slowly she became aware of the presence of someone in her
bedroom. She strained her eyes in the darkness, but as they adjusted she realized it wasn’t a person but a spirit who had taken it upon himself to visit. She sat up and stared at the ghostly
figure now standing before her. As he grew clearer she realized it was Tomas Doyle, Bridie’s father. His light was dim as if he was struggling to remain there, and his face full of worry. He
held his cap in his hands and his kind eyes gazed at her with intensity but she understood nothing of what he was struggling to communicate. At last he began to fade, but before he disappeared he
pointed at the window, waving his finger in frustration.

Kitty pulled on her dressing gown and went to the window. She tore back the heavy curtains and stared into the darkness. To her surprise it had a glow to it, as if dawn had begun to break in the
wrong part of the sky. She gazed out in confusion. She was sure it was the middle of the night. Then she smelt smoke. It came thick and fast, carried on the wind like a sea fog, dense enough to
swallow entire ships. Gripped by a terrible panic she ran out of her room and down the corridor, the smell of smoke growing stronger with every step. She ran to the top of the Hunting Lodge and
looked out of the attic window. There, above the tree line, was a bright yellow light. It was so vivid it was setting the sky aflame. Sick with fright she realized the castle was on fire.

Adeline smelt the smoke before she sensed the spirits crowding her bedroom. She opened her eyes to find her room alight with ghosts. They had all squeezed into her room at once, to rouse her
from sleep. ‘The castle is burning!’ they exclaimed and Adeline sprang out of bed. She hurried into Hubert’s room. Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely hear his
snoring above the thumping it made. She shook him. ‘Hubert! Wake up! Wake up! The castle’s on fire. We must get out!’

Hubert grunted and opened his eyes. He stared at her in horror. ‘What’s the matter, woman?’

‘The castle! It’s on fire!’ Adeline shouted. Hubert jumped out of bed and flung on his dressing gown. Smoke was sliding beneath the door like a malevolent grey snake. He
grabbed a towel and plunged it into the water jug on the dresser. ‘Press this against your nose, my girl,’ he said, thrusting it into his wife’s hands. He found another one for
himself then opened the door and stepped out into the smoke. They ran down the stairs as the cracking sound of burning wood and the deafening noise of flames grew ever louder.

When Hubert had delivered Adeline safely into the hall he told her he had to return to save the Shrubs. Adeline watched him disappear back up the stairs, his big body suddenly small and
frighteningly vulnerable as it vanished into the smoke.

Now the whole household was spilling out onto the gravel in front of the castle with Hubert’s wolfhounds who looked around anxiously for their master. O’Flynn, Skiddy and the maids
stood staring up at the building, their faces golden in the glow of the fire, their mouths agape, their eyes glittering with tears as they watched the flames blazing behind the glass windows as if
Adeline were throwing the most lavish party ever. Adeline stood trembling and helpless. There was nothing anyone could do. No amount of water would put out such a fire. The castle, being so old,
was going up like a tinder box and all she could do was pray for Hubert and her sisters.

She was so focused on the front door that she didn’t notice Bertie and Kitty and the servants from the Hunting Lodge running towards them with reinforcements. Bertie dashed into the
castle, deaf to Kitty’s cries. Suddenly there were buckets of water and loyal men and women throwing them at the walls. They formed a chain, a useless, ineffectual chain that did nothing to
arrest even the smallest flames. They must have known it was hopeless but they continued all the same. No one could stand and watch, except Adeline who knew that only God could help them now.

For an agonizing length of time the door remained engulfed in smoke. The flames grew higher, the smell so intense that the water-bearers had to stop and move away, coughing into their wet hands.
The heat was so strong they began to sweat in the icy December night. And then Bertie emerged out of the smoke with a Shrub on each arm, choking, trembling, terrified but alive. Adeline felt a
surge of relief. But when she saw that it was Bertie and not Hubert her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed onto the ground. She hadn’t noticed her son go in.

Kitty was beside her at once. ‘Grandma!’ She wrapped her arms around her but there was nothing she could say to comfort her.

‘Where’s Hubert?’ Adeline whispered. ‘My Hubert? Where is he?’ But she knew. She could sense it. He had gone.