Songs of Love and War (32 page)

‘He’s a monster, Grace,’ Kitty interjected passionately. ‘He set Jack up and destroyed my home.’

Grace stiffened. She put her hand on Kitty’s arm and gripped her harder than she intended. ‘Michael is guilty of some terrible things,’ she said softly and Kitty was astonished
that Grace didn’t see Michael for the brute that he was. ‘But you are way off the mark here.’

‘He did it, Grace. I
know
he did it!’ Kitty insisted. ‘He betrayed Jack . . .’

Grace’s eyes filled with fear. ‘You’re wrong,’ she interrupted firmly. ‘I can only assume that your judgement has been clouded by your emotions. Michael is . . .
wild, strong, a bull in a china shop perhaps, but nothing if not loyal, Kitty. I assure you, when he finds out who destroyed Castle Deverill, the culprit shall be suitably punished. No one will be
keener to see that happen than Michael Doyle. As for Jack, that was just unfortunate. However, he got away and he will be somewhere safe by now. You have to trust me.’ But Kitty’s
intuition screamed distrust. She was too ashamed of her father and of what had taken place in the Doyle farmhouse to ever tell Grace the truth and, even if she did, she somehow doubted Grace would
believe her, because Grace didn’t
want
to believe her. As the older woman stubbornly defended Michael there was something about her defence that led Kitty to suspect that she cared
about him more than she should.

Hubert’s funeral was almost a requiem for Anglo-Irish society itself. ‘
The Irish Ascendancy has been rocked by the untimely death of my dear old friend Lord
Deverill of Ballinakelly, known to all as Hubert,’
wrote Viscount Castlerosse in his
Express
column. ‘
Even in London no one can talk of anything else, from the tea rooms
of the Ritz to the drawing rooms of Mayfair. I attended the funeral myself . . .’
Maud cried for Hubert and for her husband’s ruined inheritance. How would she hold her head up in
London society now that her castle was reduced to cinders? Everyone expected Bertie, the new Lord Deverill, to flee his estate and settle in England as so many had. Maud, now Lady Deverill,
returned to Ballinakelly for Hubert’s funeral, but it was unsafe for Harry, who remained in London. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to face the rubble or Joseph, who had been his
first and enduring love. Victoria, now finally pregnant with her first child, sent her grandmother a letter of condolence on a gold-embossed letterhead with her initials
V.E
. but
didn’t want to jeopardize her pregnancy by sailing across the Irish Sea. A heavily pregnant Elspeth, however, attended with her new husband Peter. They might not have much money, but at least
their castle was still standing.

Stoke and Augusta braved the journey with Digby, Beatrice and their daughter Celia. They held their chins up in defiance of the outrages waged against their family. ‘We’re Deverills,
my dear Celia,’ said Digby as the Irish coastline loomed out of the fog. ‘We must give our family our support and show those Shinners that we Deverills aren’t to be broken or
cowed by their violence. A Deverill’s castle is his kingdom.’

Beatrice gazed out over the green hills and recalled those balmy summers at Castle Deverill, now gone forever, and her heart ached with nostalgia and a sudden, searing pain for her darling
George who had adored them as much as she had.

The funeral was a grey, solemn affair. The day drizzly and cold. The people of Ballinakelly gathered outside the church of St Patrick to pay their respects, for even the most ardent supporters
of Sinn Féin did not condone the murder of Lord Deverill, even though some of them believed it right that the castle, a bastion of British supremacy, should be razed to the ground. Mrs
Doyle, Old Mrs Nagle and Sean remained at the back for they knew Michael had had a hand in the fire and their shame weighed heavily upon them – as did the uncertainty of their own future now
Mrs Doyle’s livelihood had been devastated along with the castle.

Celia found her cousin Kitty much changed. The mischief had gone out of her eyes and in its place a distance that made Celia long for the past when they had been as close as sisters. It seemed
as if they had both grown up and apart and that their childhood belonged to another life, and to other people entirely. Celia couldn’t understand why she didn’t come back to London with
her. ‘We’d have so much fun together, you and I,’ she explained excitedly. ‘Parties galore and handsome men calling day and night. It’s a whirlwind of entertainment
and I shall introduce you to everyone. You’ll be the toast of London, Kitty. Please say you will.’

But to Kitty the idea of leaving Ireland was akin to ripping out her heart. ‘I belong here,’ she replied and the solemn expression on her cousin’s face told Celia that no
amount of persuasion would change her mind.

‘Will you at least consider it? What’s left for you here, Kitty? The castle is all but demolished.’ She took her cousin’s hand when she noticed Kitty’s jaw tense
and her cheeks blanch and a glimpse of the old Kitty shone through the cracks in her newly constructed armour. ‘Just because you come over to London doesn’t mean you’re not Irish.
But you have to consider your future. Find a rich man and you can rebuild your castle.’ She smiled encouragingly.

‘I don’t care if I never marry, Celia. I will happily remain here for the rest of my days. Right now Grandma needs me. She’s alone in that tower and I’m the only one who
dares visit her. Everyone else thinks it’s on the brink of falling down but Grandma will hear none of it. I’m all she has left.’ Kitty sighed and Celia felt its heaviness as if it
were a solid thing. ‘The Shrubs have returned to their home but they barely ever leave it for fear of coming to harm. If anyone should leave for England, they should. But they won’t,
either. You see, we’re Irish, Celia. We’re all Irish. England is not our home, nor will it ever be. I’d rather die here on Irish soil than live my life in London, pining for my
home.’

‘Your mother—’

‘My mother never liked Ireland,’ Kitty snapped, interrupting her. ‘She’s never liked me either. She’s only ever liked herself, which is fortunate because
she’s the only person who does. I don’t care if I never see her again.’

Celia gasped. ‘Kitty, surely you don’t mean that . . .’

‘You know I do, Celia. I hope she leaves for England and never comes back.’

Celia’s heart swelled with compassion as Kitty suddenly looked forlorn in spite of her efforts to appear strong. ‘Oh Kitty, you seem so angry,’ Celia sighed. ‘And so
alone.’

‘I’m not alone, Celia. Far from it. I have Ireland and Ireland is more constant than people.’ Celia knew then that grief had placed her cousin out of her reach. There was
nothing more she could do to help.

When everyone left, the only people who remained at Castle Deverill were Bertie, Adeline and Kitty and a small retinue of servants. Bertie wanted very much to leave for London
but he had his mother to consider, mad though he thought she was, languishing up there in the castle tower talking to herself and drinking that intoxicating weed she called medicine. Busy with the
business of his father’s will and the salvaging of precious items from the castle ruins, he didn’t notice his daughter’s frostiness towards him. When his mind wasn’t on his
devastated home it was on Grace. She had been a tremendous support to him taking care of the maid’s pregnancy and the birth of her son, keeping it quiet and dealing with it both discreetly
and efficiently. He had seen a great deal of her since the fire. With Ronald away now so much of the time, she came to dine with him most evenings. Although they weren’t lovers any more at
least they were friends. He was grateful for that.

Kitty waited anxiously for news from Jack. She visited the hole in the wall five times a day to check for messages but her own damp letter was all she ever found. She never gave in to crying and
she never gave up hope. She imagined him hiding out in the hills and prayed that people were being kind and giving him food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in. When at last her monthly arrived she
was overwhelmed with relief, she could now try and put the horror of her ordeal behind her. But in the back of her mind she worried that Jack might sense a difference in her and be repelled. And
then, one late January morning, she discovered not a note, but Jack himself, hiding behind the wall. She stared at him in disbelief. Then her eyes filled with tears and her strength gave way to
sobs, so long stifled by the force of her will. Without a word he jumped over the wall and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly and pressing his lips to her temple. In that moment she
cried for her lost virtue and for the fact that Jack would not be the first to take her as a woman. She cried too because she knew she would never tell him.

Jack believed her tears were for her burned home and her dead grandfather and he hugged her close and waited for her grief to pass through her. Finally, he held her steady and looked deeply into
her eyes. ‘I’ve come back for you, Kitty. I want you to come away with me. We can start a new life together far far away where no one will find us. I want to marry you. I want you to
have my children. I want to grow old with you.’ Kitty was lost for words. ‘I love you, Kitty Deverill. I love the bones of you. But we can’t be happy here. We have to go where the
law won’t find
me
and your family won’t find
you.
We have to go where we can be free.’

‘Where?’ Kitty asked. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest she could barely hear herself speak.

‘America.’

Kitty was astounded. ‘You want to leave Ireland?’

‘Until things quieten down. I want to make a life for us, Kitty. I can’t do that here.’

‘But what about Ireland? What about the fight?’

‘It’s over, Kitty. I accept the Treaty. I don’t want to be part of the violence any more. I want to live in peace, with you.’

‘I can’t leave my grandmother . . . I can’t leave my home . . .’ Her gaze wandered over the gardens forlornly.

‘Look at me, Kitty.’ She did as she was told. ‘There’s nothing left here. The castle’s gone. We have to leave. I have to leave before they bloody shoot
me.’

The thought of Jack facing the firing squad concentrated Kitty’s mind. ‘All right. I’ll leave with you as long as it’s only temporary. As long as we come back. If I know
we’ll come back I’ll be able to leave.’ She began to cry again. ‘Please reassure me that we’ll come back.’

‘I promise you, we’ll come back.’

‘Then I’ll go with you,’ she conceded quietly.

‘Good. There’s a boat leaving from Queenstown the day after tomorrow. We have to leave at dawn on the early train. It’s all arranged.’

‘How?’

‘Trust me. I have friends in high places. I have two passages and someone to vouch for us when we get there.’

‘I have nothing, Jack. No money . . .’

‘You have
me
.’ He hugged her again. ‘You have me, Kitty, and that’s all you’ll ever need.’ He grinned at her and her anxiety was dispelled by his
confidence. ‘I’ll meet you here at six in the morning. Don’t be late.’

As she hurried back to the Hunting Lodge she found that she was trembling all over. Jack had returned but her heart was pounding with dread, not joy. She hadn’t anticipated leaving
Ireland. She gazed upon the ruins of the castle and knew that Celia was right. There was nothing left for her here. But still, she didn’t know whether she had the strength to tear herself
away, for a tear it would be. How she would bleed. Without Ireland she would not be herself.

She slowed her pace and in her chest there grew a pressure so great that it caused her breathing to become laboured. She put her hand to her heart and suddenly all the horror of the last month
seemed to crash down on top of her. ‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she whispered to herself, pacing small circles on the grass. ‘I don’t know if I can leave. I love
you, Jack, but I love Ireland. I don’t know if I have the courage.’ Her face crumpled with despair and indecision. She put her fist in her mouth and bit down onto her flesh to stifle
another sob. ‘God help me. Am I going mad?’ Then she managed to control herself again. ‘No, I can do it,’ she rallied. ‘I love Jack. There’s nothing for me here.
I love Jack. I love Jack, I love Jack with all my heart.’ She strode off towards the Hunting Lodge.

As she reached the front door she saw a basket in the porch. At first she thought it was a basket of food, but as she approached she realized that it was a baby. She bent down and gazed into the
tiny pink face. A red curl was already falling over his pale forehead. She flinched as the baby opened his eyes and seemed to stare at her. His boldness took her breath away. Tucked into the
blanket was a note. With a shaking hand she opened it.
Please take good care of me, Kitty. I am a Deverill and I belong to you.
She turned it over, hoping for more, but there was nothing.
Tentatively she allowed the baby to grip her finger. He was so compelling she was unable to wrench her eyes away. She guessed at once. This must be Bridie’s child; her half-brother.

‘Hello, my little friend,’ she said softly and her vision blurred. ‘I’m going to take good care of you. For Bridie. And for me, because I’m going to need someone to
love.’

‘This is an outrage!’ Bertie thundered, averting his eyes from the baby Kitty had just brought into the library in a basket.

‘He is your child, Papa, and I intend to keep him.’ Kitty gazed at her father steadily.

He knocked back a swig of whiskey and stared into the fire. ‘So you know,’ he said quietly.

‘I know.’ There was a long pause. Kitty didn’t want to hear the details. She feared suddenly that he might have raped Bridie, after all. Perhaps she was just being naive
because she wanted to believe her father incapable of brutality. She dispelled the image of him taking Grace and dared not imagine how he had taken Bridie. She wanted to admire him. For all the
world she wanted him to be honourable. She dropped her eyes onto the child who was sleeping again. ‘Where is Bridie now?’

‘America,’ he replied.