Cashelmara (28 page)

“But what are we going to do?” he said. “How are we going to manage? What’s to happen to our marriage?” He was so weakened by the pain that he could no longer fight the despair.

“Everything will be well,” I said, “as long as you trust me. If you can love me enough to do that, I shall love you more than enough not to miss what we had before.”

He looked at me. I saw his cynicism and his worldliness battle with his immense desire to believe, and suddenly I was filled with a rage such as I had not known since my unhappiest days in New York, a rage against fate for having meted out unfair treatment. If Edward had been over seventy I might have been more resigned to his ill health, but he was still a long way from seventy and his mind remained active and young.

“Promise me!” I said fiercely to him, trying not to think of those endless twilight years that stretched ahead of us. “Promise me you’ll trust me!”

“I promise,” he said, the effects of the laudanum blurring his voice to a whisper, and he fell asleep with his hand curled peacefully in mine.

It was the very next day that Derry Stranahan arrived. Both Annabel’s daughters almost swooned when they saw him, for they had lived a secluded life with their grandparents in Northumberland and had never before been confronted with such a good-looking young man. But Derry had learned his lesson. Not even his worst enemy could have accused him of flirting with Clara, whose prettiness he obviously admired, and as soon as he set foot in Cashelmara his behavior was impeccable.

Thomas and David became disgruntled because Patrick spent all his spare time in Derry’s company, but I could hardly complain to Patrick about that when I had imported Derry solely to make Cashelmara tolerable to him. I did think it was a pity that Patrick could not even spend half an hour a day with his brothers, but perhaps I had come to take his devotion to the boys too much for granted. Naturally it was more fun for him to be with Derry, and I decided to hold my tongue on the subject during the two weeks of Derry’s visit.

The days passed. Our life at Cashelmara remained uneventful until at last on one morning in early July Maxwell Drummond jogged up the drive in his donkey cart to make a mockery of my painfully constructed family peace.

Maxwell Drummond, uncouth and brash, his boots ringing insolently on the marble floor of the hall—I was standing upstairs in the gallery as he demanded to see Edward, and as I watched I remembered how he had disgraced himself in Edward’s eyes by abandoning the opportunities of the Agricultural College to run off with a schoolmaster’s daughter.

“My lord’s unwell,” Hayes was saying guardedly. “He’ll not be receiving visitors today, Maxwell Drummond.”

I will not write the word Drummond used to describe this statement. To say that the word was coarse would do injustice to its gross vulgarity.

“It’s the truth, so help me!” cried Hayes indignantly.

“——the truth,” said Drummond. “I’m staying here till Lord de Salis sees me, Robert Hayes, and you’d best tell him I’m here before that bastard Derry Stranahan walks through this hall or else it’s a murder you’ll be witnessing, and may God forgive me if I lie.”

I found myself at the head of the stairs. When Hayes looked up I saw the relief in his eyes. “My lady …”

“I’ll see Mr. Drummond, Hayes.”

Drummond gave Hayes a smug look and bowed low to me. “God save you, my lady.”

“Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” I said in a chilly voice and swept ahead of him to the blue morning room which was set aside for receiving people of lesser quality.

The room was damp and cold. Outside a mist was creeping down from the mountains and pushing clammy fingers toward the lough.

“Well, Mr. Drummond,” I said when we were alone, “my husband is unwell, but perhaps I can help you. I understand you wish to make a complaint about Mr. Stranahan.”

“Himself, my lady,” said Drummond. “My lady, I’m a peaceful man and I’m not uneducated and I can accept any situation as long as it’s fair and just, and to be sure Lord de Salis is the fairest landlord west of the Shannon, which is why I know this time there must be some mistake. I can take a great deal from Ian MacGowan, the mean Scots bastard, because at bottom it’s an honest man he is and him only trying to do his job as best he can, but I’ll not be taking a tinker’s curse from that son of a tinker’s bitch Roderick Stranahan, and that’s my last word on the subject.”

“Mr. Drummond, if you would kindly come to the point I would be greatly obliged—”

“Giving himself such airs! Pretending to be such a gentleman when everyone knows he used to play barefoot in front of that hovel down the bohereen from my own home—when everyone knows it’s the worst drunkard and gambler his father was from here to Clonareen—”

“Mr. Drummond …”

“My lady, is it the truth that Lord de Salis has given Mr. Patrick all the land on the north shore and told him to do as he likes with it?”

I stared at him. I did not answer.

“And is it the truth that Derry Stranahan won’t be returning to Dublin because Mr. Patrick has turned the land over to him to treat as he pleases?”

Some small noise made me whirl around. Neither of us had heard the door open, but now as the floorboard creaked I saw we were not alone. On the threshold, leaning heavily on his walking stick, stood Edward, and one glance at his face told me he was in a towering rage.

“Leave us, Marguerite, if you please,” said Edward, and I left them. I ran all the way to the hall and caught Hayes as he emerged from the dining room.

“Hayes, do you know where Mr. Patrick is?”

“To be sure, my lady, he was riding up the drive to the stables a whileen past.”

I rushed down the passage to the side door and tore through the rain to the stables. There was no sign of Patrick, but as I turned to run back to the house he rode into the courtyard with Derry. They both waved when they saw me, and then I saw their expressions change as they came nearer.

Patrick dismounted quickly. “Marguerite! For God’s sake, what’s the matter?”

I was too angry and too sick at heart to care what I said. “You fool,” I said to him, my voice shaking. “You stupid fool! How dare you turn over your new responsibilities to Derry! Your father gave that land to you as a gesture of confidence and generosity. How dare you wash your hands of it and throw that gesture back in his face!”

“Lady de Salis,” said Derry smoothly as Patrick stared at me in stupefaction, “you must have a very rough justice in America if you treat a man as guilty before you’ve even given him a fair hearing.”

“I’ve heard enough to realize this is all your fault!” I shouted at him, enraged by both his coolness and his criticism.

“Then you haven’t heard enough,” said Derry, still smooth as glass, “for the fault’s not mine but yours.”

“How dare you suggest—”

“You brought me here. You implied you wanted me to help Patrick.”

“I implied no such thing! I simply wanted Patrick to have some companionship because—”

“Ah, it’s so touching how concerned you always are for Patrick’s welfare!” said Derry, and as I saw the malice glitter in his eyes I was shocked—as if I had picked up a precious stone and seen vermin crawling in the earth beneath. “It’s lucky your husband’s old enough to be blind to your most private philanthropies, isn’t it, Lady de Salis?”

I stared at him. For a second I glimpsed a truth that lay far beyond the borders of his insolence, and then the glimpse vanished before I could identify it, and my anger took control of me again.

“Mr. Stranahan,” I managed to say, “it is quite beneath my dignity to argue with a man—I cannot say a gentleman—who has addressed me as you have just addressed me. I find your behavior rude, insolent and altogether quite intolerable, and I shall certainly inform my husband that as far as I am concerned you are no longer welcome at Cashelmara. Good day.” And turning my back on them, I stumbled through the mud toward the house just as the mist thickened in the courtyard to chill me to the bone.

There was an appalling quarrel.

I tried not to listen, but I had no choice. The quarrel filled the house.

Drummond was dismissed, and from the window of the gallery I watched him saunter down the steps to his donkey cart. He was whistling, and his swagger grazed my raw nerves. After a long interval Derry too left. I was in my room by this time, but since this faced the drive I saw him wait with his baggage for the trap to come from the stables to the front door. When he left he never once looked back, so I did not see the expression on his face.

Meanwhile Edward had turned to Patrick. Unable to bear to listen to their shouting, I retreated to the farthest reaches of the west wing, the part of the house reserved for guests, and in the last bedroom I closed the door, sank down on the window seat and stared across the straggling vegetable patch to the wet darkness of the larchwoods.

At last when I nerved myself to leave I returned to my room with the intention of remaining there in seclusion, but as soon as I opened the door I saw with a shock that Edward was there. I was in such a state of apprehensiveness that I might well have panicked by bolting from his presence if I had not realized he was in pain. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and dosing himself with laudanum.

“Oh, there you are,” he said, perfectly calm. “I was about to ask your maid to look for you. Marguerite, there’s a doctor in Westport. I forget his name, but he attends Lord Sligo now and then at Westport House. Could you write the note to send for him? I feel so unwell that I don’t believe either the arthritis or Patrick’s imbecility can be entirely to blame.”

“Of course!” In my distress I forgot all my apprehension. “I’ll send for him at once. Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t think so, but there’s a damnable pain in my stomach. My digestion has been playing me tricks lately for some reason or other.” And with a terrible passion he added, “God, how I hate growing old!” and covered his face with his hands.

I kissed him. “I’m sorry you’ve been so troubled when you’re unwell,” I said unsteadily. “It’s all my fault, I know, for pressing you to give Patrick more responsibility.”

He shook his head, let his hands fall from his face. “No, your idea was sound. The fault was mine. I turned a blind eye once too often to Derry Stranahan.”

“If only Patrick hadn’t abdicated his responsibilities in that fashion—”

“He said he wanted only to please me. He said he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to manage the work successfully, so he asked Derry to help him. He said he hadn’t intended me to know he was afraid of the responsibility.”

“And Derry had no motive other than kindness?” I could not help but be skeptical, sure enough Edward answered bitterly, “Derry intervened out of greed and the desire to revenge himself on those who caused his expulsion from the valley years ago. He was trying to extort money from Drummond and the O’Malleys.”

“I confess I’ve been greatly deceived by him,” I said after a pause. “He hides his true feelings much too well.”

All Edward said was “He’s no damned good.” He was staring hard at the floor, and his clenched fists dug into the mattress at his sides.

“Edward, please have faith in Patrick. I know it’s a lot to ask after everything that’s happened, but—”

“Patrick’s a good boy,” he said unexpectedly, surprising me so much that at first I wondered if I had heard him correctly. His voice too sounded unlike him. It was strained, curiously subdued. “He’s like my father,” he said. “My father was a delightful man. I wish you could have known him. He and my mother were devoted to each other. He said to me once, ‘I can’t recommend matrimony too highly.’ I can very clearly remember him saying that.”

I could not quite follow the drift of the conversation and supposed the laudanum was making him wander in his speech. However, I seized the opportunity to say, “And I’m sure Patrick will say the same thing to you when he himself marries and settles down.”

“Marries … settles down … yes,” he said, and now I knew the laudanum was affecting him, for his words were starting to slur. “Best thing for him … a good boy, no son of mine could be … other than that.”

“I’ll send for the doctor at once,” I said gently and tugged the bell rope to summon his valet.

A quarter of an hour later when the summons for the doctor was on its way I began to comb the house in search of Patrick.

I found him at last in one of the disused glasshouses. He was sitting on an upturned box in a corner among the weeds, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looked up as I pushed open the door and then looked away as if he could not bear to meet my eyes.

“It would be better if we didn’t talk,” he said at once. “I know you have a low opinion of me.”

“Oh Patrick!” I felt bereft, and suddenly all my anger vanished and I had to fight the urge to console him too lavishly. “I’m sorry I lost my temper,” I said rapidly. “I said things that shouldn’t have been said, and no doubt Derry was quite right in accusing me of not giving you a fair hearing. Edward has explained to me that you acted only to please him.”

“I don’t suppose he’ll ever forgive me, but—”

“But he will! I know he will! Patrick, do you know what would really please him more than anything else? If you were to marry, Patrick, if you were to marry and settle down—at Woodhammer, of course. I’m sure I could arrange for that.”

“But, Marguerite, I don’t know any girl I’d want to marry! It’s all very well you talking of marriage, but the girls I meet are either shy little things—and that don’t suit me, because I’m shy myself—or else they fancy me because I’m six feet two and look pretty well on horseback and have a title and fortune to look forward to one day. And that don’t suit me either, because I know they’re not one scrap interested in what I’m really like.”

Oh, those English girls!” I exclaimed passionately. “Either blushing like ineffectual roses or else trying you on for size as if you were a new fashion from Paris! If only you could meet an American girl. American girls are so unstultified, so fresh, so … so
interested
in their suitors! I wish so much that you could meet my niece Sarah. If I could write to Francis and persuade him to bring Sarah to England for a visit—why, of course! Patrick, I’ve just had the most marvelous idea! Why don’t
you
write to Sarah? She knows all about you, because I so often mention you in my letters, and I know she would be thrilled to receive a letter from you herself. If you could establish a correspondence I’m sure she would soon be anxious to cross the Atlantic!”