Cashelmara (95 page)

“Very well, thank you, sir,” I said, smiling at him, and wondered how I could wait until I was twenty-one before kicking him out of my house into the pig manure where he belonged.

SOON AFTER MY DISCOVERY
of his bargain with Phineas Gallagher, Drummond’s mode of life began to change. He gave old MacGowan’s house to the patriarch of the O’Malley family and moved to Cashelmara to live openly with my mother.

At first I thought it best to say nothing, but after a week I found that something had to be said.

“Mama,” I said when I had the opportunity to speak to her alone, “please don’t misunderstand me. I have no wish to criticize you, but don’t you think it would be better if Mr. Drummond kept up the pretense of having his own home?”

“Of course,” said my mother. “He’s going to move to Clonagh Court. This is just a temporary measure, darling.”

“I see. Well, would it be possible, perhaps, for him to have the suite of guest rooms in the west wing? There’s a lot of talk among the servants because he shares your apartments now.”

“You mustn’t listen to servants’ gossip, Ned. I’m not answerable to the servants.”

I tried again. “Mama, it’s not that I myself mind—” that was a lie but I did want to be tactful—”but Nanny is very upset and Miss Cameron is talking of going back to Scotland, and it’s such a pity for Eleanor and Jane to be cut off from other girls their age.”

“If Nanny and Miss Cameron have complaints they can bring them to me,” said my mother, “and it’s for me, not you, to be concerned about Eleanor and Jane.”

It was hard to know what to say next. In the end I simply asked, “When will Mr. Drummond move to Clonagh Court?”

“I’m not exactly sure, darling. It depends to some extent on his sons.”

Drummond was still trying to lure his sons back to the valley. He had rebuilt his old home by this time, and it was when this had failed to tempt them back that his interest in Clonagh Court had revived. More O’Malleys now occupied his old home, and Clonagh Court had been extensively renovated.

I thought it best not to ask where the money was coming from. I knew Drummond couldn’t have afforded the renovations on his salary, but it seemed pointless to complain to my uncles when any complaint would only get my mother into trouble. It was my mother who kept the books.

“If Mr. Drummond thinks he can lure his sons back to the valley by offering them bigger and better homes, he’s mistaken,” I said levelly, remembering past conversations with Denis. “They think he’s wronging their mother, and so long as he continues to wrong her they’ll never come back.”

“Well, why don’t we wait and see what happens?” suggested my mother, so I waited—and eventually I saw I had summed up the situation correctly. Drummond’s sons remained in Dublin, Clonagh Court remained unoccupied and Drummond remained at Cashelmara.

“How can your mother, who’s a lady, bring herself to behave like this?” Kerry blurted out at last. She knew I hated to hear criticism of my mother, but she couldn’t help herself. She sounded more astonished than shocked.

“She’s not responsible for what she does,” I said. What else could I say? And when Kerry looked incredulous I heard myself add, “It’s like an act of God.”

It felt odd to say those words. Memories of old nightmares stirred in me, but I clamped them down.

“What in heaven’s name do you mean?” said Kerry, baffled, and when I tried to explain my words were muddled and made no sense.

“Don’t let’s talk about my mother, Kerry. I’ll put everything right later when I’m twenty-one. But at present I just don’t want to think about it.”

I was becoming extraordinarily talented at burying my head in the sand, but that was because I had discovered the perfect way to forget everything I had no wish to remember. Kerry and I used to snatch odd minutes together during the day, and although my mother now insisted on the children accompanying us on our Saturday expeditions I hit upon the brilliant idea of escorting Kerry to Mass on Sunday. Since her arrival at Cashelmara Drummond had always acted as her escort when she went to church at Clonareen, but his way of life prevented him from attending the service, and I knew the weekly journey was tedious to him. At the end of August when Father Donal paid his regular call on Kerry at Cashelmara I managed to see him for a few minutes alone.

“Father,” I said, “I’m interested in attending your services for a month or so. Could you ask my mother to give her permission, please?”

My mother, fortunately, was in Father Donal’s debt, and I knew she would find it difficult to refuse his request. He had not only helped her get Drummond out of jail but had stood by her afterward when she had been forced to remain at Cashelmara.

“You don’t want to be a Roman Catholic, do you, Ned?” was my mother’s alarmed response to the request. As if to make amends for her life with Drummond, she had become very conservative in all other matters, and as far as she was concerned it simply wasn’t done for a young baron like myself to turn papist.

“I don’t know whether I want to be a Catholic or not,” I said truthfully. “That’s exactly what I’m anxious to find out.”

But my mother continued to disapprove, and eventually I had to seek help from Aunt Madeleine, who, true to form, sallied forth from the dispensary with crusading zeal and told my mother to be grateful I showed any religious inclinations whatsoever.

“The boy must be encouraged,” said my aunt, giving me her fondest smile, and the next Sunday my mother meekly gave me her permission to go to Mass.

I liked the Mass very much, but I liked the journey to and from church better. However, after a month even the privacy of the carriage seemed inadequate, and I began to plot another picnic in the ruined cabin. One afternoon I raided the pantry, Kerry pleaded a headache to avoid my mother’s supervision and half an hour later I was spreading my jacket on the cabin’s earthen floor.

Some unknown time later Kerry said in an agony of despair, “Ned, I know some people stay chaste for years and years, but I’ve been chaste for nearly six whole weeks now and I feel as if I’m going to burst any minute. What are we going to do? Please, Ned—help me or I’ll be a gone coon, I swear it!”

I was in no fit state to reply. To extract every ounce of pleasure from being close to her, I had stripped to the waist and had coaxed Kerry by a mixture of bullying and wheedling to unbutton her blouse. The days when we had giggled together as children had never seemed more remote.

“Ned, say something!” She pushed away my fingers, which had been prying distractedly at her bodice, and tried without success to roll out of my reach. “What are we going to do?”

I made the only suggestion that presented itself to me.

“Oh, but I couldn’t!” she said. “That’s a mortal sin, I’m sure of it, and I couldn’t possibly have any virginity left afterward, and Ma and Pa would just kill themselves if they ever found out.”

“It wouldn’t be a mortal sin if we got married!”

“But I thought you didn’t want to get married!”

“I’ll do anything you like,” I said. “I’ll get married or stand on my head or jump in the lough. But let me—”

“Oh Jesus!” said Kerry.

I started to kiss her again. I still couldn’t get to grips with the bodice. It was worse than a chastity belt.

“Would you really marry me?” said Kerry.

“Of course.” Something ripped. I heard the faint crack of whalebone succumbing.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh good,” said Kerry, pushing me away again. “I think I can just wait till then.”

“I can’t,” I said, triumphing at last over the appalling underwear and breaking out in a sweat from head to toe.

“Well, maybe I can’t either,” said Kerry. “Oh, but I must. Holy Mary, save me from sinning. Amen. Oh, Ned, that feels so good. Holy Mary, save me from—well, perhaps it doesn’t matter. After all, Pa said people can be just as good as married, and if your ma and Mr. Drummond can do it …”

Everything finished, the strait-jacket of excitement, the blazing pressure, the superhuman surge of power in every muscle of my body. Even the sweat on my back seemed to freeze. With a shiver I rolled away from her and lay on my side facing the wall.

When I looked at Kerry again I saw she was buttoning her blouse. Her hands were shaking. The buttons kept slipping between her fingers.

I said in a calm, sensible voice, “Don’t be upset. There’s no need. We’re going to get married.”

She nodded, but I saw she didn’t understand.

“I mean we’re going to do things the proper way,” I said. “I won’t touch you until you’re my wife, but don’t worry because we’ll be married very soon.”

She stared at me. Her eyes were shining again. She looked bright and fresh and pretty.

“We’ll have a proper engagement,” I said, “and a proper wedding. Father Donal can marry us, and we can have a nuptial Mass at the church in Clonareen.”

“Ned!” She was too overjoyed to say more. Flying into my arms, she wept over my chest while I squeezed her until we were both gasping for breath.

“I’m not going to treat you as Drummond treats my mother,” I said.

We talked all the way back to Cashelmara. Kerry said she was going to have five bridesmaids, her sisters and mine, and I said we would go to Paris for the honeymoon. I wanted six children and Kerry wanted eight, so we decided to have seven. We talked about Cashelmara too. I said when I was twenty-one I was going to remodel the chapel into a Catholic church and paint the beautiful circular hall of the house blue and white like Wedgwood pottery. Kerry said she’d have new curtains in every room and fresh pictures on the walls and flowers everywhere.

“And lots of those nice religious statues,” I said, “and shamrock-green wallpaper. We’ll have levees, parties, balls. We can hire musicians from Dublin, and all the world will come to see us and Cashelmara’ll be the finest house in the Western world!”

“Lovely! Oh, I can almost hear the music!”

“Strauss waltzes,” I said, “quadrilles, gallops—”

“And polkas! Oh, Ned, I love to polka!”

“—polkas, jigs, reels—”

“Irish music!”

“Irish music and Irish songs!” I cried, seizing her by the waist and whirling her around the lawn.

Far away the side door opened and my mother stepped onto the terrace.

“Ned!”

“Yes?” I called and hissed to Kerry, “Leave us alone when we reach the house and I’ll talk to her about our marriage.”

My mother was saying in a clear voice, “I should like to speak to you for a moment, if you please.”

“Yes—coming!”

We reached the terrace.

“Quite recovered from your headache, I see, Kerry,” said my mother. “That didn’t last long, did it?”

“No, Lady de Salis,” said Kerry. “Lady de Salis, if you’ll be kind enough to excuse me …”

“Very well. Ned, come upstairs, please.”

“Yes, Mama,” I said obediently.

In the boudoir my mother asked me to sit down.

“I had intended for some time to say a few words to you on a certain subject,” she said, speaking quickly, as if she had learned a speech and was determined to recite it before she forgot a single word, “and when I saw you … disporting yourself on the lawn, I realized I must speak to you without delay. Ned, I’ve noticed—Maxwell and I have both noticed—that you seem to be a little too … friendly toward Kerry nowadays. Of course we’re glad that the two of you are so companionable, but I feel it’s only proper that you shouldn’t spend time alone with her in future. I don’t want to be unreasonable, but Kerry has now reached an age where she should be strictly chaperoned. Of course I’m secure in the knowledge that the two of you are scarcely more than children, but … dear me, I’m afraid I’m phrasing this very badly, and I don’t want you to misunderstand. Believe me, darling, I do trust you implicitly to behave as a gentleman should, but I know what it is to be exposed to temptation, and … well, perhaps Maxwell should have a word with you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

“Darling, please don’t be so insulted! I know you yourself would do no wrong, but people might think—”

“What do you care what people think?” I said before I could stop myself.

She bit her lip. “There’s no need to be rude, Ned,” she said in a quiet voice that made me feel ashamed. “Believe me, Kerry’s reputation—any young girl’s reputation—is so important. It can affect her entire future. When one is older and in sadder circumstances one can perhaps dare to defy the conventions, but when a girl’s growing up it’s vital that her conduct should be exemplary.”

“Of course it is, Mama,” I said. “That’s why I know that you’ll be delighted when I tell you my news. Kerry and I are going to get married.”

There was a silence. My mother was struck dumb, but I wasn’t surprised. I supposed it must always seem too good to be true when the matchmakers’ wishes coincide so exactly with those of the couple they’re trying to unite.

“I thought the wedding could be in December,” I said after allowing her a moment to recover, “on my sixteenth birthday. That would give the Gallaghers time to come over from America and for you and Kerry to arrange the wedding. By the way, I’ve decided to be a Roman Catholic, so I’m going to ask Father Donal to marry us at Clonareen.” Some element in my mother’s expression struck me as odd, and my heart sank. Surely she wasn’t going to make a fuss about me becoming a Catholic. “What’s wrong?” I said warily and then had a glimmer of enlightenment. “Oh, I suppose you think we’re too young. Well, if we’re going to be married eventually anyway, why shouldn’t we be married sooner rather than later?”

“Eventually?” My mother’s voice was very faint.

“Come, Mama, don’t imagine I’m still in ignorance about the arrangement Mr. Drummond made with Mr. Gallagher!”

“Oh, but …” She had to sit down. She was very pale. “Ned, that was nothing. I mean, it was of no consequence. All Maxwell promised was that Kerry should live with us for a while and learn to be a lady. He never promised you’d marry Kerry—how could he? No doubt Mr. Gallagher had his hopes, of course—”

“And so did Mr. Drummond,” I said. “I understand there was money involved.”