Daughters of Castle Deverill (12 page)

But Bertie
did
miss his wife. It was one of those ironies of age and marriage: the couple who have bored and betrayed each other in their early years often comfort and sustain each
other in their later ones. Bertie had betrayed his wife with his long affair with Grace (and before Grace many other discreet dalliances with pretty girls) but that affair was long over and now he
found himself thinking of Maud often. It seemed absurd that after the great freeze that had been their marriage there might be a thawing on his part. He didn’t understand it himself. He loved
Grace – he would
always
love Grace – but Grace had ended their affair and now they were just friends. The light of desire that had warmed her soft brown eyes had died away and
she looked on him with pity – he hated that he had become a man to be pitied. As much as she tried to disguise it, he saw through her. Maud on the other hand didn’t pity him, she
despised him and there was something rather magnificent about the fury in her – wasn’t the opposite of love indifference, after all? Maud was certainly not indifferent. She resented him
for
his
affair, but hadn’t she been the first to leave the marital bed in favour of his old school chum Eddie Rothmeade’s? She thought he didn’t know, but he did. She had
barely been able to hide her infatuation. But that was long ago and he was ready to forget it. His wife loathed him for his indiscretion with the maid, but hated him even more for having formally
recognized the child born of that union. Now she resented him for having sold the castle even though
she
was the one who had encouraged him to do so. He was buying her a house in Belgravia
with most of the proceeds, but he knew she wouldn’t want him there. Divorce was out of the question for a woman obsessed with society’s good opinion, but he wondered whether her head
might be turned by another man, one who could give her more than he had been able to. That thought saddened him greatly. When he thought of cold, beautiful Maud, he wondered whether, had he behaved
differently (and with less arrogance, perhaps), he might have made her happy. He wondered why, when he tried to
lose
his thoughts in whiskey, he only found them becoming more acute. In the
alcohol-induced fog in his mind he saw Maud as she had been when he married her, when her elusive smile had turned on him like the warm rays of dawn. But she’d never smile on him again, he
was certain of that. Perhaps the finality of it made him nostalgic for their past. Wasn’t that the way of the world? One always wants what one cannot have.

The day after Christmas Kitty heard the news that Liam O’Leary, Jack’s father, had died on Christmas Eve. The maid who reported it wasn’t sure how he had died, only that the
funeral was to take place the following day in the Catholic church of All Saints in Ballinakelly. Kitty wanted to ride over to console Jack, but was fearful that her presence there would arouse
suspicion. He was sure to be with his mother and the rest of his family, and there were a good many O’Learys in Ballinakelly, she knew. Instead, she sent the stable boy with a letter of
condolence. She was sure that Jack would read between the lines and get word to her as soon as she was able to visit.

The day of the funeral Kitty stood at her bedroom window, gazing out over the sea and biting the dry skin around her thumb with anxiety. She hadn’t heard anything from Jack. She wondered
whether their plans to depart for America would be delayed – or even cancelled. Could he leave his mother so soon after her husband’s death? She knew Jack had other siblings and his
mother certainly had a sister, because she had heard him speak of her, but she had no idea where they lived, or indeed how intimate they were. Mrs O’Leary doted on Jack, of that she was
sure.

How she would have loved to attend the funeral. But it was impossible. Robert would consider it very strange and the locals would find it odd, too, even though, as the local vet, Jack had been
coming to Castle Deverill for years to look after the animals. So, she waited. What else could she do?

Grace had arranged their departure for the first weekend in February. She wasn’t planning on being in London until then and she told Kitty, quite unreservedly, that she hoped the month
before leaving would give Kitty time to reconsider. But Kitty was certain that this was what she wanted. Her past had been marred by self-sacrifice. Now was her time and she was determined to take
it.

The week before Christmas she had suffered horribly with her menstruation. She had lain in bed with severe abdominal pain and Robert had tactfully slept in his dressing room. But now there was
no reason for her to banish her husband to another room, and, surprisingly, she didn’t want to. She was about to leave him for the other side of the world. She was on the point of separating
him from Little Jack, possibly forever. She hated herself for allowing her passion to make her selfish; after all, Robert had only ever been kind to her. He had only ever loved the two of them. Her
sense of guilt was immense and her anticipation of loss drove her deep into his arms. She was like a sea creature clinging to the rock that was her home, while the current swept by to drag her
away. As she let him make love to her, she realized, in the light of her imminent departure, that it was possible to love two men at once, in entirely different ways.

At last she received a letter from Jack, asking her to come to his cottage as soon as she was able. Anxious that he was about to postpone their departure she saddled her horse and galloped as
fast as the animal could carry her over the hills to his house, which was situated in lonely isolation, overlooking the ocean. She could see a ribbon of smoke floating up from the chimney long
before she reached it. A golden glow twinkled in the waning light from one of the downstairs windows. Fog was creeping in off the water and the horizon, usually so clear, was a grey mist in which
fishing boats could easily lose themselves. There would be no moon to illuminate the path home, but she was sure she’d find it somehow.

She slipped from her saddle and tied the horse to a fence behind the cottage. She didn’t bother to knock, but went straight inside. Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a
half-drunk tankard of stout. When he saw her, he stood up and gathered her into his arms, embracing her fiercely. Her heart buckled at the sight of his grief-stained face and she squeezed him as
hard as her arms would allow. Jack cried then. He sobbed into her neck like a little boy and Kitty was reminded of her beloved grandparents and her heart went out to him.

When his pain had passed through him, he returned to his chair and drained his tankard. Kitty put the kettle on the stove and made a pot of tea. He told her that his father had died peacefully
in his sleep, but his mother had suffered a very great shock on finding him lying cold and stiff beside her in the morning. ‘He was a good man,’ he said quietly. ‘If it
hadn’t been for the war, he would have lived a longer life, I’m sure of it. The war was never ours in the first place. He should have done as I did and kept his feet firmly on Irish
soil. But we didn’t share the same politics. We quarrelled over our views and I know he disapproved of my decision not to fight. If he’d only known the half of what I’d got up to
during those years he’d have given me more than a clip about the ear. As it was he knew nothing. When he returned from the war something had been extinguished inside him. He never spoke of
what he had seen and done but I know it was terrible. It robbed him of his joy. I hope he finds it again, wherever he is.’

‘He will,’ said Kitty. ‘He’s home now.’

‘I love you for your certainty, Kitty.’ He grinned and watched her bring the pot over to the table and pour two mugs of tea. She sat down opposite and he reached for her hands across
the narrow wooden table. ‘You’re either as mad as a March hare or privy to the greatest of all life’s mysteries. Whichever it is, I love you all the same.’

‘And I love you, Jack, in spite of your little faith,’ she replied with a grin.

‘We’re going to build a new life in America, you and I and Little Jack. I have dreamed of walking hand in hand with you for all the world to see.’

Kitty squeezed his hands hard. ‘So have I. Life hasn’t been kind to us, has it?’

‘This time we’ll board that boat, whatever life throws at us.’

‘It’ll be exciting for Little Jack. He’s never been on a boat.’

Jack noticed the disquiet behind her cheerfulness. ‘I know you worry for him, my darling. But he’s a lad. It’ll be an adventure.’ He gazed at her tenderly.
‘We’ll give him brothers and sisters. A big family. He won’t have time to remember Ballinakelly.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘He loves you, Kitty, more than anyone in the world. And he’ll grow to love me. I promise you he will. Indeed, I’ll be a good father to him.’

Kitty’s eyes began to sting with tears. ‘I know you will, Jack. But I’m afraid. I want to do what’s best for him, but I have to do what’s best for me too. I feel
I’m being torn in two. Robert . . .’

Jack’s face hardened. ‘Don’t think of Robert, Kitty!’ he snapped. ‘He has no claim on you. You and I are like plants whose roots run very deep and intertwine.
We’ve got a long history together. Shared memories and adventures Robert can never hope to create. He stole you from me. If you hadn’t married him you’d have been free to marry
me. No, don’t argue. You know it’s true. If it wasn’t for him we’d be together.’ She nodded and released his hands. Taking up her mug she sipped her tea. ‘I know
you’re torn and I appreciate what you’re giving up, coming away with me. Don’t think I don’t understand. But we deserve this, Kitty. There’s no other way for us.
It’s this or nothing. If you can’t come with me, I’ll go anyway, because a future here without you is impossible.’

‘I’m coming with you. I promise,’ she reassured him softly.

He glanced at the window. The fog had gathered round the cottage and darkness had come early. ‘You’d better ride home now, Kitty, or you’ll get lost in the fog.’

‘I’d know these hills blindfolded,’ she said, getting up.

‘I’ll ride with you,’ he said suddenly, pushing his chair out with a loud scrape.

‘You mustn’t. If we’re seen together we’ll ruin everything. I’ll be fine. I’ve ridden these hills all my life.’

He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her ardently. ‘To think there’ll soon be a day when I can kiss you from dawn till dusk without interruption.’

‘Oh Jack, I can’t wait. I want you to kiss me now without interruption.’ She slid her hand between the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped her.

‘You have to ride home now, Kitty,’ he insisted. ‘If you leave it another moment it’ll be totally dark. Please, my darling, you have to go, now.’

Reluctantly she slipped into her coat and gloves and pulled her hat down low over her head. She swung herself into the saddle and waved at Jack, who stood forlornly in the doorway. ‘I long
for the day when my home is your home,’ he said and Kitty blew him a kiss before gently digging her heels into the horse’s sides and trotting off along the path that led to the
hills.

Robert was getting anxious. It was dark and Kitty was still out with her horse. He didn’t understand her need to ride all the time. If she had wanted to go into
Ballinakelly she could much more easily have taken the car. He stood at the drawing-room window and stared out into the foggy night. All he could see was his own pale face staring anxiously back at
him. He rubbed his chin. No one seemed to know where she had gone. Even the groom hadn’t a clue. He had simply shaken his head and told Robert that Mrs Trench had saddled the mare herself and
set off without a word. She had probably just gone for a hack over the hills. But Robert was worried. She would have seen the fog closing in when she set off. Why on earth would she choose a misty
afternoon in early January to go hacking over the hills?

He considered going to look for her. What if she had fallen off her horse? What if she had hurt herself? What if she was lying injured in the mud? She’d die of cold out there in the night.
His heart was seized with panic. He took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. He’d never find her for a start. Besides, she could be anywhere. He couldn’t go walking across the
fields on account of his stiff leg, or take the car because those tracks were slippery with mud and he was sure to get stuck, or worse, crash. He felt utterly useless. He could do nothing but
wait.

Perhaps she was with her father, he conceded. She had been worrying about him a great deal lately. Bertie was taciturn and melancholy and only Little Jack and his rousing ebullience seemed able
to distract him from his woes. But Kitty wouldn’t have ridden over the hills if that were the case. She would have cut through the woods and fields, for the Hunting Lodge was only the other
side of the estate and she’d surely be home by now. She might have gone to visit Grace. The two of them were as thick as thieves. They seemed closer than sisters even, most notably in the way
they spoke to each other, sometimes with impatience, sometimes with affection, but without the reserve that prevailed in most non-familial relationships. Indeed, their friendship seemed embedded in
depths he would never know. But Grace had a house full of family and no formal invitation had been forthcoming. No, Kitty had not gone to visit Grace, he was sure of that.

When at last the front door opened and Kitty strode in, her face red from the cold and her Titian hair wild and knotted down her back, Robert was at first overcome with relief, then furious that
she had caused him such concern. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ he demanded, meeting her in the hall.

Kitty laughed. ‘You weren’t worrying about me in the fog, were you?’

‘Of course I was, you silly girl!’

Kitty was affronted by his patronizing tone. ‘I know those hills better than most shepherds,’ she retorted crisply. ‘There was no need for you to worry.’

‘Where were you?’

She shrugged and pulled off her gloves. ‘Out riding.’

‘Where?’

‘Why all these questions, Robert? Are you accusing me of having a lover tucked away up there in the hills?’