Daughters of Castle Deverill (25 page)

‘This is all marvellous,’ said Beatrice to Grace as they watched the dancing in front of the glittering mirrors.

‘Oh, it truly is,’ Grace agreed. ‘Celia said she would bring back the old days and so she has.’ Although both women knew that bringing back the past was never possible
they were content to indulge in nostalgia and to secretly long for a time before the Great War when Ballinakelly summers had been so golden.

It was well after midnight when Boysie and Harry found themselves alone in the hall. The grand staircase beckoned them upstairs as if the banisters were malevolent demons
whispering encouragement. Their heads were light with champagne bubbles, their hearts tender with nostalgia, their longing all the more acute on account of the impossibility of their affair and
their weariness of living a life of secrecy and deceit. Without a word they stepped nimbly up the stairs. The rumbling of music, thumping feet and voices receded as they made their way down the
long corridors, deeper and deeper into the depths of the castle. Celia had spent a lot of money installing electricity and Harry was quite unused to bright lights where once it had only been
candlelight and oil lamps. The plumbing worked too, which was miraculous considering that once the water had to be brought up in buckets by the servants. Harry was wistful for those times and, as
he passed the bedroom door where Kitty had discovered him in bed with Joseph the first footman, he had to steal himself not to lose control of his emotions.

Suddenly the castle meant more to him than his lost inheritance, it also represented his failures: what had he done with his life? He had married a woman he didn’t love and loved a man he
couldn’t have. He drifted aimlessly in London, from his club to home and home to his club, and there was no purpose to the endless round of social obligations. His job in the City was so dull
and monotonous that he sometimes found himself wishing he was back in the Army where at least he had had a purpose. It seemed that the fire had taken more than his home; it seemed to have taken his
rudder too. As he walked through the castle he no longer recognized, he felt a great pain expanding in his chest. A longing for what he had lost and for the man he knew he could never be.

‘Boysie,’ he groaned.

Boysie turned round. ‘What is it, old boy?’

Harry couldn’t put into words the sense of desolation he felt. Instead, he took Boysie’s hand and retreated back the way they had come, eventually stopping outside the bedroom Celia
had allocated him. Without a word he pulled his lover into the darkness inside and closed the door behind them. ‘This is madness,’ Boysie protested, but he was too giddy with champagne
to resist Harry’s insistent mouth kissing his.

Suddenly the light went on. They swung round in surprise to see Charlotte sitting up in the four poster bed, her face white against the pink of her nightdress and her mouth open in a silent
gasp. They stared at each other in horror. As the bubbles evaporated and Boysie and Harry were swiftly shocked into sobriety there was a part of Harry that experienced a profound sense of
relief.

High up at the top of the western tower Adeline and Hubert looked out into the starlit sky. The moon was almost full, encircled by a halo of silver mist, its eerie light
throwing sharp shadows across the lawn below. ‘Do you remember those Summer Balls of our youth, Hubert?’ Adeline asked. ‘Of course people came in their fine carriages back then,
with men in livery driving the horses. I remember the sound of hooves on the drive as they all drew up,’ she reflected. ‘Now the guests arrive in motor cars. How times have
changed.’ She looked at Hubert and smiled wistfully. ‘We lived well, didn’t we?’

Hubert turned to his wife and his face was cast in shadow like the back of the moon. ‘But are we destined to remain here for . . .’ He hesitated because he could
barely utter so terrifying a word. ‘For eternity, Adeline? Is that what our destiny is now? Our lives were as short as a blink on the eye of time, but the eye . . . how long is
the eye, Adeline?’

She put her hand against his cheek and tried to look positive. ‘The curse will be broken,’ she said firmly. ‘I promise you.’

A voice interrupted from the armchair. ‘That’s as likely as them putting men on the moon.’ It was Barton Deverill, grumpier than ever.

Adeline ignored him. His bitterness was infectious and bringing Hubert’s spirits down. ‘Don’t listen to him, my darling. He’s a sour old man with a heavy
conscience.’

‘You know nothing of my conscience, woman,’ Barton growled.

‘I sense it,’ Adeline retorted. He was really trying her patience.

‘All you sense is the near two hundred and fifty years I’ve been rotting in this place.’

‘You can’t rot if you don’t have a body, Barton,’ she told him briskly, turning back to her husband. ‘I promise you, my darling, I’ll get you out of this
place. I will stay with you for as long as you are here and then we will move on, together. All of us.’

Barton laughed cynically from his armchair. ‘So help you God.’

Digby sat at the breakfast table tucking into a large plate of scrambled eggs on toast, crispy bacon and fried tomatoes garnished with chives. The ball had been a great success
and even though he had had little to do with the organization of the event itself, he had had a significant amount to do with the building of the castle. Having initially shied away from a project
he had believed both financially suicidal and conceptually foolhardy, he had eventually succumbed to the allure of recapturing the past and inveigled his way into the plans by way of large and
frequent cheques. After all, hadn’t those summers at Castle Deverill been the most enchanted weeks of his life? How he had envied Bertie and Rupert for growing up in this magical place. He
had felt like a poor relation. Now
his
grandchildren would grow up here and he could live vicariously through them. Deverill Rising was one thing, Castle Deverill quite another: the
history, the prestige, the sheer wonder of the place. He shovelled a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed with relish. Beatrice, who could read her husband’s mind, smiled at him from the
other end of the table.

He was enjoying his cup of tea and reading the
Irish Times
when Celia flew into the room. ‘Papa, last night was a triumph! I didn’t sleep a wink!’

‘It was a great success, my dear. You should be very proud of yourself,’ he said, lifting his eyes momentarily off the page to savour his daughter’s beaming face. ‘You
were the most gracious hostess.’

‘Everyone admired the castle!’ she gushed. ‘Everyone complimented the decoration.’

‘And everyone admired
you
,’ her mother added with a smile.

‘Oh, Mama, if I was any happier I would burst,’ she said. ‘Truly, I have never been so full of joy.’

‘I think you’re still full of champagne,’ said Digby dryly, turning the page.

‘In which case, you must put something else into your stomach,’ said Beatrice.

Celia went to the antique walnut sideboard, bought at auction at Christie’s with the help of Boysie, who worked there, and helped herself to scrambled eggs and tomatoes.

A moment later Harry wandered in, ashen-faced with bloodshot eyes beneath which purple shadows shone like bruises. ‘Somebody had a wild night,’ said Celia with a chuckle, but Harry
barely managed a smile.

‘Good morning,’ he said, trying hard to be jovial. ‘I’m afraid I am a little worse for wear.’

‘Darling, come and sit down and have a cup of tea and some toast. You’ll feel much better with something in your stomach,’ said Beatrice. ‘You do look pale,’ she
added as he pulled out the chair beside her. She patted his hand with her podgy, bejewelled one and smiled sympathetically. ‘I suppose one must deduce that a hangover is the result of a
highly successful party,’ she said softly.

‘Quite,’ Harry agreed, reflecting quietly on the
un
successful way it had ended.

It wasn’t long before Boysie appeared with Deirdre. The two of them looked as bright and fresh as if they had enjoyed an early night and a brisk morning walk. ‘What a delightful
party, Celia,’ said Boysie, sitting beside her. ‘Only two bores on the guest list and I managed to avoid both!’

‘Oh, do tell me who they are and I’ll make sure I sit you between them next year,’ said Celia.

‘I couldn’t possibly be so indiscreet,’ Boysie replied with a smile. He caught Harry’s eye, but swiftly turned away. ‘Can I help you to some breakfast,
darling?’ he asked Deirdre. As Boysie went to the sideboard, Charlotte wandered into the room, her face as white as a duck’s egg. Beatrice looked from Charlotte to Harry and realized
that their pallor had nothing to do with a hangover.

After breakfast Harry managed to talk to Boysie alone. They stood on the terrace in the warm summer sunshine while a small army of servants cleared away the debris from the night before. Boysie
lit a cigarette. Harry stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands buried in his trouser pockets. ‘Did you want to get caught, Harry?’ he asked and Harry recoiled from the hard tone
of Boysie’s voice.

‘No . . . I mean, of course not.’ But he wasn’t so sure.

‘Damned foolish to stumble in on your wife like that. She looks none too pleased about it this morning.’

‘She won’t say anything,’ he said quickly.

‘She’d better not.’

‘She’s not speaking to me, though.’

‘That’s no surprise. It’s one thing betraying your wife with another woman but quite another with a man. Poor girl. She looked as if she’d been shot in the
heart.’

‘She had been, I suppose,’ said Harry. He sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘What a God-awful mess.’

Boysie looked at him and his expression softened. ‘What are you going to do, old boy?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

‘Nothing?’

‘There’s nothing I
can
do. I’ll wait to see what
she
wants to do.’

‘See you kicked from here to eternity, I should imagine.’ Boysie chuckled and flicked ash onto the York stone at his feet.

‘I hope not,’ said Harry. He swallowed nervously. ‘I’m hoping she’ll understand.’

‘Celia would understand but Charlotte is not Celia. She’s a sheep, Harry. Sheep follow the crowd and I’m afraid the crowd don’t think very highly of homosexuality. You
had better hope, no, you had better
pray
that she doesn’t tell her family.’ He dragged on his cigarette. ‘Come on, let’s go and find Celia.’ But Harry knew
that Celia would be no help at all. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming desire to talk to Kitty.

‘I’m going to take a walk, old boy. I think some exercise will do me good.’ And he set off across the gardens in the direction of the White House.

Kitty was sitting on the lawn with two-year-old Florence making daisy chains when Harry appeared at the foot of the drive, red-faced from his brisk walk. He strode through the
gate and walked up the hill to meet her. ‘Harry!’ she shouted and waved. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Harry took off his straw hat and sat down in the shade of the apple tree
that sheltered the little girl from the sun. ‘Splendid party last night, wasn’t it,’ she said, but her eyes betrayed her struggle to find anything positive about the newly
completed castle.

‘You’re finding it hard too?’ he asked.

‘Very,’ she conceded. ‘I feel terrible admitting that, but I know I can speak plainly to you.’

‘You can,’ he said. ‘My, how Florence has grown.’ He ran his hand down the child’s flaxen hair. ‘She’s the image of her father, isn’t she?’
he observed.

‘Yes, she is,’ Kitty agreed, suffering a stab of pain as Jack O’Leary fought his way to the surface of her mind, only to be plunged back to the bottom by the superior force of
her will. ‘She’s like Robert in every way and he dotes on her.’

‘Where’s JP?’

‘Riding. He’s as obsessed as I was. There’s no separating him from his pony!’ She laughed. ‘And he’s a daredevil too. He’s afraid of nothing. He’s
already riding out with the hounds. Papa is very proud. JP’s a natural horseman. As for Florence . . .’ She sighed and looked tenderly on her daughter. ‘We shall
see.’

‘Will you walk with me, Kitty?’ Harry asked suddenly.

Kitty detected the tension in her brother’s voice and sat up keenly. ‘Of course.’ She called for Elsie and when the nanny appeared to look after Florence, Kitty and Harry set
off down the hill towards the coastline.

‘What is it, Harry?’ she asked.

He replaced his hat and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you remember that time when you found me . . .’ He hesitated, unable to articulate the words.

‘And Joseph,’ she said helpfully.

‘Yes.’ He looked down at his feet as they paced over the grass. ‘I
loved
Joseph.’

‘I know you did,’ said Kitty. She glanced at him and frowned. ‘You don’t love Charlotte, do you?’

‘I’m fond of her,’ he conceded and Kitty sensed what he was trying so hard to say. Her heart filled with tenderness and she slipped her hand around his arm and moved
closer.

‘I know that Joseph loved you back. I remember the look of utter hopelessness on his face when you left to return to the Front. I saw him up at the window. He was like a ghost. I then
realized that he hadn’t been simply comforting you that night. At the end of the war, when you came home and you made him your valet, I knew why. I’ve never judged you, Harry.
It’s not conventional to love another man, but I love you just the way you are.’ Harry’s throat constricted and he blinked to relieve the stinging in his eyes.

They reached the end of the path where the grass gave way to white sand and headed off up the beach. Seabirds glided on the wind and dropped out of the sky to peck at small creatures left behind
by the tide. The ocean was benign beneath the clear skies, the waves breaking gently and rhythmically onto the sand. Harry placed his hand on top of Kitty’s and squeezed it. ‘Thank you,
dearest Kitty. You and I have shared many secrets over the years. I’m now going to ask you to keep another and to advise me how to proceed, because I’ve done a terrible thing.’
Kitty nodded. She dreaded what he was about to tell her. ‘I have been having an affair with a man for years. Ever since I came to London.’ He glanced anxiously at her for her
reaction.