Songs of Love and War (25 page)

‘Don’t, Jack.’

‘I fear for your safety.’

‘You’ll keep me safe.’

He squeezed her hard. ‘I can’t. The only way to be safe is to go to London—’

‘I love you, Jack.’

‘Right now I wish you didn’t.’ He buried his face in her neck. ‘And I wish to God I didn’t love
you.
It’s a blessing and a curse.’

Due to the violence Digby and Beatrice decided to break years of tradition and spend the summer months at Deverill Rising, their country estate in Wiltshire. The British press
was full of the atrocities being committed in Ireland in the name of nationalism and they feared for the safety of their Anglo-Irish cousins. But Hubert and Adeline had faith in the British
Government and were certain that with the swift and efficient response of Colonel Manley and men like him peace would be restored.

‘He needs our support, Kitty,’ Hubert explained when his granddaughter tried to discourage him from entertaining Colonel Manley at the castle.

‘Surely you have to be seen to be
above
the conflict, Grandpa?’ she argued.

‘If I was younger I’d take my gun and patrol the streets myself,’ Hubert responded. ‘Manley is our ticket to peace in this county and we must show our allegiance. It
wasn’t with a weak heart that Barton Deverill, the first Lord Deverill, won his title and land but by showing his loyalty to the King. We must do the same and uphold the family
name.’

Kitty sighed heavily. There was no point arguing with her grandfather. He was born in a different century when the Great British Empire was at the height of its power. So, to Kitty’s
despair, Colonel Manley became a frequent guest at the dining table at Castle Deverill and she had to endure his disingenuous charm and condescension, for in his eyes all women were as butterflies,
to be admired, played with or crushed, depending on his whim. One of his favourites was Grace Rowan-Hampton, who was a regular visitor with her husband Sir Ronald when she wasn’t in Dublin.
Kitty had to suffer her, too, and endure the sight of her father watching his mistress from across the table with sad puppy eyes while her mother’s mouth grew thinner and thinner with
resentment until it disappeared altogether.

While the castle remained entrenched in the past, fearful of change, Ballinakelly was moving towards a different future. The town was seething with anti-British feeling and
fertile with plotters who were sprouting in every dark corner like mushrooms: the fight for freedom went on. Bridie had the evenings off, while Kitty ate dinner downstairs in the dining room or up
at the castle with her grandparents. Those five-course dinners would go on for hours so Bridie would run home, taking the short cut through the woods, to find her brothers sitting huddled around
the table with friends, talking in low voices over tumblers of stout. As she lifted the latch the room would fall silent and the men would stare at the door in fear of the Black and Tans until they
saw that it was only Bridie. Then they’d put their heads together again and resume their plotting like a gang of thieves, a deck of cards at the ready to disguise their business in case of a
raid.

Jack was often there. He’d smile at her as she entered and she’d smile back, encouraged by the affection in his eyes. She’d make herself a basin of hot milk, bread and sugar,
sit in her mother’s rocking chair and crush the bread into a mush while the men talked of stealing guns, ambushing the Auxiliaries and murdering Colonel Manley. It was during those twilight
hours that Bridie would hear stories of the Colonel’s brutality. The innocent men arrested, tortured and even killed as he went about the county in search of information like a dragon
breathing fire indiscriminately. No one was more hated in Ballinakelly than Colonel Manley.

In response to the increasing bloodshed the British Government declared Martial Law in much of Southern Ireland. The Irish Republican Army was at last recognized as an army in the field instead
of a band of murderous rebels. On Sunday 21st November fourteen British soldiers were assassinated in Dublin and the Royal Irish Constabulary punished the people by opening fire on innocent
spectators watching a football match, killing fourteen and wounding many others. That December the violence came to Cork with the burning of the city by British forces. Hubert read the
Irish
Times
but failed to make any comment. He had run out of puff like an old steam engine that has at last reached the end of the line. It was all too horrific to contemplate and too close for
comfort for Cork City was a mere fifty miles from Ballinakelly. After that he retreated into his own world where snipe and rabbits were plentiful, foxes fit for the chase and the weather fine for
the hounds. He discussed horses, the races and the good old days when he was a boy, when the local people had had respect for the family and loyalty to the Crown, but the War of Independence had
finally worn him down.

Adeline indulged him while the Shrubs grew anxious. If Hubert was scared then what was the hope for
them
? They sipped Adeline’s cannabis tea, played whist and prayed, for only God
could get them out of
this
mess.

In January 1921 news reached the castle that Colonel Manley had been killed just outside Ballinakelly. ‘Good God!’ Hubert exclaimed, hanging up the telephone receiver in the hall and
walking into the dining room where Adeline and the Shrubs were having breakfast. ‘That was Lieutenant Driscoll. Colonel Manley has been murdered.’ The women gasped. Laurel dropped her
teacup with a splash. ‘In an old farmhouse along the Dunashee road, yesterday evening. They only found his body this morning. Bloody idiot went without an escort. Why would he do that, do you
think? Eh?’ He sat down, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-four years. ‘Why, only two days ago he was sitting here at our dining-room table.’

Adeline shook her head. ‘There will be terrible consequences for Ballinakelly,’ she said anxiously, thinking of the innocent civilians who would suffer the reprisals.

‘This is an unfortunate setback.’ Hubert shook his head. ‘Manley was a good man.’

‘What happened?’ Laurel asked, as pale as egg white.

‘Yes, do tell us the details, Hubert,’ Hazel implored.

‘Driscoll didn’t have much information. He said Manley had set out along the Dunashee road yesterday evening with only one of his men . . .’ Hubert looked at Adeline and
frowned. ‘Surely he of all people knew how dangerous it is on those remote roads!’

‘What happened to the man who was with him?’

‘Shot.’

‘Dreadful!’ Hazel gasped.

‘So what happened to the Colonel?’ Laurel pressed.

‘He was knifed in the ribs.’

‘Dreadful!’ Hazel gasped again.

‘Who was he meeting in that farmhouse?’ Adeline pondered.

‘The day is for the living, the night is for the dead,’ said Laurel.

‘What was he up to, do you think?’ Adeline narrowed her eyes. ‘I’d put money on a woman being involved.’

‘A woman he wants to hide,’ added Hazel excitedly. ‘A
Catholic
woman.’

‘On the Dunashee road? I very much doubt it,’ said Hubert. ‘Driscoll says he wants to come and talk to me this morning.’

‘Did he say why?’ Adeline asked.

‘No.’

‘I can’t think how you can be of help.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Hubert.

‘Oh dear,’ said Hazel. ‘He was such a charming man.’

‘And handsome,’ Laurel added.

‘He was a gentleman. What a shame. We shall miss his company,’ said Hazel. She grinned behind her teacup. ‘I might be mistaken, but I could have sworn he took a shine to
us.’

Kitty was lying on Elspeth’s bed, discussing her sister’s impending wedding, when Bridie knocked on the door. ‘I have a note for you, Miss Kitty,’ she
said, reminding herself that she had to treat Kitty with due respect when they weren’t alone. ‘Colonel Manley has been killed,’ she announced, watching the two girls sit up in
astonishment.

‘Killed? When?’ Kitty asked.

‘Last night. An ambush, they’re saying.’

‘Goodness, how dreadful!’ Elspeth gasped. ‘Does Papa know?’

‘I think the whole of Ballinakelly knows by now, Miss Elspeth,’ said Bridie.

‘To think it could have happened on the road to dinner with Grandpa,’ said Elspeth.

‘I don’t think the Ballinakelly road would be suitable for an ambush,’ said Kitty. She looked at the writing on the envelope and recognized it at once. It was from Jack.

‘Who’s the note from?’ Elspeth asked.

‘I don’t know. I’ll read it later,’ Kitty said dismissively, slipping it into her pocket. ‘I think lace, Elspeth. After all, it’ll be spring and lace is so
pretty.’

Bridie left the room. She wondered who the note was from. The delivery boy who had brought it had asked especially for
her
and given her instructions to get it to Kitty without delay.
Bridie had a horrible feeling that Michael and Sean were involved in the murder. She’d heard them discussing it often enough. If they were caught they’d be shot, for certain. If they
were even suspected they’d be arrested and tortured. The only hope was that everyone in Co. Cork wanted Manley dead and they couldn’t arrest everyone.

Later, when Kitty was alone, she opened Jack’s note.
You were with Lady Rowan-Hampton last night at her house. A dinner just for the two of you. Beef and potatoes. You arrived at eight
and left at eleven. J.
Kitty was so shocked that Jack had something to do with Colonel Manley’s murder that she read the note again. Why did she have to pretend that she had dined at
Grace’s house? Was
she
under suspicion? Surely, she could just as easily tell the truth, that she had had dinner alone with Elspeth and Harry while her parents dined at the castle with
the Reverend and Mrs Daunt. Anyway, why would they suspect
her?
As for Jack, her heart began to pound as she thought of the danger he was in. Killing Colonel Manley was akin to treason. The
people involved would undoubtedly be shot, if they could find them. Kitty knew enough to know how hard it was to find the rebels when the entire Irish population rallied around them. But how would
the Black and Tans avenge their colonel’s killing?

Later that morning Lieutenant Driscoll’s car drew up with two Army vehicles full of Auxiliaries and Tans. They were taking no chances now. While his men stood guard at the front door and
patrolled the gardens, Driscoll was shown into the library where Hubert was waiting for him. ‘Good morning, Lord Deverill,’ said Driscoll.

‘Good morning, Lieutenant Driscoll. What a business. Please, take a seat.’

O’Flynn closed the door and the two men were left alone. Driscoll sat down opposite Hubert, who popped a cigar between his teeth and proceeded to light it. ‘Yes indeed, it is a
sickening example of what these people are capable of. Colonel Manley was an honest man, dedicated to his job. We’ve lost a fine man, Lord Deverill.’

‘You certainly have. As you know he was a regular guest at my dining table. So, how can I help you?’

‘I trust that we are quite alone,’ said Driscoll, looking around warily.

‘We are.’

‘Then let me speak frankly.’ He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, knitting his fingers. ‘We have reason to suspect Colonel Manley went to meet a woman yesterday
evening.’

Hubert raised his eyebrows; Adeline had been right. ‘Go on.’

‘This woman has been under suspicion for a while. We’ve been watching her closely. Suffice to say she has been seen to have Fenian friends in Dublin. Colonel Manley wanted to keep
her close. We believe he was on his way to meet her, just the two of them, for an . . .’ He hesitated, searching for the right word.
‘Amorous
rendezvous. That’s why he went
without a full escort. We have reason to believe she was the bait, but
she
claims she was at home yesterday evening.’

‘So how can I help you?’

‘You are a friend of hers, Lord Deverill, and while her husband was in London, she claims she was in the company of your granddaughter last night, Miss Kitty.’

‘Well, who is she, this scarlet woman?’ Hubert chuckled on his cigar.

‘Lady Rowan-Hampton.’

The smoke caught in Hubert’s throat and he coughed. ‘Good God, man, she’s no Fenian. What an idea! Blarney, that’s what it is. But if you want to speak to my
granddaughter, I’ll gladly send for her.’

‘If you will. I’d like to clear this up as a matter of urgency.’

When Kitty received the summons she walked through the gardens to the castle with a thumping heart. She had burned Jack’s note, but she had read it so many times the words were impressed
on her memory. Why did she need an alibi when she had one already? She was guilty of nothing. And why did she have to say she was with Grace? The mere mention of Grace’s name made her stomach
curdle.

She was shocked by the number of Auxiliaries surrounding the castle. Alert and jumpy, with their fingers on their triggers, they looked as if they had laid siege. They let her pass and she
strode through the hall to the library where her grandfather and Lieutenant Driscoll were waiting.

She shook Driscoll’s plump hand and sat down on the sofa. ‘Lieutenant Driscoll wants to ask you a few questions,’ said Hubert. ‘You are aware that Colonel Manley was
killed last night, are you not?’

‘Yes, Grandpa,’ she replied, keeping her voice steady.

‘I apologize for the intrusion, Miss Deverill. I’m just following orders. All I need to know is where you were yesterday evening.’

‘You don’t think I had anything to do with Colonel Manley’s death, do you?’ she asked, shocked.

She looked at Driscoll. His round face was smooth and pink, like a schoolboy’s, his fair hair greased back off his forehead. As she stared at him she sensed, to her horror, that it
wasn’t
she
who was under suspicion but Grace.
She
didn’t need the alibi, Grace did. In that brief moment time stood still. She saw her father through the crack in the
bedroom door, his hips thrusting back and forth like an animal as he took the woman she had always admired. She felt the hatred rise from her stomach to burn her throat, followed by a surge of
power. She knew then that she had the chance to get rid of Grace Rowan-Hampton once and for all. If she was involved in Colonel Manley’s murder Grace would go to prison at the very least. But
Kitty looked into Lieutenant Driscoll’s eyes and replied, ‘I was with Lady Rowan-Hampton.’ It felt like a dream, as if she were disconnected from her body and floating above it,
detached, impassive.