Songs of Love and War (27 page)

Adeline and the Shrubs sat on the sofa while Maud perched stiffly on the club fender as her husband paced the floor distractedly. ‘They’ve taken Mrs Doyle’s sons,
Hubert,’ said Adeline. ‘I don’t believe they’re part of the plot.’

‘I’m sure they’re loyal to you,’ said Laurel.

‘Oh yes, very loyal,’ Hazel agreed.

‘They’re not loyal to anyone but each other,’ Maud cut in. ‘I agree with Hubert. They should all be hanged, every one of them.’

‘The trouble is they’re a slippery lot. Hard to catch,’ said Hubert.

‘Well, they’ve arrested a whole lot of men from Ballinakelly, haven’t they?’ said Maud.

‘And elsewhere besides,’ Adeline added. ‘They can’t all be guilty.’

‘But they’ll treat them all as if they’re guilty,’ Maud added. ‘It’s a case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater, but if they put away a few guilty
ones in the process I’d say it’d be a job well done. They’re frightfully surly. I can see them looking at me with their eyes full of hatred every time I go into Ballinakelly,
which I try not to do, unless we’re going to church. I don’t trust a single one. Not even the ones who work for us.’

‘Oh really, Maud. You’re taking it too far,’ said Adeline with a smile. Maud bristled; Adeline treated her as a source of amusement, as if she found her opinions self-indulgent
and trite.

‘Hazel and Laurel feel the same, don’t you?’ Maud appealed to the Shrubs.

‘Well, I do feel a little timid,’ Laurel agreed.

‘It’s since the stone incident,’ Hazel added. ‘I feel safe here, though. The staff are very loyal, I have no doubt.’

‘They’re loyal,’ said Hubert. ‘Indisputably so.’

‘Until they’re pressurized by their own kind to betray us,’ Maud said darkly, watching her silent husband walking the carpet, back and forth, with his hands in his pockets and
his face grim. ‘Are you going to join in the conversation, Bertie, or are you just going to make us all dizzy with your pacing? Really, you’re giving me a headache.’

Bertie looked up in surprise. ‘I was just thinking that if they imprison all the lads they’ve taken there’ll be no one left in Ballinakelly to do the work,’ he lied,
dragging his thoughts away from Grace.

‘Same as in England during the war,’ said Maud. ‘The women will have to roll up their sleeves.’

‘Which is what they do already,’ said Adeline. ‘Where are Harry and the girls. Don’t they want any dinner?’

When Elspeth, Kitty and Harry arrived, flushed from hunting, the subject was swiftly changed to Elspeth’s impending wedding. Maud had turned the whole event around to herself as usual,
giving her opinions on the guest list, the bridesmaids’ and pages’ attire and the order of service. ‘It’s going to be lavish and gay, just what people expect of a Deverill
wedding, even though the groom might be a little disappointing to some. It’s exactly what we all need to cheer us up. Something positive to talk about for a change.’

‘Oh yes!’ Hazel exclaimed excitedly. ‘It will be nice to read something positive about Ireland in the British newspapers.’

‘Victoria’s wedding was all over
The Tatler,’
added Laurel proudly.

‘Because that took place in London,’ said Elspeth. ‘I don’t think anyone’s going to be particularly interested in
my
wedding.’ She grinned broadly.
‘I’d happily get married in a cowshed.’

‘A cowshed was good enough for Mary and Joseph, after all,’ said Harry laconically.

Adeline laughed. ‘Really, Harry, you do say the funniest things!’

‘When are
you
going to get married?’ Hazel asked.

‘Oh yes, now
that
will be a splendid occasion,’ Laurel gushed.

‘Harry has yet to find a bride,’ said Maud pointedly.

‘No hurry for that,’ Hubert interjected. ‘Take your time, Harry. Play the field. Plenty of nice girls to choose from.’

‘Not in Ireland,’ Maud added hastily. ‘You should go to London. You’ll have the pick of the crop.’ She glanced at Bertie, who was not listening.

‘I’m happy here,’ said Harry and the way he was lying back against the cushions in the armchair suggested that he had no intention of
ever
leaving.

‘Quite right, Harry,’ Hubert agreed. ‘Nothing like home, eh?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry agreed. He caught Kitty’s eye. She smiled at him knowingly. ‘You want me to leave, Mama, you’ll have to prise me off Irish soil like a limpet off a
rock.’

Two agonizing days later the men were released. Kitty at last found a note in the wall with a time and place to meet. She slipped it into the pocket of her skirt and with a
swell of happiness hurried back to the Hunting Lodge to change into her riding habit. She rang the bell for Bridie. ‘They’re out!’ she exclaimed as her friend appeared in the
doorway.

‘I know, Mam told me. But what state are they in? Michael’s got a shiner the size of a hurley ball. They’ve been beaten to pulp.’

‘But no one’s been charged?’

‘No.’

Kitty slipped out of her skirt, leaving it to drop to the floor at her feet. ‘They all got off?’

‘Every one.’ Bridie grinned. ‘Father Quinn came to the rescue. He said they were at Mass.’

‘All night?’

‘Father Quinn said he kept them there because they needed sense talked into them.’

‘But that’s obviously not true.’

‘No one argues with Father Quinn.’

‘Hand me my riding habit. I’m going out.’

‘Alone?’

‘Aren’t I always alone and don’t I always come back in one piece?’

‘Don’t tempt the fates, Kitty,’ said Bridie anxiously. ‘It’s not safe out there for an English girl like you.’

Kitty rounded on her angrily. ‘I’m as Irish as you are, Bridie, and sick of saying it! What’s in the heart is all that matters.’

‘Try telling that to Michael.’

‘You tell him for me then,’ Kitty snapped. Kitty knew that Michael and the others would know how Irish she was soon enough.

Once dressed she left the room without a backwards glance. All she could think about was seeing Jack and healing his wounds with tender kisses. Bridie picked up her clothes and put them on the
bed. She hung her blouse on a hanger and replaced it in the wardrobe. Then she picked up the skirt and shook it out. As she did so she heard the rustle of paper in the pocket. She slipped in her
hand and pulled out the note. Normally it would not have occurred to her to read a private letter, but there was something compelling about this one. It was small and creased as if it had been
folded into the tiniest square. Unable to resist the mysterious force of the note and instinctively knowing it had something to do with Kitty rushing off, she opened it.

As Bridie read the words her face blazed crimson right to the tips of her ears. She didn’t need to read th
e J
at the end because she knew it was from Jack. She could hear his voice
as if he were speaking the words himself. She collapsed onto the bed and began to cry like a child. Then she pressed the note to her heart and stifled a howl. He had ended it
My love, as always,
undimmed, J.

All this time Kitty had been sneaking behind her back seeing Jack. The times she had gazed out of the window absent-mindedly, the wistful smiles that warmed her face, the sudden haste to saddle
her horse and ride out over the hills had all been for Jack. And Bridie had believed she was in love with Mr Trench. How stupid could she be? All the while Kitty had loved Jack – and more
vitally, Jack had loved
her.
With a trembling hand Bridie replaced the note in the skirt pocket. Kitty must never know she had read it. She must never know that she had just broken
Bridie’s heart. Broken it in a thousand pieces, Bridie thought miserably. Broken it so that it would never mend.

Kitty reached the Fairy Ring. Jack was waiting for her. When he was sure that she was alone he stepped out from behind one of the tall stones. Her joy at seeing him was
snatched away by the sight of his bloodied face and his left arm, which was bandaged and wrapped in a sling. ‘What did they do to you?’ she wailed, slipping off her horse and running to
him.

‘Easy now, I’m all right.’

‘They hurt you!’ Kitty’s eyes glittered and then the tears spilled onto her cheeks. She ran gentle fingers down his bruised face. One eye was closed altogether.
‘I’ll murder the man who did this to you, Jack,’ she whispered.

‘Not if I get there first.’ He smiled then winced. ‘They got a rib or two into the bargain.’

‘Oh Jack!’ She kissed him softly on the mouth. ‘You foolish man.’

‘But you love your old fool, right?’

She laughed. ‘I love my old fool. I never thought Father Quinn would stand up for you.’

‘Father Quinn? He’s one of us, Kitty.’

She frowned. ‘One of you?’

‘He hides guns for us in the sacristy.’

‘Lord preserve us!’ she gasped.

‘He will. We have God on our side, that’s for sure.’ Jack slipped his good hand round her neck, beneath her hair. ‘Thank you for giving Grace an alibi.’

‘I did it for you. Not for her.’

‘I know.’

She was suddenly overcome by a wave of emotion. ‘She seduced my father, Jack. She’s been his mistress for years.’ She took a staggered breath. ‘I’ve hated her ever
since I saw them . . . on the bed . . . at the Summer Ball . . .’ She rested her forehead against his shoulder.

‘It’s all right, Kitty. He’s still your da whatever he does. It’s just a shame that you had to see it, that’s all.’

‘It’s haunted me for years.’

‘Enough now then. Enough hating. She’s a good woman.’

Kitty lifted her face and stared at him steadily. ‘I gave her an alibi. I’m involved now.’

Jack shook his head. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘I am,’ she said more forcefully. ‘You got me involved. There’s no turning back now. I’m going to join the fight, Jack. We’re in this together.’

‘I don’t want you hurt.’

‘Then you should have thought about that before you used me. I’ll be useful again, Jack, you’ll see. You won’t regret it. One day we’ll celebrate a free and
independent Ireland together.’

‘I’d drink to that,’ said Jack, running his thumb across her chin.

‘Let’s kiss to it instead.’ And she lifted her face and closed her eyes, holding the thought with every fibre of her spirit.

Bridie needed air. She dried her eyes with her sleeve and made for the door. But just as she began to walk down the corridor the tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her
cheeks again and there seemed no end to them. She bowed her head and walked on, her vision blurred, her chest heavy beneath the weight of her loss. Suddenly she met with a thump, walking straight
into none other than Mr Deverill. She recognized the shoes at once and gasped in horror at her carelessness. Stepping back she bowed her head and mumbled an apology. ‘Are you crying,
Bridget?’

She didn’t have the will to correct him. ‘No, Mr Deverill. Just something in my eye. I’m sorry to have trodden in your way.’

‘You’re not in my way.’ He was slurring his words a little and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. It was not unpleasant.

‘Yes, you are crying. I can see tears. Lots of them. This won’t do, Bridget. A pretty girl like you crying. Not over a man, I hope. They’re not worth it, you know. A bunch of
rotten scoundrels, most of them.’

Bridie began to cry. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ she mumbled, hiding her face.

‘Come, let’s not stand in the corridor.’ He led her further down the passage to his private quarters. ‘Sit on the bed and let’s dry your tears.’

She did as she was told. ‘You’re very kind, sir.’

‘It’s what any gentleman would do.’ He opened the top right-hand drawer of his dresser and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Kneeling before her he gently dabbed her eyes.
‘There, that’s better. Can’t have a pretty girl like you marred by tears.’ The way he said the word ‘pretty’ made her aching heart lurch with longing.

‘I don’t think I’m pretty,’ she said sadly, hiccupping.

‘You
are
pretty. You’re very pretty.’ He swayed a little. ‘And you’re young. Too young to have had time to break a man’s heart. But you will, you know.
They all do.’

She lifted her eyes and gazed at him in confusion. He was staring at her with an unfamiliar look on his face. She hadn’t seen that look before but she knew it instinctively. It was desire.
She felt a sudden yearning to please him and reached out her hand to touch his face. Her fingers were trembling and for a horrible moment she thought he might grab her hand and shout at her. But he
didn’t. He wound his hand around her neck and brought her face close so that he could kiss her. Bridie had never been kissed before but the wet sensation of his tongue entering her lips and
circling around hers, and the taste of whiskey on it, was deeply arousing and she let her eyelids close as she surrendered to the feeling.

A moment later she was lying on the bed and Mr Deverill was kissing her neck. Her breath grew short and the sweat began to gather in beads on her nose. He undid the buttons on her blouse and
slipped his hand inside, feeling the soft rise of her breast and the sharply erect nub of her nipple. Bridie ceased to think. Aware only of the strange new sensations that now took over, she gave
in to the powerful awakening of every nerve. His mouth was on her breast, teasing her with his tongue, sending her into a confusing state of excitement such as she had never before experienced.
Then his hand was rising up her skirt and tracing her thigh and she was barely able to stay still for the excruciating pleasure of it. She heard his breathing, deep, shallow, urgent, as his fingers
found their way to the top of her thigh where they could go no further, and the pleasure of his caresses increased still more, leaving Bridie dizzy in the head and now oblivious of the pain in her
heart.

When she felt something hard slip inside her, it momentarily woke her from her stupor. A sudden pain, but then it was gone. She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes again and let him
do what he wanted. Mr Deverill believed she was pretty. He was kissing her and loving her as if she was the only woman in the world he cared about. Kitty surfaced for a second in her mind but
Bridie’s vengeful smile was fleeting, for once again she was sinking into the firm embrace of a man who thought she was pretty.