The English Tutor

CHAPTER ONE

THEY knelt on the window-seat, side by side in the deep embrasure, and pressed their noses against the glass, watching the departure of the governess.
Outside, the summer rain lashed the loch water into miniature waves, and beat on the ancient roof of Mulligan
’
s hired car waiting below.

“
She
’
ll be soaked before she gets to the station. The roof leaks,
”
Brian said, deep satisfaction in his voice.

Mulligan himself came out of the house carrying the luggage, and presently the figure of Miss Dillon appeared, hung about with little parcels, her mackintosh flapping wildly in the wind.

“
Silly cow
!”
said Brian.

Clancy scratched the back of her long bare leg.

“
Someone ought to see her off,
”
she said.
“
Aunt Bea has forgotten, as usual, I expect.
”

“
Mulligan
’
s there.
”

“
He
’
s not of our house. Someone ought to tell her Godspeed. I
’
ll go.
”

Brian curled himself up more comfortably, and continued to gaze out of the window. Through a rivulet of raindrops he watched his sister run out to the car. From this height their figures looked queer and foreshortened. Clancy stood in the rain, her skirt whipping against her immature body, her black hair flying like a pennant behind her. Brian thought she looked like the figurehead of some ship breasting the wind. The governess, stiff and unresponsive, stood for a moment of indecision, then she put out a hand. The girl took it, and bent as if to kiss her, but the older woman turned away and got into the car. Clancy looked up as she ran back to the house, and waved to the schoolroom window.

Brian continued to stare out of the window and did not turn as the girl came back into the room. The familiar frown of discontent creased his smooth forehead, and he hunched his thin shoulders impatiently, resenting the freedom and swiftness of his sister
’
s tireless limbs.

“
She didn
’
t thank me for being civil.
”
Clancy laughed, banging the schoolroom door behind her.
“
She said she was glad to be leaving. Glad to be leaving Kilmallin—imagine! She said you were a nice little boy, left to yourself, but I was a hooligan and should be in a convent school. Can you see me in a convent school, Brian?
”

“
How should I know? I
’
ve never been in a convent,
”
he replied crossly.

“
Nuns gliding about saying the rosary, everything holy and clean and orderly, and me with my two eyes cast down saying
‘
Yes, Reverend Mother,
’
‘
No, Reverend Mother
,’
in a pious voice.
”

He turned
hi
s resentful gaze upon her.

“
They
’
d stop you flying up and down stairs, two at a time, and banging doors and—and jumping about like a— a Dublin street urchin,
”
he said with the slight stammer which affected his speech when he was angry.

Clancy
’
s eyes were tender.

“
Oh, Brian
—”
she said gently.
“
You could have come
too if you
’
d wanted. The old girl would have rather you
’
d told her God-speed than me.
”

“
You know I
’
m not allowed to tear and jump about.
”

“
That
’
s all nonsense. You can run as well as me if you
’
ve a mind to. You
’
ve grown quite strong—Conn says so. Conn says the trouble is Aunt Bea and Agnes between them have kept you too cosseted. You can do all sorts of things they say you can
’
t.
”

“
What does Conn know? He
’
s strong, and healthy—like you.
”

“
He
’
s known us all our lives, and he
’
s used to horses—little weakling foals that have to be nursed at first and then grow swift and strong. Why, look at you five years ago, and look at you now! You can do anything I do, as long as you don
’
t get tired, and you don
’
t get tired nearly as much as
Agnes makes you believe
—”
She slipped an arm round his
shoulders and pulled him to her.

“
You
’
re Brian Boru, High King of Ireland—remember?
”
He resisted her for a moment, then, because he really loved her, despite his inclination to sulk, he snuggled against her, then squealed and pulled away again.

“
Your hair
’
s sopping. The water
’
s running down my neck,
”
he protested, but he was friends again.

He looked at her lean little face with its fine pronounced bones, the wide, smokey eyes bright with health, the wild black hair springing so strongly from the broad forehead. She seemed so full of life and strength and an innocent pride like one of Conn
’
s half-broken colts.

“
You should have been the boy,
”
he said.

Clancy sighed.

“
That
’
s what our father says,
”
she said, and thinking of her father, she fell silent.

That her aunt and her old nurse should make it so plain that the boy was their favourite, their cherished nursling, seemed natural and carried little sting, but that their father should look at Brian with that different regard, resent his delicacy, but, in spite of it, love him best, hurt her repeatedly. She had a great admiration for Kevin O
’
Shane, for his half-hearted rages, his bouts of drinking, and his ruined good looks, and she knew that, but for the misfortune of her sex, she could have been the son he wanted. It was the perverseness of life that Brian, who was the apple of his eye, should be afraid of him, and shelter behind the women of the household, those faithful vigilants, always ready to protect
him
from things he did not wish to do.

He had always been delicate, and an attack of infantile paralysis at the age of three had left him frail and undersized, though mercifully uncrippled. Since then he had led a strange secluded life which had perforce included his sister. Since Brian could not play with other children, Clancy must not, either; Brian could not go to school, so Clancy must remain at home; Brian could not ride or own a pony, so Clancy should not, either. She did not resent these restrictions, for she had grown up with them, and she learned to make a separate isolated life of
h
er own. As she grew older, her father would sometimes treat her as the companion she would like to be, but his interest seldom lasted for long, and although she was now seventeen, he still thought of her as the little daughter who should have been a son.

And so she had given her heart and friendship to Conn Driscoll on the other side of the loch. He had taught her to ride, and to handle a boat, and to hate the English, and to love Kilmallin. He was the only confidant she had ever had besides her cousin, Clodagh, and she took him all her troubles and all her joys and laid them at his feet.

Sometimes she wondered how things would have been if her mother had lived. Gentle, lovely Kitty O
’
Shane had been killed in a hunting accident when Clancy was nine. She remembered her mother tucking her into bed at night, lingering over her, saying:

“
I always wanted a daughter. You and I will be friends when you
’
re older, Clancy.
”

She had loved and admired her mother, but even then it had been her father
’
s affection she had wanted. Now, she had thought, watching white-faced but dry-eyed as they had carried her mother
’
s still body home, now he will need me, now he will have to think of me. And she remembered Kevin
’
s terrible, unheeding words, as he tried that night to drink himself into oblivion.

“
If it had to be one of you, Clancy, God help me, it should not have been her. She should have given me another son.
”

No, he had not needed her. Instead, all his hopes became centred on his boy. Aunt Bea came to keep the house, and presently he ceased to grieve for Kitty. Women had never really meant very much to him.

“
What are you thinking about?
”
Brian
’
s voice, curious and insistent, asking his question for the second time, brought her back from the past.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
she said.
“
What you were saying, perhaps—that I should have been a boy. You
’
d have made a nice girl, Brian.
”

He looked complacent, rather than insulted. He was still
small
for his thirteen years, but he was very much like his sister, except that in him everything was muted to a gentler key.

“
I should like to have been a girl,
”
he said, with old-fashioned solemnity.
“
Women have all the advantages.
”

“
Not in this house they don
’
t,
”
retorted Clancy.
“
Women don
’
t count at
Kilmallin
.
”

“
Oh, women like Miss Dillon and all the others—they
’
re such silly cows anyway!
”

“
Well, look at Aunt Bea—she
’
s not really silly, but no one pays any attention to her.
”

“
I do,
”
he said smugly.

“
That
’
s because she loves you,
”
Clancy replied without rancour.
“
She doesn
’
t care anything for anyone else. Aunt Kate is different, so we never see her.
”

“
Clodagh told me she thinks our father is impossible, that
’
s why she never comes here,
”
said Brian, breathing on the window-pane, then drawing a face with his finger.

“
She was always quarrelling with him, that
’
s why she says he
’
s impossible,
”
said Clancy sharply.
“
Kilmallin won
’
t stand interference from women, and he
’
s perfectly right.
”

“
Aunt Kate says our governesses have taught us nothing,
”
Brian said with great satisfaction,
“
and we have the mentalities of children of ten.
”

Clancy bounced on the window-seat.

“
What a
li
e! I know more about the curse of Cromwell and the Wild Geese, and Red Hugh O
’
Donnel
l
, than Clodagh ever learnt at her grand school.
”

“
Conn taught you that, anyway. You didn
’
t lea
rn
it from any of the governesses.
”
Brian was unimpressed.
“
Aunt Kate says instead of them teaching you, you
’
ve taught them so much Irish history they didn
’
t know before, they
’
d never get jobs in decent English families.
”

“
Conn says there are no decent English families,
”
said Clancy automatically.
“
And what would a good Irish governess be wanting in England, anyway?
”

“
Money,
”
said Brian simply.
“
The English are very rich. I shall go to England when I grow up.
”

“
Brian O
’
Shane! You
’
ll do no such thing! You
’
ve a fine inheritance here. How could you think of leaving
Kilmallin a
nd going to a cold, unfriendly country like England!
”

“
Ah, get away with you! You
’
ve a bee in your bonnet about the English.
”

“
I have not, then. I have no bees in my bonnet about
anything. It
’
s the truth I
’
m telling you
—”

“
An
’
it
’
s the truth I
’
ll be telling you, letting the boy catch his death by that window while you let the fire out!
”
interrupted Agnes
’
s voice from the doorway.