The Woman from Kerry (17 page)

‘Further than I can face these days. Never did
like bouncing along over bad roads. They get worse, or my bones get worse,’ she said abruptly, as they made their way out into English Street. ‘Bad news about Harrington, isn’t it?’

Rose felt the blood drain from her face.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ Lady Ishbel asked, catching sight of her expression. ‘Lady Anne writes to you, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes, she does, but I haven’t had a letter for several weeks.’

‘Damned Land Leaguers took a shot at him while he was out on the estate. Missed him, thank God, but his horse threw him and he’s broken a leg. Could be worse. The tenants are withholding rents and he’s having to borrow from the bank to pay his people. Your friend is in a bad way I hear, trying to keep things going with no money to do it with.’

Lady Ishbel waved her umbrella at her carriage parked in the open space in front of the Post Office.

‘Must be going. Supposed to be in Richhill for lunch with the Richardsons. Can I drop you anywhere further up the town?’

‘No, thank you very much. I’m on my way to Russell Street to pay the rent.’

‘Hah,’ she said. ‘How old-fashioned of you. I suppose if the Land Leaguers don’t hound us out, Sir Capel will be ostracised by the Orangemen because he won’t join their cause. Good day to you.’

Without a backward glance, she stepped up into
her carriage, said a sharp word to the groom and settled herself for the drive to Richhill Castle.

‘Poor Lady Anne,’ Rose said aloud. ‘And she’s worked so hard. They both have. It’s not fair, it’s just not fair,’ she added to herself.

She had to wipe tears from her eyes before she tucked her parcel of fabric firmly under her arm and marched past her favourite dress shop without even noticing the elegant gown displayed in the window.

‘Hallo, Rose, how are ye?’ Peggy Wylie asked.

She came from behind her desk to take the rent money, her usual smile replaced by a look of real concern.

‘Amn’t I the sorry one to hear the bad news I gave you the last time you were in. How are you managing at all?’

Rose smiled and made an effort to respond to Peggy’s kind enquiries. Although she knew her only slightly, it was clear she was just as soft-hearted and good-natured as her sister Mary. She did her best to reassure her about the house and told her it was nice to be so near to John while he was working.

‘An’ what about wee Sarah? That was an awful fright you had. Mary told me all about it.’

‘She’s fine. I look at her sometimes and think I imagined it all, she looks so well,’ Rose replied honestly, ‘though we have to be careful with her still, Dr Lindsay says.’

‘Isn’t that just the way,’ Peggy replied, smiling at last, ‘sure one never knows the day with wee ones, what they pick up. D’ye remember how bad William was with his chest when he first went to school and now there’s no stoppin’ him?’

Rose laughed. If there was a way of doing something which would cause damage to the object or William himself then William would find it.

‘Another week or two, Rose, and you won’t see me here,’ said Peggy, dropping her voice and looking over her shoulder to see who might be still in the outer office.

‘Won’t I? Have you got a new job then?’

‘Well, in a manner of speakin’,’ she replied, smiling shyly. ‘I’m getting married the beginnin’ of October.’

For the first time since she’d come into the office, she saw the light return to Peggy’s lovely brown eyes. The effect was amazing. Her unexceptional features were transformed, just like Lady Anne, when Lord Harrington first appeared at Currane Lodge.

‘Oh Peggy, what splendid news. Do I know the lucky man?’ she said warmly, delighted to have such good news to take home to John.

‘No, he’s a big secret,’ she said, laughing. ‘I met him in Belfast when I went for my holiday to my uncle and aunt on the Donegall Road. He’s a Catholic, so we decided we’d be married in Belfast in the registry office to save any fuss, but Mary an’
Billy are comin’ down for the day. She’ll maybe be askin’ you to keep the we’ans,’ she added wryly.

‘Well, I’m always happy to have them, but I’ll be even happier that day. Will you live in Belfast?’

‘Looks like it. Kevin works in the shipyards. He’s a boilermaker, so there’s no work for him here, more’s the pity. But the pay’s good. He says we can come up on the train on Sundays for the day whenever I want. So I’ll not miss the country too much.’

As she came out into Russell Street, she knew she still had no heart for window-gazing, for all her pleasure in Peggy’s new-found happiness. Lady Ishbel news had cast such a dark shadow over the day, it was all she could do to keep her mind on the things she still had to do. She felt so downcast she almost decided to leave the library, but then she remembered there was a book John particularly wanted.

‘Oh how fortunate,’ she said, as she carried her books to the desk. ‘I’ve been wanting to read Mrs Gaskell’s last novel, but it’s always out.’

‘Very popular, Mrs Hamilton. We could do with extra copies. And this is for your husband?’

‘Yes, I hope it’s not as heavy as it looks.’

She slipped the volume of
Wives and Daughters
into her shopping basket, then rearranged her parcels to accommodate
Portable Engines and their Applications
.

‘Can you manage? Or shall I hold it for you till next week?’

‘No, I’ll manage. My husband has so missed his reading over the summer. It’s been a busy time.’

She was sure it was worth the effort of carrying it home for the book would give John such pleasure, but it made her return journey far from pleasant, with the weight of her shopping. To her own surprise she had to sit down and rest several times on the way. She had to admit she was tired, but what wearied her the more was the constant echo of Lady Ishbel’s words.
Bad news about Harrington, isn’t it?
By the time she reached home she felt completely exhausted.

‘Shoo, shoo,’ she cried, as she came up to her own front door.

She set down her basket, dropped her parcels on a grassy hillock, waved her arms furiously and chased the fat hens who’d been scratching in her newly-made flower beds, back towards the common. They raced off, flapping their wings and protesting, leaving behind a mess of scattered earth and the exposed fragments of her precious cuttings.

Tears streamed down her face and splashed onto the light fabric of her blouse as she closed the front door behind her and stood in the empty room, the fire smouldered on the hearth, the windows closed to keep out the smell of retting fibre from the nearby flax hole, the clock ticking its way to the point where
the children would arrive home from school, hungry and full of their own concerns.

‘Rose, stop it. Stop it. You can’t cry over your wee cuttings when Harrington might have been killed. Stop it.’

There was a sudden rap on the door. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She no longer had to wonder who it was. She took a deep breath and opened it.

‘Missus Hamilton, I’ll thank you not to chase
my
hens. After the fright you gave them, it’s enough to put them off laying. See that it doesn’t happen again.’

Mary-Anne Scott turned on her heel in her usual manner after delivering one of her familiar reprimands. But this time was once too often. Rose was quick enough to stop her.

‘Missus Scott, I’ll stop chasing your hens when you ensure that they do not trespass on what small piece of land you can’t actually lay claim to, nor cause damage to our property.’

‘Property? What property?’ she retorted, following Rose’s pointing finger. ‘A few weeds. You call that “property”?’

‘A collection of cuttings from my mother-inlaw’s garden. Of great value to my husband and myself. Keep your hens in
the Robinson’s
orchard or on
everyone’s
common, but keep them out of
our
garden,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion, as she closed the door firmly in her face.

Standing in her own kitchen, staring at an apron and a towel, hung on separate hooks on the back of the door she had just closed so firmly, she felt a sudden aching sense of loss. It was quite different from the feelings she’d had in the last month or two, whenever she’d remembered a particularly happy thing about the old house, or how much easier it was to manage with more space. This was a more personal loss, something she couldn’t explain.

For the first time since she’d left Kerry, she felt she no longer had a whole, bright new world beyond her door. It was not just a matter of having a garden where she could work with pleasure, a field for the cow and the chickens, a place where the children could play freely. Weary from her long walk, her face still damp with tears of utter distress and frustration, she sat down at the kitchen table to try and compose herself.

She sat staring at the new dresser, her eyes moving round the plates and cups, the striped mugs, the collection of teapots and jugs, the photograph of their wedding Mr Blennerhassett had sent and Sarah insisted on framing, the small souvenirs that had been precious to her, the small jars and vases she herself had collected to put her flowers in.

As she had promised to do the night before they left Annacramp, she’d gathered up their home and tried to recreate it in this very different house. She thought she had succeeded. Everyone who visited
said how well the place looked, especially Mary Wylie. She’d been amazed at its transformation, the first time she came, the day Mary-Anne had been so angry with the children for speaking to little Robert and using the path down the side of her house to go into the orchard.

She sighed. You could make a home, but you couldn’t keep the door shut. You couldn’t protect the children from the threat of Mary-Anne’s outbursts or the unease that spread out from her hostility, the feeling that so often hung over them like the smell from the flax hole when it was in use. She knew that every move they made, every coming or going of friends, or children, was observed. Whether she was sweeping the front of her own house for the second time in the day, feeding her hens, or cleaning her windows, she knew that Mary-Anne was always on the look out for something to complain about.

She’d forbidden her own children to speak to their new neighbours and hers had guessed as much. Then one day, James had come home in distress and confirmed it. High up in one of the trees behind the forge, he’d overheard her scolding little Robert and repeated every word.

‘You just play there behind the forge where I can see you through the window, an’ don’t you dare go near yer wuman from Kerry an’ her childer. You just keep to yer own ground. Have nothing to do with that wuman whatever.’

‘Yer wuman from Kerry,’ Rose repeated to herself, trying to mimic the harsh timbre of Mary-Anne’s voice. ‘What
does
she mean?’

Yes, there was dislike, hatred even, but she could think of no reason why her being from the other end of Ireland could have any meaning. But it
did
have meaning for Mary-Anne. Whatever that meaning was, she knew it was beyond any power she herself might have to make it any different.

She stood up, propped open the door, and fetched a bowl of water from the wash house. When the children came home from school, they found her down on her knees at the front of the house rescuing the small fragments that had survived the vigorous scratchings of Mary-Anne’s hens.

‘Ach dear, that’s bad news indeed for poor Lady Anne. What’ll she do, d’ye think?’ John said, as he took his mug of tea from her hand, late that same evening. ‘I mind ye once said to me that big people has to mind their money just as much as we do, though one wouldn’t think it. How’ll she manage, if there’s no money comin’ in and him not able to change his line of work?’

‘I really don’t know,’ replied Rose, smoothing the work on her knee and rethreading her needle. ‘He’ll have some money from property in England, but that won’t go far with nineteen house servants, never mind outside staff. And he has to travel to and
from London and keep a coach. All big expenses. I don’t know what the Land League is thinking off and him so strong a supporter of Parnell.’

John drank his tea and looked down into the glowing embers in the hearth. She waited, wondered if he’d ask whether Sam could tell them more, or even help. But what he said next put all thought of Lady Anne’s troubles quite out of mind.

‘I made a start on yer new crane today. There was a piece of metal just the right length. It was Thomas pointed it out and reminded me,’ he said warmly. ‘Not that I’d forgotten, but you know how busy it’s been. I didn’t feel I could start when we have so much waiting. He paused and looked across at her. ‘Maybe I’ll get it finished sooner than I’d thought.’

There was something about his whole manner that alarmed her. As if he were slowly acknowledging some anxiety, but could not bring himself to speak of it openly.

‘And why might that be, John?’ she asked, looking him straight in the face.

‘We had visitors at the forge today,’ he began, reluctantly.

‘Yes.’

‘A cousin of Mary-Anne’s from Battlehill and a big farmer from over Cabragh way.’

He shook his head as if he couldn’t go on, then it all came out in a rush.

‘They wanted Thomas and me to join the lodge
and start drillin’ with them. They say there’s bound to be trouble over the Home Rule Bill an’ we hafta be ready.’

Rose dropped her sewing on her knee.

‘And what did you say?’

‘Ach sure we both tried to say we’d think about it an’ put them off that way, but they weren’t takin’ that for an answer. So when it came to the heels of the hunt, we had to say ‘No’. That was not our way. Thomas is no more a man than I am for that sort of thing. That’s why he niver joined the lodge in the first place.’

‘An’ how did they take that?’ she asked, knowing he wouldn’t volunteer the information.

‘Not well. They argued and persuaded for a bit an’ whin they seen there was no shiftin’ us, they made to go. Then they came back to say it was a pity a good forge should go down the hill for want of business, but wasn’t there as good ones in Ballyleny and Drumsill.’