The Woman from Kerry (5 page)

‘Sure they’re only middling rich,’ Old Thomas declared when the magnificence of other castles, parks and lodges, were discussed in the servant’s hall, together with the idiosyncrasies of their owners, the sources of their wealth and the suitability of their sons for one of the young ladies.

‘But sometimes being rich is not the biggest thing. The Molyneux’s are exceedin’ well connected,’ he continued, always pleased to have an attentive audience.

Thomas was an expert on the aristocracy. Having spent his life driving Sir Capel round London and the Home Counties in his younger days, he had then spent the next twenty years driving him from one Irish estate to another. Thomas never read books, but he read newspapers avidly and he observed. With time on his hands while he was waiting outside the places the family frequented, his eyes were never still. No detail of dress, deportment or behaviour escaped him.

Once started, he could weave the family connections up and down the generations and add a synopsis of the many families with whom connections had been made by marriage. Although it had taken Rose some time to tease out the main threads, especially when the same Christian names appeared time and time again, it was always perfectly clear to her that Thomas was quite right. The Molyneux might not themselves be related to everyone of importance, but they would almost certainly have a relative who was.

Sir Capel’s sisters had all married well. Lady Violet, the eldest, was well-known in Dublin circles where she encouraged and supported young poets and playwrights, while her English husband
conducted his affairs at Dublin Castle. Lady Jane, the youngest, had married a wealthy entrepreneur who was now a Cabinet Minister. Their London house in Lord North Street was a popular meeting place for Irish M. Ps. Lady Jane herself was frequently received at Court.

Lady Caroline’s brothers, Harold and Rainham, had abandoned the small family estates in Cheshire and quietly made fortunes in the Manchester cotton industry. Harold had built Martham Park, in the countryside south of the city. On her only visit to England its scale and splendour had quite overawed Rose, but she’d been assured by Old Thomas that it was nothing compared to Rainham’s mansion in Derbyshire.

One day, Lady Anne promised, they would go to London together, see the sights, visit the Queen and then go on to the Continent. She never spoke of France, or Italy, or any of the watering places frequented by the rich, but always of the Continent. But then, Lady Anne’s knowledge of geography was distinctly limited, for she seldom opened her atlas or bothered to look at the books of engravings Miss Pringle brought down from Sir Capel’s library.

Rose had first-hand knowledge of Lady Anne’s weaknesses as a scholar, for it had been her task to sit with the sisters in the schoolroom, trying to help her with her work. But it had been a thankless and wearisome task. Unless she was in a good mood she
would sit silent, waiting only for the moment when she was free to go down to the stables. Nothing held her interest unless it could be related to horses. A landscape with physical features to be jumped, forded or climbed, a historical personage mounted, a battle scene with charging cavalry. In the end, Miss Pringle too, gave up, turned her attention to the four younger girls and left Lady Anne to her silence.

Rose sighed. She’d ended up learning a great deal more than Lady Anne ever had, but what she’d learnt wasn’t much use to her. No one in the servant’s hall spoke French, nor could they recite the counties of Ireland, the main towns and their occupations, the rivers, mountains and lakes to be found in each of the four provinces. She could sketch rather well, do embroidery and drawn thread work, and read poetry and plays, but there was never time to practice what she’d learnt. The last sketch she’d done was a couple of years ago, a pencil portrait of Sam for her mother to send to her eldest sister, Mary, now married and settled in Donegal.

It was all very well, having nice clothes, and a comfortable place, the prospect of travelling to England and the Continent, but what was given with one hand was taken away with the other. What was the use of having all these things if you found you never had time to enjoy them?

The lark stopped singing. She gazed up again into the vast, empty vault of the sky. The tiny brown
dot was dropping towards her. She followed it’s descent intently, made out at last the narrow, brown wings as they unfurled. It came closer and closer, swooping down, silent now, quite indifferent to her presence and dropped suddenly into a clump of rich grass threaded with the bleached remains of last year’s growth.

She listened. Barely audible above the gentle murmur of the breeze, she could just make out the tentative vocalising of tiny fledglings. The lark reappeared, this time only flying a short distance. Darting back and forth, it pursued the insects that swarmed in the heavy air and made journey after journey to feed the waiting youngsters.

So fascinated was Rose with the lark’s domestic duties, it was some time before she noticed the sun glinting on the polished bodywork of a small coach that had stopped on the road immediately below her. Despite it’s modest proportions, it was drawn by four well-matched greys, a sign it had come some distance, probably from Dublin itself.

Well, that was quite likely. Only that morning as they shared their early breakfast, her mother had spoken of the visitors who were expected in the course of the next few days.

‘How many, Ma, did you say were coming?’

‘Oh, a houseful and a half,’ Hannah replied, wryly. ‘The young ones will have to sleep in the schoolroom to leave the nursery for the ladies
maids, Sam and Tom move into the loft to leave their room for the grooms and coachmen. Every bedroom’s in use except the one where the damp got in with the storm. If I hadn’t brought down sheets that have been turned or mended, I wouldn’t have had enough for the girls to make up all the beds,’ she said, shaking her head as she cut even slices of bread from a new white loaf.

‘No wonder Annie’s going round in a state,’ said Rose, laughing, as she took the teapot from the hob and filled her mother’s teacup and then her own. ‘It must be like feeding an army.’

‘Aye indeed,’ said Hannah absently, a distant look in her eye. ‘I’d hate to be a cook, making food for all those grand people. I sometimes think of our neighbours away up in Ardtur. They could have lived for a month on the scraps that go out of here to the dogs and chickens. Even the Rosses in Ramelton – you remember the people who were so good to us in ’61 – wouldn’t have had a Sunday meal the like of what these visitors get three times a day.’

‘Do you ever wish you were back there, Ma?’ Rose asked as she buttered her bread and spread it with damson jam.

To her surprise, her mother laughed.

‘Sure there’s never any back to go to, Rose dear,’ she said quickly. ‘Oh, yes, I’d love to have my time again with your father and your brothers and sister and Sam and Rose that we lost, but you can’t have
bits of your life over again. That’s why you have to take the good of everything you have when you have it. That way you have fewer regrets when things change.’

‘But are you not angry, Ma? You were so happy in those days. I know we hadn’t much, but I remember you and Da were always laughing and talking away to each other and it was one man that put an end to it.’

‘Aye, he did that, and put an end to a few lives forby,’ said Hannah, her grey eyes suddenly dull. ‘Your Aunt Mary for one,’ she went on, ‘and our neighbour Andy Laverty and dear old Daniel McGee at Casheltown. He was only in the workhouse a week, poor man,’ she said sadly, putting down her bread and jam untasted.

She stared at the pretty china plate from the tea service Lady Caroline had recently retired from its life in the drawing room.

‘What did happen Aunt Mary, Ma? I remember our Mary crying and crying for days that summer, but she wouldn’t speak to me. And then the news came from Scotland about Da. To tell the truth, I forgot about her.’

Hannah smiled grimly.

‘Mary had a bit of spirit about her. She wouldn’t go in the cart to the workhouse. She went up the mountain. How she ever did it with her bad legs is a mystery, but your father and Patrick found her
about a week after, crouched down behind a heap of stones with her rosary in her hand. It was so cold that first night she’d never have seen the morning.’

Rose crossed herself unthinkingly, then smiled suddenly as she realised what she’d done.

‘I have to remember not to cross myself when we go to church with the family. It was Aunt Mary taught me, you know. She always used to say “When in doubt, cross yourself.” She said it was a way of asking for help from above.’

‘Good advice, Rose. There’s times in everybody’s life when they don’t know how they’ll manage to keep going. It doesn’t matter what church you go to, or how it tells you to believe, it’s all one when you’re in need of help. Mary was wise enough. She trusted in her God and she was able to do what was right for her. I had to do the same when your father died, though my way was different.’

Rose saw a moistness in her mother’s eyes and was sorry she’d mentioned Aunt Mary. Her mother seldom spoke about the past, unless you asked her a direct question, but then she would often say quite a lot, as if grateful to have the chance to share the thoughts she’d normally keep to herself, so Rose waited to see if she would go on.

Hannah cut her piece of bread in two, but made no move to pick up either of the halves. She sipped her tea.

‘I think of your father every morning when I get
out of bed,’ she said slowly. ‘Every time I put food on the table. Every time I see you, or Sam, walk across the yard. I think how glad he would be that we’re safe and well. And that comforts me. He was always so anxious we’d have enough. He worked so hard and he loved us so much. Nothing can take that away, Rose. If you’ve been truly loved, it stays with you forever.’

She’d looked at the clock then and reminded Rose it was almost seven, time to finish breakfast and leave all tidy before they went across to the servant’s hall to start the day’s work.

Rose looked more closely at the carriage on the road below. It still sat where she’d first seen it. She watched as the coachman and the groom climbed down from the box and came round to the front horses, stroking them and looking at their legs. One of them must have cast a shoe.

The groom was a tall fellow in a green livery that looked far too tight on his shoulders. She could almost see the fabric straining as he bent down to examine the leading grey’s hooves. When he straightened up, she noticed he’d undone the glinting metal buttons and his neck scarf was busily unwinding itself.

He spoke to the coachman, looked around him, caught sight of her, and to her great surprise, looked up at her and waved. Without thinking, she waved back.

‘Well, the cheek of him,’ she said aloud, when
she saw he was now beckoning her to come down. She stood her ground and went back to watching her lark, still hard at work feeding it’s family.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him conferring again with the coachman. A few moments later, he was striding up the hillside towards her. In no time at all, he stood before her, looking down at her out of candid blue eyes.

‘Would you not come down an’ give us a hand?’ he said, agreeably. ‘Sure what way’s this to treat poor travellers?’

‘You don’t look too poor to me,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Were you wanting me to shoe your horse for you?’

‘Well now that would be a great help, but you might get your nice hands dirty. I’d settle for a bit of information and a word or two to her Ladyship. I reckon she’ll melt soon in thon wee box.’

Rose laughed. She couldn’t help it. Whether it was the unperturbable smile, the northern accent, or the thought of his mistress melting away, she couldn’t be cross with him.

‘It’s my afternoon off,’ she said feebly.

‘Aren’t you the lucky one? I’ve never met one of those,’ he said, laughing. ‘C’mon wi’ me,’ he said, bending down and lifting her to her feet as easily as if she were a child. ‘Do up your buttons like a good girl or m’lady might wonder where I found you.’

‘Good day t’ye miss,’ said the coachman, a tall, angular figure, dressed as if it were still the middle of winter. ‘Can ye tell us how far we’re off Currane Lodge?’ he asked, as John swung her over the low wall that bounded the road and set her back on her feet. ‘We can’t be far, but I’ve niver been here afore.’

On the road itself it was hot and still and very dusty. Not a trace of a breeze. Pestered by the flies attracted to their sweating bodies, the four greys were swishing their tails and tossing their heads uneasily.

‘You’re not far indeed,’ said Rose agreeably. ‘About a mile perhaps to the main entrance, but the farm entrance is nearer. It’s just a cart track but its bone dry at the moment and the trees make it shady.’

‘An English mile or an Irish mile?’ asked the coachman doubtfully.

‘Is there any difference?’

‘Ach aye,’ said John promptly, nodding his head towards the coach. He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Any sort of a mile would be too far for m’ lady. She’s not one for walkin’.’

From the coach itself came a loud banging. The small, shiny box vibrated on its springs, making the greys fidget even more. The door flew open, but no one emerged.

‘John, John, where are you?’ called a peremptory voice. ‘What
is
going on? Come here this minute and tell me what’s the matter.’

John looked from the coachman to Rose and back again, as if he hoped between them they’d solve his problem, but the coachman just smiled wryly and shrugged his shoulders. When she saw the look on John’s face, Rose had to smile too. He couldn’t have been doing the job for long if he’d let that tone of voice bother him.

‘Pegasus has thrown a shoe, m’ lady, an’ hurt the frog of his foot forby,’ he explained, standing by the open door and leaning into the gloomy interior.

‘And what do you propose to do about me?’ she asked crossly. ‘Leave me to perish by the wayside while you commiserate with Pegasus? I’m sure I heard a woman’s voice a few minutes ago. Who was it?’

‘Yes, m’ lady. I went to ask a young lady how far it was to the Lodge.’

‘And how far is it?’

‘About a mile.’

‘Well then, one of you go and ask Sir Capel to send his coach for me. He can’t be using it when we’re expected. Where’s this “young lady” of yours, John? Let her come up to me while I wait.’

Rose glared at John as he turned away from the open door and stepped over to where she and the coachman were standing, near enough to have heard every word.

‘Lady Ishbel would like you to go up to sit with her while one of us walks to Currane Lodge for the coach,’ he said, looking at her doubtfully.

Rose sighed. There was nothing for it. If Lady Ishbel was a guest at the house, the discourtesy of not doing as she asked would certainly be reported to Lady Caroline. She wiped her damp forehead and took a deep breath. When she climbed up the hillside, she thought she’d escaped duties for the whole afternoon. It never occurred to her she might be brought down again to spend the rest of it in a hot little box of a coach entertaining a cross old woman.

She waited by the open door of the coach for John to lower the step, but either he’d forgotten where it was, or he was in such a hurry to get away he made no move to release it. He simply came up behind her, put his hands round her waist and swung her up so that she landed neatly in the seat facing Lady Ishbel.

‘Well, then,’ said Lady Ishbel promptly, ‘you’re an elegant young lady for these parts. Who are you and where do you come from?’

Rose collected her wits. She was not used to being picked up and put down again twice in fifteen minutes, she was furious at the loss of her precious afternoon, and she couldn’t imagine now why she’d ever agreed to come down to the road in the first place.

‘My name is Rose McGinley and I come from Currane Lodge,’ she said quickly.

When giving your name to any guest, or member of the family always curtsy
. It was the very first thing she’d learnt when she’d started work in the servant’s hall. You could hardly curtsy if you were already seated, so she folded her hands in her lap and looked attentive. At least it showed she knew how to behave, not like that idiot of a groom. How long he’d last in the job was a nice question.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Lady Ishbel, nodding vigorously, so that the dark feathers in her hat bobbed up and down. ‘Your mother is the housekeeper who came from Donegal and you used to help the governess with the girls. Particularly Lady Anne, I gather. I hear you’ve been most useful to Lady Caroline,’ she said approvingly.

‘Lady Caroline is most kind,’ Rose replied, as the coach suddenly jolted backwards, throwing Lady Ishbel forward in her seat.

‘Whoa, whoa, steady there boys. Steady there. Easy does it.’

‘Oh, what now? demanded Lady Ishbel irritably, as the coach continued to rock and vibrate and the voices of the coachman and his groom echoed around them.

‘See what’s happening, Rose.’

Rose stepped across to the heavily curtained windows on the sunny side of the coach, pulled one back and peered out. She found herself almost level with a pair of handsome black horses and a coach twice the size of the one in which they sat.

‘Another coach, my lady. It can’t pass at this point and the greys are giving trouble.’

‘Oh well, that solves
our
problem,’ said Lady Ishbel briskly. ‘They
must
be fellow guests. Go and present my compliments to whoever it is. Ask them to drop one of their servants and give me their seat,’ she added, as she picked up her gloves and began to draw them carefully over her bent fingers.

Rose caught up her skirt, jumped cautiously down from the rocking coach and made her way behind it to where the newly arrived coach had drawn up, its coachman and groom still on the box, the horses tossing their heads in frustration, having come to such an unexpected standstill. From the amount of dust on their gleaming flanks they’d been travelling rapidly for some time.

Rose nodded to the coachman who touched his
hat respectfully. The groom, however, gave her a dazzling smile, jumped down from the box, bowed to her, accompanied her to the door of the coach and opened it for her.

‘Lady Ishbel presents her compliments and asks if you could give her a seat to Currane Lodge.’

‘Why, of course, we can, can’t we Katherine?’

‘Yes indeed. If Jane comes and squeezes in beside Carrie and me, Lady Ishbel can sit with you, Aunty Ben. Do you know her?’

‘Yes, I most certainly do,’ laughed Aunty Ben. ‘But it is so long ago since we danced the night away we may not recognise one another,’ she said cheerfully, as she turned back to Rose. ‘My compliments to Lady Ishbel. Tell her an old friend and her favourite niece will be pleased to see her.’

The two coachmen were now conferring. There was no possibility of passing at this point on the road. John was nowhere to be seen and the other groom was watching her every move as she delivered her message.

Lady Ishbel seemed spry enough once she was on her feet. She lost no time at all in moving from one coach to another and settling herself in the seat by the window which Aunty Ben had vacated for her.

Rose turned away as she heard the two older women greet each other.

‘Oh my goodness, Ben, it’s you! How extraordinary. And this is Katherine. My dear, I
knew your father when I lived in Dublin, but you weren’t even born then. Such a beautiful preaching voice. I can still remember it. But such an age ago. And your husband, Captain O’Shea, I hope he is well?’

‘Oh yes, Lady Ishbel, he
is
well, but he hates coaches. He and his friend Lord Harrington are great supporters of the railway. They even persuade their unfortunate mounts to travel with them. I expect he’ll have arrived at least a day before us.’

Rose stood in the small patch of shade cast by the empty coach and wondered if she could slip away unnoticed. Now that Lady Ishbel was safely settled, it was up to the coachmen to get them back to the house. There was no question of her being offered a seat for Lady Ishbel and Aunty Ben were generously proportioned. Only Jane and Carrie’s slim figures saved one of them from having to walk.

She had just made up her mind to slip over the wall and go back up the hillside when a breathless figure appeared at her side.

‘Rose, would you give us a hand and hold Pegasus for us? He’s in a bad way.’

‘Would you like me to uncouple the others and reverse the coach as well?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘Now, Rose, don’t be unkind,’ he said quietly. ‘Wouldn’t I help you if it were the other way round?’

Yes, he probably would, she thought to herself.
There was no doubt he was good-natured enough, but just at this moment she was not at all inclined to admit any of his good qualities.

‘How do you know my name?’ she asked shortly.

‘Sure, I listened when ye went up inta the coach. I knew her ladyship woud ask ye.’

Rose laughed and shook her head. The man was as innocent as a child. That would do him no good in his present occupation.

‘Come on then. Take me to Pegasus. Who in heaven’s name called him that?’

‘Oh, that’s Sir Capel. He’s a great one for books. Books and birds. Doesn’t much like people. Hates visitin’. Always sends the wife first to make sure the beds is aired afore he comes. But he’s a right sort. Never do anyone down, not even the boot boy.’

He paused, ran his hand down Pegasus’s long, grey nose.

‘Ach sure we’ll soon have you right as rain,’ he said to him reassuringly, as he began to undo the traces, more skilfully than Rose had anticipated.

‘You’re not afeard o’ horses, are ye?’ he asked suddenly, looking round at her, his blue eyes full of concern.

‘I wouldn’t need to be. I spend half my life talking up at Lady Anne on a stallion bigger than Pegasus.’

He looked relieved as he led the limping horse slowly forward to a patch of rough grass broader
than the one beside the coach. He handed her the reins and stood watching for a moment as she stroked his head.

‘There ye are now, Pegasus. Aren’t you the lucky one? Wasn’t it worth a bad foot for all the attention yer getting’? Maybe if I had a bad foot, she’d come an’ stroke my head, instead of bitin’ it off.’

Rose opened her mouth to retort, but he’d already gone to help the coachman release the other lead horse.

It was not long before Lady Ishbel’s coach had been drawn into the field entrance which John had located some small distance away, thus allowing the larger coach with its full compliment of ladies and servants to proceed. When it had passed, Lady Ishbel’s coachman, O’Donnell, checked the re-harnessed greys, shook the reins and followed, leaving John and Rose with Pegasus and his companion.

‘Are ye tired?’ he said suddenly, looking down at her as she stood leaning against Pegasus, a quiet animal who now stood easily, his hurt foot slightly raised from the rough ground.

‘Why do you ask?’ she replied curiously.

‘Sure I could put you up on Icarus and lead the both of them. No trouble at all.’

She laughed at the thought of a horse called Icarus and shook her head helplessly at the idea of riding him.

‘And a nice pair we’d make coming into the stable yard with me on one of your Sir Capel’s horses,’ she said, shaking her head vigorously. ‘You’d never hear the end of it in the servant’s hall or the stables.’

‘Ach sure I wouden care about that if ye were tired. It’s powerful hot the day. Is it always like this in this part of the world?’ he asked, as they led the two horses carefully back onto the carriage road.

‘No, we get our share of rain and cold, but its probably warmer here than Armagh. It’s certainly a lot warmer than Donegal.’

‘How did ye know I wus from Armagh?’

‘Your Sir Capel is my Sir Capel’s cousin. When you meet Old Thomas, the coachman, you’ll hear who everybody is and where they come from. And maybe you’ll get as mixed up as I used to with them all having the same names.’

‘We could call them Sir Capel North and Sir Capel South?’ he offered.

‘Or Sir Capel Armagh, and Sir Capel Kerry,’ she added, smiling.

They paused to let Pegasus rest and she watched while he pulled off the scarf that had worked itself loose in the course of the afternoon and was now in danger of falling to the ground. He stuffed it in the pocket of his livery jacket, then took off the jacket itself. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Rose asked the question that had been in her mind since she’d first laid eyes on him.

‘How long have you been a groom?’

‘A groom?’ he repeated, an unexpected note of outrage in his normal easy speech. ‘I’m no groom,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m a time-served blacksmith. As good a one as you’ll find.’

‘I do apologise, your honour,’ she said, curtseying to him. ‘You must forgive me if I was taken in by your disguise.’

He threw back his head and laughed.

‘Sure, maybe I could have taken ye in if the coat had fitted, but that coat’s been the plague o’ my life. Even the buttons get hot. An’ sure I niver was one for wearin’ a coat anyway. Not wi’ my work. Ye’ve no call for one in a forge, even in the wintertime.’

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘Ach, just helpin’ out. The groom’s old mother was took bad a few days before they were due to set out an’ he asked Sir Capel for leave not to go. Sir Capel came to the forge an’ put it to me that I was no stranger to Paddy O’Donnell or the horses, so it’d be a bit of an outing for me. Ah wasn’t all that keen, I admit. But then I thought to m’eself “John take every opportunity ye get t’see yer own country.”’ He paused deliberately. ‘If I’d knowed I’d meet you, wild horses wouldn’t have stopped me, as the saying is,’ he continued, with a broad smile, his livery coat thrown casually over one shoulder, his blue eyes fixed firmly on hers.

To Rose’s amazement, she found herself blushing. She looked away and tried to think up a suitable retort, but before she’d managed it, John had asked his next question.

‘Ye mentioned Donegal. I’ve heard tell it’s powerful wild in winter up on the coast. D’ye know the place?’

‘I do. I was brought up there, though not on the coast. We lived inland in the valley of Lough Gartan, a townland called Ardtur. Until we were evicted, that is. In ’61.’