The Woman from Kerry (7 page)

‘Whereabouts in Armagh do you live? Near the city itself?’ she asked.

‘About two or three miles outside, a wee townland called Annacramp.’

‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t notice,’ she said, grinning.

‘What d’ye mean?’ he asked, a look of complete bafflement on his face.

‘You must know what Annacramp means,’ she said, suddenly aware the more he said the more he seemed to live in a different world.

‘Means? It’s just a name, isn’t it?’ he added doubtfully.

‘In Irish, it means
the place of the wild garlic
.’

‘Oh.’

John dropped his head and looked at the grass growing up through the fragments of stone at his feet. He seemed dismayed and Rose wondered how such a light remark could have so dampened his good spirits.

‘An’ what does Salter’s Grange mean?’

‘That one’s not Irish. Grange is French. It means barn. It must have belonged to a man called Salter,’ she replied, still puzzled by the look on his face.

‘Ye mean ye can understan’ Irish and French, forby English?’

She nodded and watched the look of loss and sadness deepen.

‘Sure ye cou’d pass for a lady yerself,’ he said dejectedly.

‘Thank you very much for the compliment,’ said Rose laughing heartily.

‘Ach no, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said flustered. ‘Ye are a lady. I meant, you could marry gentry if you’d a mind to.’

‘An’ then I’d have servants to run after me and dress me for dinner and drive me round in my coach to see the sights,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You could come and be in charge of all my coaches and horses. I’d pay you very well.’

‘No. There’d be no payin’ me. Not all the gold in Ireland would do.’ He paused deliberately. ‘I’d want ye for meself.’

Rose looked away. In all her thoughts of men and marriage, it had never occurred to her it might be like this. A man she’d only met hours before. A man from a different world. A man who was so direct that there’d be no way of dealing with him other than honestly.

‘I’m not entirely sure it would suit me,’ she said lightly. ‘And I still haven’t found a young Sir or Lord that I like. I’ll maybe wait a bit longer.’

He smiled slowly, the sadness fading from his face as he drew her to her feet and put his arms round her.

‘How long d’ye think this visit might be, Rose? Would it be long enough for ye to make up yer mind? For my mind’s made up.’

Rose was silent at breakfast next morning, her mind full of thoughts and images from the day just past. She could hardly believe it was only yesterday she’d slipped away to enjoy her free afternoon and made her way up the rocky slopes of her favourite hillside. It felt now as if the lark sang his song weeks ago and she’d known John Hamilton for most of her life.

Hannah too was silent, weary from the continuous demands of the previous day. Only when the last guest was settled for the night, all the requests for extra pillows, early morning tea, or breakfast in their rooms, duly answered, had she been able to lock up her housekeeper’s room and the adjacent store rooms and slip away through the empty corridors and staircases of the darkened house to the privacy of her own small lodging place.

The first days of entertaining were always the worst. The guests themselves were still unsettled
and their servants disrupted the regular routine of the house. Those guests who’d not brought their own servants had to be provided for. The senior house servants had to organise more carefully, maids and kitchen staff barely got time to eat their meals. It only wanted one member to fall ill, even of the junior staff and the boots and shoes would not be cleaned by eight o’clock, the downstairs rooms would not dusted before the ladies gathered after breakfast to write letters or diaries, the silver would have to be used unpolished and the meals would be delayed. After nearly fourteen years of summer visitors, seven of them as housekeeper, Hannah still breathed a sigh of relief when the last of the carriages departed at the beginning of August and Lady Caroline and Nanny took the younger children to the seaside.

‘Ma, how long are the people from the north staying?’ said Rose, her thoughts straying once more to John Hamilton.

‘Lady Ishbel and Sir Capel?’

Rose nodded, her mouth full of bread and jam.

‘Well
he
hasn’t appeared yet. He usually gives his wife a week’s start to make sure things are the way he likes them. It’ll probably be a fortnight or three weeks from when he actually arrives,’ said Hannah wryly. ‘Not that their going helps very much. As soon as they leave, Lady Violet is coming with the three eldest girls and their
governess, a coachman and
two
grooms. Poor old Sam and Tom won’t get their quarters back till the end of August.’

Rose looked at her, grateful she hadn’t asked why she’d been so late last night. Of course she would tell her she’d gone walking with John Hamilton, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to mention his name just yet. For some strange reason, she could hardly say it over even in her own mind without blushing.

‘Time we were moving, more’s the pity,’ said Hannah standing up and carrying their plates to the small sink in the corner of the room.

Rose drank up the rest of her tea quickly, her eyes never leaving her.

‘Ma, you’re limping. Is your back bad?’

‘It’s weary,’ she admitted, turning back to face her. ‘It was one thing after another, all day yesterday,’ she went on, the tiredness plain in her voice. ‘Never worry, you know as well as I do, the first day’s always the worst,’ she said, with a smile. ‘How’s Lady Anne taking it?’

‘Better than I’d expected, so far. But it may not last …’

They tidied up the room with practised skill. Hannah donned a fresh white apron over her plain black dress and settled her cap on her head. As she tidied a few straggling hairs back from her face, Rose realised her mother was now not only grey but
almost white. Only at the very back of her head was there any trace of her once strong fair hair.

‘I’ll maybe see you this evening, dear. She kept you very late last night. The poor girl’s in such a bad way she can’t really think of anyone but herself,’ she said sadly.

They hurried across to the house, parting outside the servants’ hall as the stable yard clock struck seven. Hannah went up to her room on the next floor to get cleaning materials ready for the housemaids when they came for their instructions. Rose turned into the short corridor leading to the boot-room. By collecting Lady Anne’s riding boots herself, she could be sure she would find no fault with them.

As she made her way along the corridor, she heard a bell ring in the almost empty servant’s hall behind her.

‘Someone’s up early this morning,’ she said to the unshaven boot man. ‘We don’t usually hear much before nine, do we?’

A glance at the boots was enough. You could almost see yourself in the shiny toecaps.

‘Thanks, Charlie. Hope the gentlemen are generous,’ she said lightly, as she surveyed the other gleaming riding boots lined up on his bench.

‘Rose, a word, if you please.’

The voice was intense, anxious and peremptory. It’s owner equally intense and anxious.

‘Mr Smithers,’ she said surprised.

It was quite unheard off for Mr Smithers to leave the comfort of his room this early in the morning, unless something was seriously amiss.

‘The bell, Rose. It’s Lady Anne.’

‘Good gracious,’ Rose replied, too surprised to bother with the note of censure in his voice. ‘She must be ill.’

‘Ring immediately if you need assistance,’ he said pompously, as he disappeared back into his room.

Rose hurried upstairs, gave a perfunctory knock at the door and was half way across the room before she discovered Lady Anne standing by the window in her dressing gown looking the picture of health.

‘Oh Rose, I’m sorry to ring so early, but I’m going out riding at eight o’clock. Do you think I should have some breakfast before I go?’

‘Yes, indeed I do,’ Rose said, as she sized up the situation.

She’d never known Lady Anne breakfast in her room. By the time she went down, she was usually so late she would have to eat by herself, a copy of
Country Life
or
Hare and Hounds
propped against the teapot.

‘What would you like? Your usual, or something cooked?’

‘Oh, just my usual, Rose, but don’t you go,’ she said urgently, as she pulled vigorously on the bell
rope. ‘Let someone else bring it up. I want to talk to you. Come and sit by the window with me, there’s a lovely view over the park and it’s
such
a beautiful morning.’

Before Rose had quite recovered herself, there was a sharp knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ sang out Lady Anne cheerfully.

Smithers himself walked into the room. He looked around him coldly with the merest inclination of his head towards Lady Anne.

‘Oh good, you have been quick, Smithers, I’d like my usual breakfast as soon as possible. I’m going riding shortly and I can’t spare Rose to go and fetch it.’

‘He did look cross, didn’t he, Rose,’ she added, with a giggle, as soon as the door had shut behind him.

Rose laughed. Cross was the mildest word for it.

‘I think it’s rather below his dignity to serve breakfast to anyone except your father and mother,’ she said, as she sat down on the window seat.

‘Never mind silly old Smithers, I have something to ask you.’

Rose had never seen her so animated. As she watched her trip lightly over to the window and lean back comfortably against the frame, she was sure she was even moving differently. There was a grace about her which suggested she’d just dropped off a heavy burden and was feeling enormous relief at being free of it.

‘How can you tell, Rose, if a man likes you?’ she began quickly. ‘I mean apart from what you said last night about being interested in what you’re interested in.’

Rose ran through a mental list of all the male guests at dinner the previous evening. It didn’t help her to answer the question. The man who immediately came to mind was John Hamilton and you only had to look at him to know what he felt about you. But the men who had dined the previous evening at Currane Lodge were a different kettle of fish.

‘Well, partly it depends on the man,’ she began slowly. ‘Different ones have different ways of expressing themselves. Some would be very complimentary. Some might be very attentive and fuss over you. I think I might need to know more about the man in question, if there is one.’

‘Lord Harrington,’ she burst out. ‘He took me in to dinner last night and we talked and talked. I think horrible, old Captain O’Shea got quite cross. After dinner, when we were standing looking out the window together, he came up and clapped him on the shoulder so hard he spilt his wine on my dress. Lord Harrington was
so
upset, but Captain O’Shea didn’t even apologise. I told Lord Harrington not to worry a tiny bit. I had a marvellous maid who could fix anything.’ She paused. ‘It
is
a bit of a mess,’ she added, apologetically.

There was a tap at the door and breakfast arrived, the tray carried gingerly by the newest housemaid. Lady Anne gave her a smile, thanked her nicely, and asked Rose if she’d like some toast.

‘No, thank you, I’ve had breakfast,’ Rose replied, wondering if this miraculous transformation could possibly continue.

‘Goodness, what time do you get up at? I’ve never been up this early before, but Lord Harrington says that early morning rides have a special quality that he particularly enjoys. He’s training a new horse and he asked my advice about it. He’s very shy.’

‘The horse?’

‘No. Lord Harrington.’

Rose restrained a smile and tried to focus on the problem in hand.

‘Well, if he’s a shy man and he’s managed to ask your advice and persuade you to go riding this early, he must like you. Is Captain O’Shea or any of the other young men going too?’

‘Oh no. Just us. He says Captain O’Shea plays billiards half the night and never gets up before mid-morning. I can’t think why Lord Harrington bothers with him. I wouldn’t. Would you, Rose?’

‘Perhaps it’s Captain O’Shea who bothers with Lord Harrington,’ Rose suggested quietly.

‘But why would he do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rose honestly, ‘but friendships between men are often about advantage. Captain
O’Shea may want something from Lord Harrington. Perhaps he wants him to use his influence in some way, or help him to enlarge his estate. Something like that.’

Lady Anne’s eyes opened wide.

‘I do believe you’re right, Rose,’ she said excitedly. ‘When the port came and we all went to the sitting room, Mrs O’Shea was talking to mother and Lady Ben about parliament. She said Captain O’Shea was looking for a seat and she mentioned Lord Harrington, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Politics are
so
boring.’

Rose nodded thoughtfully. Old Thomas would know what Captain O’Shea’s ambitions might be. By now, he’d most certainly have drawn out all there was to be got from the O’Shea coachman and matched it up with what he read in his newspaper. It would be easy for Sam to ask Old Thomas what he thought of his prospects.

‘But Rose, how can you know so much about people you haven’t even seen?

‘I’m not sure
how
I know. I hadn’t thought about it before,’ Rose began. ‘I think it’s because my mother taught me to look at people and try to understand them. Even when I was little she used to say that was the best education I could have, even if I never opened a book. She’s always helped me with whatever I couldn’t understand.’

‘You
are
lucky, Rose,’ said the younger girl,
wistfully. ‘But you promised last night
you
would help me, didn’t you? You haven’t forgotten, have you?’

‘No, of course not. I said I’d answer all your questions if I could, even if you didn’t like the answers.’

‘And I promised I’d stop being horrible to everyone, because I was so stupid and ugly that no one would ever want to marry me,’ she said firmly. ‘Now, please, what do I do?’

‘Finish your breakfast and get dressed. If you like Lord Harrington, then one way of showing it is not to be late.’

Rose didn’t look at the velvet dress till after Lady Anne had gone and she’d done the rest of her morning’s work. It was a disaster. One glance at it told her that no amount of careful cleaning would move the huge stain. The only hope of saving the dress was to insert a whole new panel in the flared skirt. Whether that could be done depended on what fabric might have been left over when the dress was made. If there was any, it would be listed in the inventory her mother kept in the room the dressmaker used when she came twice a year to make dresses for the girls.

It was early afternoon before she found her mother in her room, sorting clean table linen.

‘How about this?’ she said, holding up the soft green skirt.

‘Oh dear. What a pity,’ said Hannah sadly. ‘We’ll never get that out. Fetch me the dressmaker’s book will you, Rose, and I’ll see where my spectacles are.’

Hannah sat down wearily, sighed, and then laughed as Rose handed her the well-worn book neatly labelled in her own flowing copperplate.

‘I think we might just manage a cup of tea, Rose, if we’re lucky. It’s gone very quiet since they all went off to Castlecove for their boat trip. If you make it for us, I’ll see if I can read my own writing.’

Rose poked up the small fire, put the kettle down and took the biscuit tin from the cupboard. When she’d made the tea, she tidied up her mother’s lists and notes, on the table by the window that looked out over the gardens. As John had predicted, it was another lovely day. She looked up at the perfect summer sky and wondered what he would think of the wide bay and the broad sandy beaches she so loved herself.

‘We’re in luck,’ said Hannah, coming back into the room, a carefully wrapped packet in her hand. ‘I’m surprised we didn’t use this piece for a wee dress for one of the children. There’s more than enough to replace the panel. Do you want me to do it?’

‘No, I do not,’ said Rose firmly. ‘You’ve far too much to do as it is. She’ll have to make do with my needlework,’ she added, as she poured tea for both of them. ‘Have you seen Lady Anne today?’ she went on, as they settled themselves.

‘I caught a glimpse of her this morning. She was having breakfast with Lord Harrington in the morning room. They must have been out riding, for the dining room was already laid for lunch. Why d’you ask?’

‘I think something’s happened. She’s behaving quite differently. She’s hardly the same person.’