Chapter 8
In the kitchen bright and early, Katie tied an apron about her waist and began cracking eggs in a bowl. Deep in contemplation, she set the eggs aside and began a batch of blueberry muffins. She would have Mrs. Sparrow take Lord Clifton’s breakfast out this morning. After last night’s encounter in the kitchen and Lord Clifton’s rude parting remarks, she was not prepared to face him. With the muffins in the oven, she started a pot of oatmeal and then began a skillet of sausage. Yes she thought, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll ask Msr. Sparrow to serve him. At a quarter till eight, Katie set the muffins in a bowl and covered them with a cloth and then began scrambling eggs.
Peering out the kitchen door, Katie did not see either Mrs. Sparrow or Mr. Dearing anywhere. Where are they? She poured a bit of cream into the oatmeal and then placed Lord Clifton’s breakfast on the tray. She had tried to avoid him, but she had no choice. She felt her heart momentarily race as she left the safety of her kitchen. Heading into the dining room she found Lord Clifton seated at the table reading a newspaper. Why was he so enthralled with Irish news? She had seen the paper he had hurriedly tried to conceal last night. What would cause him to resort to such a suspicious action? It was not a crime to read a paper, so why hide in the kitchen to peruse its contents? Lord Clifton’s motives for being in Ireland were becoming muddled and murky, she thought, continuing forward.
Hearing footsteps, Robert looked up and saw Katie walking towards him carrying a tray piled with food. In her light yellow dress and white apron, the sunlight seemed to radiate from her; and mixed with the vibrant hue of her curly locks, she had the appearance of the dawn sun itself. Her hair he noticed was no longer in a braid, but instead tied with a loose ribbon with one curl escaping near her cheek. She looked lovely, he thought. What was he thinking? He scolded himself lowering his gaze.
“Good morning,” Robert spoke, his voice full of formality as he continued reading his paper.
He could have civil conversations with his staff he accepted. Before the war, he had been known to joke and converse with Mr. Dearing and Mrs. Sparrow. Yes, there was always a certain correctness in their interactions, but they had not been entirely rigid with one another. Since Katie was determined to remain in his employment, he was going to have to get used to the occasional verbal exchange whether he deemed it appropriate or not.
“Good morn’in sir,” Katie replied, not allowing her eyes to meet Lord Clifton’s as she set a plate filled with eggs and sausage in front of him. She was determined not to be baited again by his snobbery and risk another chance of flying off the handle. He had warned her last night there would be no second chances.
“I’m sorry about last night. I...I was out of line. I had no right to intrude upon ya.” She added levely.
“I agree.” Robert remarked bluntly causing Katie to bite her tongue as bristles of fury coursed through her veins. She had not been out of line, she had been trying to be kind. Apparently kindness, however, was not to be permitted!
“I trust the cup of tea helped you sleep?” Robert spoke forcing his lips into a partial smile. In his efforts last night to maintain socially acceptable behaviors, he knew he had been rude to her and was again being rude at this very moment. He had decided that small talk about feelings was no longer to be permitted, but if that kept her from spitting in his morning coffee, it was a topic he was now prepared to lightly tread.
“Yes, Lord Clifton, it did the trick,” Katie spoke, her words short as she lowered a bowl of oatmeal and plate of muffins to the table. Then, pouring Robert a glass of coffee she hastily left the room.
Looking after her, Robert’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. She had been so talkative in the kitchen last night...she had forced him into listening to her speak, he recalled. Was she playing some game? Was she that much of a grudge holding snob that second chances were not granted? He knew he deserved to be treated with rudeness, but members of staff were not supposed to display such emotion despite how they felt. She was out of line! He had listened to her story and drank a cup of tea. He had even began a conversation merely seconds ago, was that not civility for goodness sakes! Katie could learn a thing or two about social etiquette!
Folding up his newspaper, he began eating his breakfast, and although he found he was annoyed at Katie’s newly acquired curtness, he could not deny that her cooking was indeed delicious.
When Katie reappeared to fill his glass and deliver a bowl of fruit, Robert did not acknowledge her presence. Even though he was in part trying to illustrate to her that he did not care whether she spoke or not, his attention had been captured by an editorial sympathizing with the I.R.A.’s cause. If there was indeed a further flowering of support in the area, Captain Wesley and the Royal Irish Constabulary would need to be alerted if they were not already aware. After breakfast, he would compose a correspondence and continue to remain vigilant of any new developments.
Having finished his meal and left the table, Robert sought the solitude of the study. Here he would be able to collect his thoughts in order to transpose only the most pertinent information to Captain Wesley. As he walked through the halls, however, he was drawn from his thoughts by...was that music? He stood standing where he was listening to be sure. Yes, it most certainly was the sound of a piano being played. But who? His butler and housekeeper were not musically inclined, and he had not played since before the war. That only left...Katie? But it was preposterous to think that a cook would have musical training. Still...she was the only other person in the house. Venturing forward, his curiosity peaked, Robert followed the sound of the piano as its delicate notes flowed enchantingly throughout the corridor. Whoever was playing was obviously no great talent, but still...the music was not entirely unskilled.
With each step he took, the melody grew louder as he neared its source. Now, finding himself standing outside the parlor, he glimpsed the nimble fingers of his cook dancing across the keys. Robert was not surprised that often, but the sight of Katie seated on the piano bench, playing a song composed by Mozart with only the slightest of fumbles, was not at all what he had expected. Silently, he watched as Katie closed her eyes feeling the music move her, knowing it by heart, then snapping her eyes open to turn a page, momentarily forgetting where she was at. Robert was captivated. The piano was something he had once loved, but he had not played or engaged in any of the activities that had once brought him joy since he had returned from the front. Now, standing outside the ajar door, he felt something stirring deep within his soul.
Katie's song was drawing to a close. He heard the melody slow and its notes become drawn into fermatas. Then, her fingers rose gently from the keys. Silence. She was finished. Robert knew he must turn and leave, but he could not compel his muscles to obey. Emerald eyes had turned and found his face, and he saw the cherry tinge of embarrassment overtake Katie’s cheeks as she quickly rose knocking the piano bench over.
“I apologize.” Katie spoke flustered as she hurriedly righted the bench. “I did not mean to...it’s just...I was finished in the kitchen...it will not happen again.” She finished flatly.
“I used to play the piano.” Robert found himself saying as he stepped into the parlor. “I used to practice for hours.”
Katie remained standing where she was unsure if she should leave or should reply to Lord Clifton’s remarks. As she continued to debate her course of action, she watched as he crossed the room and drew nearer to where she stood. Standing beside her, an expression of reminiscences upon his face, Robert hesitantly reached a hand forward then lay his fingers upon the keys causing notes to softly radiate.
“I never was a great musical talent,” Katie remarked finding her words. “I could only play what was written, but my mother...my mother could compose. She had the gift to be able to make words out of melodies that could speak to the soul.” She had not shared this notion with anyone, yet for some reason felt compelled to speak it now.
Robert stared at her. He had never heard so
meone speak of music the way Katie had just now. Her description was lovely. So, her mother was a composer. That explained how she had come by training, yet there was still something about her he felt he was not grasping.
Katie offered a hesitant smile towards her employer. “It never ceases to amaze me how the arrangement of notes and keys can suddenly become created, be given life by the composer, and then each time they are played by someone still sound unique. It's like the song becomes a part of the musician. Maybe,” she chanced giving Robert a suggestive glance, “You might be inclined to play again?”
Robert thought for a moment then spoke, “Maybe. Regardless, you have my permission to continue playing when the parlor is not in use.” He added, then turned and left the parlor before he could be persuaded into any further conversation. His cook was proving to be more and more perplexing, and perplexing was something he was not inclined to deal with at the moment.
For a second, Katie had thought Lord Clifton was going to say more than he had. After he left the parlor, she took her seat once again upon the bench. She was both sad and irritated as she resumed playing. She recalled her mother’s fingers dancing gracefully across the ivorys as she turned the pages for her...how she had first learned to read music...had played a recital for her mother and father in this very room…
Playing the wrong note, Katie paused to wipe away the tears and thought back upon Lord Clifton’s pompousness. The nerve of him! She had his permission to keep playing, he was renting Kerney Hall but he traipsed about as if he owned it! She suddenly no longer felt like playing. Closing the music book, she slowly retreated from the room that had until now always been her sanctuary.
It was as she passed the parlor on her way to set the table for dinner, that Katie heard the sound of music drifting forth. She paused. Since her mother’s death she had not heard anyone besides herself play the piano. A mixture of emotions filled her heart as she leaned against the doorframe and listened to Robert’s melancholy but beautiful song. How long she stood outside the door listening, letting Robert’s song wrap itself around her, she did not know. Its mournful melody was not familiar to her, but it spoke to her heart carrying all her pain in its tune as…
“Dinner is supposed to be served in five minutes and I find the table is still bare.”
Katie almost dropped the silverware she was carrying as she turned to find Mr. Dearing staring at her, a look of discontentment plastered upon his face.
“I'm sorry. I got distracted.” Katie replied stepping away from the doorframe and hearing the music cease. “I will have it set shortly.”
“Do not permit this failure to perform a simple duty happen again.” Mr. Dearing remarked gruffly.
“I shan't Mr. Dearing. Dinner will be served on time, ya may inform his lordship.” She remarked.
“Inform his lordship what exactly?” Robert spoke.
She had not heard Lord Clifton approach. Turning her gaze away from Mr. Dearing, she saw his lordship was merely inches from her.
“Lord Clifton,” she spoke startled as Robert held her gaze.
“I found, sir, that instead of setting the table, the cook was loitering in the hall,” Mr. Dearing huffed, “I am not entirely surprised with the lack of efficiency, though, seeing as she did not come recommended by a London staffing agency, but rather by some local.” He added coldly.
Any doubts Katie may have had regarding the butler’s opinion of her quickly vanished. It was clear to her what he believed of the person he deemed lowest of those below stairs.
“I see.” Robert responded evenly, though his eyes were swirling with agitation and what Katie thought might also be embarrassment. “Thank you, Dearing, that will be all.”
The butler nodded, then after giving Katie a chiding glance departed.
“Did I not explicitly say that when the parlor is in use you are not permitted to use it?” Robert chastised, his eyes surveying Katie’s face. “Are you prone to disobeying orders or just merely mine?”
Katie felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she fought to temper her anger. “I did not intrude upon ya Lord Clifton. I was on my way to set the table when I heard ya playing the piano and I stopped to listen.”
“So, you do not disobey but rather you spy!” Robert shot.
“I was not spying!” Katie fumed, “The door was ajar. I have not heard anyone play since my...my mother passed away.”
Despite his agitation, Robert felt his gaze softened and the words he had been about to speak become caught in his throat. “I am sorry.” He instead uttered.
He had come back from the war a broken man, and being caught up in his own pain, he knew he was blindly ignoring that of others. Why had he survived when so many others had perished? Did he want to be cruel? Did he want to remain broken? If so, he was doing a hell of a good job at punishing himself.
“Thank ya.” Katie spoke softly unsure if her ears had deceived her. Had Lord Clifton actually shown another human emotion other than rigid arrogance?
“I find, I am not one who likes to be surprised.” Robert remarked. “If you desire to hear me play in the future, once you have finished your duties you may.” He continued offering what compassion he could muster. “You may knock, then enter. Do not, however, loiter in the hall.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lord Clifton.” Katie replied. “Perhaps I shall.” She smiled hesitantly, before turning to leave.
Robert remained standing in the hall after Katie had departed. Even though it was past dinner time, he did not feel hungry. Thinking back upon his conversation with his cook, he found he had lost his appetite. How he wished he could become the man he used to be and not the dismal and haughty prig into which he had transformed.
Chapter 9
Today is a new day, Katie thought happily as she rose from bed. No matter what happened the day before, she smiled to herself, you always get a fresh start in the morning. Yawning, she splashed cool water on her face then patted her cheeks dry and went over to the armoire to dress. She had not been able to forget her encounter with Lord Clifton yesterday evening. Last night she had tried not to think about it, but found that her mind would not be distracted. For a moment, Lord Clifton had seemed kind. Even though it was only for a split second, he had appeared to see her as a person worthy of compassion, and that was not something she could easily forget. Although she did not think he would ever be a person she could have a friendly conversation with, she was relieved to find he had a bit of understanding deep within his stuffiness. With this new bit of knowledge, the months until his October departure had suddenly become more barrable.
Bringing Lord Clifton his breakfast on the veranda, she offered her employer a bright smile. His small portrayal of empathy had proven to her that they could indeed have civil exchanges of pleasantries. She had a new determination to no longer allow his words or manners to cut her person and character.
“Good morn’in sir.” She spoke setting his plate before him. “If ya need anything else, please let me know.”
“Thank you.” Robert remarked looking up from his newspaper. “I believe I am fine,” he added allowing his lips to draw into what he knew must be a pathetic excuse for a smile. Katie, however, did not seem detoured for she returned his smile before departing. For someone who had implied revolutionary ties in her blackmail of him, her actions were proving less and less likely to support her claim. Nonetheless, Robert made a mental note to record what time she had brought him breakfast in his notes concerning her routines.
Returning to his reading, Robert scanned the paper. An article suddenly grabbed his attention, and he quickly surveyed its contents. Port officials have concluded the merchant ships catching on fire to be an accident, and there is no additional information pending for further investigation, he read. Robert felt a sense of uneasiness wrap its fingers around his stomach. English ships catching on fire sounded a lot like something that revolutionist Michael Collins and his followers might have something to do with. After the horrific Eas
ter Rising in Dublin where numerous people had been left injured or dead, there was nothing Robert did not believe those bent on rebellion were incapable. If he was right, it appeared the feuding was getting ever closer to Carlingford. Captain Wesley would need to be kept informed of the event regardless of it being an accident or not. After breakfast, he would hire a carriage and go to Warrenpoint and inquire of the ship’s captains what they made of the situation. As he continued reading the paper, Robert felt his scrambled eggs catch in his throat. There, at the bottom of the front page, he saw a notice telling all those interested in hearing more on the ideas of the I.R.A. to meet at the local pub. So, Robert thought folding the paper no longer feeling like eating breakfast, the war has reached here at last.
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It was with a feeling of caution that Robert arrived at the port a couple of hours after breakfast. The slight odor of charred wood and kerosene lingered in the air, and gazing across the harbor he saw the remnants of what had once been fine sailing vessels now burned and bobbing masses of wood half submerged. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the area. To say that flashbacks from the war did not plague his mind would be a lie. The passenger vessel the Lusitania had been attacked and sunk by a German U-Boat during a time of war. Would those deeming themselves revolutionists continue to be capable of harming innocent civilians and their property? He did not know, but he could not shake the sense of uneasiness that swept up his spine. Aside from those who were helping salvage what they could from the damaged vessels, everyone else around the port was carrying out business as usual. Except...Robert noticed, a sandy haired man and a small group of men who were sitting on the steps of the telegraph office eyeing the scene with interest and looks of satisfaction. Robert’s gaze must have been felt by them, because before he had time to avert his eyes, his gaze was met by a hazel stare glinting with curiosity and revulsion. The sandy haired man had realized he was being observed. Quickly turning his attention to a passing peddler, Robert silently harbored his suspicions feeling the burn of the man’s eyes upon him as he made his way in the direction of the ships.
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