She looked around at the rest of the mourners gathered like black crows on the snow-covered hilltop. Lady Marianne remained, along with her escort Mr Kearney, despite the cold rebuff they had received from Lady Ennis and Lady Louisa. Valentine and Sofia stood close together, Sofia dry-eyed while Valentine wept quietly. Mr Burke and Mrs Murphy stood arm in arm, the rest of the staff clustered around them. Victoria wondered what was going through their minds. She knew they had respected her father and would feel his loss deeply, but suspected they felt even more deeply the uncertainty which they now faced.
She caught Rosie’s eye and they nodded to one another. Rosie stood with her family and a number of tenant farmers and neighbours, many of whom Victoria had never met. They had paraded one by one past the graveside to pay their respects to the family and remark on what a fine gentleman her father was. They too, she thought, were facing an uncertain future. It was as if all of Ireland were restless.
Victoria cradled her belly. The child was restless too, thrashing about in recent weeks as if impatient to join the world. He represented the future, not the past. She thought about her beloved Brendan in the far-off Welsh prison. She could not wait to visit him and introduce his son to him. She smiled. She knew it would be a boy. She never questioned it. She had already decided on his name – Thomas Pearse – Thomas, after her dear brother, and Pearse, after Padraig Pearse, leader of the Volunteers, whom Brendan had so admired.
From this distance Ennismore, sheathed in winter white, appeared unblemished. Victoria tried to fix the image in her mind. She wanted to remember the great house this way – as beautiful and magical as it had seemed to her in childhood. She realized then that, like so many others that day, she too was mourning not only the death of her father, but a way of life that would be no more.
Thanks to Rosie, Ennismore still stood, its structure preserved. The ground floor, including the library and dining room, had suffered heavy smoke and water damage, but the rest of the house was relatively unscathed. As Anthony had said, had Rosie not raced there to sound the warning, and interrupted the arsonists at their work, Immelda’s revenge might have destroyed the entire house.
Mrs O’Leary took the opportunity to retire, leaving a hapless Thelma to cook the meals, which family members were now obliged to take in the kitchen instead of the smoke-singed dining room. Perhaps it was this final indignity, Victoria thought, that caused Lady Ennis to announce her plans to leave Ennismore for good and repair to her father’s estate in England.
‘If I never hear another Irish accent again,’ she said, ‘it will be too soon. Oliver Cromwell spoke the truth – living in Mayo is like living in hell. I will not spend every day terrified that more peasants will come and try to burn me out. I will not give them the satisfaction.’
Victoria watched her mother go. She made no plea to her to stay. She knew how unhappy her mother was and, with her husband gone and her sister about to be married to the Reverend Watson, lonely, as well. She refused her mother’s half-hearted offer to follow her to England after the baby was born, knowing she had made it solely out of duty and with the belief that Victoria would never agree.
One evening, soon after Lady Ennis’s departure, Sofia took Valentine’s arm after supper and asked him to walk with her.
‘But it’s freezing out,’ said Valentine. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘For God’s sake, Valentine, I’m not made of porcelain. I survived worse weather growing up in New York. Anyway, I need to clear my head. I cannot think in this place.’
They walked together across the frost-covered lawns and down the avenue towards the main gate of the estate, Valentine holding Sofia’s elbow. When they reached the gate she shook free of him and turned to face him. As if on cue the moon slid out from behind the clouds and they could see each other’s faces clearly. Sofia took a deep breath.
‘I have decided to take Julian back to New York.’
Valentine nodded. ‘I see. After the war is over that is probably a good idea, Sofia. Things will be a mess here until we have restored the house. And it will give Julian time to get to know his other grandfather,’ he paused, ‘particularly since he just lost Papa.’
‘You don’t understand, Valentine. I mean to return immediately to America and to stay for good.’
‘What? Why? You can’t leave and take our son. It’s far too dangerous.’
‘He is my son, Valentine. Besides, I shall take an American ship. America is not in the war yet.’
Valentine swallowed hard. ‘But we had an agreement, Sofia.’
Sofia put her hand gently on his arm. ‘Yes we did, Valentine. And I want you to know I will be eternally grateful for what you did for me – and for Julian.’ She put her fingers to his lips as he started to protest. ‘But we did not love each other – and we never will. I know you love Julian, but it is not enough. We are each other’s prisoners. It’s time to free ourselves while we are still young enough to make a happy life.’ She paused and looked away from him, staring up at the moon instead. ‘The night after your fight with your father the person you ran to was Rosie. If I ever had doubts about the strength of the love you two shared, they began to dissolve that night. And when I saw you together the night of the fire I finally accepted that you and she belong together.’
‘Sofia—’ Valentine began.
But she continued before he could speak. ‘I will give you a divorce, Valentine. With my father’s contacts in New York I believe it will be approved quickly. But, I have some conditions.’ Without waiting for an answer she went on. ‘You continue to protect the truth about Julian’s father, and agree that he, and not any of your own sons, shall inherit Ennis Estates when the time comes.’
‘If there’s anything left to inherit.’
‘I’m serious, Valentine. I will set up a trust in Julian’s name to provide funds to help with the refurbishment of the house. The management of the estates will of course be your responsibility. I understand that given the current unrest in this country none of us can predict the future, but I would ask you to promise me you will do your best to preserve something of Thomas’s legacy for my son. It is only fair.’
Valentine nodded. ‘You are right, Sofia. Ennismore and the estates are rightfully his. After all, Thomas was the first-born son, and as his son, Julian inherits his legacy. I would never take that away from him. All I want is to live out my life here in peace.’
‘With Rosie.’ Sofia’s tone was gentle.
He smiled. ‘Aye, with Rosie – if she’ll have me.’
Sofia linked her arm in his as they walked back up towards the house. ‘She’ll have you, Valentine, don’t worry.’
CHAPTER 41
On a June morning in 1917 Rosie Killeen left the warm comfort of her family’s cottage for the last time. Smiling to herself, she walked down through the green fields to the narrow road that divided the Killeen farm from the Ennis Estates. She wore a simple dress of white cotton edged with lace and on her black hair a wreath of wildflowers. She was on her way to her wedding.
She pushed through the heavy iron gates that led to the Estates and thought of the anxious eight-year-old girl who had made this same journey seventeen years earlier. Today, no ghosts leered at her from behind the trees that lined the twisting avenue. Today, instead of hanging her head in fear, she raised her eyes and gazed boldly around her, taking pleasure in everything she saw – the verdant green of the open pasture, trees abundant with fresh, shiny leaves, and Ennismore, newly dressed in a pink limewash, glowing in the sunshine.
She walked closer to the house, enjoying the tickle of damp grass between her bare toes and the warm caress of the sun on her face. Birds sang from the trees as if in welcome while wildfowl called from above Lough Conn and cattle lowed from a distant pasture. She was glad she had insisted on making this walk alone. She wanted to savour every moment of this journey from her past to her future. As she walked, flashes of memory came and went – her years in the schoolroom with Victoria, her shame
as she scrubbed the front steps for the first time, her shock when she heard of Valentine’s marriage to Sofia. Such old memories seemed distant and faded now, and though they would always be part of her, paled in the face of the new memories waiting to be born.
That previous evening she had knelt and confessed her sins to the new young curate from St Brigid’s church. She held no details back about her relationship with Cathal. When finished she waited as if for God’s judgement, but instead she received absolution. She felt Cathal at her side as she left the confessional.
Bridie’s child, Kate, suddenly appeared, running down the steps of Ennismore and calling out to her. Rosie rushed towards her, picking her up in her arms and kissing her. Kate wriggled out of her arms. ‘Granny says I’m not to ruin my dress,’ she said.
Rosie set her down. The child wore a dress identical to her own, both made by Ma, and on her head a wreath of daisies. She had Rosie’s same dark curls and hazel eyes. Another Roisin Dubh, Rosie often thought when she looked at her. Now she took the girl’s hand and walked on towards the house. From the garden she could hear music. She recognized the tune as ‘Haste to the Wedding’, a lively traditional jig. She was tempted to slip over and spy on the garden where the ceremony was to be held, but just then Victoria appeared on the front steps. She wore a pale blue dress that reminded Rosie of the one she wore the first day they met, and on her blonde hair a wreath of cornflowers. She raced down to hug Rosie.
‘She’s not wearing any shoes,’ said Kate, tugging at Victoria’s dress and pointing to Rosie’s bare feet.
Rosie quickly pulled on the pair of white slippers she carried and walked up the steps with Kate and Victoria on either side of her. Her father met her at the door. He wore a new grey suit and beamed as he offered her his arm. Rosie’s heart swelled at the sight of him.
‘Come on, daughter,’ he said, ‘your bridegroom’s waiting.’
John Killeen led his daughter around the house towards the garden. They waited outside the gate as Kate entered first, carrying a basket of rose petals which she tossed vigorously on the path as she walked. Victoria followed, slender and regal, the sun glinting on her blonde hair. The musicians began to play ‘Give Me Your Hand’, a haunting, slow traditional air.
As the music swelled Rosie entered through the gate and walked with her father towards the stone grotto at the edge of the garden where the ceremony was to take place. She could hear the rustling and whispers of the guests who sat on chairs on either side of the path, but as she drew closer to the grotto all sound seemed to cease. There stood Valentine, the sun glinting on his blond hair. Rosie’s eyes fixed on Valentine’s face and his on hers. For a moment they held one another’s gaze as if no one else in the world existed. Then Rosie’s father withdrew and Valentine offered her his hand.
The reception was a lively affair. Anthony Walshe entertained with tunes on the accordion, accompanied by Mrs Murphy on the tin whistle, and Rosie’s youngest brother on the fiddle. A wooden deck was laid down for dancing. Mrs O’Leary returned from retirement to cook the wedding lunch, assisted by Thelma. The food was served buffet-style with small tables set up throughout the gardens where guests were free to eat, drink and mingle. Rosie smiled at the thought of Lady Ennis’s scandalized reaction to such informality had she been there.
As it was, neither Lady Ennis nor Lady Louisa and her new husband attended, although Rosie was amused when she saw that despite this Sadie Canavan had somehow managed to come. Reverend Watson had declined to perform the ceremony but Lady Marianne Bellefleur produced an eminent judge to serve in his stead. The good lady and her ever-present escort, Mr Kearney, had arrived, as always, with great fanfare.
When lunch finished Mr Burke and Mrs Murphy carried an exquisite three-tiered wedding cake into the garden and set it down on a table in the centre. Mrs O’Leary beamed as she accepted the applause of the guests. The cake was her wedding gift to Rosie and Valentine. For the first time since the ceremony, Rosie let go of Valentine’s hand and walked about amongst the guests. She smiled and thanked them for coming, enjoying the grip of gnarled hands on her own, the prayers and proverbs uttered for her future good fortune, and the pride in Ma’s moist eyes. Young Kate took Thomas Pearse on her lap, fussing over the bright, inquisitive infant. Rosie stood for a moment watching Victoria smiling down at her son, then went up to her and took her arm.
‘Would you like to go for a walk?’
Victoria nodded.
The afternoon grew chilly as they strolled together by the lake.
‘Do you remember the first time we met here?’ asked Rosie.
Victoria laughed. ‘How could I forget it? I was standing here crying over my toy boat when this strange, wild, black-haired girl appeared out of nowhere, stripped down to her petticoat and dived into the water. I was fascinated from the minute I saw you.’
‘Aye. There were times since when I wished I’d just let your boat sink. Then you’d never have dragged me up to your schoolroom and your Aunt Louisa.’
‘Ah, you don’t mean that, Rosie. If we’d never been friends, you would never have met Valentine.’
Rosie grinned. ‘I suppose it was worth it, so,’ she said.
They sat down on an upturned boat on the lake shore, looking out over the water – two old friends talking easily about old times and future plans.
‘Do you intend to stay in Dublin?’ said Rosie.
Victoria nodded. ‘I do. I’ve found paid work as a nurse in a fine hospital and it suits me. I still volunteer at the Union though. I like helping other people, feeling needed. And, thanks to you, I have a comfortable apartment in Cathal’s house. And dear Celine looks after Thomas as if he is her own son. I don’t know how I’d manage without her.’
Victoria laughed suddenly. ‘Aunt Marianne wanted to keep paying Celine’s wages as a christening present for Thomas Pearse, but I told her I was perfectly capable of paying Celine’s wages myself.’ She shook her head. ‘I know she meant well, but the old attitudes die hard. She still has not absorbed the idea that I intend to be self-sufficient from now on.’
‘Do you have any social life at all?’
‘Of course I do. I am very active in the Gaelic League. The nationalist movement is still very much alive, you know. The Easter Rising was only the beginning. I intend to do what I can to help bring about the independence that Brendan fought for.’ She turned and smiled at her friend, taking both of her hands. ‘And, please don’t say anything, but there’s a chance the British will release the prisoners of the Rising soon. Brendan might be coming home!’
Rosie almost wept at Victoria’s evident joy.
They sat in silence for a while, each staring out over the still waters of the lough, lost in their own thoughts. At length Rosie stood up. ‘I should be getting back. My guests will be wondering where the bride has got to – as will my new husband.’
The word ‘husband’ felt sweet on her lips and she smiled.
‘The duties of the lady of the manor are never done, Lady Ennis,’ said Victoria smiling back.
Rosie reddened. ‘As far as I’m concerned, I’m just a farmer’s daughter who has married a local farmer, as would be expected of me. I’ve already told Valentine I’m not for sitting up beyond on me arse expecting to be waited on hand and foot. I intend to get my hands dirty and work alongside him on the estate. And I can keep my own house and cook my own meals, thank you very much.’ She paused for breath. ‘Mr Burke and Mrs Murphy will stay on. They’re to be married next month. And we’ll keep Thelma. Poor creature has nowhere else to go, so she says. And Anthony will stay on to do the odd jobs. But that’s all the staff we’ll need.’
Victoria stood up and took Rosie’s hand. They began to walk back towards the house. ‘You may still have to give some formal dinner parties, though. After all, Valentine will take Papa’s place in the Lords.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to come down from Dublin and show me what to do.’
‘Or you can always ask Aunt Marianne
to come. There again, she doesn’t usually wait to be asked, does she?’
They both giggled as they hurried back towards Ennismore.
Later that evening, when the guests and staff had gone – some to the Killeen cottage to continue the celebration, others back to their homes – Valentine and Rosie were at last alone in the house. Valentine lifted her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold of his bedroom, set her down and kissed her.
‘I love you, Roisin Dove,’ he said. ‘I will love you forever.’
Sometime after midnight, Rosie awoke to the light of the moon shining through the bedroom window. She glanced at Valentine sleeping peacefully beside her and slipped out of bed. She walked to the window and stood looking out over the darkened fields towards the lough which glinted silver in the distance. As she stood, a peace she had never known before filled her. Here with Valentine at Ennismore she had finally found her place in the world. She was home.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to my US agents, Denise Marcil and Anne-Marie O’Farrell, of the Marcil-O’Farrell Literary Agency in New York. I value their support, guidance and steadfast faith in me more than I can say. Thanks also to my UK agent, Anna Carmichael, of the Abner Stein Agency in London, for her diligent efforts in placing this book with Corvus. I also want to thank Louise Cullen at Corvus, as well as Sara O’Keeffe, for their insightful editing, and all of the Corvus staff for the attention and care they have given to this book.
I would like to acknowledge Susan Kellett and her son, D.J., owners of Enniscoe House in County Mayo, Ireland, who threw open the doors of their magnificent home and answered my many questions, which aided me greatly in my research. My stay there was made even more pleasant by the staff at the County Mayo Heritage Centre and adjacent cafe, as well as by modern day raconteur, Anthony Walsh, and old childhood acquaintance, P.J. Lynn, who regaled me with colourful stories of the ‘old’ days.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 36