‘There is so much misery on this earth and yet it is magnificent,’ he said.
‘Such a contradiction,’ Arethusa agreed. ‘It is hard to imagine unhappiness when the stars come out. But God should concern himself a little less with beauty and a little more with the poor, sick and needy. What good is a glorious sunset if people are starving.’
Rupert glanced at her sidelong. ‘You’re in trouble again, you know.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘And I wasn’t visiting the poor today. Truly, I wasn’t.’
‘No, not the poor.’
Arethusa frowned. ‘Rupert? What are you suggesting?’
He shrugged and chuckled. ‘You need to be more discreet, my dear Tussy.’
She stopped walking. ‘What have you heard?’
‘Let’s just say, Dermot McLoughlin has five brothers and three sisters. That’s eight tongues capable of spreading gossip. Lots of tongues, Tussy. Lots of gossip. You need to be more careful.’ Arethusa stared at him with her mouth agape. ‘Have you ever heard any gossip about me?’ he added.
‘No.’
‘Of course not. Do you think at twenty-three years of age I’m living my life like Father O’Callaghan?’
‘I don’t know what Father O’Callaghan’s life is like, Rupert.’
‘Celibate. That’s what it is. It might not be sober, but it’s certainly celibate.’ He began to walk on. ‘I’m not judging you, Tussy. I’m in no position to judge anyone. If I told you half of what I got up to in Ballinakelly, you’d consider your transgressions very minor indeed. The only difference is that I’m discreet and you are not.’
‘Are you dallying with one of the McLoughlin sisters?’ Arethusa asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.
He shook his head and laughed, as if the idea of dallying with the McLoughlin sisters was ridiculous. ‘How little understanding you have of the world,’ he said.
‘Grandma says you’ll never marry,’ she exclaimed, hoping to exact some sort of revenge for his having suggested she was being improper with Dermot McLoughlin.
‘Grandma is probably right,’ said Rupert. ‘I’m not the marrying kind.’
‘She says marrying would make you very unhappy.’
‘It would make my wife unhappier.’ He looked at her again and smiled fondly. ‘You’ll be brought to heel by marrying Ronald Rowan-Hampton. I suggest you tie the knot sooner rather than later before you get into trouble.’
‘How dare you, Rupert. I’m insulted!’
‘This is me, Rupert, you’re talking to. By all means play the insulted card when confronted by Mama and Papa, but don’t waste your energy on me. You’ve been trumped. I know exactly what you’ve been up to.’
‘I was only kissing him in the stable behind the foundry. His stupid father stepped out just as I was leaving. I suppose he’s gone and told everyone. Lord, no one can keep their mouth shut in this town.’
‘What were you doing in the stable in the first place, for goodness’ sake? Are you out of your mind? In any case, it doesn’t matter now, because Grandpa has told Papa to marry you off. Here beginneth the rest of your life, Tussy. As they say in Ballinakelly, God help you!’
‘Oh, shut up! I won’t marry Ronald. I’m not ready to marry anybody. Aunt Hazel and Aunt Laurel aren’t married. Why should I get married at all?’
‘Aunt Hazel and Aunt Laurel were not being indiscreet with the rough and ready of Ballinakelly, Tussy. Soon you won’t have a reputation to patch together.’
‘What do you suggest I do?’ she asked.
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I do,’ she said, dropping her shoulders.
‘It’s an awful thing being a woman,’ he said. ‘But as you are a woman, you might as well make the best of it. If I were you, I’d appeal to Augusta and ask her to invite you to do a London season. That way you get out of Ireland before the rumours catch up with you, and you may meet someone more exciting across the water.’ He pulled a face that made Arethusa smile. ‘I don’t imagine it’ll be hard to find someone more exciting than Ronald.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said, brightening a little.
Rupert took her hand. ‘I suppose we’d better get back. Grandma will no doubt have fallen asleep by now and Grandpa will be wanting his dinner. We’re probably in terrible trouble.’
‘You’re never in trouble, Rupert,’ said Tussy enviously.
He chuckled. ‘And I have the potential to give them all more trouble than this entire family put together. But I won’t, because I’m careful. After all, isn’t the Eleventh Commandment “Thou shalt not get caught”?’
After dinner Arethusa pulled Augusta into her grandmother’s study, which was a cold, barely used room decorated in shades of green and positioned on the far side of the library, with views of the lawn. Lady Deverill had once written her correspondence in there and liked it because she said the room was like an extension of the garden, being so green and full of light. Now she never entered it. She did not enjoy writing letters, nor did she enjoy being apart from the rest of the family. She preferred the library, which was warm and busy with the coming and going of people.
‘I need your help,’ said Arethusa, knowing that Augusta would relish the chance to be needed.
Augusta did not sit down. She did not intend to linger in such a cold, unfriendly room. ‘What can I do for you, my dear Tussy?’ she asked, holding her Pekinese close to her bosom as if it were a hot-water bottle.
‘Please will you invite me to London?’
Augusta smiled broadly. ‘But, my dear, you don’t even have to ask. Of course I will invite you to London. The men in your family come all the time. Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Because Mama wants to marry me off to Ronald,’ said Arethusa dispiritedly.
‘And that’s not an appealing option, I don’t imagine.’
‘Not yet. I’m sure it will be more appealing after a season in London!’
Augusta looked at her quizzically. ‘More likely you’ll find someone who does take your fancy. A lively girl like you would be a sensation.’ She narrowed her eyes, contemplating the reflected glory of Arethusa’s success.
‘So can I come, please?’
‘I will talk with your mother, but I don’t see why not. You’re young and pretty. It’s only right that you should show yourself in London, be presented at Court, enjoy a little attention and learn a bit about the world. You’re much too isolated here in Ballinakelly. You certainly can’t marry without tasting a bit of the Big Smoke, surely! My first season I received six marriage proposals. Six! It wasn’t uncommon and it shall be so for you. Trust me, under my supervision you will have the pick of the bunch.’
Arethusa clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Oh! How thrilling! Will you tell her so!’
‘Indeed I will. Now let’s please hurry back to the drawing room because I can no longer feel my toes.’
Arethusa was not confident that her parents would allow her to go to London, therefore she was pleasantly surprised when they announced, a few days later at breakfast, that after much deliberation they had accepted Augusta’s very generous invitation. Arethusa would set off for London the following April. They had asked Rupert to go with her and he had agreed. Arethusa was elated. With Rupert as her escort, she’d be free to get up to all sorts of mischief. Then, as if her mother could read her mind, she announced that Charlotte would accompany her also, as her chaperone. Well, she managed to run rings around Charlotte in Ballinakelly, so why not in London? With Rupert as her ally, poor, dull Charlotte didn’t stand a chance!
There was much to learn before April and Arethusa threw herself into her training with spirit. She had to learn how to get in and out of a carriage with grace. How to curtsey and how to back out of a room while holding a long Court train, which would be no less than three yards, the length required for presentation at one of the Queen’s four afternoon Drawing Rooms. Augusta sent long letters of instructions from London. Having no daughter
s of her own, only sons, she seemed to be taking Arethusa’s coming out personally and was adamant that she did all that was required in order to ‘profit from this exceptional opportunity’.
Adeline had not prepared Arethusa for this, and she read Augusta’s letters with concern. Adeline had prepared her daughter for the life she expected her to lead, which was the same as her own. The wife of an Anglo-Irishman must know how to ride, hunt, dance and entertain, and manage a cold and draughty castle, of course. Playing the piano, painting, speaking French and being able to list the top two hundred families in England were not high on the Must Do list. She had brought up Arethusa with few boundaries and a sense of independence which most English girls did not enjoy. Arethusa was ill-disciplined, headstrong and wild. Adeline worried that she would disgrace herself when she failed to play by their stringent rules, and she knew from Maud, who relished recounting tales of her own coming out and the girls who either failed to find a husband or shamed themselves while trying and were shipped off to India, that English Society was most unforgiving. But Arethusa laughed at her mother’s concerns and said she’d not regret sending her off when she returned to Ballinakelly engaged to a duke.
When the time came for Arethusa to leave Ballinakelly she said goodbye to Ronald. She pretended she was reluctant to leave Ireland and promised she would write regularly. ‘Every young man in London will want to marry you,’ he said bitterly. This thought delighted Arethusa, who was excited at the prospect of fishing in a fresh pond, but she feigned disinterest. After all, she didn’t want to burn her bridges; she might very well need Ronald if she didn’t meet anyone more appealing in London. ‘I might come to London myself,’ he said, glancing at her hopefully. ‘If you’d like that.’
Arethusa’s heart sank. ‘I’ll write to you every day,’ she reassured him, praying that the promise of regular correspondence might quell his desire to follow her.
‘And I shall await each letter with eager anticipation,’ he replied.
Saying goodbye to Dermot was infinitely more fun. They met in the wood the afternoon before her departure and revelled in each other until dusk. ‘I suppose you’ll marry an Englishman and never return to Ballinakelly,’ said Dermot as they lay side by side on the grass, gazing up at the canopy of oscillating leaves above them.
‘I might very well marry an Englishman,’ Arethusa replied, ‘but I’ll always come home. Ballinakelly is where I belong. I don’t wish to live anywhere else.’
‘You’re full of the old blarney, Tussy!’
‘I mean it,’ she insisted, rolling onto her side and looking at him fondly. ‘We’ve had fun, you and I.’ She took his hand and put a finger in her mouth. He grinned at her as she twirled her tongue around it suggestively.
‘You’re a naughty girl, Arethusa Deverill. One day you’ll look back and accuse me of being the devil incarnate.’
‘Why? For teaching me how to enjoy myself? For training me how to pleasure you? Certainly not.’ She lifted her skirt and climbed astride him. ‘Look how quickly you come to life again!’ She laughed and reached down to guide him inside her.
‘And some poor man will discover on his wedding night that you’ve already been ruined,’ he said, putting his hands on her hips and letting out a groan as she began to gently gyrate.
‘I will pretend. I’m very good at pretending.’ She bent down and kissed him on the mouth. ‘But I’ve never pretended with you, my darling Dermot. Every moan of pleasure has been true.’ She giggled as he deftly manoeuvred her onto her back.
‘Then let me hear some more of it, to ensure that I never forget you.’ And he thrust deep inside her, smiling wistfully as the woman he loved and was about to lose shut her eyes and moaned again.
Arethusa was not sad to be leaving home, she was only sad that she had to bring her boring governess with her. Clearly, her mother did not trust her to behave herself in London. If she had any idea of what she got up to in Ballinakelly, she would marry her off to Ronald as quickly as possible and make an honest woman of her while there was still time. But London beckoned, with all its glamour, excess and possibility, and Arethusa was only too ready to turn her back on this provincial town and look into a new and brighter future.
She hugged Bertie. ‘Keep Ronald busy,’ she whispered.
‘I will make it a priority,’ he replied and Arethusa smiled in gratitude, knowing that her brother had misinterpreted her intention.
She kissed her new sister-in-law’s frosty cheek. ‘I will shortly be following you to London,’ Maud told Arethusa. ‘You may find you need a friend who knows her way around. London can be quite bewildering to a newcomer.’
‘I’m sure I will quickly learn the ropes,’ Arethusa replied loftily. ‘After all, how hard can it be?’
Maud smiled, her thin lips curled with knowing. ‘For a girl like you, Tussy, it won’t be hard at all. That’s the problem.’
Arethusa embraced her parents and grandparents and the Shrubs who had come specially to wave her off. Then she climbed into the brougham to sit beside Charlotte, who looked pale and anxious. As well she might, thought Arethusa inconsiderately, for she was going to be positively ignored in London.
Greville took out his pocket watch and flicked open the gold lid. Rupert was late as usual. He grunted. Elizabeth sighed, she’d really rather be feeding her hens. Adeline glanced at Hubert. Hubert shrugged. At last Rupert bounded out of the castle full of apologies and self-deprecating remarks so that it was impossible to be cross with him. Everyone smiled, touched as usual by his irrepressible charm. He swept his mother into his arms so that her feet dangled above the gravel. He kissed his aunts’ rosy cheeks and embraced his father and grandfather fiercely. Bertie received a hearty slap on the back and Maud’s hand was kissed with a subtly mocking deference, for Rupert found his sister-in-law pretentious and unsympathetic. Then he climbed into the brougham where Arethusa grinned and Charlotte looked at him warily. ‘Isn’t this jolly!’ he exclaimed, beaming a smile at Charlotte, who lowered her eyes shyly. ‘Don’t worry, Charlotte my dear. Keeping Tussy out of trouble is not a job for one. We will share the burden together.’ He winked at his sister and Arethusa swallowed a laugh. ‘And in that regard, I would say that I am quite the expert.’
Chapter 12
Ballinakelly, 1961
So, Mom was not sent to London because she was pregnant, after all.
I take off my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. I’m suddenly overcome with exhaustion. I put the mirror on the bedside table and close the diary. I feel an enormous sense of relief. Nora Maloney’s grandmother is wrong. I have no half-brother or sister to worry about. There is no long-lost sibling to find and make peace with. Mom had secrets, lots of secrets, but that isn’t one of them.
I have a quick bath and curl up in bed. I am too tired to think about supper. I don’t feel hungry. It is a relief to shut my eyes and allow my mind to wander. Ballinakelly is quiet. So quiet. I sink into the silence, relishing the feeling of approaching oblivion. It is like sinking into a pool of feathers, light and soft and comforting. I don’t feel any animosity towards Nora’s grandmother. I’m so relieved to have discovered the truth, from my mother herself, that I feel nothing but goodwill towards an old woman who remembers only gossip and rumour. In a small provincial town like this I imagine the gossip mill was in overdrive and Eily was young and naive and believed it. But it doesn’t matter. She is wrong and that’s what matters. Mom was sent to London because her parents were worried she would get sick like her aunt Poppy had done, from close contact with the poor. I understand their concern. As a mother I would probably feel the same way. The fact that Arethusa was enjoying a romance with the son of the local smithy is irrelevant, but it makes me smile. I’m glad she enjoyed herself before she married my father, whom she must have subsequently met in London. I wish I had had her fearlessness before I settled down with Wyatt. I wish I had had her capacity for pleasure. But I’ve always been too concerned with making everyone else happy that I’ve m
issed out on my own fun. I’ve never put myself first. But it’s not too late. Here I am, alone in Ireland, with only myself to think about. I’m going to be selfish for the first time in my life. I’m going to do as I please. I’m going to be more like Mom.
With that delightful thought, I sink further into the feathery silence and a dreamless sleep.
The following morning I am happy to see the sunshine. The sky is a forget-me-not blue with round, cotton-wool clouds bumbling across it on a blustery breeze. I breakfast in the dining room downstairs. Nora Maloney is quick to join me at my table and apologizes again for her grandmother’s outburst. Normally I would reassure her that I am not offended. I would put her comfort above my own and go to great lengths to make her feel good. But now I look at her steadily and tell her that I have read my mother’s diary, which has given me the true account of why she went to London. ‘I don’t blame your grandmother for listening to gossip,’ I say. ‘But you should tell her that the gossip was wrong, as gossip often is. Arethusa Deverill left Ballinakelly to enjoy a London season and that’s the truth. Not that I ever doubted it.’
‘Of course, it was gossip. Malicious gossip,’ Nora agrees, emphatically shaking her curls, keen to show me that she never believed it either. ‘Nan is old and muddled. It was a long time ago. She’s probably remembering someone else’s drama.’ I nod and Nora leaves me in peace. I imagine she is relieved that I am checking out of the hotel too. The situation has become awkward. She probably wishes she hadn’t invited me to meet her grandmother. It would have been better for us both if I had declined.
The Secret Hours Page 15