by A. O'Connor
Pierce stood scanning the crowd for his chauffeur. Many people were disembarking from the train and the platform was busy.
“Joe!” Pierce shouted across the crowd and a young man who seemed to have nodded off on a bench jumped up and ran across to them.
“Sleeping on the job?”
“Not at all, sir, just closing my eyes from the sun.” Joe grabbed the luggage.
“Hello, Joe,” Clara said, smiling warmly at him.
Joe looked at her as if she came from another planet before managing to stutter “My Lady.”
“Come on, quick sharp to the car. Did the rest of our luggage arrive from London yet?” said Pierce.
“Yes, sir, it arrived last week,” answered Joe.
Outside, Joe loaded the luggage into the back of the car, before opening the door for them.
“Thank you,” smiled Clara, sitting in.
Joe started the engine and drove away from the station. As they drove through the town’s main street Clara thought it a large prosperous town. The streets were busy with people going about their business. There was an abundance of shops – grocers, drapers, butchers, bakeries and all seemed to be filled with happy customers. The extravagances of Harrods and Selfridges might become special treats in future, but she was sure she could get everything she needed here. The car continued out of the town and through the country roads towards the house. Clara marvelled at the rolling countryside, the hills on one side of the road and glistening blue inlets of the lake on the other.
“It’s everything I imagined. I can’t wait to paint it,” she said.
“We used to own all the land here for miles around,” said Pierce, as the car drove through the local picturesque village. “Even this village used to be ours. It was built by my great-grandfather, Edward, for the workers on the estate.”
She heard a note of loss in his voice.
They drove through a large stone gateway and up a winding driveway. As they reached a lake and began to circle it, she saw the house on its hill on the far side.
At last they arrived.
Clara stared up at the house, its majesty taking her breath away.
Joe jumped out and, taking the cases, carried them up the steps and through the front door.
Clara stepped out of the car and gazed around her, then walked eagerly over to the balustrades at the edge of the forecourt. The view was magnificent. The lake seemed to stretch for miles to the hills on the other side and below her was the series of lovely terraces she had seen in the photo she had found in the book in London, with extensive gardens spreading to the left and right. In the gardens to the right, on the same level as the first terrace, she could glimpse tennis courts behind some trees.
“Clara!”
She hurried back to Pierce.
“So – you’re back!” said a loud voice.
Clara was startled to see Prudence standing in the open doorway looking down at them.
“Just about,” said Pierce as he walked up the steps to the front door.
Clara walked towards the steps and smiled up at her. “Hello there.”
“You’re late, aren’t you? I was expecting you a couple of hours ago,” stated Prudence.
“We were delayed in Longford. The train broke down, don’t you know,” explained Pierce.
Prudence raised her eyes in a resigned way and repeated, “Don’t you know!”
Clara walked up the steps and, smiling, walked past Prudence and into the house. She stood still while she took in the huge hallway, savouring the atmosphere. She looked at the gallery of portraits that hung on the walls.
“Well, come into the drawing room and I’ll order tea. I suppose you’re starving,” said Prudence.
Clara and Pierce followed her into the drawing room to the right of the hall. It was a bright large room luxuriantly furnished with antiques. Prudence summoned the butler by the bell pull.
Clara took off her hat and coat and sat down. A minute later a butler arrived in, a man in his fifties.
“Fennell, bring tea and a round of sandwiches,” instructed Prudence. “Make them up out of the pheasant left over from last night’s dinner.”
“Very good,” said Fennell and he withdrew.
Clara thought it strange she wasn’t introduced to Fennell, and on the whole she was very much being made to feel like a visitor in her husband’s house.
“Fennell is getting worse,” Prudence said to Pierce. “I don’t know if it’s age or insolence, but he almost seems resentful when you tell him what to do these days. I’d change him in an instant, but trained butlers are hard to come by.”
“Especially with what we’re offering in wages,” added Pierce.
“Oh, he’ll have to do, I suppose. Compared to the younger servants he’s positively enthusiastic in his duties,” said Prudence.
A parlour maid came in with a tray of sandwiches while Fennell brought in the tea and left it on the table in front of them. The parlour maid poured the tea into three delicate china cups. As she was pouring Clara caught the girl staring at her.
Prudence sat back with her cup of tea and viewed Clara. “Well, I don’t know what you’re going to do around here all day without being bored out of your mind.”
“Oh, I don’t need much to entertain me.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” said Prudence.
Clara wondered what she had heard.
“I’m very much looking forward to my new life here,” said Clara.
“Are you much of a horsewoman?” asked Prudence.
“I’m afraid not.”
“You do hunt though?”
“No. I’ve never been on one.”
“You’ve never been on a hunt!” Prudence was incredulous.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, that’s a big part of the social life here excluded for you in that case.”
“I don’t like blood sports.”
“Don’t like blood sports!”
“I always think it’s cruel chasing the poor fox like that.”
“The fox, the scourge of the countryside! I would keep my opinions to myself if I were you and not share them with our friends and neighbours – it might make you unpopular. It’s all fishing, shooting, hunting around here, you know.”
Clara looked down and took a sip of her tea.
“And how do you expect to fill your days here then?”
“By being a wife to Pierce, running the house here, entertaining –”
“I see!”
“And I paint. I love painting. I look forward to painting the countryside around here.”
Prudence looked at Clara as if she were mad, before saying “Painting? Indeed!”
Clara was delighted to see all her trunks sent from London waiting for her when Pierce showed her into their bedroom. She walked around the huge bedroom and went and stood by the front window and gazed out across to the lake.
She turned and looked at the four-poster bed. Pierce lit up a cigarette and sat on the bed. She went over to him and, smiling, put her arms around him.
“This is what I dreamed about – being here in your house with you,” she confided to him.
“Did you?” He looked at her, puzzled. “When you had London at your feet?”
“I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was being with you. In your company. And when I thought you weren’t interested in me, I was heartbroken.”
“Heartbroken!” Pierce gave a snide laugh. “Why does everything have to be exaggerated these days? One can’t be merely sad or unhappy, one has to be . . . heartbroken!”
Her face dropped and she felt like a fool and pulled back from him. She turned away from him quickly and went to a trunk and opened it.
“It’ll take me ages to sort out all my things,” she said, making sure he couldn’t see how he had upset her.
He got up and sauntered to the door. “Well, it’ll give you something to do in that case.”
She spent the next few days
exploring the house and grounds. She was fascinated by the portraits hanging in the hall and on the staircase, and asked Pierce to explain to her who everyone was.
“That’s my Great-grandfather Edward and his wife Anna. He built this house for her before they married.”
“Really? How very romantic,” said Clara.
“He showed the tenants incredible benevolence during the Famine. As did my Great-grandmother, Anna, who worked tirelessly for the locals all her life. And how do they repay all that generosity? They shot my father Charles – Edward and Anna’s grandson.”
She could sense the real bitterness in his voice. She wanted to ask him about the shooting, to find out more, but he was so closed up she didn’t want to upset him by arousing such a frightening memory.
“They look kind, they have kind faces,” said Clara as she studied them. “But she looks sad as well. There’s a sadness in her face . . . her eyes.”
“For goodness sake, it’s only an artist’s impression of her . . . she was probably sad from having to pose for the damned painting for so long!”
Clara smiled at him and they moved on to the next portrait of a fair-haired man with hazel eyes.
“That’s their son Lawrence, my grandfather.”
“A very handsome man.”
“I suppose.”
“You look like him, despite your dark eyes.”
“Do I?” He seemed unconcerned. “He was Anna and Edward’s only child. He was a great businessman. Exceptionally intelligent. Ran the estate like clockwork and built up the family fortune.”
They moved on and looked at a painting of a ballroom with many elegantly dressed couples swirling around dancing. She looked at the caption which read ‘The ballroom at Armstrong House 1888’.
“Oh, this is the ballroom here!”
“Yes, at one of the great functions held in this house back then.”
They moved on to a portrait of six young adults, all looking happy and cosseted.
“And these are Lawrence’s children. He always hated being an only child so wanted a large family. These are my aunts and uncles and this –” he pointed to a defiant-looking boy in the centre of them, “– is my father Charles. They were a very popular and in-demand group of young people, and they all went on to marry exceptionally well.”
Clara thought of her friend Gwen, Pierce’s cousin, whose mother was one of these children and had gone on to marry a duke.
“They all moved away when they married – to Dublin, London, one to Newport in America. Just my father was left.”
They moved on to the next portrait of a young man with unforgiving dark eyes and a challenging look. “My father Charles again. He inherited the title and estate and tried his best to keep things as they were and they shot him for it.”
“Did they – did they ever catch whoever shot him?”
“No. One of the disgruntled tenants who resented our wealth and power.” Pierce turned quickly away from the portrait. “Now, you’ve had our family history.”
“And where is your portrait, Pierce? Why is your portrait not adorning the walls here?” She smiled at him.
“A portrait?” He looked at her as if she were mad. “In the long list of things we need to spend money on, a portrait is at the very bottom of the list.”
“I suppose our own children’s portraits will hang here one day. How many children would you like, Pierce?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought – the obligatory heir, one presumes.”
“Oh, I’d like a lot more than that!”
He looked at her warily. “I don’t think Prudence’s nerves could stand a house full of children. I’m not sure mine could either for that matter.”
“You’ll feel differently when they arrive.”
“Besides, we’re over-budget on staff as it is – we couldn’t afford a nursemaid and what not at the moment.”
Clara continued browsing through the house, getting acquainted with it.
She was in the library and when the doorbell kept incessantly ringing and it was obvious Fennell or one of the other servants wasn’t going to answer it she went out through the hall and opened the front door. There stood a young lad with a box of groceries.
“Delivery, ma’am, from Casey’s Grocer’s.”
“Oh, there doesn’t seem to be anybody about. Maybe just leave them on the sideboard there.” Clara stepped out of the way to let him in.
“You there!” came a shrill voice from Prudence as she walked down the stairs, giving both Clara and the boy a fright. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Delivering from Casey’s,” explained the boy.
“I’ve never seen anything like it! Coming up to the front door indeed! Now you can just turn around and take yourself to the back door where you and your sort always go.”
The boy, embarrassed, turned around.
“Did Casey not tell you where to go?” demanded Prudence.
“No, ma’am.”
“Idiot of a man!” Prudence slammed the door shut and looked accusingly at Clara. “And you letting him in as if he were the Prince of Wales!”
“I didn’t know,” explained Clara, thinking it was all a fuss over nothing.
“You know, that Casey is really getting above himself. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” Prudence went over to the side table, lifted the phone and asked for a connection from the operator.
“Casey? It’s Lady Prudence here,” she said when she was finally put through. “Now listen here, you sent some twit of a boy out here with our groceries and he had the audacity to come up to the front door. In future make sure all deliveries go to the back door . . . Thank you . . . Our bill? . . . What about our bill? . . . Only six months overdue? . . . Mr Casey, my family have been shopping at your store for over a century and you have the appalling impudence to bring up something as vulgar as commerce with me? . . . And so you should be . . . There’s many other shops who would only be too delighted with our patronage, and so I think you should remember who you are speaking to in future.”
Prudence slammed down the phone.
“Can you believe it! He starts talking about his bill! That’s the trouble, you see, nobody knows their place any more. It’s become a nation of grubby shopkeepers, to paraphrase Napoleon. If it’s like this now, can you imagine what it will be like if they get their own parliament in Dublin?”
Prudence turned and walked past Clara, leaving her staring after her.
48
The butler poured coffee into Clara’s cup and left the room. It was breakfast time and she and Pierce were finishing their meal in the dining room.
“Pierce, does Prudence have any suitors?” asked Clara.
“Suitors? I really wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
“It’s just – I wonder what her plans are for the future?”
“Plans? Future?”
“Well, her living arrangements?”
“The same as they are now, I suspect.”
“What? To live here . . . forever?” Clara was amazed.
“Why not? You lived in your family home, as she lives in hers.”
“I know but I always intended, or hoped, to get married and be mistress of my own house one day. Surely Prudence hopes for the same?”
“Well, she’s never expressed any unhappiness living here. She’s invaluable around the farm – in fact, she practically runs the place.”
“But . . . it’s just when I married you, I didn’t expect to be living with your sister for ever more.”
“So what do you suggest I do?” Pierce became irritated and impatient.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Put her out on the street? That would be nice for her, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, of course not! You’re being silly.”
“Well then, what are you talking about?”
“I don’t know, I’m just saying –”
“Well, there’s no point in you talking abo
ut something if you don’t know what you’re even talking about, is there?”
“Pierce!”
“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to it, living with Prudence.” Pierce finished his coffee and stood up to leave. “Let’s face it, she’s far more useful around here than you’ll ever be.”
Clara came down the stairs and as she walked through the hall she could hear voices from the library. The door was ajar and she recognised the voices as Pierce and Prudence talking.
“So,” said Prudence. “Let’s talk pounds, shillings and pence. What’s she worth and what’s she brought with her?”
“Nothing,” said Pierce.
“I’m sorry?”
“She hasn’t any money.”
“I’m in no mood for jokes, Pierce. She’s one of the Charters’ Chocolate family, she must be worth a fortune.”