Daughters of Castle Deverill

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I’ll never forget it,’ said Harry seriously.

  ‘Neither will I.’ He bent down and kissed him again. ‘Until tonight, old boy.’

  Harry walked home through St James’s Park. The light was dull, the bright summer sun having packed up and gone to shine on a more southern shore. Clouds gathered damp and grey and the wind caught the browning leaves and sent them floating to the ground. He pulled his hat firmly onto his head and put his hands in his trouser pockets. Soon it would drizzle and he hadn’t bothered to bring a coat. It hadn’t looked like rain when he had set out that morning.

  When he reached his house in Belgravia Charlotte was waiting for him in the hall. She looked agitated. Guiltily, he panicked that he might have been found out but when he stepped inside she looked so delighted to see him he realized to his relief that he was still above suspicion.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re home, darling! I telephoned the office but they said you weren’t coming in.’

  Harry averted his gaze nervously, waiting for her to ask him where he had been. But as he gave his hat to the butler she grabbed his arm. ‘I’ve got some news,’ she blurted.

  ‘Really? Don’t keep me in suspense.’

  ‘It’s about the castle. I know who’s bought it.’

  ‘You do?’ Harry followed her into the sitting room.

  ‘You won’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, go on!’

  ‘Celia!’

  Harry stared at her. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘No, I’m deadly serious. Your cousin Celia has bought it.’

  ‘Good Lord. Who told you?’

  ‘Your father telephoned about an hour ago. I didn’t know where to reach you. I’ve been desperate to tell you. You’re not angry, are you? You know I adore you with or without a castle and anyway, I wouldn’t want to live in Ireland.’

  ‘My darling Charlotte, I’m not angry. I’m just rather surprised she didn’t tell me herself.’

  ‘I’m sure she meant to. Bertie said she’d gone to meet Kitty. I presume she was going to tell her first. You know how close they are.’

  He sank into a chair and put his elbows on his knees and knitted his fingers. ‘Well, who’d have thought it, eh? Archie must be mad.’

  ‘Madly in love!’ Charlotte gushed.

  ‘It’ll take a fortune to rebuild it.’

  ‘Oh, but Archie’s fabulously rich, isn’t he?’ said Charlotte, not knowing that Archie’s fortune came from Digby.

  ‘You never saw Castle Deverill. It’s enormous.’ He felt a sudden, unexpected pain deep inside his chest, as if something were slashing open his heart and releasing memories he hadn’t even realized were there.

  ‘Are you all right, darling? You’re very flushed.’ She crouched beside his chair. ‘You’re upset. I can tell. It’s only natural. Castle Deverill was your home and your inheritance. But isn’t it better that it’s gone to someone in the family? It’s not lost. You’ll still be able to go and visit.’

  ‘Castellum Deverilli est suum regnum,’ he said.

  ‘What, darling? Is that Latin?’

  He looked at her steadily, feeling like a little boy on the brink of tears. ‘The family motto. It was written above the front door, that is, before the fire. I didn’t think I cared,’ he told her quietly. ‘I don’t want to live in Ireland, but good Lord, I think I do care. I think I care very much. Generations of my family have lived there. One after the other after the other in an unbroken line.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘Papa doesn’t speak about it but I know selling it has caused him enormous pain. I can tell by the amount of alcohol he consumes. Happy people don’t lose themselves in drink. This has broken the family line which has continued since Barton Deverill was given the land in 1662.’ He gazed down at his hands. ‘I’m the broken link.’

  ‘Darling, you haven’t broken it, your father has,’ Charlotte reminded him. ‘And it wasn’t his fault the rebels burnt it down.’

  ‘I know you’re right. But still, I feel guilty. Perhaps I should have done more.’

  ‘What could you have done? Even my money wouldn’t be enough to rebuild it. You have to leave it to Celia now and be grateful that it’s being kept in the family. I’m sure Barton Deverill would be pleased that his castle is still in the hands of a Deverill.’

  ‘Celia will do her best to put it back together again, but it’ll never be the same.’ Charlotte was being so kind but her sweetness curdled. He wished he could share his pain with the man he loved.

  Charlotte brushed his cheek with a tender hand. ‘She will do her best to make it lovely, I’m sure,’ she said soothingly. ‘And one day you will be Lord Deverill. Give me a son, my darling, and you won’t be breaking the family line.’ She gazed at him with fond eyes, oblivious to the fact that the thought of fathering children turned his stomach. ‘After all, it’s only a house.’

  Harry looked at her and frowned. Charlotte was his wife and yet she would never understand him. How could she? ‘No, my darling Charlotte,’ he said and smiled sadly. ‘It is so much more than that.’

  Kitty returned to the Hunting Lodge, which was a short walk from the castle, with Celia, leading her horse by the reins. She held little affection for this austere, ugly house that had once been her home. It was dark and charmless with small windows and gables that pointed aggressively towards the sky like spears. Although its situation was pretty, it having been built near the river, the water seemed to penetrate the walls and infuse the entire building with a residual damp. Unlike the castle she did not cherish her memories here. She could still feel the sour presence of her Scottish governess in the nursery wing along with the unhappy traces of longing that seemed to linger in the shadows with the damp. Happiness had come naturally for Kitty in the gardens, greenhouses, woodlands and hills, and in the castle, of course, which had always been at the heart of her contentment.

  Now she walked her horse round to the stables where the groom gave it water and hay. Celia chatted excitedly about her plans for the rebuilding. ‘We’re going to put in proper plumbing and electricity. No expense will be spared. Above all, it’s going to be much more comfortable than before,’ she said, taking Kitty by the arm and walking towards the house. ‘And more beautiful than it ever was. I will hire the finest architect London has to offer and raise this phoenix from the ashes. It’s all so thrilling, I can barely breathe!’

  They found Kitty’s father, Bertie, and Celia’s husband, Archie, drinking sherry with Bertie’s friend and former lover, Lady Rowan-Hampton, in the drawing room. A turf fire burned weakly in the grate, giving out little heat, and they could barely see one another for the smoke. ‘Ah, Kitty, what a lovely surprise,’ said Archie, standing up and kissing her affectionately. ‘I suppose Celia has told you the good news.’

  ‘Yes she has. I’m still trying to take it in.’ Kitty resented Archie’s enthusiasm. It was all she could do to smile in the wake of such devastating news. ‘Hello, Papa, hello, Grace.’ She bent down to kiss her friend Grace Rowan-Hampton and reflected on the miraculous healing power of time. Once, she had despised Grace for her long-standing affair with her father, but now she was grateful to her for her constant loyalty to her former lover, who looked more bloated with booze than ever. Besides Grace, Kitty didn’t think her father had many friends left. In his youth Bertie Deverill had been the most dashing man in West Cork, but now he was a wreck, destroyed by whiskey and disillusionment and a nagging sense of his own failings. Even though he had formally recognized Little Jack, the child was a persistent reminder of a shameful moment of weakness.

  ‘My dear Kitty, will you stay for lunch?’ Bertie asked. ‘We must celebrate Celia and Archie’s jubilant purchase of the castle.’

  Kitty thought of Little Jack and her stomach cramped with anxiety. But she dismissed her fears and took off her hat. After all, Miss Elsie had promised not to let him out of her sight. ‘I’d love to,’ she replied, sitting down beside Grace.

  Grace Rowan-Hampton looked as radiant as a ri
pe golden plum. Although she was almost fifty, her light brown hair showed only the slightest hint of grey and her molasses-coloured eyes were alert and bright and full of her characteristic warmth. Kitty scrutinized her closely and decided that it was the plumpness of her skin and the flawlessness of her complexion that were the key to her beauty; a lifetime of soft rain and gentle sunshine had been kind to her face. ‘Celia and Archie have taken us all by surprise,’ Grace said with a smile. ‘We’ve been eaten up by curiosity over the last weeks, but now we know we must celebrate. The castle is not lost to the Deverills, after all, but regained. Really, Bertie, I couldn’t bear to think of it being bought by someone with no understanding of its history.’

  ‘That’s what I said to Archie,’ Celia replied, taking his hand. ‘I said that it would haunt me for the rest of my days if the place fell into the hands of strangers. I just love the history. All that stuff about Henry VIII or whoever it was. So romantic’ Kitty winced. No one with any real connection to the place would get it all so wrong.

  ‘And I decided then that my wife’s happiness was more important than anything else in the whole world. We hoped it would make you happy, too, Lord Deverill.’

  Bertie nodded pensively, although Kitty didn’t think her father’s thoughts contained anything much. He had a distant look in his rheumy eyes, the look of a man to whom little matters beyond the contents of a bottle. ‘And Celia’s having a baby too,’ Kitty said, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, as if we didn’t have enough to celebrate.’ Celia beamed, placing a hand on her stomach and sliding her bright eyes to her husband. ‘We’re both very, very happy.’

  ‘A baby!’ Grace exclaimed. ‘How very exciting! We must raise our glasses to that too.’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful. Everything is just wonderful,’ said Celia as they lifted their glasses in a toast.

  It was late afternoon when Kitty rode over the hills to Jack O’Leary’s house. The setting sun left a trail of molten gold on the waves as the ocean darkened beneath the pale autumn sky. She had briefly stopped off at home to check on Little Jack, whom she had found happily playing in the nursery with his nanny. Kitty had been relieved to find her husband Robert working in his study near by. He didn’t like to be disturbed when he was writing and she was only too happy to leave him and get away. She’d tell him about Celia and the castle later. As she left the White House she was content that Little Jack was safe with Miss Elsie and Robert.

  In her haste to see her lover she had forgotten her hat, so that now her long red hair flew out behind her, curling in the gusty wind that swept in off the water. When at last she reached the whitewashed cottage, she hurriedly dismounted and threw herself against the door. ‘Jack!’ she shouted, letting herself in. She sensed at once that he wasn’t there. The place felt as quiet and empty as a shell. Then she saw his veterinary bag sitting on the kitchen table and her heart gave a little leap, for he wouldn’t have gone visiting without it.

  She ran out of the house and hastened down the well-trodden path to the beach, cutting through the wild grasses and heather that eventually gave way to rocks and pale yellow sand. The roar of the sea battled competitively against the bellowing of the gale and Kitty pulled her coat tightly about her and shivered with cold. A moment later she noticed a figure at the other end of the cove. She recognized him immediately, shouted and waved but her voice was lost in the din of squawking gulls squabbling about the cliffs. She strode on, leaning into the wind, brushing the hair off her face with futile swipes. Jack’s dog noticed her first and bounded over the sand to greet her. Her spirits lifted when Jack finally saw her and quickened his pace. The sight of him in his old brown coat, heavy boots and tweed cap was so reassuring that she began to cry, but the wind caught her tears before they could settle and whipped them away.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Jack asked, pulling her into his arms. His melodious Irish brogue was like balm to her soul and she rested her cheek against his coat and reminded herself that home was here, in Jack O’Leary’s embrace. Their adultery had started as a lightning strike of passion but now had become a way of life – none the less joyful for that. It was the pearl in her oyster.

  ‘Celia has bought Castle Deverill,’ she told him. She felt him press his bristly face against her head and squeeze her tighter. ‘I shouldn’t mind, but I do.’

  ‘Of course you mind, Kitty,’ he replied with understanding.

  ‘She’s going to rebuild it and then she’s going to live there and I’m going to be like the poor relation in the White House. Am I being very unworldly?’

  ‘You’ve suffered worse, Kitty,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I know. It’s only a castle but . . .’ She dropped her shoulders and Jack saw the defeat in her eyes.

  ‘It is only a castle. But to you, it’s always been much more than that, hasn’t it?’ He kissed her temple, remembering sadly the time he had tried and failed to persuade her to leave it and run off with him to America. Had it been nothing more than a castle they might have been happily married by now, on the other side of the Atlantic.

  ‘And Bridie’s back,’ she added darkly.

  ‘I know. I saw her at Mass this morning, swanking about in her fine clothes and jewellery. Indeed, she found a rich husband in America – and lost him. Word has it she’s made a healthy donation to the church. Father Quinn will be delighted.’

  ‘She’s come back for Little Jack,’ said Kitty, her stomach clenching again with fear. ‘She says she had to leave him once and she won’t do it again.’

  ‘And what did you tell her?’

  ‘That she left him in my safe keeping. But she said it was Michael who left him on my doorstep with the note. She said she’s his mother and that he belongs with her. But I’ve told Little Jack that his mother is in Heaven and that I’ll love him and look after him in her stead. I can’t now tell him that she’s suddenly come back to life.’

  ‘She can’t have him, Kitty. She would have signed papers in the convent, giving up her right.’

  Kitty remembered the old Bridie, her dear friend, and her heart buckled for her. ‘She probably didn’t know what she was signing,’ she said softly.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for her,’ he reproached. ‘She’s done well for herself, has she not?’ He took Kitty’s hand and began to walk back up the beach towards his cottage.

  ‘I’m terrified she’s going to try and steal him,’ Kitty confessed with a shy smile. She knew how ridiculous that sounded.

  Jack looked down at her and grinned affectionately. ‘You’ve always had a fanciful imagination, Kitty Deverill. I don’t think Bridie would be foolish enough to attempt kidnap. She’d get as far as Cork and the Garda would be all over her.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I’m just being foolish.’

  He swung her round and kissed her. ‘What was that for?’ she laughed.

  ‘Because I love you.’ He smiled, revealing the gap where his tooth had been knocked out in prison. He curled a tendril of hair behind her ear and kissed her more ardently. ‘Forget about the castle and Bridie Doyle. Think about us. Concentrate on what’s to come, not what has passed. You said this wasn’t enough for you any more. You know it’s not enough for me.’

  ‘It’s not enough, but I don’t know how to resolve it.’

  ‘Remember I once asked you to come with me to America?’

  Kitty’s eyes began to sting at the memory. ‘But they arrested you and you never even knew I had decided to come.’

  He slipped his fingers around her neck beneath her hair and ran rough thumbs over her jaw line. ‘We could try again. Take Little Jack and start afresh. Perhaps we wouldn’t have to go as far as America. Perhaps we could go somewhere else. I understand that you don’t want to leave Ireland, but now Celia has bought the castle it’s going to be tough living next door, on the estate that once belonged to your father.’

  Kitty gazed into his pale blue eyes and the sorry sequence of their love story seemed to pass across them like sad clo
uds. ‘Let’s go to America,’ she said suddenly, taking Jack by surprise.

  ‘Really?’ he gasped.

  ‘Yes. If we go we must go far, far away. It will break Robert’s heart. Not only will he lose his wife but he will lose Little Jack, who is like a son to him. He will never forgive me.’

  ‘And what about Ireland?’

  She put her hands on top of his cold ones and felt the warmth of his Irish vowels wrapping around her like fox’s tails. ‘I’ll feel close to Ireland with you, Jack. Because every word you speak will bring me back here.’

  Chapter 3

  Bridie heard Rosetta’s laughter coming from inside the barn. It was blithe and bubbling like a merry stream. As she approached she realized that in all the months they had known each other, she had never heard Rosetta laugh with such abandon and she suffered a stab of jealousy, for that carefree sound excluded her as surely as the years in America had alienated her from her home. For it came from somewhere warm and intimate; a place Bridie couldn’t reach for all her wealth and prestige. Her thoughts turned to Jack O’Leary and the girl in her longed for that innocent time in her life when she had dreamed of laughing so blithely with him, when she had yearned for his arms to hold her and his lips to kiss her; when she had craved his love with every fibre of her being. But Kitty had stolen him as she had later stolen her son. Bridie pushed aside her childhood dreams with a sniff of disdain because she wasn’t Bridie Doyle any longer. With a determined hardening of her heart she smothered the tenderness in it that had only brought her unhappiness, and strode into the barn. The laughter stopped at once as the light from outside was thrown across the room. Sean’s surprised face appeared from round the back of the hay rick, flushing guiltily. A moment later Rosetta stepped out, the buttons on her blouse half undone and her hair dishevelled.

  ‘I need to talk to you, Rosetta,’ Bridie said stiffly. Then, turning to her brother, she added, ‘I’m sure there’s something you can find to do outside.’ Sean grinned at Rosetta, whose brown skin was flushed from the roughness of his bristles, and stepped out into the wind, closing the big door behind him. ‘I see you’re already helping on the farm,’ Bridie said, regretting, even as she spoke, the resentful tone in her voice.