Charles nodded. ‘There are so many Irish in England, the Danish will never make an impact with their pigs. Not over ours. I think half of Ireland is in Liverpool and they won’t eat anything, other than rashers from home. Everyone I meet seems to have a connection to a family from Mayo.’
‘Look, Lord Charles, I am happy to keep things ticking over, but you are the lord of Ballyford.’ McKinnon sensed that he had touched a raw nerve. ‘It needs your direction, not mine. See, already I have the wrong idea about our pigs and the Danish threatening our exports. We need you here at Ballyford.’
‘Well, let’s drive out tomorrow first thing and see these giant pigs, shall we? Do you have anyone in mind to help us manage this expansion to our giant swine herd?’
‘You could do worse than Amy’s brother, I reckon,’ said McKinnon.
Charles smiled. That was the Irish way. Family first. Every worker on his estate was related to someone else. Most of the staff were born and died on the estate.
‘I might have known.’ He grinned at McKinnon who did not look remotely sheepish.
As the main entrance to the castle came into view, they saw that everyone who worked at the estate was standing on the steps, waiting. Some servants and gardeners were running down the last yard of lawn to take their place in the line-up. Mrs McKinnon was boxing Danny across the ears for being late and shouting at the others to fall into place quickly.
The phone call to the castle from the gate lodge had worked well. Betsy had run down the gallery and the main stairs to let Mrs McKinnon know that the car had turned in through the gates and in turn, she had harried the remaining servants outside onto the steps. As the car drew up, an errant peacock squawked and ran across the front of the car, sending Mrs McKinnon into a fluster. She took a handkerchief from her apron pocket to scare the bird back onto the lawn.
Charles watched the bird as it sauntered away, fanning out its iridescent blue and green tail feathers in a pompous display of outrage. Far from admiring the beautiful bird, as he once had, he wondered now if he should take his gun and shoot it. His stomach was in a knot at the prospect of seeing his wife. His good mood had evaporated as soon as the staff on the steps had come into view. He turned back to face the house, took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself. He glanced up at the windows on the first floor. They looked back at him, black and hollow.
Somewhere behind them lay his obligation. He knew his wife would not be waiting on the steps, or smiling at the window. More likely she was waiting patiently in her room, perched in front of her mirror, as she prepared words of poison, ready to strike and wound.
Your fault. Your family. Your curse.
And it was then, as he steeled himself to leave the comfort of the car and search for his wife, that his eyes fell upon her. She was standing on the top step, at the back of the crowd of servants. Her back was tall and straight. A smile of what could have been amusement hovered on her lips and she squinted in the sunlight towards the car. The wind had caught at her red hair and pulled out a large strand. She put her hand up to tame her tresses. Irritated, she battled the gusts of wind and secured her cap once more. Then she stood on tiptoe to look over Amy’s head.
The sun was shining directly on the car window and Charles shielded his eyes. He knew he had those few seconds when he could see her, but she could not see him.
‘You found her then,’ he whispered to McKinnon, his voice hoarse and almost angry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought it best to wait, Lord Charles, so that you could see for yourself that I had made no mistake.’
‘God in heaven,’ Charles whispered, placing his hands flat on his knees. He took a deep breath. ‘You have made no mistake, McKinnon. She must never know, you realize that, don’t you? We can repair what my father did wrong, but the past is too dangerous to rake over. We don’t even know how much is truth or just cottage gossip. No one must know but you, me and Mrs McKinnon.’
‘Me and Mrs McKinnon, we both know that, Lord Charles. We never will tell anyone. She works as a member of the staff. Lady FitzDeane needing a nursery maid was convenient at the time.’
Charles looked at McKinnon. He had no words, but he did not need any. Both men were locked in a mutual understanding.
Charles broke the silence. ‘Right, well, let’s go and get the greetings over and done with. There’s Mrs McKinnon, not looking a day older.’
It took all Charles’s strength of will to keep his eyes focused on Mrs McKinnon and to avoid looking directly at Ruby. Knowing he had done the right thing to repair the damage caused by his cruel father was already a tonic. He felt his heart settle. It was as though one of many dark clouds had moved and was slowly drifting away, out of his life.
He was unable to help himself. His eyes met hers and his pulse quickened. She roused something deep within, which he shut down instantly. History would not repeat itself, not during his time at Ballyford. She smiled at him, the slightest of smiles. Not a smile of welcome, more one of curiosity, a faint amusement even. He felt his frozen heart begin to thaw and he knew that despite himself, the darkest, coldest secret was now his private warmth.
*
That night, when they were in bed, Ruby could not settle and as was her way, chatted to Betsy. Jane had long gone to sleep in another room, irritated by their closeness and constant talking.
‘Betsy, I have a secret.’
Betsy didn’t like secrets. ‘What?’ she whispered, wanting to know, but at the same time fearing the answer.
‘Well, you know when Lord Charles arrived, how he kept his head bent low as he spoke to each of the maids on the steps and then Mrs McKinnon said to him, “And here is Ruby, the new maid for the mistress”…’
‘Yes, I know, I was there, I heard her.’ Betsy was now leaning up on her elbow, peering at Ruby.
‘Well, when he turned his face to look at me and I looked back at him, it was there again, that feeling of knowing something. As though we had met before. I couldn’t breathe, Betsy. My knees were weak and do you know, for a moment, I couldn’t feel the wind at all. I had a warm feeling all through me and his look, it made my heart beat faster. I swear to God, Betsy, I swear to all that’s holy, I do believe it happened to him too. I felt I had known him and he, well, he knew me. He did, Betsy, I know he did.’
11
Ruby was bemused by the excitement that rippled throughout the household after the arrival of Lord Charles.
‘Holy Mother, it has sent everyone into a complete frenzy,’ she said to Amy, as she set Lady Isobel’s tray for tea, at the wooden bench in the kitchen.
Amy was busy, bustling and puffing around the stove. Mary, excited to see Ruby, her favourite, was already by her side, wanting Ruby to sit down on the stool.
‘Let me play with your hair,’ Mary pleaded. ‘Go on, Ruby, let me.’
Ruby looked at Mary’s hair. All the staff wore their hair in the same style, chopped short by Amy who had no time for vanity. As a new arrival, Ruby had thus far escaped the lure of Amy, her scissors, and the promise of convenient styling.
‘Go on then, just for a minute, Mary,’ said Ruby. ‘I have masses to do this morning.’
‘Everyone is in a state, except the mistress, that is.’ Amy frowned. ‘Mary, don’t brush Ruby’s hair in here.’
Mary pulled a face at Amy behind her back.
‘That’s half of the problem. If she was more willing to see Lord Charles, things could get back to how they were around here. She needs to know what she’s missing. Men like Lord Charles are few and far between. I don’t think she understands. The way she is in her mourning, it affects us all, so it does and Lord Charles the most, I would say. She drives him away and she will drive him into the arms of another woman, if she’s not careful. It would help if she moved out of that nursery and back into the morning room, Ruby. Can you not coax her, like, make her move away from the sadness? Oh, ’twould make such a difference.’ Amy placed a steaming tin dish on the bench and wiped the swea
t from her brow with a cloth. ‘My aunty says ’tis the hands of the dead children, they are pressing down on her and holding her in the chair, so she cannot move, even if she wanted to. They will not let her go. ’Tis not her fault, ’tis the babbies, so it is.’
‘Oh, no, oh no, that’s not true, no they are not now,’ said Mary seriously, as she put the pins back in Ruby’s hair. ‘Sure, Mammy tells me they are all in heaven, sat with Jesus and having a whale of a time with all the other dead babies and Mammy says anyone who says that they are still here will go to hell, so they will and that will be you, Amy, if you talk any more like that.’
‘Oh, shut up, Mary and get on with your work,’ said Amy, exasperated.
Ruby felt slightly alarmed. ‘I’m sure Mary is right, Amy. Does your aunty really think they are in the nursery?’ Ruby was intrigued. She knew that Amy’s aunt was a legend with her prophesies, because Amy had told her so.
‘Oh, aye, she’s always right. Now don’t say nothing to the McKinnons, but my aunt, she has been in a right state just lately about the lady.’
Mary leant her chin on the table, her bright, watery eyes focused intently on Amy
‘She used to be a maid here, for the old Lady FitzDeane, and when I told her you were coming to look after her she gave out, so she did, crying with the relief. “Oh, thank the Holy Father,” she said. “Make sure she watches over her, I have had the most awful dreams and prophesies about the lady.” I told her only last night, no better watcher could the lady have than Ruby.’
Ruby smiled. She knew herself that it was true. There was hardly a daylight hour that she had not spent with Lady Isobel since she arrived, and even Ruby could see the improvement. Especially since she had begun reading to Lady Isobel every day.
‘She says she’s been having dreams about Ballyford too, waking to her own screams and a cold sweat. They all go to my aunty to have their fortunes read, even your pious mammy, Mary. She’s the first there so she is, on her way to confession.’ Amy thrust her chin forward towards Mary’s face. Mary gasped. Her mammy was the first into mass every morning and the last out after Angelus every night.
‘Well, tell your aunty not to worry,’ said Ruby. ‘Lady Isobel never wanted to eat when I first arrived. It has taken some persuasion, but she eats a meal now and doesn’t pick any longer. It’s been exhausting trying to persuade her, but she really does look better. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about anymore, as long as we don’t have too many mornings like yesterday.’
The previous morning had been a difficult one. Ruby began with her usual routine of cajoling Lady Isobel.
‘Come on now, I made this in the kitchen myself, this morning. Amy didn’t mind, she said to me, “Go on Ruby, you know just how Lady Isobel likes her eggs. I’ve even chopped them up in the cup for you and put a nice bit of butter in so they slip down easier.” You know what a dragon Amy can be when anyone else steps in her kitchen but she didn’t complain once. “Nothing is as important as Lady Isobel’s breakfast, you lot can all starve,” she said.’
Painfully and slowly, Ruby had persevered. She never abandoned her main objective: to ensure that every last spoonful of the chopped eggs in the pretty china cup were eaten. It had all been worthwhile but had taken almost an hour, until the eggs were stone cold. Ruby was aware that there was something untoward upsetting Lady Isobel and it was not the homecoming of Lord Charles. She had noticed her reading the letter Ruby had collected from Belmullet before she carefully slipped it into her pocket.
‘I swear to God, if she didn’t have you she would have starved to death by now. No one else has your cheek. One word from the lady and everyone folds like scared rabbits, except for you. It has been that way since the day she arrived, with her fancy, hoity manners, but you have a way, you do. I wouldn’t cross you, so I wouldn’t.’
‘Well, I need to be brave, Amy, chopping an egg in your kitchen and helping myself to the salt the way I do. I’m always waiting for the roar when you see me.’
‘You cheeky madam.’ Amy grinned and Mary chuckled: she hung on every word Ruby spoke.
‘Here, grab a cuppa before you run back upstairs. Mary, stop gawping. Make yourself useful and pour Ruby some tea. It must be thirsty work, kneeling by the side of her chair for so long, trying to make her eat.’
Mary poured Ruby a steaming mug of tea and ladled three spoons of sugar into the cup. She stared at Ruby, watching her drink.
‘It’s not that she doesn’t want to eat, you know, Amy. When she pushes her tray away I know it looks that way, but I know her really well now. There is something stopping her. Perhaps it’s hard to eat when you are crying inside.’
‘Well, ’tis a sad state of affairs for the poor woman.’ Amy had dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘But she’s not the only one to suffer in this way. My mother had fourteen of us and only six lived past twelve years of age. I would say that was a lot harder.’
Ruby didn’t know what to think and so she waited for Amy to continue, as she knew she surely would.
‘And one of the women in the tenant cottages, pregnant six times and never carried one all the way. All born like pink skinned rabbits they were, drew a breath and died. There’s no one to spoon-feed her chopped eggs and that’s a fact. If she didn’t get out of her bed and carry on, how would they manage? If her husband didn’t work they would have no home or food in their bellies. No, the truth is, Ruby, melancholy is for the rich, not the poor and I’m not saying I don’t have any sympathy for her predicament, or that I didn’t love each one of those little boys. I did. Brought them down here to the kitchen, the nurse did and I held each one in my arms, before they died. Lovely little boys and there was never a father who loved his sons more than Lord FitzDeane, but life goes on and she needs to realize that and snap out of it.’
Ruby felt sad. She couldn’t argue with a word Amy had said, but she also felt deeply for Lady Isobel.
Amy continued. ‘I’ve always done my best for her, Ruby. I know you think I’m harsh, but surely ’tis time she thought about what is important, and in that I include Lord Charles.’
Ruby picked up her cup and finished the last of her tea.
‘Well, Amy, I can’t say any of that to her. I’ll just keep doing what I do, which is looking after her as best I can. I can’t think of all those other people, because I didn’t know them, I can’t allow myself to feel grudging towards her, because I don’t think it’s like that. Something serious is up, she needs me and my job is to look after her. There is something much deeper going on with the lady, I just don’t know what it is.’
‘Aye, you do that,’ said Amy. ‘Keeps you in a job too. Come on, pass me that cup and let’s not say anything of this to anyone else. Feelings are divided here as to how Lady Isobel should be treated. Mrs McKinnon won’t hear a word said against her. And you Mary, keep your mouth shut if you want a roof over your head and food in your belly. There are plenty of girls like you in the cottages looking for kitchen work.’
If anyone had ever bothered to give Mary a second thought, they would have known she was the most loyal of all the Ballyford staff. A loyalty soon to be put to the fiercest test.
12
Upon first sight, Mrs McKinnon forgave Charles for having been away for so long, and Charles now spoke the words he knew were expected of him. ‘I shall head straight upstairs to see Lady FitzDeane.’
Mrs McKinnon noticed he looked pale.
‘Was it a bad crossing yesterday?’ she whispered to Mr McKinnon. ‘He looks exhausted.’
‘Not at all, the sea was meant to be as smooth as your backside and they did make good time. He needs some of your care and Amy’s cooking. You have no idea the shite that woman in Liverpool forces him to eat.’
‘Merciful God, keep that language to yourself, will you,’ Mrs McKinnon laughed.
Upstairs on the gallery, all was quiet as Charles stood outside the door to the nursery, hesitating, with his hand hovering above the newly polished brass door handle.
‘The doctor has visited this morning as usual,’ Mrs McKinnon had told him before he made his way to the stairs. ‘He says the same thing every time he visits. She needs feeding up, lots of fresh air and to be forced back into living a normal life.’
Charles ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He knew what Mrs McKinnon thought. She had never voiced her feelings to him, but hadn’t she been the woman who had raised him? Didn’t he know her as well as she knew him? Her disapproval needed no voice. It was there, accusing him, whether she knew it or not, in every line on her face and in the tone of every word she spoke. She would prefer him to remain at Ballyford and to play the role of the dutiful and loving husband. She would never understand that Isobel blamed him, hated him and with her hatred for him, his own feelings for Isobel had perished and died.
Charles took a breath, turned the handle and entered the room. Isobel didn’t move as he almost tiptoed across the room towards her. She sat bolt upright on the sofa facing the fire and was as still as the gallery statues. It struck him how thin she appeared, even from behind.
As he neared her, he gently said her name, but there was still no response. He walked around the back of the sofa and sat on the chair next to the fire. Maybe she had spent her anger and there would be no further histrionics. He realized that he was holding his breath, just as he always did these days in the presence of his wife.
‘Hello Isobel,’ he said. ‘Did Mrs McKinnon tell you the news? I’m home for a few weeks. How are you feeling?’
Ruby Flynn Page 12