The Made Marriage

by Henrietta Reid

  ‘Oh yes, you needn’t look so hoity-toity, madam, for Mr. Owen’s no different from other men after all and no doubt he thought it would be a great chance for a bit of canoodling, but I’ll take me oath that he’s regretting it now.’ Again she looked significantly about the kitchen as though its condition was an indictment in itself.

  ‘You’re quite mistaken,’ Kate spluttered angrily. ‘How dare you say such things!’

  ‘It’s not me alone that do be saying it. Sure the whole village is talking about a young one like yourself from across the water staying up here alone with Mr. Owen when he could have got a woman from the village to do for him until I was able to take over again. Sure Ned Fogarty was in the pub the very night he drove you to Laragh and telling every dog and devil as how you got out of the train asking to be drove direct to Laragh. Sure it was easy to see there was something fishy about it from the start.’

  Kate stared at her helplessly. How could she explain without revealing her true predicament? Then, as she realised from the woman’s expression that no matter what she said, Mrs. Murphy would take the more interesting view, she decided she might as well remain silent.

  The stout woman got to her feet. ‘I think I’ll have a look at the rooms upstairs,’ she announced importantly. ‘I was always one to keep them spotless and it would be no less than my duty to see that everything is as it should be until I get back.’ Suppressing a hiccough, she stumped to the door and disappeared on her tour of inspection.

  Kate finished the dishes thoughtfully, her mind reverting to Nicky’s threat. If she agreed to go with him perhaps Owen might accept her appearance in Blarney as a last-minute decision. Should she refuse to accompany him, Nicky would undoubtedly tell Owen of the scheme to humiliate him. She shuddered as she visualised only too clearly Owen’s cold contempt. No longer, as she served the meals, would he make mock derisive remarks about the quality of the cuisine and listen amusedly to her hot defence of her cooking. In a hundred and one little ways she would be aware of his displeasure. Somehow or other she must succeed in circumventing Nicky, she thought—but she had no time to consider the problem—not now when she had to prepare food for the haymakers’ morning break.

  The dishes were finished and she had tidied the kitchen and was busily cutting bread and slicing ham when Mrs. Murphy again appeared on the scene. She looked very pleased with herself. Doubtless, Kate told herself crossly, Owen’s former housekeeper was satisfied that the rooms were in a sufficient state of cleanliness.

  ‘I must say,’ she remarked condescendingly, ‘that the rooms are clean enough, though I see you’ve taken the patchwork quilt for Mrs. Lawlor’s room. Well, there’s no harm in that, though as a rule it’s the cotton honeycomb one I use for the visitors, for it’s easier to launder. But no matter, for you meant well, no doubt, as Mrs. Lawlor said when I brung it up in conversation.’

  Kate restrained the angry words that rose to her lips for it was obvious that Mrs. Murphy had not the remotest idea of how offensive she was managing to make herself. ‘You have been speaking to Mrs. Lawlor?’ she remarked.

  ‘That I was! She’s having a long lie-in this morning and is looking every day of her age, if you asks me. But she’s a good poor soul, when all’s said and done—though there’s them that says she’s a busybody and too interfering; but if you asks me, it’s her good heart. “Mrs. Murphy,” she says, “take it easy and don’t think of coming back until that arm of yours is quite better, for it wouldn’t do if you was to be laid up again!” “Very well, Mrs. Lawlor,” I says, “as long as I know you’re here and on the spot it will take a weight off my mind for you know the way I likes things done.” Oh yes, we had a nice long chat,’ Mrs. Murphy ended comfortably, ‘and I must say I feel a lot easier in my mind that she’s here.’

  Eventually, to Kate’s relief, she showed signs of departing, first sternly inspecting the cans Kate had laid out in which to carry tea to the fields. ‘Mind and make the sandwiches thick,’ she admonished Kate. ‘Farm folk don’t want those itty-bitty little citified things: they like something they can put their teeth into.’

  Kate was watching her stout figure disappear through the yard gates when Aunt Florrie made her appearance. She joined Kate at the window. ‘Thank heavens Murphy has decided to make her departure. I thought I’d never get rid of the woman. She sat on the side of my bed telling me what a hopeless housekeeper you are and to pacify her I told her I’d keep a close eye on things, but I may as well tell you here and now, Kate, that I don’t take the smallest interest in domestic affairs and you can run the place just as you wish. Frankly, as far as I can see, you’re doing it a lot more efficiently than Murphy, but the woman’s a dreadful pest and I took the line of least resistance. Anything for a peaceful life, so I agreed that things haven’t been the same since she left.’

  Kate smiled. She knew this was by way of an apology for what Florrie considered a mild treachery. ‘But you did tell her not to hurry back.’

  To her surprise Mrs. Lawlor looked slightly embarrassed, then said abruptly, ‘I was never one for beating about the bush. It’s high time Owen was married—but as soon as Murphy returns he’ll settle back into the same old rut. It’s good for him to have a young person about the house—even if people do talk a bit. Hard words break no bones, and you’d make the kind of wife Owen needs—’

  Kate turned away quickly and, crossing to the table, resumed her sandwich-making. If only Florrie Lawlor had the sense to see that she didn’t want put into words a longing that to her was as secret and precious, though as ethereal, as a dream. ‘Please don’t talk about it,’ she said quietly. ‘I think Owen’s in love with Doretta. I’ve seen him look at her—’ She stopped. It was impossible to define the expression she had often surprised on his face when Doretta was present: she only knew it gave her a little stab at the heart, for it proclaimed more clearly than words or actions could that she was the outsider.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Florrie proclaimed. ‘All of us have our moments of weakness and there’s no doubting Doretta has that sultry Latin beauty that can play havoc with the men, but when it comes to placing a ring on a girl’s finger it’s a different matter. Besides, Owen’s not a foolish young boy! He’ll have inherited the Lawlor hardheadedness when it comes to choosing a bride.’

  Kate forbore to tell her how strongly Owen had expressed himself on this very subject, for she could see that Florrie was the last person in whom it would be wise to confide.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Florrie said with asperity as she gazed at Kate’s unresponsive back, ‘but you’re a foolish girl if you let a sly little husband-hunter like Doretta take him from under your nose.’

  ‘It isn’t a question of—’ Kate was beginning, when Mrs. Lawlor, who had been gazing idly through the window, burst out, ‘Well, speak of the devil! If it isn’t Doretta herself! Now what does that young minx want at Laragh at this time of the day?’

  The answer to that question was fairly simple, Kate was thinking dryly. After all, Doretta had made no secret of the fact that she had discarded the impecunious Nicky and that Owen was now her quarry.

  ‘I’ll leave her to you,’ Florrie said, hurriedly making for the door. ‘When I was staying with the Fitzpatricks we never got on: many a time I had to restrain myself from boxing her ears.’

  Doretta, however, when she arrived in the kitchen, was in one of her most charming and conciliatory moods. She surveyed the piles of bread, the large ham and the rows of cans and mugs with interest. ‘Oh dear, I hope I have not come too late to be of assistance! Owen was telling me about the haymaking and I told him I would help you. On our estates at home I simply love to assist with the olive harvest; it is such fun,’ she informed Kate with an air of condescension.

  Kate felt a growing irritation which she tried to suppress as she surveyed Doretta in her lime green dress of linen trimmed at the neck and sleeves with black velvet. As though to show that she meant business, Doretta took off her floppy organza hat, a perfect foil for her shini
ng hair which lay loosely about her shoulders, and hung it up by the long black velvet ribbon that bound the crown, but still she did not appear like a girl who would be prepared to get herself hot and sticky buttering bread and slicing thick wedges of greasy ham.

  ‘Oh, we’ve plenty of time,’ Kate told her, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. ‘I’m only getting these ready now so that there won’t be a rush later on. I’ll wrap up the sandwiches and put them in the pantry. It will give me time to tidy out the rooms before going up to the fields.’

  Doretta opened her eyes wide. ‘So you have all the housework to do!’ She gave a little shudder of distaste as she glanced about the kitchen at the tiled floor and scrubbed deal table, at the hams and strings of onions that hung from the rafters and the stone sink with its single tap and the dark dresser with its simple and colourful display of delf. ‘I don’t know how you can work in such a place. Owen is a wealthy man. If I were in your place I should insist on the kitchen being modernised. But of course men don’t notice such things! When he has a wife all will be different. You will see.’ She spoke with an air of smug confidence and Kate found herself longing to prick the bubble of the other girl’s self-assurance. Girls like Doretta found it impossible to believe that should they fix their attentions on a man he would be able to resist them. And no doubt Doretta had had plenty of experience to confirm her in this view, Kate thought bleakly, as she fetched a duster and, followed by Doretta who was beginning to show signs of boredom, retired to the sitting-room.

  While Kate plumped cushions and straightened the cretonne covers on the armchairs Doretta slouched about the room, riffling desultorily through the magazines and peering into Owen’s tobacco jar. She paused to study a photograph which stood on a side table: it was a wedding photograph and, for the first time, Doretta showed interest. ‘The man looks very like Owen,’ she stated.

  Kate flicked a duster along the mantelpiece. ‘It’s his father and mother on their wedding day.’

  Doretta made a moue. ‘The girl! Who would have thought that such a handsome man would have taken such a plain wife?’ She glanced at Kate. ‘But then I have heard that their marriage was arranged—a marriage of convenience. No doubt many girls would not object to such an idea—that is, if they had no other prospects.’

  The implication was only too clear, and Kate rubbed furiously at the two china ornaments that stood on either side of the bronze clock. ‘I believe they fell in love with each other after the wedding,’ she said defensively, and wondered why she felt protective about the small shy-looking girl in the photograph.

  Doretta tittered incredulously. ‘Such nonsense! If a girl does not love her man before marriage she will certainly not love him afterwards. No, I do not believe in such things,’ she added contemptuously. ‘No doubt it was that stupid Mrs. Lawlor who has been telling you this! You are a fool to listen to her.’

  Her manner was so contemptuous that, before Kate realised what she was about to say, she blurted, ‘Owen told me himself that his parents were very happy and—’

  ‘Owen?’ Doretta swung around and Kate had the satisfaction of seeing that she was surprised and discomfited by the news. ‘But why should Owen discuss such a thing with you? He is not the type of man to speak of intimate matters with—with—’

  ‘With his domestic help! Why don’t you say it?’ Kate asked quietly.

  Doretta shrugged. ‘Well, as you have said it, why should we not be frank with each other? When you came here you were looking for a husband, so why deny it? No doubt you imagine that if you stay on at Laragh long enough you will manage to persuade Owen into marriage, but it is time you woke up to reality.’

  For a moment the Italian girl’s glance travelled to the large oval mirror over the chimney place and Kate knew with a sudden forlornness that she was comparing their reflected images: Doretta—cool, sophisticated; her clothes deliberately chosen to flatter her dark beauty; and herself—her hair unruly, her nose shiny from working in the hot kitchen and a distinct smudge on her left cheek. The dress she wore had been one of Margot’s: it was much too big for her and hung limply over her straight, almost boyish, figure.

  ‘Why do you stay on here when you are not wanted?’ Doretta’s voice was low and intense. ‘Can you not see that Owen is too good, too noble to send you away? You are playing on his good-nature. Before you came he was much happier with that fat Mrs. Murphy, who has a home and a life of her own. But for you he feels responsible— although in the first place he never wanted you!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  KATE clutched the duster tightly. ‘But he didn’t say that, did he?’ she whispered.

  Doretta gave a swift shrug of her shoulders. ‘I know more about men than you do; I know how they feel about a woman who flings herself at their heads and makes her future their responsibility. And is it not true of you? Your cousin is getting married: you have no family, so you hang on to Owen’s coat-tails! Do not attempt to deny what I say,’ she added quickly, ‘for Nicky has shown me your letters.’

  Were those dreadful letters with their foolish confidences to haunt her for ever? Kate wondered, feeling a little sick. ‘It’s time I was taking tea to the hayfields,’ she said flatly. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  ‘Oh, but I am coming too,’ Doretta said coolly. ‘I should like to see how they make hay.’

  And like to see Owen too, no doubt, Kate thought, for Doretta had not dressed and groomed herself with such care simply to watch what to her would, no doubt, seem an extremely boring process.

  When Kate had packed two baskets, Doretta took up one and with it over her arm accompanied Kate along the narrow boreen that led to the top field. Wild roses trailed over the ditches on either side and as they passed an iron gate leading into a meadow Doretta paused and exclaimed enthusiastically at the white marguerites that grew wild in a far corner of the field. ‘I must have some to put in my hair,’ she said eagerly.

  Kate glanced at her in surprise, then shook her head as she saw browsing in a corner of the field the outline of a bull and remembered how although the workmen had spoken of it with pride as a prize-winner they also considered it extremely untrustworthy and had recounted some of the narrow escapes they had had from being gored when it had been in a particularly temperamental mood. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do without your garland of flowers,’ she said dryly. ‘According to all the reports that bull can be extremely savage.’

  For a moment Doretta gazed at her doubtfully. ‘He looks perfectly tame to me,’ she said. ‘He isn’t taking any notice of us.’

  ‘But it would certainly be a different matter if you were to go into the field,’ Kate pointed out.

  Doretta knitted her brows and it was clear that she felt Kate was only raising objections. ‘So you do not wish me to have the flowers! Is that it?’ she demanded.

  ‘I don’t wish you to be gored,’ Kate said irritably. ‘Really, Doretta, for the sake of a few flowers, pretty as they may be, is it worth risking being attacked?’

  ‘It will not attack me,’ Doretta said firmly. ‘I may know nothing about farming, but I can see that you are exaggerating the danger.’

  ‘See, the gate has been fastened up,’ Kate pointed out desperately. But she had not much hope of dissuading Doretta.

  She had decided that she was being thwarted for some obscure motive on Kate’s part and had no intention of obeying. For a moment she fumbled with the fastening of the gate, then, finding that it didn’t yield, said determinedly, ‘I shall climb over.’

  Anxiously Kate glanced along the boreen in the direction of the hayfields, but there was no sign of any of the workmen who might have confirmed, to Doretta’s satisfaction, that it would be highly unwise to invade the bull’s domain. She was forced to watch helplessly as laying down her basket Doretta climbed the bars of the gate and, swinging a slim leg over, dropped to the other side.

  Confidently she crossed the field, making for a shadowed corner where the flowers grew in profusion. However she
had not even reached her goal when, with a bellow, the bull swung around, transformed from a handsome rather amiable-looking animal into a terrifying monster snorting with rage at this casual intrusion of his territory. For a moment he pawed the earth, his huge head lowered for attack.

  At Kate’s shout of warning, Doretta cast a startled glance over her shoulder, then seemed to freeze with horror as the bull took a few steps towards her.

  ‘Run, run!’ Kate urged her despairingly.

  But Doretta, her eyes wide with terror, seemed glued to the spot, fear robbing her of all initiative.

  Without stopping to think of the danger to herself, Kate dropped the tea cans and baskets, clambered over the gate and was running towards Doretta, pulling off the light poplin coat she had put on over her dress before leaving the house. Her breath was coming in short gasps by the time she reached Doretta and she had only time to grasp the girl’s arm and attempt to drag her out of the path of the bull’s charge when he was upon them. It was then Doretta gave an ear-piercing scream. For an instant the animal hesitated and in that moment Kate flung her coat over its head. A sleeve caught over one of the wicked-looking horns. Momentarily balked, the bull tossed its mammoth head from side to side, and as it did so the tip of its other horn grazed Doretta’s bare arm. With another piercing scream she broke away and ran wildly towards the gate, followed by Kate. As they approached it Kate caught a glimpse of Owen running towards them. In a moment he had unfastened the gate and Doretta, sobbing wildly, had flung herself into his arms.

  ‘That horrible animal gored me!’ she exclaimed hysterically when at last Owen had calmed her down sufficiently for her to speak coherently. ‘Look at my arm! The blood!’ She shuddered and hid her face in his shoulder.

  He took her arm and examined the long reddened graze that was already beginning to bleed. ‘It’s not really serious, Doretta,’ he said soothingly. ‘However, the sooner we get back to the house and have it bathed the better. But what I can’t understand is how you came to be in the field.’ He turned frowningly to Kate who stood silently in the background. ‘You knew, Kate, that the bull is dangerous, didn’t you?’