The Last Secret of the Deverills

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘My poor JP!’ Kitty groaned, taking a gulp of air. ‘What are we going to tell him?’

  ‘Tell him the truth?’ Grace suggested meekly.

  Kitty swung round. ‘The truth? Are you mad, Grace? I told JP that his mother was dead. You can’t now tell him that she’s alive and living in the castle. I forbid it.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Bertie quietly. ‘We cannot tell Martha the truth. But we can tell her some of it.’

  ‘Then we need to prepare our story,’ said Grace, her voice suddenly steady for there was little that appealed to her more than a plot. ‘I have told her nothing save the fact that I put my name on her birth certificate. I assured her that I would help her find her real mother. She will not rest until she finds her. Therefore, we must be watertight, the three of us, and work out with care what information we are going to divulge.’

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ Bertie suggested, moving to the armchair by the fire. The women sat on the sofa, united once again in conspiracy. ‘We must do what is best for JP,’ he said firmly. ‘This is more about damage limitation than anything else. JP believes his mother is dead so that is what we will tell Martha. Then we will tell her that I am her father. God help the poor girl with that.’

  ‘But, Papa . . .’ Kitty protested. ‘This will finish off Mama for good.’

  ‘There is no way to avoid it,’ he replied dolefully. ‘JP will have to know that Martha is his sister. Their romance must come to an end at once.’

  Kitty put her hand to her throat. ‘It will destroy him,’ she said, panic rising. ‘And what if Bridie hears of this? She might do something stupid. She might tell him the truth and he’ll hate us for having hidden it from him. He’ll learn that not only does he have a sister but a mother too! Oh God, the consequences could be hideous.’

  Grace narrowed her eyes. ‘Perhaps we can persuade Martha to keep it secret?’ she suggested calmly. ‘She’s a sensible girl. She’ll understand how delicate the situation is. She’ll have found her father, at least. Why make it public? That’s not why she’s here. She’s here because she wants to know who her real parents are.’

  Kitty was quick to agree. ‘Yes, she doesn’t have to tell anyone,’ she said, clutching at Grace’s proposal like a drowning woman at a raft. ‘It can be our secret, one we all share together.’

  Bertie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I have another daughter,’ he said, still trying to make sense of it. ‘She was here last night and I never knew.’ He drained his glass. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘She looks like Bridie,’ said Grace. ‘I should have noticed it at once, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Kitty concurred. ‘But how are we going to break it to JP? He believes he is in love. This is going to destroy him.’

  ‘Hearts mend,’ said Grace. She did not catch Bertie’s eye, for once, many years ago, she had broken his.

  ‘How did you pull it off, Grace?’ Kitty asked.

  Grace closed her eyes and shook her head. How could she explain to Kitty that she had been jealous of Bridie for her affair with Bertie, and taking control of the girl’s destiny had given her the perfect opportunity for revenge? How could she articulate such a thing without looking like a monster? How could she confess that she hadn’t acted out of a desire to rescue Bertie from scandal or indeed to save Bridie from ruin, but out of a need to be rid of Bridie and her children forever, for her own sake? With her artful skill of manipulation Grace had arranged for Bridie to disappear by sending her off to America. Grace had intended to arrange the adoption of the two illegitimate children as soon as possible and in so doing rid her world of all the evidence of her ex-lover’s weakness, which was an affront to her, for Bridie had been but a maid, a lowly maid, and a plain one at that! But Michael Doyle had intervened, kidnapped JP and brought him to the Hunting Lodge in a creel – while the other twin was successfully spirited out of the convent and sent across the Atlantic with Larry and Pamela Wallace, who were very grateful indeed. Grace had never expected the child to come looking for her. Dear God, she thought with the deepest regret, what had possessed her to put her own name on the birth certificate?

  ‘It wasn’t hard to pull off,’ she replied, opening her eyes. ‘The nuns do this sort of thing all the time. They make a lot of money that way. It’s not right but it’s the way it is. They knew exactly what they were doing and they fooled Bridie into believing her daughter was dead. And Bridie? Poor girl, she was like a lamb, a lamb to the slaughter. God forgive me,’ she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed with remorse. ‘If I could turn back the clock and do it differently, I would.’

  ‘Well, seeing as you can’t, Grace, there is one thing you must do,’ said Kitty. Bertie raised his eyes over his glass. ‘Pretend you are as shocked and appalled as we are. You never knew there was a twin, the nuns never told you and they betrayed you all. The maid’s name was Mary O’Connor, that’s the name Papa and I agreed to tell JP, and she is buried in Dublin, you know not where. She died soon after giving birth from loss of blood. That way you protect yourself from JP’s wrath and from Martha digging further.’

  Grace took Kitty’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Kitty squeezed it back. ‘We must be grateful,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t put your name on the birth certificate Martha would have come looking for Bridie Doyle and then we’d have been in a much deeper mess.’ But in her heart she smothered her true feelings, that she was appalled by Grace’s decision to split up the twins. How Grace could have done such a callous and pitiless thing was beyond her understanding.

  Mrs Goodwin knew Martha’s meeting had gone horribly wrong even before she saw her tear-stained face, for her listless gait was of a person who had lost all hope. Mrs Goodwin, who was walking towards the inn from having spent the morning in the delightful company of John Maddox, pushed aside her happiness and hurried over to embrace her. Martha had walked back from the beach with her hat in her hand, so that her hair was now a tangled mess. She allowed Mrs Goodwin to wrap her arms around her and escort her into the inn and up the stairs before Mrs O’Sullivan appeared out of the shadows to ask awkward questions. When they were safely in their bedroom with the door closed Martha dropped onto the bed and tossed her hat onto the quilt. ‘Grace is not my mother,’ she said. ‘She put her name on the adoption certificate in order for the nuns to make more money out of the deal. I suppose a baby of noble blood is going to be worth more than the baby of a simple maid.’

  Mrs Goodwin perched on her bed, opposite Martha. ‘Oh my dear girl, you must be so disappointed.’

  ‘I thought I had found her, Goodwin. But I’ve found nothing but a phantom.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That my mother was a maid but she couldn’t remember her name. She remembered my parents’ names, though.’

  Mrs Goodwin frowned. ‘How did she know this maid? Was she working for her?’

  ‘I don’t know. She said she was young and in trouble and she took it upon herself to help her. She said she’s going to find out. Then she’s going to tell me.’

  ‘I should have gone with you,’ said Mrs Goodwin crossly. There she was, enjoying herself immensely, while Martha was facing the greatest disappointment of her life. She should have been more attentive.

  ‘No, it was right that I went on my own. I just feel very let down.’

  Mrs Goodwin smiled. ‘You will find your mother, if Lady Rowan-Hampton is helping you. I imagine she is a woman who is capable of anything. And JP will be back soon. That will cheer you up.’

  Martha rallied a little. ‘Yes, it will. I feel I need him more than ever right now. I don’t think I’m wrong in expecting him to understand.’ She laughed sadly. ‘I’ve been wrong about everything else, but I don’t think I’m going to be wrong about that.’

  Chapter 13

  That evening Martha hid her disappointment as she and Mrs Goodwin dined at the White House. Kitty had sent an invitation through Mrs O’Sullivan, and Mrs Goodwin and Martha had su
pposed that she was eager to entertain them while they waited for JP to return from London. When they arrived Kitty embraced Martha affectionately as if she were a Deverill already and her husband Robert, who had been somewhat reserved the night before, was surprisingly genial, which Martha put down to him feeling more comfortable in his own home. Kitty’s sister Elspeth MacCartain and her husband Peter, who had clearly had more than a tipple before arriving, were already in the drawing room, and the Rector, Reverend Maddox, who had sent Mrs Goodwin into such a fever of excitement the night before, was eagerly standing by the door as if he had been waiting for her to arrive all evening. Martha’s spirits were resuscitated as Kitty made a great fuss of her and once or twice Martha caught her staring at her from the other end of the table. She wondered whether she was under scrutiny on account of JP and if that was so, whether she came up to scratch.

  Martha had been wallowing in her own emotions all afternoon so that it was only in the middle of dinner, when Mrs Goodwin laughed at something the Rector said, that Martha noticed something extraordinary was happening to her nanny. Martha had never heard her laugh with such abandon. As Martha looked closer she noticed too that the old woman’s hair had come loose from its bun, leaving it to soften around her face in silvery waves. Indeed, she looked distinctly pretty as the candlelight blurred the lines on her skin and danced off her eyes. Was it possible, she wondered as Reverend Maddox leaned towards Mrs Goodwin and said something in a low and confidential voice, that Mrs Goodwin was in love? Martha hadn’t imagined that grown-up people’s hearts were the same as young people’s. She had assumed that by the time they reached sixty they had wizened like dried prunes, but Mrs Goodwin’s seemed to be as ripe as a new fruit. This was a very different Goodwin to the one who had raised her in the nursery. She laughed again and Martha envied her nanny’s happiness. She longed for JP to come home so that she could be as happy as she was. It won’t be long, Martha told herself. And when we are eventually reunited I will tell him everything.

  ‘What a splendid dinner that was,’ said Mrs Goodwin with satisfaction as she climbed into the cab when the evening was over. ‘What charming company they keep here in Ballinakelly. Charming. I must say I am enjoying myself very much.’

  ‘Tell me, Goodwin, how do you know Reverend Maddox?’ Martha asked.

  Mrs Goodwin turned her face towards the window as the cab set off down the drive. ‘I met him a very long time ago in Brighton,’ she said softly. ‘He was yet to find his vocation. We were both of us very young.’

  ‘Did you fall in love?’ Martha worried that her question might be intrusive because Mrs Goodwin remained gazing out of the window without replying for a very long while.

  Finally, she looked into her lap and answered. ‘Yes, dear, I did.’ Martha sensed that that was all Mrs Goodwin was prepared to share. She longed to ask whether she had met Mr Goodwin at that point but didn’t want to embarrass her if the answer was yes, so she remained silent. Martha could tell that she was thinking of John Maddox. She knew that look because she’d seen it before in her own reflection; the look of wonder at a world so beautiful simply because he is in it. She sighed and let her gaze rest on the little beads of rain that had collected on the glass of her window. Beautiful, yes, because JP rendered everything so.

  The following morning the two women set out to browse the shops. The skies were heavy with cloud and the air cold and damp with the promise of rain. There weren’t many shops of interest in Ballinakelly for two women used to the abundance of America, but they needed something to do to while away the hours. After visiting a couple of shops selling trumpery and bric-a-brac they were drawn to the milliner’s on account of the pretty coloured hats and trimmings in the window. They pushed open the door, nudging the little bell that tinkled heartily, and found that there were already a couple of women talking to the milliner at the other end of the shop. The milliner greeted Mrs Goodwin and Martha with a nod and a polite ‘Good morning’ but continued talking to the two other women who were finely dressed in elegant coats and hats. Martha paid them no attention and began to peruse the shelves. ‘Look at this, Goodwin,’ she said, lifting a teal-blue hat off the display. ‘What a beautiful colour.’

  On hearing the American accent Bridie turned round. She watched the young woman for a moment as she stood in front of the long mirror and exchanged her own brown hat for the teal one. ‘What do you think, Goodwin?’ the young woman asked.

  ‘I think it’s lovely,’ said Goodwin. ‘I think they’re all lovely.’

  Unable to restrain her curiosity Bridie walked across the shop floor to join them. ‘You know, Mrs O’Leary can make anything you like,’ she said. ‘She’s an artist. And you won’t find that teal colour anywhere else. It’s quite unique.’

  Martha turned round and smiled at Bridie. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Please forgive my intrusion but I can tell from your accent that you’re from America,’ Bridie continued, smiling. ‘I lived in America for a good many years. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?’

  ‘Connecticut,’ Martha replied.

  Bridie’s face lit up with surprise. ‘What a coincidence! I lived there too.’

  Mrs Goodwin tore herself away from the ravishing hats to listen. ‘Goodwin, isn’t this a remarkable coincidence?’ said Martha. ‘This nice lady—’

  ‘Countess di Marcantonio,’ Bridie interrupted and Martha was so startled that she was in the company of a countess that she came over all nervous, unsure whether or not to curtsy. But the Countess seemed uninterested in etiquette. ‘May I introduce my friend, Mrs O’Leary,’ she added. On hearing their names both Emer and the milliner turned round and Bridie laughed. ‘There are two Mrs O’Learys,’ she said. ‘Mrs Jack O’Leary and Mrs Séamus O’Leary.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ said Martha politely, now believing herself to be among royalty. ‘I’m Miss Wallace and this is Mrs Goodwin.’

  ‘Is this your first time in Ireland?’ Bridie asked.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Martha. ‘My mother is originally from Clonakilty.’

  ‘So you’ve come to find your roots?’

  ‘I have,’ Martha answered and she was so used to telling the lie that she almost believed it herself.

  Bridie narrowed her eyes and looked closely at Martha. ‘You know, Miss Wallace,’ she said. ‘You and I have the same colouring and in my opinion the shade that suits us best is deep plum.’ The milliner reached into the window and lifted a plum-coloured felt hat with a wide pink ribbon off its block and put it into Bridie’s outstretched hand. Martha removed the teal one and let Bridie arrange the other onto her head. The two women stood in front of the mirror, Martha in the plum-coloured hat and Bridie in a more subdued beige one, and Mrs Goodwin gave a start because they were so very alike. Both had pale faces with cocoa-coloured eyes, a sprinkling of freckles over their noses and long, dark brown hair. ‘Now that brings out the pink tone in your cheeks, do you see?’ said Bridie. ‘It lifts you. Indeed, Miss Wallace, you and I can look a little washed-out at times and this plum shade brings out the life in our faces.’

  ‘The Countess is right,’ the milliner agreed, nodding. ‘And the cloche style is still very fashionable.’

  Emer smiled in amusement. ‘The two of you look very Irish,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think, Mrs Goodwin? They couldn’t be from anywhere else!’

  Bridie laughed. ‘Well, I’m from Ballinakelly and Miss Wallace is from Clonakilty. Who knows, we might even be related.’

  Martha laughed, flattered. ‘I love the hat, Countess. But we’re on a very tight budget.’ She took it off and handed it back to the milliner. ‘The Countess is right. You are truly an artist, Mrs O’Leary.’

  ‘But you must have it!’ Bridie insisted. ‘Don’t you think so, Emer?’

  ‘Oh, she must,’ Emer agreed. ‘But I understand a tight budget. How long are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘A few more days, perhaps,
’ Mrs Goodwin replied. ‘We’re lodging at Seafort House, which is not too dear, and we’re having such a nice time. We’re in no rush to leave.’

  ‘That’s grand,’ said Bridie. ‘Perhaps you’ll reconsider, Miss Wallace. Mrs O’Leary will put it aside for a day or two in case you change your mind, won’t you, Loretta?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Loretta O’Leary, going behind the counter with the hat. She was willing to do anything for the Countess who had only been in Ballinakelly for a few weeks and had already commissioned more than a dozen hats.

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ said Bridie with satisfaction. ‘I think you’ll look very elegant in Connecticut in that plum hat.’

  Martha was blushing at the kindness of these strangers. People in Ireland were remarkably friendly, she thought. ‘Well, it’s been nice meeting you,’ she said. ‘Mrs Goodwin is keen to wander around the church before lunch,’ she added. ‘So, we’d better be off.’

  ‘If you want to see something miraculous,’ Bridie suggested, ‘there’s a statue of the Virgin on the hillside as you leave the town. It was built in 1828 to commemorate a young girl’s vision. Occasionally it moves all by itself. People come from the world over to see it. You can’t leave Ballinakelly without having a look. You never know, she might move for you.’

  Martha looked at Mrs Goodwin. ‘Shall we go and see it after lunch?’ she said.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Mrs Goodwin replied.

  Martha turned to Bridie. ‘Have you ever seen it move?’

  ‘As a child I saw it move all the time,’ she replied.

  ‘Goodness, how extraordinary.’

  ‘But I haven’t seen it move since I’ve been back, but to be truthful, I haven’t cast it more than a passing glance.’

  ‘Does it bring good luck?’ asked Martha.

  Bridie sighed doubtfully. ‘I don’t know. I have had both bad luck and good luck in my life so far, so I couldn’t say. But if the Virgin intervened in the lives of everyone she’d be run off her wings, don’t you think – and I do believe we are left to make our own mistakes and to learn from them. I’m sure, Miss Wallace, that if she moves for you, it will bring you good luck.’