The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I trust you were saying something scathing about her little habit.”

  Eithne giggled. “No, but Michael caught her, and when she started being awkward, he said that you’d help us find someone suitable.”

  Selina burst out laughing. “He did?”

  “And Bridie calmed down right away.” Eithne grinned back at Selina.

  “Well! I certainly can’t let the old wagon down, now, can I?” Selina replied. “Have you the morning Times?” Eithne lifted the paper from the couch end table and handed it to Selina. “Thank you. Now, let’s see . . . ‘Housekeeper’s position wanted by respectable widow, accustomed to large houses and country living.’ And it’s a Wicklow number. Here’s another: ‘Housekeeper available for adult family only. Excellent references.’ It’s a Dublin number.”

  She passed the paper to Eithne, pointing to the entries.

  “Now why is that phone number familiar?” Eithne said when she had scanned the first entry.

  “Well, let’s ring it and find out. Where’s the phone here?”

  “There’s one in Michael’s office.”

  “Discreet!” Selina grinned, and the two women, coffee cups in hand, retired down the hall to the office.

  It was rather a dark hole, Selina noticed, but very work-manlike, with bound copies of the Irish Field and various well-used veterinary volumes on the shelves, an aged wooden filing cabinet, and a massive mahogany desk strewn with work papers. The phone was on the right-hand side, near a note pad that had several sharpened pencils beside it.

  “I don’t think Michael will mind,” Eithne said. She sat down on the edge of the swivel chair and dialed the number. It took her several attempts to get through to the Wicklow exchange. As the call was finally answered and she recognized the voice at the other end, a series of expressions crossed Eithne’s face, mirroring her surprise, dismay . . . and delight.

  “Mrs. Comyn?” She smiled enthusiastically at Selina, nodding her head in approval as she pursued the conversation. “Mrs. Comyn, you might not remember me—Eithne Carradyne? My American associate, Mr. Haggerty, and I visited you earlier this spring.”

  “If you are looking for more furniture, Mrs. Carradyne, it’s too late,” was the droll reply.

  “Actually, Mrs. Comyn”—Eithne’s voice was very gentle and kind—“I’m phoning in response to your advert in the Times.”

  “Oh!” The pause that followed made Eithne wonder whether or not the connection had been disrupted. “I see.”

  She plunged on. “I can’t imagine that you are aware my sister-in-law, Isabel Carradyne, passed away recently.”

  “In fact, I did know, Mrs. Carradyne. Shocking tragedy. You have my sympathy.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Mrs. Comyn. This house is quite large, and busy, and my brother-in-law needs someone to manage it for him. Would you, could you possibly consider coming to Cornanagh? There is a cook, an old family retainer, and someone to do the heavy cleaning. Captain Carradyne needs someone to take entire charge. The household consists of the captain, of course, his son Philip, who’s twenty-three and working, and his daughter, Catriona, who’s thirteen. There’s a lovely corner bedroom with a back burner, so you’d be quite warm and toasty in the winter, and—oh, dear, I haven’t a notion what sort of salary Michael has in mind. But you’re exactly the sort of person I’d hoped we’d find, because you do know big old houses and horses . . . .”

  “My dear Mrs. Carradyne, if I may interrupt, I’d be more than happy to be considered for the post.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Comyn! How marvelous!”

  Mrs. Comyn then insisted on setting up an interview. After all, Captain Carradyne had never met her, and while she was extremely grateful for Eithne’s unqualified recommendation, she felt it wiser not to take anything for granted. And she did not have to vacate Rathderry House until the fifteenth of July.

  “Vacate?” Eithne was appalled.

  “Yes, the new owners are taking possession then. I’ve had a month to arrange matters.”

  The details were fixed, and Eithne rang off, her expression slightly dazed. She gave a long sigh, her mind churning with pity for Mrs. Comyn’s destitution. And all because Desmond Comyn had lived it up like a lord, in a mortgaged house on mortgaged acres, not caring that his wasteful ways would leave his widow without a penny to bless herself.

  Watching her, Selina smiled and patted her arm. “So that’s your good deed for the day, Eithne Carradyne. And well done it was, too. Now I’d better see what Captain Carradyne is doing with the horses this morning.”

  “You’ve been so marvelous, Selina, with Conker and Catriona: she’s very attached to you, you know,” Eithne said earnestly, her eyes searching Selina’s face.

  “You don’t know how much Catriona means to me. If I ever have a daughter, I’d want her to be exactly like Trina. But we don’t always get our wants, do we?”

  Eithne blushed and looked shyly away, her eyes troubled.

  “Besides,” Selina went on in her social drawl, noticing her friend’s distress, “with David away in the North, there isn’t that much to occupy me. Most of our friends are on their holidays.” She reached out to squeeze Eithne’s hand, smiling. “And I really enjoy working with Michael’s horses. It’s a challenge and rewarding.”

  Eithne’s expression cleared, and she smiled back at Selina, relieved.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Selina said. As she came out into the hall, Bridie peered out of the kitchen. “Good morning, Bridie. Marvelous weather, isn’t it?”

  Michael was just coming in from the Ride as she left the house, and his face immediately brightened at the sight of her. Sensitive now to his mood and expression, Selina knew that passing the Tulip’s paddock on his way from the fields had reminded him of his loss. She wanted to comfort him but waved instead, smiling at him and waiting until he reached her. To her surprise, he slipped an arm about her as he turned her toward the yard. His fingers cupped her left shoulder with a loving pressure, and his intensely blue eyes crinkled at the corners with pleasure at her presence.

  “Where’re the girls?” she asked.

  “They’ll be around again.” He looked over his right shoulder and cocked his head to listen. “Here they come.”

  “Why, Michael, you’ve put Trina up on Charlie—and is Pat up on Annie?”

  “At her request.” He smiled tolerantly. “Americans never keep you in doubt as to their preferences. Patricia prefers Annie to the Prince.”

  Selina grinned. “Well, she certainly is riding very kindly.”

  “So I notice.”

  They both waved as the girls came out of the shadows of the double beeches and trotted past the house. Michael watched, his eyes narrowed critically, until they were lost in the shadows of the copse. “I don’t want to rush Annie,” he said, “but perhaps by the end of the summer she’ll have enough condition to be shown. She’s got a nice little pop, and God knows she’s a trier. Give you her heart, she would . . . . So, did you and Eithne solve the housekeeper problem?”

  Selina nodded. “A Mrs. Comyn—Eithne knows her—is coming for an interview Sunday at five.”

  Michael grinned at her. “Did she tell you about this Haggerty fellow?”

  “Reluctantly, and with blushes.”

  “She confessed to me that he had proposed, but she’d refused because, of all things, she felt she couldn’t leave Cornanagh, and Catriona.” Michael gave a contemptuous snort.

  “That does Eithne credit,” Selina said, “but it’s you that Catriona needs, Michael. You do know that, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “And horses. Speaking of which, missus, I’ve a lot of horses to exercise today.”

  “So, what’s the drill?”

  “The girls have one more round to do on that lot, then they can hack the ponies out with us, if you wouldn’t mind riding Emmett while I cope with Temper.”

  “Michael, I shan’t be able to come to the Galloping Green show,” Selina said, blurting it out abruptly. “
David and I have been invited to spend the weekend at Erinwood.”

  “I see . . . .” To ease the awkwardness of the moment, Michael threw open the tack room door and continued casually, “I’ll have to use a big saddle on Emmett, he’d be pinched by that saddle tree of yours. And you’ll need the breastplate or the saddle slips.” He handed her the various pieces of tack, grinning. “Mick will be scandalized, my making you tack up your mount.”

  “That is, if I can remember how, of course!” She grinned back at him, her equanimity restored.

  Temper lived up to his name on that ride, indulging in many airs above ground and elegant displays of fear at such unlikely obstacles as the white lines in the center of the road, a protruding branch, and a sudden burst of birdsong. Perversely, he ignored the air brakes of a lorry and the two tractors they had to pass. It took a good half an hour of the hack before he settled.

  Selina was more amused than concerned and more than once envied Michael his deep seat and strong hands. Patricia was not as lucky. The Prince had decided that if Temper could misbehave, he could, too. As a result she was bounced all over; but she always managed somehow to regain her balance and stay in the pad.

  “That was not the best ride I’ve ever had,” she remarked, dismounting in the yard with a sigh of relief.

  “What’s the next lot?” Selina asked Michael.

  “I’ve the three to school.”

  “In the menage?” she asked. Michael nodded. “Well, then, there are three of us, and you could get it all over with in one go.”

  “Oh, Unk, that’d be super. I love riding horses!” Patricia cried.

  “Could I please ride the gray gelding, Daddy?” Catriona asked urgently, unexpectedly bold with her choice.

  “C’mon, Michael,” Selina said, grinning. “It’d be all over with then.”

  The girls danced about, squealing their delight at such a plan. Michael didn’t hesitate very long because Temper’s antics had strained his leg, and he had not looked forward to more hours in the saddle.

  “I’ll take that hunter cob, and Pat would be fine on the bay,” Selina said, cheerfully taking matters out of his hand once he had given his consent.

  The multiple ride worked out quite well, and the young horses seemed to enjoy it almost as much as the riders. Just as Michael dismissed the class, the haymakers arrived in from the field, and Sybil drove into the courtyard, her two children in the car with her.

  “Hello, Dad,” she called cheerfully out the window. “I’ve come to steal a sister and a cousin. It’s such a beautiful day, I thought we should all go to Brittas!”

  “Brittas! Oh, Daddy, could we?” Catriona cried, jumping off the gray and hauling him behind her to give her sister a grateful kiss. “We haven’t been to the beach in just ages! And it is hot today!”

  “Yeah, we’ve done all the work. Now can we have some fun?” demanded Patricia, cocking her head impudently. “You could do with some, too,” she added after a moment’s thought. “Or maybe you can’t swim?”

  “He can so,” Catriona said so stoutly that Michael gave her a hug. “Please. The hay’s all turned, and we’d all help to do a second turn this evening, wouldn’t we?”

  Patricia nodded enthusiastically.

  “Will you come, too, Selina?” Michael asked. “Or do you have another engagement?”

  “Not one that would be as much fun,” Selina said. “Let’s put the horses up.”

  “No, put them out,” Michael suggested. “Less work for later, and they deserve a break.”

  So, while the three walked their mounts down to the paddock, Michael helped Sybil with her children until their doting great-aunt came bustling out. The noon meal was a chaotic jumble of conversations. Sybil heard just enough about the housekeeper and Eithne’s antiques to whet her curiosity, and Eithne offered Selina a swimsuit, saying that she was expecting a phone call from Davis and had better wait in. Michael was gratified to notice that she had perked up considerably from Sunday’s gloom.

  The two girls traveled in Sybil’s car to help with Perry and Ann, and Selina went in Michael’s Austin, with Artie and his brother, Billy—who had been invited along—silent as mice in the backseat.

  The drive, at least, was quiet, but once they arrived at Brittas Bay, Perry raced off, screaming with delight, pursued by Patricia and Catriona. Sybil gave conflicting directions on where to place the rug and picnic things. And when Michael told Artie and Billy to go swimming, it turned out that neither boy knew how, so he escorted them down to the placid sea and oversaw their entry into the water.

  “I don’t think those lads ever eat anywhere but at Cornanagh,” Sybil said to Selina as they watched. Both boys were bone-thin, their torsos reddened from two days’ haying in sunny weather.

  They both heard Patricia giggling.

  “Gawd, ninety-pound weaklings,” she said as she and Catriona gave a practiced swing to Perry to land him right by his mother on the blanket, sand and all.

  “Well, they work just as hard in the fields as Barry and Mick do,” Catriona said in their defense.

  “I didn’t say they didn’t. I wasn’t poor-mouthing Artie or his brother, Cat, but they are sort of all angles. Aren’t they, Selina?”

  “Well, they could both afford to put some condition on,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Good heavens, Selina, you’re as bad as my father,” Sybil said with a laugh. “Completely horse-oriented.”

  “And if you watch him, you’ll discover that he’s unsound on the near hind!”

  “Selina!” But Sybil was laughing too hard to have been offended. “Now, will someone enlighten me about Auntie Eithne and this housekeeper business?”

  “Auntie Eithne’s doing a fab line of antiques,” Patricia began eagerly. “You should see the stuff that came in Sunday.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Sybil wanted to know. “And who’s this Davis Haggerty fellow?”

  “Apparently he works as a buyer for an interior decorating firm in Texas,” Selina replied, “and has engaged Eithne as a kind of antique ‘scout.’ “ She hesitated. “And if Eithne’s blushes are any indication of her state of mind, I’d say she’s gone on him.”

  “Well, I think it’d be great for Auntie Eithne to marry again,” Sybil said. “It wasn’t that she didn’t have suitors before, but I know that Mother discouraged their calling on Eithne whenever she could—” She broke off to rescue the baby powder from her son, who thought it made a nice icing on the sand. “I’d hate to think of Eithne cloistering herself forever in Cornanagh out of a misplaced loyalty to the Carradynes!”

  “How could Auntie Eithne leave Cornanagh? A housekeeper just won’t be the same. And what would Owen do?” Catriona asked, beginning to feel uneasy.

  “Owen’s old enough to fend for himself, Trina,” her sister said. “And even if Auntie Eithne married this fellow, it doesn’t mean she’ll disappear forever. If antiques are his business, they’d both have to come back often. I think it’d be great.” Then she realized how pensive Catriona had become. “Oh, come on, now, pet, everyone grows up and leaves their home. You will one day.”

  Catriona shook her head slowly. “I won’t ever leave Cornanagh. It’s my life!”

  While Sybil and Patricia regarded her with tolerant scepticism, Selina took her statement at face value. It was apparent to her that Catriona loved Cornanagh as intensely as her father did.

  Suddenly they were all sprinkled with cold water. Complaining at the outrage, they looked around to see a grinning Michael flinging droplets from his fingers on them, two blue-looking Costello brothers shivering beside him.

  Sybil immediately organized towels to rub down the boys, poured hot tea from a Thermos, and chided her father for a total lack of sense.

  When they returned to Cornanagh, Selina and Sybil insisted on examining and exclaiming over Eithne’s purchases, then everyone sat down to tea. On the whole, it was a very pleasant afternoon.

  By Wednesday the hay was ready to
bale. It was a fine crop with almost 120 bales per acre, which pleased Michael and made Barry strut with pride. When Philip and Owen arrived home from work that evening, they helped stack the bales to dry in the fields. Then Michael took son and nephew down to the Willow Grove to wet their whistles after such dry work. There he managed to sell a thousand bales to Jack Garden, enough to pay his own baling costs. On Friday most of it was stored, for the wind had been constant and the bales sufficiently cooled to take in.

  Bridie, on her best behavior since Monday, cooked a superb dinner for the weary haymakers. Replete and well satisfied with the week’s labors, Michael reminded the girls that they’d best check their tack for the show the next day.

  “Show?” Patricia exclaimed, and sat upright, groaning at muscles misused during her enthusiastic attempt to outwork her cousin in the field. “I don’t think I could sit on the wretched little pony, really I don’t. Why doesn’t Cat ride him? She’s much better at it than me.”