The Secrets of Armstrong House

by A. O'Connor

  Arabella started laughing lightly with a slightly mocking tone.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, confused.

  “You! You are a silly goose! Don’t you realise my parents have given me a substantial dowry? One large enough to buy us the house of our dreams in Dublin?”

  Harrison looked shocked. “No, I didn’t! I never even thought about such a thing.”

  Arabella smiled lovingly. “I know. And that’s one of the reasons I love you as much as I do.”

  She glanced down the table and saw Charles was sitting back in his chair observing them. The intensity of his eyes unnerved her. Then he smiled at her. She nodded at him and quickly looked away.

  She had found the Armstrong family utterly charming. Lawrence and Margaret were overly welcoming and kind, if Margaret was somewhat neurotic. The children had all been sincere and friendly, although James was unruly and Emily had a rebellious streak. But it was Charles that had caused her concern. Harrison had nothing but high praise for his brother. He had said Charles was charming, fun and intelligent. And Arabella agreed he was all those things. But there was more to him. She felt Charles’ charm was self-serving, his fun side might be dangerous, and his intelligence used to get his own way. She believed Charles was too aware of his charm, his looks and his intelligence. She was wary of him. She was sure he had attempted to flirt with her, which she found very unsettling. Harrison had said Charles was planning to return to London without much delay. Arabella was glad. She thought the less she had to do with him the better.

  Lawrence suddenly chinking a fork against his crystal glass brought a hush to the room as he rose to his feet.

  “Family and friends, this has been such a wonderful weekend at Armstrong House. And I have some wonderful news to share with you. Harrison asked Sir George for his daughter’s hand in marriage during the week. Sir George and Lady Tattinger have agreed and I am delighted to announce the engagement of my son Harrison to the very lovely Miss Arabella Tattinger.”

  There were gasps of excitement and applause around the table as the footmen quickly refilled everyone’s glass with champagne. Harrison and Arabella held hands tightly while they grinned at each other.

  “And I would like you to join me in a toast,” said Lawrence as everyone rose to their feet. “To Harrison and Arabella!”

  “To Harrison and Arabella!” everyone chorused.

  Arabella nodded appreciatively at everyone who was smiling happily at her, except for Charles whose cool eyes continued to stare at her.

  On the Sunday the Tattingers and Harrison were at the front door of Armstrong House saying their goodbyes.

  “Thank you so much for a wonderful time and no doubt it won’t be long before we see you again,” said Caroline as she kissed Lawrence and Margaret goodbye.

  “Well, see you soon,” said Harrison as Charles walked him and Arabella down the steps to the carriage.

  “Yes, indeed.” Charles turned to Arabella and, smiling, took her hand and kissed it. “Until the next time?”

  Arabella nodded. Harrison handed her up into the carriage, then stepped back to allow George and Caroline to join her, before getting in himself.

  “Safe journey,” said Charles as he closed the carriage door after them.

  He stood in the forecourt as he watched the carriage move away and make its way down the long driveway. Turning, he looked up at the house, then climbed the steps up to the front door and entered.

  “Charles!” called Margaret from the drawing room.

  He walked across the hallway and into the drawing room where his parents were sitting with serious looks on their faces.

  Charles crossed over the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the drinks table.

  “Thank goodness that’s all over,” said Lawrence. “Now we can get on with the business at hand.”

  “Charles, your father has been telling me of your plans to live in London,” said Margaret.

  “Charles, it’s simply not allowable!” insisted Lawrence. “This is going to be your house, your estate and you need to take responsibility for it!”

  Charles turned around and saw the distress on their faces.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding. I’m not returning to London.”

  “You’re staying here at Armstrong House?” Lawrence asked, confused.

  “Of course – where else would I be?” He smiled at them.

  Margaret and Lawrence looked at each other, visibly relieved.

  chapter 3

  There were many villages scattered through the Armstrong estate but the one nearest the house was a model village that had been built by Lawrence’s father, Edward, at the same time he built Armstrong House. It was a beautiful little village with stone houses around a village green which had a little clock tower in the middle of it and a church in pride of place.

  That day the green was a hive of activity with many stalls set out as there was a turnip competition being judged. Charles found himself walking down the rows of stalls looking at turnip after turnip. He paused at the next stall to look at a particularly large specimen.

  The farmer’s wife picked up the turnip and held it out to him.

  “Would you like to hold it, sir?” she asked with a smile.

  He glanced at the vegetable which looked as if it had barely been washed.

  “No, it’s quite all right, thank you.” He nodded at her and moved on to the next stall, looking. He looked at his watch and wondered how much longer he would have to stay.

  He looked around and saw his mother and Gwyneth nearby, eagerly engaging with a farmer about his fertilising methods.

  Margaret saw him and, coming over, said, “Well, I think it’s a close race between farmers O’Donovan and O’Hara. What do you think?”

  “To be honest, they all look the same to me. Once you’ve seen one turnip you’ve seen them all!”

  Margaret looked irritated. “It’s not about the turnips, Charles. It’s about morale and good relations in the estate.”

  “Oh, is that the point of it all?” Charles didn’t hide his sarcasm.

  “Gwyneth understands the point of it, so why can’t you?” She observed her daughter with pride as she moved effortlessly amongst the people, chatting. “She has such a way with her. She’ll be such an asset to the Duke on his estate.”

  Gwyneth came over to them. “Well, I think we should give it to the O’Donovans. They lost one of their children this year and I think it would give them a boost.”

  “What do you think, Charles?” asked Margaret.

  “Do you know, I couldn’t care less! Can we just give the bloody prize and get on with it!”

  “Charles! These people have gone to a huge effort to try and impress you, their future landlord,” said Gwyneth.

  “All right, and I’m impressed as I ever could be about a turnip!”

  Margaret was annoyed. “In that case, as Charles has no objection, O’Donovan is the winner.”

  The three of them went up on the stand and everyone gathered around.

  “Well, get on with it,” Charles hissed at his mother.

  “No, you have to make the speech, Charles – it’s you they’re expecting to hear.”

  “For goodness’ sake!” snapped Charles.

  “And be enthusiastic and complimentary,” Margaret advised. “Let them know you appreciate the lengths they have gone to. Reward them with your words and win them over.”

  Charles raised his eyes as he stepped forward. “Eh, thank you, everyone, for coming today . . .” He looked down at all the expectant, curious and excited faces. He glanced back at his mother and Gwyneth who were smiling encouragingly at him. “And the winner is O’Donovan!”

  Charles stepped back and stood beside his mother, looking bored.

  “Charles! That was hardly worth the effort!”

  “Short and sweet, Mother, short and sweet.”

  “Short and nothing!” snapped Margaret.
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br />   The crowd applauded as O’Donovan stepped on the platform and Gwyneth presented him his prize and offered warm congratulations.

  Lawrence ran the estate’s business from the library at Armstrong House. It was an endless parade of meetings with the farm managers, accountants, tenant farmers, all of which Charles found he was expected to attend. His mind drifted to what his friends were getting up to in London, and to Harrison and Arabella in Dublin, and he found it hard not to doze off as he listened to the minutiae of the matters being discussed.

  “And O’Reilly is how long in arrears now?” Lawrence was asking the estate manager.

  “Four months, your lordship. If it was any other estate he would be evicted by now.”

  “No, I want no evictions. Bring O’Reilly to me during the week and I’ll see what he has to say for himself and see if we can come to some arrangement.”

  “Very good, your lordship.” The farm estate manager left and Lawrence sighed loudly.

  “If he’s not going to be able to pay now then he never will,” said Charles. “The longer it goes on, the more arrears he will be in and the less chance of him catching up. Drinking his money in a bar, no doubt.”

  “But he has always been a good payer in the past. And don’t be so judgemental, Charles. Being a landlord of an estate like this takes humanity and understanding – you should keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, I will, Father, I will!” Charles said sarcastically as he got up from the chesterfield and sauntered over to one of the large windows that overlooked the courtyards at the back of the house. In the courtyard he saw James standing there with some groomsmen, ordering them about while exchanging banter with them at the same time. James was dressed as casually as the groomsmen.

  “What is James up to now?” said Charles as he observed him.

  Lawrence got up from behind his desk and came and joined him at the window.

  He smiled. “James loves the land. Loves working on it.”

  “Hardly the correct thing for a gentleman to be doing.”

  “Ah, your mother and I have had to accept what James is. School and university would be wasted on him.”

  James was saying something to the groomsmen and suddenly they all burst out laughing.

  “And he has a great way with the people. He loves them, and they love him.”

  “Still, he’s making a show of the family. I hear he goes socialising with the peasants in the town bars.”

  “But he has a great heart. And I don’t think anybody knows this estate as well as he. He will be a great asset to you when it comes to running this place.”

  “A great asset or a great embarrassment?” said Charles before sauntering out of the room.

  Lawrence glanced after Charles, surprised, before returning to his desk.

  James came through the front door of Armstrong House, a rifle in one hand and some shot rabbits in the other. He flung the rabbits on an ornate side table.

  “James!” screamed Margaret who had been coming down the stairs. She rushed over to him.

  “What?”

  “That is eighteenth-century Italian!” She pointed to the side table.

  “So?” James looked unimpressed.

  Margaret turned and tugged the bell pull with zest.

  Charles sauntered down the stairs as Barton came hurrying along.

  “You called, my lady?” asked Barton.

  “Barton, take these rabbits quickly down to the kitchen to Cook or somebody and away from my side table.”

  Barton reached out and took the rabbits. Holding them out in disdain, he carried them away, with Margaret in quick pursuit issuing orders.

  “Use the back door in future when you bring in game, James!” Margaret called over her shoulder.

  James started laughing to himself.

  Charles looked James up and down condescendingly. “Maybe you should use the back door all the time in future.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” James asked, his laughter suddenly gone.

  “Well, it’s just if you want to dress like a peasant, act like a peasant, then use the back door like a peasant.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” James said angrily.

  “Why? You need somebody to tell you. Your habits were very endearing when you were younger, I’m sure, but now you’re just becoming a joke.”

  James came up to him. “I have an interest in what goes on around here, which is more than you’ll ever have.”

  “Pity you don’t have as much interest in what you look like, isn’t it?” Charles turned and went back into the drawing room, leaving James staring after him.

  The family were gathered in the drawing room in the evening. Emily was walking up and down the room with a book balanced on her head and a displeased look on her face.

  “Can I stop now?” she asked.

  “No, Emily,” said Margaret. “Keep walking and concentrate! Shoulders back and head kept level.”

  Emily gritted her teeth and kept walking back and forth.

  “Any word from Harrison?” asked Charles who was stretched out on the couch.

  “No, he’s probably far too enraptured with his young lady and the Tattinger family to give us a second thought,” chuckled Lawrence.

  Margaret smiled. “Arabella is such a fine young woman – so beautiful – and her parents so impressive.”

  “Aren’t they just?” agreed Charles then waited a while before speaking again. “I might go up and visit him next weekend.”

  “Go to Dublin?” Lawrence was surprised.

  “Yes, I miss Harrison. It would be nice to spend some time with him.”

  “You never missed him when you were in England. Harrison said you never even bothered to write,” said Emily.

  “Why don’t you just be quiet and concentrate on your posture, Emily,” warned Charles.

  “Yes, it might be nice for you to go to Dublin,” said Margaret.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said Charles.

  Daphne came rushing into the room, waving a card.

  “A ball, I’ve been invited to a ball!” she said excitedly.

  “Where?” asked Margaret.

  “At the Bramwells’ – I’m so excited.”

  “The Bramwells?” Lawrence’s face creased in concern. “I’m afraid you can’t go, Daphne?”

  “But why ever not?” Daphne was horrified.

  “Because the Bramwells’ estate is caught up in the Land War. There is much hatred felt towards them.”

  “But what’s that got to do with me?” Daphne was aghast.

  “It’s simply not safe for you to go,” said Lawrence. “Anything could happen.”

  “Mother?” Daphne appealed the decision.

  “I’m afraid if your father says it’s unsafe then you can’t go.”

  “This stupid Land War!” snapped Daphne. “It’s ruining all my fun!” She threw the invitation into the fire and stormed off.

  “Such a pity! The Bramwells were always such a nice family,” sighed Margaret.

  “They weren’t nice to their tenants, especially during the famine,” said Lawrence.

  “The famine was forty years ago, Father,” Charles pointed out. “Isn’t it time we all moved on?”

  “It will take a long time to move on from that. It changed this country and changed our class’s position forever. Before the famine families like ours were invincible. Now we can’t take our power or position for granted.”

  The book fell off Emily’s head on to the floor.

  “Emily! You aren’t concentrating!” snapped Margaret.

  Emily reached down, snatched up the book and threw it at the wall. “What’s the point in being able to walk properly if we are all going to be killed in our beds some night by rampaging peasants!”

  “Emily!” Margaret said. “Go to your room!”

  “Good! At least there I won’t have to parade around like a peacock!”

  Charles laugh
ed as Emily ran off.

  “Oh dear!” sighed Margaret. “Two disgruntled daughters under the same roof on the same night!”

  chapter 4

  Charles got the train from Castlewest to Dublin and from there got a hansom cab to take him to their house on Merrion Square. As he looked out the window of the cab he inhaled the atmosphere of the busy streets, the traffic, the amazing Georgian architecture. He was excited about the prospect of meeting Arabella.

  The cab pulled up outside the house in Merrion Square. He got out, walked up the steps and knocked loudly on the door. The house was a four-storey-over-basement townhouse. His father had bought it some twenty years before. For a family that was as distinguished and wealthy as the Armstrongs, it was important for them to have homes in Dublin and London, and his parents had hosted many functions in both houses over the years. However, the visits by his parents to Dublin were now cut short with Lawrence’s obsession about being on the estate as much as possible and avoiding any label of being an absentee landlord.

  The butler opened the door.

  “Ah, Mr Charles, it is good to see you again,” he said, taking his suitcase.

  “You too. Is my brother home?”

  “No, Mr Harrison usually returns from work around half five, sir,” said the butler as Charles followed him up the stairs as far as the drawing room on the first floor.

  “Unpack my case in my room, will you?” said Charles as he walked into the drawing room and lit a cigarette.

  On the mantelpiece there were four photographs of Arabella arranged in frames. He walked over and taking one of the photos in his hand, studied it intently.

  An hour later he heard the front door open and slam and somebody taking quick steps up the stairs. Harrison came into the drawing room and came to an abrupt halt when he saw Charles standing there.

  “Charles! This is a nice surprise!” He strode over to Charles and gave him a hug.

  “I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

  “How long are you staying?”