My darling Lottie. My heart bleeds for you but you must let me go now as I have to let you go.
I have failed you and I have failed myself. I will forever live with my regret.
Your loving friend, Jonnie
Kitty folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Then she wiped her eyes and took it to the fire. She watched it burn in the flames until it was finally reduced to ash and was gone.
She gazed into the blaze until her eyes watered. Did Miss Grieve kill herself because she faced a life without love? It didn’t seem probable considering she had received the letter four years before. Did she do it because Kitty had told her she looked fifty and she suddenly realized she had turned into an old woman before her time? Had she been so desperately unhappy all these years? Had Kitty only ever considered herself? Was it her fault? She sat trembling even though it was warm in front of the fire.
The police searched Miss Grieve’s bedroom and the ground directly beneath her window, but concluded that it was a simple case of suicide as the result of an attempted robbery. No one had any faith in them finding the culprit. If anyone had the slightest knowledge Constable O’Duggan knew he’d be the last to hear of it.
Kitty rode into Ballinakelly that afternoon to find Jack. He lived in a small but tidy white house with a view of the harbour. With his father away at the front it had fallen on Jack’s shoulders to take over his duties as vet. She hoped he’d be home. She dismounted and knocked on his door. A moment later Jack’s mother opened it. When she saw Kitty she looked none too delighted. ‘Miss Deverill, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘I’m after Jack,’ Kitty replied smoothly. ‘I have a problem with my horse.’
Mrs O’Leary called for her son. Then she looked past Kitty at the grey mare that was tied to a post. ‘Is she all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes she is. It’s just a small matter. Nothing serious.’ Kitty felt foolish: she didn’t imagine there was a fitter horse in the whole of Ballinakelly.
‘Jack!’ his mother called again. A minute later Jack appeared.
‘Miss Deverill,’ he said, as surprised as his mother to see her.
‘I hope I haven’t disturbed your dinner.’
‘No, you haven’t. I twisted my ankle on the stair last night and have been laid up all day.’ He shook his head and pulled a sorry face. ‘’Tis a right pity.’ Jack’s mother withdrew back inside the house and Jack stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
‘I had to see you,’ she said quietly.
Jack limped to Kitty’s mare and pretended to look it over. ‘I heard what happened.’
‘It’s dreadful, Jack. She’s dead because of me,’ she hissed, eyes filling with tears again.
‘Because of us,’ he emphasized.
‘They think it’s an attempted robbery.’
‘So much the better.’
‘But I know and I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘We’re in it together,’ Jack said solemnly. ‘I’ll take it to the grave, Kitty. Don’t fret about that.’
‘I never thought you’d do it.’
Jack looked up and down the street furtively, patting the horse’s flank. ‘I wanted to impress you,’ he replied dolefully. ‘I didn’t expect to see a face staring at me in the window.’ He straightened and looked at her steadily. ‘What’s this about ghosts then?’
‘I can see them,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve always seen them. It’s a gift.’
He stared down at her a moment. ‘Well, I can’t say I don’t believe you, can I?’
‘Not now.’
‘Scared me half to death.’
‘You were lucky. If you hadn’t had that hedge beneath you there might have been two bodies to grieve over.’
Jack lifted the horse’s hooves, one by one, as Kitty followed him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Grandma told me never to tell a soul. But I told Bridie. She said people are locked away for less.’
‘So, Lady Deverill sees them too, does she?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they don’t scare you?’
‘No.’
He grinned up at her and Kitty was grateful for his humour. ‘You’re a quare one, Kitty Deverill.’
She smiled back. ‘I know. But you’ll still be my friend, won’t you?’
‘I’ll always be your friend,’ he said, dropping a hoof and standing up. ‘We’re bound by our secret now, forever. Indeed and we’ll take it to the grave.’
‘To the grave.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your mare.’ Jack gave it a hard pat on the neck. ‘She’s a fine horse altogether.’
‘I’d better go.’ She mounted with ease. ‘Is your ankle going to mend?’
‘It’ll mend. Will you get a new governess?’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ said Kitty, riding off.
That night Kitty found Barton in his usual place, in the silk chair with his feet up on the foot stool. ‘Well hello, little Kitty,’ he said. She was surprised to see him in good humour, but perhaps other people’s misery appealed to his dark character.
‘I came to talk about Miss Grieve,’ said Kitty. ‘I’m sorry I asked you. I never will again as long as I live. It was a terrible mistake and one I regret bitterly.’
Barton frowned. ‘You think I had something to do with that?’ he asked.
Kitty was confused. ‘Well, didn’t you?’
‘I did not,’ he said. ‘But you got what you wanted all the same.’
‘I did not want Miss Grieve to die!’ she rounded on him furiously. She bit her lip and lowered her voice. ‘I did not want her scared to death.’
‘Oh, she wasn’t scared to death. Quite the opposite.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The man who appeared in her bedroom, nice fellow though a little too sentimental for my taste . . .’
‘Who was he?’
‘A soldier, killed in the war, poor sod.’ Kitty felt cold tentacles creeping across her skin. ‘He’d been trying to get her attention for some time. Can be very frustrating for us dead people.’
‘What was his name, Barton?’
He scratched his beard. ‘Let me see if I recall.’
‘Try,’ said Kitty.
‘Jonnie Wilson. That was it. Jonnie Wilson.’
Chapter 11
After the tragic death of Miss Grieve, Lady Deverill received word from Maud that Kitty’s governess should be replaced at once. She did not want her daughter spending her days in idleness and mischief. Maud turned to Cousin Beatrice for advice. Celia no longer had a governess, it transpired, but a tutor, which seemed more fitting for a young lady of fourteen. So Cousin Beatrice came back swiftly, recommending a twenty-four-year-old Cambridge scholar called Robert Trench, who was the middle son of great friends of theirs in London. He was an intelligent, sensible man who would certainly give Kitty a fine education as well as imposing important boundaries. He was exempt from fighting in the war because of an infection suffered in childhood which had resulted in the stiffening of his leg, so the post at Castle Deverill would be a most welcome one indeed. Maud agreed without further ado – she didn’t really care what he was like, only that he was suitable – and sent word to her mother-in-law that he would arrive after Christmas.
Another change in Kitty’s life was the surprise promotion of her friend Bridie, who exchanged her job at the kitchen sink for one in the private side of the castle, as Kitty’s lady’s maid. This, of course, had nothing to do with Kitty’s mother and everything to do with her grandmother, who felt sorry for Kitty after the loss of Miss Grieve. With Bridie as her personal maid at least she’d have a girl her own age to talk to – and she wouldn’t have to skulk about the castle corridors concealing their friendship.
The new position meant that Bridie shared a small bedroom at the top of the castle in the servants’ quarters with a young maid from Bandon, called Molly Seymour. Bridie was relieved she wasn’t on her own. The win
d moaned around the turrets at night and the ancient floorboards creaked as if Kitty’s ghosts were restlessly walking up and down. At first Bridie missed her bed in the farmhouse. She missed the familiar smells of cooking, her brothers’ tobacco, the scent of turf fire and cows. She missed the sound of Michael and Sean playing cards at the table with friends: the castle was so quiet and eerie. Then she worried her mother wouldn’t be able to do without her. But Michael was head of the family now and he had told her she couldn’t refuse a job that paid her thirty pounds a year. It didn’t take her long to adapt to her new surroundings; it was adapting to the rules of the upper household that she found confusing, having been friends with Kitty for so long and previously confined to the kitchen.
Servants were never to let their voices be heard by the ladies and gentlemen of the castle. They were always to ‘give room’ if they met one of the family or betters on the stairs. They were to stand still when spoken to by a lady or gentleman and never to begin a conversation or offer an opinion, nor even say goodnight. They must be as spectres, going about their duty without being seen, like silent leprechauns. This, of course, was all very well for the servants who had no relationship with the family but not for Bridie, who had to master a life of deception. In Kitty’s bedroom she could be herself. She could lie on Kitty’s bed and tell her the gossip from Downstairs. In Kitty’s bedroom they could be friends. But in the rest of the castle she had to follow the rules like the other servants. O’Flynn, the butler, was above all of them, for he was the link between Lord and Lady Deverill and Downstairs, and, having worked for the previous Lord Deverill, he had a more superior status than most butlers.
Bridie had much to learn and Miss Lindsay, Lady Deverill’s lady’s maid, was keen to instruct her, believing strongly that standards should be upheld, even though many of the old guard were too doddery to do their jobs properly. As a lady’s maid, Bridie began her day rising early to bring her mistress a morning cup of tea. She prepared the bath, the water for which was brought up in cans, and laid in readiness everything Kitty needed for dressing. Then she would have her own breakfast in the housekeeper’s room and wait for the bell to summon her, which, as it was her friend Kitty ringing it, was almost immediately. Bridie had to understand hair-dressing, dressmaking, packing, the care of dresses, boots, shoes, gloves, hats, bonnets, riding habits, ball gowns, and the art of mending. She learned to wash lace and fine linen, mend buttons on boots and replace feathers on Kitty’s riding hats. Miss Lindsay prided herself on her high standards, but Bridie discovered that she, too, could be meticulous. Her stitches were so small and neat Miss Lindsay was rendered speechless, her care of Kitty’s clothes impressive for a fourteen-year-old with no experience of expensive fabrics. She was obedient, dutiful, conscientious and able.
While Kitty was inclined to disorder and ill-discipline, in spite of a severe upbringing by the late Miss Grieve, Bridie was naturally tidy and well-organized. She was surprisingly quick to learn, regretful of her mistakes and always intent on doing better. Miss Lindsay interpreted her enthusiasm as a reaction to having laboured in the kitchen as a scullery maid, but in truth her eagerness was fired by ambition. She watched Kitty and her privileged world Upstairs and knew for certain that she wanted more than her poor upbringing in Ballinakelly could offer her. Perhaps Kitty would take her to London when she left at eighteen. Once in London the opportunities would be endless, for sure. Kitty might marry a great man, a duke or even a prince, and then Bridie would rise as high as a domestic servant could rise. Kitty was her friend but also her ticket to a better life – she observed and she copied, for Kitty was as fine an example of a lady as ever there was.
After Christmas Kitty’s new tutor arrived. He was tall, with flaxen hair, a long, expressive face and intelligent brown eyes looking out solemnly through a pair of round-rimmed spectacles. Serious and perhaps a little shy, he did not smile when introduced to Kitty, but shook her hand and gave a small bow. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Deverill. I look forward to tutoring you to the best of my ability.’
Kitty wanted to giggle at his formality but, as she was in the presence of her grandparents, and not wanting to embarrass him, she simply replied that she was delighted to meet him, too, and asked him, somewhat tactlessly, if he hunted, to which the poor man responded that he didn’t. She tried not to look at his left leg, which didn’t bend at the knee, but gave in to her curiosity when he was shown upstairs by O’Flynn.
‘My dear, you will see worse afflictions than that before the war ends,’ said Adeline sadly.
‘They said it would end by Christmas,’ Kitty replied, thinking of her father and suffering a sudden pang of anxiety.
‘And they were wrong.’
‘But it will end soon, surely?’
‘I hope so,’ said Adeline, but the cloud that darkened her face told Kitty her hope was optimistic.
‘I wish Papa had a stiff leg.’
‘Kitty!’
‘Then he wouldn’t have to fight either.’
‘Your father wants to fight, my dear.’ Adeline turned her eyes to the stairs. ‘I’m sure Mr Trench would like to fight too.’
Mr Trench was indeed a serious man. Kitty tried all sorts of shenanigans to make him smile, but nothing seemed to work. She tried jokes, flattery, self-deprecation and wit, all to no avail. ‘He’s so very grave,’ she complained to Bridie one evening as they lay on her bed after Kitty had returned cold and wet from a hard day’s hunting. ‘He finds nothing amusing at all. What do you think he does in his free time?’
‘He reads,’ Bridie informed her.
‘What sort of books does he read?’
‘Long ones, apparently!’ The two girls fell about laughing.
‘Well, he is very clever, isn’t he?’ said Kitty. ‘It’s a shame he’s so dull. What’s the point of being clever if one has no wit?’
‘At least he’s not unkind,’ Bridie reminded her.
‘No, he’s not unkind.’
‘Poor Miss Grieve.’
Kitty changed the subject. The mention of Miss Grieve’s name made her decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Cousin Beatrice should have sent someone who could ride, not a cripple. What’s the point of coming to Ireland if one can’t hunt?’
‘He hasn’t come to hunt, Kitty, he’s come to teach.’
‘Yes, and I’ve asked him to teach me Irish history. I want to know the history of the country I live in and love, not that of a country which is foreign to me and for which I have no affection.’
‘You should talk to my brother Michael. He’s against fighting for England. He says the Irish should rule themselves. He gets very angry about it.’
‘Jack tells me everything I need to know about that,’ Kitty retorted. ‘It’s Jack who reminds me where my loyalties lie.’
‘Well, is Mr Trench going to teach you Irish history or not?’ Bridie asked.
‘He has no choice. I folded my arms and started singing the moment he started going on about Oliver Cromwell from the British point of view. He didn’t even smile at that. In the end he relented. I’m learning about the history of this country from Irish patriots like Robert Emmet, who strove to end British Conquest. For seven hundred years the Irish have suffered at the hands of the British. My family are ancestors of the first conquerors. They drove the natives into the marshlands and the woods across the Shannon and into the Connaught and took the best land for themselves. I was so ignorant of my own history, Bridie. Ignorant of what happened right here at Castle Deverill.’ She sighed heavily as if her new knowledge were a burden weighing heavily on her conscience. ‘He told me not to tell my grandfather.’ She laughed. ‘Everyone’s afraid of Grandpa. Perhaps it’s because he’s got a shotgun and he’s not afraid of using it!’
As 1915 progressed there seemed little hope that the war would end. People learned to dread the sight of the boy in navy uniform with red livery delivering telegrams. The bereaved wore black bands around their arms and grief etched forever on their faces. Prayers
of hope were said in all the churches of Ireland and Catholics and Protestants mourned with equal heartache.
Bertie, Uncle Rupert and Harry came home on leave and put on a good show of bravado, but Kitty heard Harry crying in his room in the middle of the night and saw the glow of light beneath his door because he had grown fearful of the dark. Maud returned with Victoria and Elspeth and stayed in the castle for it was too much bother to open the Hunting Lodge for just a few weeks. Kitty found her sisters intolerable with their incessant talk of London and their complaints about the damp in Ireland. They sounded like their English cousins, which is exactly how they wanted to sound. But Kitty was a bold girl and bit back with remarks that hurt. ‘Didn’t Victoria say that if one doesn’t find a husband during one’s coming-out season it is because one is ugly, dull or both? Oh sorry, Elspeth, it was Mama.’ And to Victoria: ‘Shouldn’t you have produced an heir and spare by now? I’ve heard it on good authority that a wife of an earl loses her head if she doesn’t produce a son.’ So her sisters avoided her as best they could, which suited her well. They were shallow, ignorant girls whose conversation was full of nonsense, and neither had the wit to retaliate. Kitty preferred to talk to Jack and Bridie; at least they were interested in Irish history and the progress (or lack of, at present) of the Home Rule bill.
Maud had hoped a taste of war might have given Bertie an appreciation of home; after all, didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder? Perhaps it did and his heart hadn’t grown fonder of her, but of Grace. He disappeared every morning on horseback and returned after dark. She knew he was spending time with Grace for his departure every morning was done with enthusiasm and vigour and his return full of reluctance and regret. If smelling her perfume on his collar wasn’t enough he had a faraway look in his eyes which he didn’t even try to conceal. Maud demanded his attention but he was deaf to her whining.
When Maud first laid eyes on Kitty she was astonished to find her daughter was flowering into a beauty. She had grown taller in the six months her mother had been in England, her face had thinned and she had acquired a certain poise she hadn’t had before. Her contribution at the dinner table reflected the astonishing progress of her education. She debated the Irish Question with her grandfather and her argument was sound. Even Bertie and Uncle Rupert were surprised by the eloquence of her speech and the confidence with which she delivered it. Those eyes of hers had attained an intelligence that made her more formidable. It seemed that, while Maud had been away, Kitty had grown beyond her control.
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