Her lips parted and her cheeks burned with the light of a rekindled fire. ‘Because you are the only one, sir,’ she replied, astonished that he might think otherwise.
Bertie sniffed, unconvinced. ‘One can’t be too sure, you know.’
Bridie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘There will never be another but you, Mr Deverill.’
‘Yes yes, well, that’s all very well.’ Bertie didn’t know what to say.
‘What shall I do?’ She began to cry.
Bertie was now uncomfortable. Under normal circumstances he wasn’t good with women’s tears, especially women of Bridie’s class. Servants were not his department. ‘Does anyone else know about this?’
She shook her head vigorously, horrified by the suggestion. ‘No!’
Bertie was relieved. ‘Good. This must be our secret, Bridget. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He wished the problem would just go away. Then he was struck by an idea. ‘I will send you to Dublin,’ he suggested, feeling a little better. ‘Yes, I’ll find you somewhere to go in Dublin. You can have the baby there. No one here will know anything about it. You can tell your family that I have found you a good position in the city, working for a cousin who is in need of a lady’s maid. You can say it’s a promotion. I’ll arrange for the child to be given to a convent. Isn’t that what one does with illegitimate children? Then you can come back. It will be as if nothing has happened.’
Bridie’s legs began to shake. She wasn’t sure she could stand much longer. She stared at him in horror and disbelief. He was going to give her baby . . . their baby, away? The words echoed around her head but sounded distant and hard, like an echo from a stone thrown into a deep well.
Bertie watched her staring at him with her dark eyes as big as black holes and wondered what he had said to offend her. ‘Is that all?’ he asked, returning to his desk.
Bridie’s heart was crushed by his coldness. She tried to speak but nothing escaped her throat besides her hot, shallow breathing. He sat down and picked up his pen. Afraid to remain a moment longer in his presence, she fled.
Bertie looked up to find she had gone. He took a fresh piece of paper. There was only one person to whom he could turn in such sensitive circumstances. One person he could trust above all others. He began to write in his neat, looped hand. My dearest Grace . . .
Chapter 20
Kitty walked down the main street in Ballinakelly. Her chin up, her gaze idle and wandering. She held a box in her hands containing a pair of shoes, a gun and a small amount of ammunition. Occasionally she nodded as she passed an acquaintance, but mostly she allowed her eyes to browse the shops to give the impression that she had nowhere in particular to go – that she was carefree, aimless and most importantly above suspicion.
It was a blustery summer’s day. It was lucky that she had pinned her hat firmly to her head to stop it flying away. Kitty held on to the shoebox, pressing the lid down with her hand, aware of the consequences should the contents be revealed. She had ridden into town in the pony and trap, taking pleasure from the deep red fuchsia growing wild in the hedges along with the habitual sight of crimson petticoats and white breeches hanging up to dry among them. She had hummed to herself as her excitement mounted. Every covert mission fired her up like a steam train, propelling her forwards, leading her into adventure and intrigue and closer to Jack – always closer to Jack. Kitty believed she had been born for this.
As she walked towards the Catholic church of All Saints she began to get nervous. It was perfectly normal for her to be seen wandering around town, but why would a Protestant woman be making her way towards the Catholic church? She hummed to herself again to hide the sound of her heart which beat against her ribs like a drum of war. She thought of Jack’s sweet, earnest face, and the fear in his eyes at the thought of losing her gave her courage and she strode on, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. She could taste the salt from the sea, or was it fear drying on her tongue? She had done this many times before, but never to the Catholic church. It had been Michael’s idea. She wondered suddenly whether he had deliberately sent her on a fatal mission because he wanted her to get caught. As she strode on she wondered whether arrogance had made her inconsiderate of the dangers.
She noted the pair of Black and Tans standing in front of the church, their hands on their guns, eyes as narrow as stoats’ as they watched the locals suspiciously. No one looked at them; everyone hurried on as if afraid to be noticed, stopped and searched. The Tans had the power of God and they weren’t afraid of using it. Kitty felt their incisive gaze fall upon her shoulders like an executioner’s axe. She caught her breath but continued, trying to sustain the hum which was dying in her throat. She could see them talking to each other out of the side of her vision. Then the fat one called out to her. ‘Where are you going, Miss Deverill?’
She stopped and smiled. ‘I’m going to see Father Quinn,’ she replied sweetly. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Father Quinn isn’t here,’ said the other one.
‘What have you got there?’ asked the fat one.
‘Shoes,’ she replied. ‘A gift from my grandmother, Lady Deverill.’
‘On what business are you going to see Father Quinn?’
‘It’s a delicate matter,’ she replied, stepping closer to the men and lowering her voice. ‘It’s one of my lady’s maids.’ She pulled a sorry face. ‘She’s . . . I think it would be indelicate to give you the details. I need Father Quinn’s advice.’
The fat one dropped his eyes onto the shoebox and Kitty felt the weight of it in her hands. ‘My wife likes shoes,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got there, then.’
Kitty’s head flooded with blood. It crashed against her temples like waves against rock. ‘I don’t think you’ll find these very exciting,’ she said, making to lift the lid.
At that moment there came a loud hollering. The three turned to see Father Quinn striding furiously towards them, his grey hair wild about his head, his black robes billowing around him like an avenging angel’s. In his hand was a white petticoat. He held it up as if it were the embodiment of carnal sin. ‘I found this on the beach,’ he raged. ‘God save us!’ The Tans looked at him in bewilderment. ‘When I find the culprit I will voice God’s displeasure at such an unholy show of disrespect and vulgarity. On the beach it was, in full view of the children playing there. What is the world coming to when people indulge their desires out in the open?’ He settled his fiery gaze on Kitty. ‘And what might I ask are you doing at my door, Miss Kitty? I believe you have mistaken my church for yours.’
Kitty paled. ‘Father Quinn, I have something I need to talk to you about. It’s a delicate matter regarding a member of your church. May we talk in private or shall I come back when you have . . .’ She hesitated and looked at the petticoat. ‘When you’ve found the owner of that petticoat?’
He scrunched the petticoat into a ball and tucked it under his arm. ‘I have time now. Come with me. Good day to you.’ He nodded at the Black and Tans who watched them disappear into the church, not knowing what to make of the scene.
‘Only in Ireland,’ said the fat one, shaking his head.
‘They’re all as mad as bloody snakes,’ said the other one, popping a cigarette between his lips.
Kitty followed Father Quinn down the aisle to the sacristy. He closed the door behind him and took the shoebox out of her hands. ‘You’re a bold girl, Miss Kitty.’
‘I thought they’d caught me,’ she said, suddenly feeling weak in the legs. She sank into a chair.
‘So did I. I thought you were done for.’ He looked at the petticoat. ‘I’ll have to return this to Mrs O’Dwyer or she’ll think a seagull stole it. Though, I’ll need another word of inspiration in order to explain how I came by it!’ He dropped it onto the table.
Kitty looked at him in astonishment. ‘You invented that whole scene just to distract them?’
‘Of course I did. I saw you were in trouble a
nd it was the first thing that came into my head. Divine Inspiration,’ he said, crossing himself. ‘Thanks be to God.’ He took out the gun and ammunition and gave her back the box. ‘You’d better take the shoebox home, just in case.’
‘Thank you, Father Quinn.’
‘Say no more, Miss Kitty. We are all fighting this war together and it appears that God is on our side, does it not?’
‘It does indeed,’ Kitty agreed.
‘You’re a brave young woman. But I would say it was near suicidal for you to bring a gun into my church. That Michael is a reckless man. He’s so busy gazing at the goal he’s often unaware of the perils of the game. I will have to have a quiet word with him.’ He smiled at Kitty warmly. ‘You’re not to do this again, do you understand? You’re too valuable to us to get caught being reckless.’
‘I won’t,’ she replied.
‘Grand. Now, you’d better leave by the side door. At least if they stop you this time you’ll only have a pair of shoes to show them.’
‘Thank you, Father Quinn.’
‘May God go with you, Miss Kitty.’
Kitty returned to her patient pony. She stroked his muzzle affectionately then mounted the trap. As she was leaving Ballinakelly, Michael was walking into town with his brother Sean, hands in his pockets, cap hiding his mop of unruly curls. Kitty kept her eyes on the track ahead and ignored them both, which cost her dearly because she liked Sean very much. She shook the reins and the pony broke into a trot. As she passed Michael she felt a rising sense of triumph. She had pulled off the impossible. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lift his chin and drop his heavy gaze upon her with a jolt. But she didn’t waver and continued on up the track without so much as a twitch. Only the small smile that curled her lips betrayed her jubilation.
Once back in her bedroom she rang for Bridie. Her secret missions and liaisons with Jack had kept her so busy she hadn’t noticed Bridie’s increasingly white face and quiet demeanour as she discreetly went about her work. But now, when she came to the door, her raw eyes and swollen cheeks were too evident to overlook. ‘Bridie, what’s the matter?’ Kitty ran to her friend and led her to the bed where she sank into the mattress like a rag doll.
‘I’m leaving, Kitty,’ she said, buckling beneath her sorrow.
‘What do you mean you’re leaving? Why would you want to leave?’
‘Mr Deverill says it’s a good opportunity. A promotion. I’m going up in the world, Kitty.’ She began to sob.
‘Papa is sending you away?’ Kitty was aghast. Bridie nodded, withdrew a handkerchief out of her sleeve and patted her eyes. Kitty noticed her father’s initials on the handkerchief and clicked her tongue. ‘He’s sending you away even though you don’t want to go!’ She took the handkerchief out of Bridie’s hand and held it up. ‘How callous of him! When did he tell you?’
‘This morning.’ Bridie reached for the handkerchief and pressed it to her heart. Kitty would never know how much it meant to her.
‘At least he gave you something to wipe your eyes with!’ She stood up. ‘I shall go and talk to him. He can’t send you away because I need you.’
‘I want to go,’ Bridie said quietly. ‘It’s a good position for a girl like me. I’ve never been to Dublin.’
Kitty swung round. ‘Dublin? Papa is sending you to Dublin?’
‘Yes, Dublin.’ Bridie twisted the handkerchief into a knot. ‘Didn’t I say?’
‘You’re not going to leave me, Bridie! We’re like sisters, you and I. I need you!’
Bridie thought of Jack and his love for Kitty and her resolve hardened. She looked down at the handkerchief which Mr Deverill had used to dry her eyes the first time he had kissed her, and folded it into her hands. ‘I have to go, Kitty. There’s nothing for me here but you. If I stay I’ll end up like my mother.’
‘That’s not so terrible, surely,’ Kitty argued.
‘I want more from my life than this.’
‘So, what’s Papa arranged for you in Dublin?’
Bridie couldn’t look at her and lie so brazenly. She stared into her lap. ‘I’ll be working as a lady’s maid for a grand lady in a beautiful house. That’s all I know.’
‘What’s the difference to working here? Aren’t I grand enough for you?’ Kitty grinned but Bridie could tell she was angry. ‘I’ll always treat you well, Bridie. You know that. If it’s money, I’m sure Papa can pay you more . . .’
‘It’s not money.’ Bridie looked at her steadily. ‘I had a fella, but now—’
‘Well, why didn’t you say?’
‘It’s over. He doesn’t want me any more.’ Bridie’s shoulders began to shake. ‘I need to get away. Far away.’
Kitty sat beside her and put her arms around her. ‘Oh Bridie, you should have told me. Did he break your heart?’ Bridie nodded. ‘The toad!’
‘It doesn’t matter. He was too good for me anyway.’
Kitty wondered whether she was speaking of Jack, but didn’t dare ask; that subject was much too sensitive. ‘Nonsense,’ she soothed. ‘You’re too good for him, Bridie. You have a heart of gold. Any man would be lucky to win it.’
Bridie leant her head against her friend and felt a warm feeling wrap her up like a blanket. ‘Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends. Isn’t that so?’ she said.
Kitty held her fiercely. ‘You’re my best friend in the whole world, Bridie. I love you like a sister. You promise to write to me every week?’
‘I promise.’
‘If she’s mean to you, or you’re unhappy, or you simply miss home, your place here will always be open for you.’ She felt her own eyes prickling with tears. She squeezed Bridie harder. ‘Or if you simply miss me, I’ll come up to Dublin. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll come and visit you. You only have to say the word.’
Bridie arrived in Dublin sick with nerves about leaving home and frightened about her uncertain future. The only consolation was the child growing inside her whom she already loved with the passion of someone who has lost everything. When she pressed her hand to her belly she felt a wave of tenderness wash over her, drowning her fears and filling her with optimism. Surely she could persuade the nuns at the convent to let her keep her baby? But Bridie was naive to believe that her wishes would ever be considered.
Grace had answered Bertie’s cry for help and agreed to take Bridie in as a maid in her Dublin home for the duration of her pregnancy. When Bertie had told her of the girl’s plight, Grace had understood the situation immediately and made the arrangements with the efficiency of a colonel in the British Army. The girl had to be removed discreetly and Bertie’s child put up for adoption at once. Grace rose to the challenge; after all, she prided herself on her ability to get things done. ‘Once you have been delivered of your child I shall arrange for your passage to America,’ she told Bridie. ‘Sir Ronald and I have many friends in New York and I have already started looking for a position for you. It will be exciting starting a new life in a new city. I’m sure you’ll make your family very proud.’ Grace faltered when she saw the girl’s stricken face. It was clear from the light slowly extinguishing in her eyes that Bridie had hoped to keep her baby. But this wasn’t just any baby: this was Bertie’s baby, and there was nothing in the world that would have convinced Grace to let her keep it. ‘I’m afraid a girl in your position, Bridie, simply can’t bring up a child on her own. This way is better for both of you.’ Grace averted her gaze. She couldn’t bear the sight of Bridie’s despair. She was only a child herself, the same age as Kitty. ‘One day you will thank me,’ she said, before leaving Bridie to the care of her housekeeper. But Bridie felt as if she had just delivered her death sentence.
After Bridie left, the summer disintegrated into wet days and the leaves fell dejectedly onto the soggy ground. Autumn blew inland in gales that sent the waves crashing against the cliffs and the wind thrashing against the castle walls. Kitty met Jack whenever she could, but it was dangerous to be seen together. Kitty could not be observed associat
ing with local men already under suspicion of being involved with the IRA for fear of breaking her cover. So they met in secret at the Fairy Ring, in the caves on Smuggler’s Bay, in Adeline’s greenhouses. Their kisses were stolen and therefore more precious than ever. They had become a small island surrounded by a hostile ocean, with enemy ships on every side. They clung to each other, living intensely and in the moment, because neither dared look beyond for the future was as dark as night.
In July both sides had agreed to a truce to end the fighting but the violence had continued nonetheless, especially in the North. When Hubert read that thirty people had been killed in Belfast he threw the paper onto the breakfast table in disgust and walked out with his gun, shouting through the hall that he was taking the dogs for a walk and woe betide any Shinner who dared step into his path. In December Kitty and Jack celebrated the Anglo-Irish Treaty which was signed in London between the British Government and the Irish delegation, declaring Southern Ireland a Free State, but allowing the North to opt out and stay British if it so desired; and it did desire. This meant that Ireland would be partitioned into two parts: the independent south and the British North. But it was a compromise and compromises never please everyone. Many Irish nationalists regarded it as a betrayal and Michael Doyle was one of them. He challenged Jack to agree but Jack was growing tired of the violence. The fire in his spirit was now tempered by his deepening love for Kitty. The vision of settling down with her and starting a family was a pinprick of light at the end of a black tunnel, impossibly small but tantalizingly visible. The more he set his sights on it the more real it became. He began to dream of peace so that he and Kitty could walk over the hills hand in hand for all the world to see. But Michael wasn’t going to let him give in so easily.
The night before Christmas Adeline sat up in bed. It was as dark as slate. The wind moaned around the castle walls like a restless ghost but the ghosts themselves were quiet. Her heart beat frantically as if sensing a danger she hadn’t yet understood. She climbed out of bed and made her way across the cold room to the window. Pulling back the curtains revealed nothing but her own white face and nightdress reflected in the glass, staring uneasily back at her. She sighed heavily and wondered whether to wake Hubert. She could hear him snoring loudly in his bedroom next door. His lungs were like bellows as he took in great snorts of air. She was suddenly overcome by a desire to curl up beside him, like they had done in the old days when they were young and in love. She wanted to take comfort from his big, warm body that smelt of cigars and whiskey and dog. But she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep with the noise. Finally she crept back into her own bed and curled into a ball beneath the blankets. She closed her eyes but her heart would not quieten for all the gentle thoughts she poured into it.
Songs of Love and War Page 23