Gracelin O'Malley

by Ann Moore

  “Aye.” He stooped to kiss her cheek, closing his eyes to better take in the soft milky smell of her.

  “You’re a good son,” she whispered, her hand against his cheek.

  He kept his eyes closed against the tears that threatened to come and felt her arms go tightly around him.

  “’Twill be all right, agra,” she soothed. “You’ve a Father in the Lord and He’ll look out for us as He’s always done.”

  He nodded, kissed her again, then went to his corner of the cabin. He lay down in his clothes, turned his face to the wall, and fell immediately into a dark and dreamless sleep.

  Mary sat on her stool, staring at the embers in the hearth until the cabin had grown quiet but for the sounds of sleeping, and then she bowed her head and prayed with an open and weeping heart. An hour passed, and then another, and finally there was nothing left to beg of God, only that for which to thank Him—the lives of her children, a roof over their heads, food for tomorrow. She stood stiffly to cover the embers with ash, then went to the back of the cabin and lay down alone on the straw, drawing the thin blanket up to her chin and setting carefully under her pillow Nally’s gold earrings—all that was left of him now.

  Eight

  ALTHOUGH the evening air carried within itself the kiss of a fine mist that would lie upon the ground before morning, Grace felt no chill. It was in anxious anticipation of the evening ahead that she briskly rubbed her arms, bare in the low, sleeveless evening gown Bram had gotten for her in Dublin. This would be her last chance to wear it before the baby was born; already it had gone snug about the waist. She would have to sit tall and eat very little to remain comfortable during the long evening at O’Flaherty’s.

  “Gracelin!” Bram shouted up the stairwell. “Come on now! I shan’t keep the horses standing any longer!”

  Grace winced at the irritation in his voice, but did not jump up. She took a long, deep breath, then covered the powder bowl and rose carefully, pausing briefly before the looking glass to check her appearance. Rich midnight blue velvet fit against her like a second skin, taut across her growing bosom and hips; a small flounce at each shoulder only rendered more smooth and white the skin of her shoulders and arms. She had never spent a summer out of the sun, never given it a thought, but Bram had insisted on hats and long-sleeved gauze work shirts when she was out of doors and the result was this creamy, lightly freckled skin. The low-cut bodice that had made her blush on her honeymoon now caused her no embarrassment; she had learned her husband’s appetites and knew he would take pleasure in the other gentlemen’s enjoyment of her figure.

  “Grace!”

  She grabbed the cashmere shawl, picked up her heavy skirts, and went carefully down the stairs. “Here now, you can stop your stomping and barking,” she teased. She let down her skirts once she stood in the entry and looked up into his face. “Shall we go, then?” There was no answer. “Bram?”

  He closed his mouth and shook his head as if to clear his vision, then came closer, running an open hand down the side of her neck, across her collarbone and down to her bosom. “Perhaps we should skip the damn dinner and stay in tonight,” he said hoarsely, kissing her neck.

  She pushed him away gently. “Shame on you, Squire Donnelly, after putting the fear of God in me to mind my manners around the O’Flahertys and their high guests, after making me spend all my evenings these past weeks practicing ‘proper pronounciation and the polite conversation of the parlor,’ after insisting I spend all afternoon squeezing myself into this dress and—”

  “All right, all right,” he laughed despite himself. “You’ve made your point. We’re off.” He turned and clapped his hands. “Brigid!”

  The housekeeper appeared in the doorway with a greatcoat for Grace and a carriage blanket for the ride home, which she handed to the Squire. “Missus Donnelly shouldn’t take chill in her condition, sir,” she said respectfully, adding, “’Tis a beautiful gown on her, and the two of you so handsome together.”

  Bram screwed up his face, but Grace could see he was pleased.

  “Say a prayer for me tonight,” she whispered to Brigid as the older woman settled the coat around her shoulders.

  “Won’t be needing any dressed like that,” Brigid whispered back reassuringly.

  They left the warmth of the house, walking down the steps to the waiting carriage; Jack would drive them over the hill to Cairn Manor. It was to be her first foray into country high society and she would meet some of the other families who made up the Twelve Tribes of Galway. They comprised Bram’s social circle, and several of the men had provided financial backing in his mill enterprises, for which they were realizing a generous return.

  Bram was more nervous than she’d ever seen him, questioning and quizzing her throughout the short trip.

  “After dinner, you’ll go with the other ladies while I retire with the gentlemen for cigars and brandy.”

  “Where is it the ladies go?” Grace asked.

  Bram waved his hand vaguely. “Up somewhere. To fix their hair and neaten their dresses.” He leaned in close. “They’ll no doubt make reference to your good marriage; how will you reply?”

  Grace bit her lip.

  “Stop that,” Bram flicked her mouth with his gloved hand. “It’s childish. Now, what will you answer when they ask, ‘And how do you find Donnelly House?’”

  “Well, I’ll tell them it’s easy to find, being so grand and all, and the only one off the avenue by the lake!”

  “Be serious!” Bram glared at her.

  Grace drew back slightly and cocked her head at him. “Do you really think I’m as thick as all that, Squire Donnelly?”

  His anger faded as quickly as it had come up, but his voice was still firm. “This is important, Grace. These people are my friends and my business associates. They will be judging you … and by my choice in you, they will be judging me, as well.”

  “I understand.” She turned away and looked out her window into the dark countryside, saying a silent prayer to calm her nerves.

  “Bram,” she said suddenly. “Will they be holding me up against”—she glanced at him and away quickly—“your first wives?”

  He frowned, but said nothing. Then, “Why?”

  “They were ladies, were they not? How can I measure up to that?”

  “You can’t,” he said simply. “That’s why it’s doubly important you rise above your humble upbringing. They’ll behave more generously to you if you’re shy and demure, and if you keep up a bit of mystery. So no rattling off about ways to prepare potatoes and cabbage, or where’s the best bog in which to cut turf.”

  Grace turned away, stung. “I’m no fool, Bram, and if you don’t know that by now … well, then it’s your mind they’ll be questioning, not mine.”

  “Just do as I say, Grace.” He squeezed her hand tightly until she faced him. “You’ve a high spirit, and that’s fine at home … in private.” His eyes flicked across her body, then back to her face. “But not in public. Not with these people.” He moved so close, she could feel his breath on her face. “We’ll be raising our children with their children, educating and socializing them together, sending them off to university together, marrying them to each other. You must not bring shame to our children, Grace.”

  She nodded, her cheeks hot with the unfairness of his words, her throat dry and choked with tears.

  And then they were there. The horses stopped and stamped their feet, while Jack opened the carriage door and let them out. The chill evening air cleared her head and braced her with its familiar autumn smell of wood smoke, dying leaves, and fading marigold.

  Cairn Manor was a true manor house, enormous by country standards, with a formal garden and hedges, and light blazing from every window. Occasional bursts of laughter shot out into the dark; Grace shivered and put her hand over her stomach.

  Bram took her arm and whispered, “You look beautiful.”

  The door opened and a butler in full dress took their cloaks, passing them t
o a maid before leading the couple into a crowded drawing room.

  “Squire and Missus Bram Donnelly,” he announced stiffly.

  Conversation died within seconds and all eyes turned upon them. Grace lowered hers to the floor to compose herself, then looked up and smiled, singling out their hostess.

  “Good evening!” Missus O’Flaherty hurried toward them, bringing them into the room.

  Talk began again, quietly and politely in its separate circles, although Grace caught the end of covert glances whenever she looked around.

  “Same old crowd.” Missus O’Flaherty was dismissing Bram with an aggressive smile and coquettish batting of the eyes, at the same time she took possesion of Grace. “You know everyone here, I believe, Squire.”

  Bram took his cue, kissed Grace on the cheek, and moved toward the circle of men near the fireplace, who hailed him boisterously and clapped him on the back.

  Missus O’Flaherty led Grace from one group of ladies to the next, nodding and smiling and reeling off long names with bits of ancestry. Grace murmured and lowered her eyes, trying desperately to commit all of it to memory. There were several lords and ladies, many squires, a few land agents whose names she recognized; she knew the solicitor, and Doctor and Missus Branagh, but none of the young married ladies, or the debutantes. This latter group in particular eyed Grace with a mix of spite and curiosity, making little effort to hide their scorn for the country girl who’d snatched away such a prize as Bram Donnelly, a man so far above her station. Thinking of her fine mother and father, her dear grandmother and brother, Grace stood as tall as she could and met every gaze, kind or not, with the graciousness that had been born into her.

  With the arrival of new guests, Missus O’Flaherty left Grace in a group of older matrons much caught up in the subject of fine teas. With one ear to the conversation lest a question be put to her, Grace let her eyes wander over the room, which was far more grand than that at Donnelly House. Ornately framed portraits of ancestors and their dogs and horses covered the walls, porcelain figurines and carved ivory from Mister O’Flaherty’s adventures in Africa sat on sidetables, shelves, and mounted glassed cabinets. The wood in the room glowed with polish; the window glass gleamed; fire and chandelier light caught and danced in the crystal from which they all drank; diamonds and emeralds and rubies sparkled around the necks and wrists and fingers of the women; the gold and silver of the men’s rings, watch chains, cigar clips, and cuff links added to the luster of the room. Grace put her hand to her neck and realized she’d not worn the diamond teardrop. Bram had given her, although smaller diamonds hung from her ears. She sipped the sherry someone put into her hand, and was just beginning to relax when dinner was announced.

  Bram came immediately to her side, smiling to let her know he was pleased, and offered her his arm into the dining room.

  It was all Grace could do to keep from gasping. The room was enormous—a long table ran down its middle with padded chairs all around. Behind the chairs, up against the wall, were twenty servants, the girls dressed in black muslin and starched white caps and aprons, the boys in jackets and white shirtfronts. Grace saw Aislinn McDonagh and began to speak, but caught herself and settled for an exchange of nervous smiles. Brenda O’Flaherty suddenly appeared and coquettishly claimed Bram’s arm, her brother Gerald claiming Grace’s with equal charm. They were escorted to opposite places at the table: Grace’s toward the head, Bram’s across and down at the other end. She looked down the long table at Bram in alarm, but he silenced her with his eyes and entered into conversation with Brenda, who was seated on his right.

  The table was magnificently set with bowls of hothouse flowers, crystal, china, and silver. Watching the others, Grace placed her linen serviette in her lap, then sat quietly while her dinner partners were seated. Mister O’Flaherty sat at the head of the table with his wife at the other end. On his right was Lady Helen Ashton, visiting from Cheltnam; Gerald O’Flaherty; Grace; Lord David Evans from London; Miss Julia Martin, whom Grace knew to be at college in England; and seven others, including an Austrian count on honeymoon with his new wife, and a lone duchess, on down the row to Missus O’Flaherty, who had seated Bram on her right followed by her daughter Brenda. Doctor Branagh, several debutantes, and the solicitor made up the far side of the table; Eleanor O’Flaherty sat directly across from Grace, her stern, unhappy gaze making an uncomfortable place to rest the eyes. Grace looked down the table to Bram and was rewarded with an encouraging smile.

  Gerald gave his attention to Lady Ashton and Eleanor, and Lord Evans was engaged in a political discussion of some heat with Miss Martin, although both seemed to be enjoying it. Grace did not mind her own absence of conversation, was in fact relieved, and concentrated on the lovely surroundings and excellent supper, which was course after course of the most beautifully dressed food Grace had seen since Dublin: oyster bisque with floating butter, a molded salmon salad, slices of roast venison, duck in plum sauce, pears and apples with cheese; and for dessert, cherry preserves, cool refreshing ices, and chocolate gateau, all of it washed down with French wines.

  Grace was unable to eat more than a bite or two of each dish for fear her dress would burst, and she was very aware of the waste of food being sent back to the kitchen. She felt apologetic each time a serving girl removed her plate. Aislinn stood across from her, behind Eleanor, and Grace soon realized the girl was in a kind of silent communication with Gerald. Eleanor quickly caught on to the flirtation and tried to shame her brother with a look of obvious distaste, but this only made him more bold, signaling for Aislinn and causing her to bend over so that he might whisper in her ear, presumably about the underdone venison on his plate. Aislinn’s eyes widened and a blush spread across her face, her hands trembling as she picked up his untouched plate and carried it back to the kitchen, returning moments later with another cut, prepared more to his liking. Eleanor then signaled to the girl and made similar comments about her own plate; thus, Aislinn was kept moving throughout the entire dinner until her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes harried. Grace’s heart went out to her and she wondered if the girl would survive this house. She resolved to speak to Morgan about it, and in the next moment remembered the pained look on his face when she’d offered him money. That gaff had nearly cost her their friendship, and she mustn’t let it happen again.

  “They’re just having a bit of fun with her.” Lord Evans spoke in a low voice, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his serviette. He smiled when she turned. “One should not become distressed over the plight of servants. Especially when one is surrounded by good food, excellent wine, and a fascinating dinner partner who is feeling neglected.”

  “Forgive me,” Grace said softly. “I did not mean to neglect you. I thought you were discussing the Repealers with Miss Martin.”

  Lord Evans sighed. “You are not also interested in Irish politics, I hope.”

  “I care about my country,” Grace said, and then remembered Bram’s warning. “But my opinions are closely held.”

  “What a relief!” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Now tell me, why are you troubling yourself over that child?”

  “She is the sister of my oldest friend.”

  “Ah!” Lord Evans’s eyebrows rose in amusement at her sincerity. “I take it your friend’s family has fallen on … difficult times?”

  “No,” she said, puzzled. “They live as they always have.”

  “I beg your pardon.” He took a delicate sip from the wineglass in his hand. “I do not understand. Your oldest friend is of a … how shall I say it … less elevated class? And your family encourages this friendship?”

  Grace pulled herself erect, then glanced down the table at Bram, who was engaged with Brenda in lively conversation. Safe for the moment, she dropped her guard. “We consider it a blessing to have such good friends as themselves, sir. The McDonaghs are a fine family—honest and hardworking. I know of none better.”

  “Among the tenant class.”

 
“Among any class.” Grace’s eyes flashed but she worked to keep her brogue down.

  Lord Evans hid a smile in another sip from his glass. “You are a champion of the poor, then, are you, madam?”

  Grace did not know what to say to this; she was aware of Gerald’s silence on her left and feared he might be listening.

  “Poverty and wealth are conditions of the soul, Lord Evans,” she said firmly. “An impoverished spirit can befall any man, and indeed, I see more poverty here in this room than I have in any country lane.”

  Lord Evans tipped his head, studying her with new regard. “Well said, madam.” He raised his glass. “May I propose a truce?”

  Unsure, Grace reached for her glass. “You’ve not seen many battles, Lord Evans, if you think we were at war.”

  He laughed, and moved his chair closer to hers. “To whom do you belong? I must know.” He looked around at the table guests. “Wait!” He held up his hand. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

  Grace smiled at this, then nodded.

  “I can rule out O’Flaherty and his son—oh, no …” His face fell, and he lowered his voice conspiratorily. “You’re not with Master Gerald, are you?”

  Grace looked at him as though he were mad.

  “No, no, of course not,” he laughed again, and continued surveying the table. “Not the count—too Austrian,” he added.

  “And newly married.”

  “You’re clearly not a woman of the world,” he teased, then pursed his lips and frowned. “Not the solicitor … much too old; nor the doctor, of course … I know his wife, lovely woman. Certainly not that chap next to her, and definitely not that one with the mustache … hmmm, who is left? Lord Stevens?” He arched his eyebrows at the possibility, examining her.

  Grace shook her head, unsure of whom they were speaking.

  Lord Evans squinted down to the end of the table, stopping abruptly when he came to Bram.

  “You’re Missus Donnelly. I’d heard he’d married again.” He turned back to Grace, but his smile was stiff now, forced. “You’ve married hardworking Squire Donnelly, then. Lord Donnelly’s son.”