“That is a fertile imagination you have,” Niall said briskly.
“It is what happened,” Christopher insisted. “I was there.”
Niall could not prevent his gaze from flying to the nursery maid’s face in alarm, but she only smiled. “Thank you, Miss Deakin.” Niall waited until she had left the room, far more reluctantly it seemed than in the past. He could only assume she preferred caring for the children over working in the kitchen. “Now, my lads, it is best if we do not share the story of your adventure this morning with others. Your mother and brother should not be happy to learn of it, should they?”
“My brother was most displeased with us yesterday,” Christopher observed, “but he gave us the toys and candy anyway.”
Niall suppressed a groan. “Perhaps, but you were not meant to leave the house on your own. If he were to learn of it, I am persuaded the baron should be quite angry. He would most likely remove your little tools altogether.” Niall did not wish to encourage dishonesty, but he had Pierre’s life to protect, as well as Miss Fulton’s reputation. If only she were present in the school room, she would contrive a means to turn the lads’ attentions to their lessons.
“I hear horses,” Christopher said.
Charles jumped to his feet and ran to the window. “Someone has come to Oak View,” he observed as he gazed down at the drive below.
Christopher ran to the window, as well. “Oooh, pretty horses,” he murmured.
“Lads, it is time for lessons,” Niall adjured as he went to the bookcase. His finger lingered over the binding of Castle Rackrent, but he quickly decided it, with its wry depiction of Anglo-Irish landlords, would only do the lads an injustice. “Masters Charles and Christopher, I must insist that you return to your chairs,” he said as he went to the window.
He saw that a traveling coach did indeed wait at the front of the house. “Perhaps your mama has a new guest arriving for the party.” He put a hand on each lad’s shoulder to direct them to face the school room. “Please be seated.”
Charles and Christopher did as they were told, but Niall soon found they did not benefit from it. His thoughts so continually drifted to how he might arrange to catch a glimpse of Miss Fulton that he hardly knew what it was he said. After twice offering the incorrect date during the history lesson and failing to discover a mistake in Christopher’s mathematics, Niall allowed the lads to return to the window.
“Look, Charles,” his brother said. “The coach is still there.”
“Look! Isn’t she lovely?” Charles replied. “She has such a beautiful hat.”
“Yes, but she looks so sad,” Christopher remarked.
“Is it your mama?” Niall rose and went to the window. He looked down just as a lady disappeared into the carriage. He noticed that there was now luggage strapped to the top but did not feel any alarm until he realized that it was Miss Fulton and her father, who stood in conversation with Lady Bissell.
“She is going away,” Niall said in disbelief.
“But she can’t!” Christopher cried.
“Not without saying goodbye!” Charles insisted.
It was all he could do to refrain from opening the window and calling down to her. He could not abstain, however, from staring down at her in apprehension. The lads tapped frantically at the window and, looking up, she saw them. She smiled and waved quite merrily as if she anticipated a happy journey. In point of fact, she seemed perfectly content. It smote him to the heart.
Mr. Fulton also looked up, scowling. Instinctively, Niall stepped back, almost as if to dodge a blow. He watched with growing devastation as Miss Fulton was handed into the carriage. As it pulled away and moved down the long drive, the old man ran out of the gatehouse to open the gate and shut it behind them with a resounding thud. Miss Fulton was gone. Forever.
“I fail to comprehend,” Fiona hissed into Caroline’s ear, “why it is we have taken our leave so abruptly. Certainly there was time for me to bid a proper adieu to Mr. Wilkinson. He shall believe I do not care for him.”
“Nor was I allowed to so much as to dash off a note to Mr. Doherty,” Caroline whispered in return. She brushed away a tear. “I am persuaded that Papa wished to be gone before the baron returned to witness my disgrace.”
“At least you were able to wave to Mr. Doherty in the window,” Fiona pointed out. “How you managed to smile is something I shall never understand.”
“I did not wish to upset the lads.” Her voice trembled. “I would not have them remember me as sad, but rather as happy to have known them.”
“And Mr. Doherty?”
Caroline nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “And there was Lady Bissell,” she said as she dabbed at her cheeks. “To have Papa carry me off in disgrace was bad enough. I did not wish to add to her burdens by behaving as if I were dreadfully unhappy.” The fact that she was, indeed, dreadfully unhappy, was neither here nor there.
“Lady Bissell was truly gracious,” Fiona returned quietly. “I do believe she was sorry to see you go.”
“Poor Papa,” Caroline mused, sadly. “He might have had a baroness for a daughter.”
“Whatever is in store for you now, it must prove preferable than to be the new Lady Bissell,” Fiona said bleakly.
“I do not know, my dear.” Caroline felt as if her heart had turned to stone and lodged in her throat. “Papa is so very angry. I am delighted that you, at least, shall be free to correspond with Mr. Wilkinson.”
“Why should you not write to Mr. Doherty, as well?” Fiona asked.
“I suppose I might, but it should avail me naught. Papa shall never allow me to know Mr. Doherty any better than I do this moment.” She recalled that Pierre had called him Niall; Niall Doherty. It was a perfectly splendid Irish name. “I do not wish to allow Mr. Doherty hope when there is none. I have never known Papa to be so angry at me,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I am persuaded he shall not allow me to go out of the house for months.”
Fiona reached over to take Caroline’s hand. Neither of them dared to lift their gazes to the face of Mr. Fulton. He had said so many dreadful things already and had no wish to invite another of his awful tirades.
They broke their journey for the night at the same inn they had stayed at on their outgoing journey. This time, however, Caroline was not allowed to dine in the public room nor walk about the garden. Her father arranged for dinner to be brought to her chamber, where she remained until their departure in the morning.
By the time the carriage drew to a halt in the drive of Fiona’s home, Caroline felt as if she had been away for a year. Her distress was heightened by her father’s determination to put her in mind of his humiliation at every turn. Rather than stop for a dish of tea with Fiona’s mother and father, Caroline was not permitted to alight from the carriage. When she saw how it would be, she put her arms around her friend and held her close. “Goodbye, my dear. Please write to me,” she murmured before the tears constricted her throat.
“I shall!” Fiona replied, leaning back out of Caroline’s arms to search her face. “I shall write to you every day and bring the letter to your doorstep in the case that I am not allowed to see you.”
Caroline nodded, but she could no longer hold back the tears.
“He cannot keep you shut up forever,” Fiona whispered.
Caroline again nodded her agreement, as speech was impossible.
Fiona gave Caroline’s hand a final squeeze, then she moved out of the shadowed carriage into the daylight without. Her mama and papa were standing on the drive, waiting to take her in their arms whilst their pack of dogs cavorted up and down the drive.
Caroline leaned forward so as to view the happy scene when, with a snap, Mr. Fulton shut the carriage door. She bit back the hasty words that came to her tongue as she stared into the gloom of the empty carriage. It was punishing in the extreme to be reduced to a mere eavesdropper of the joyful reunion of Fiona’s family. The tears flowed faster as Caroline realized what a trial was yet to come. Somehow s
he had forgotten how much she looked on Fiona’s mother as her own. To not be allowed to consult Mrs. O’Sullivan on the fit of a new gown or, most particularly, matters of the heart, seemed too cruel a fate.
Thoughts of Bess, Caroline’s abigail, next came to mind. Hopefully, she was returned from tending to her sick mother. The young maid was possessed of a listening ear upon which Caroline could count to be in full sympathy with all that she said. But when they finally arrived at The Hollows, she was dismayed to learn that Bess’s mother was still gravely ill. A kitchen maid was sent to help Caroline out of her gown and stays, but she was not one Caroline wished to trouble with her private musings. Papa has robbed me of everything, she thought.
Come the morn, the same girl arrived to assist Caroline to dress. She almost chuckled aloud when she thought on how what she wore hardly mattered. She might remain in her night rail all day; no one but the kitchen maid would be the wiser. When the girl left, Caroline sat at her writing desk and wrote a letter to Fiona.
Once that task was completed, she picked up a book and attempted to read. Her thoughts continually wandered, however, to the stolen moments with Mr. Doherty by the little spring; the instant she first knew that he loved her; the fervent kiss he had pressed to her forehead within the circle of oaks in the woods.
With a sigh, she went to the window that looked out over the back garden. How she longed to be out among the green. It was a color she would always associate with Mr. Doherty and their time together at Oak View.
Listlessly, she passed the day in such idle pursuits until, late in the afternoon, a rap came at the door. She pulled it open to find the housekeeper, who regarded her with impertinent curiosity.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss, but yer father is wishful to see ye in his study, ta sooner ta better.”
“Thank you,” Caroline said as she went to her writing desk to retrieve the letter to Fiona. Then she made her way to her father’s study and rapped on the door.
“Come in,” her father said in tones so cross she knew he had not softened his stance to any degree. Indeed, it sounded as if he were angrier than ever.
As she lifted the latch, she was dismayed to see how her hand shook. She had never before been afraid of her father; he had always been the one to spoil her, to capitulate to her, to fulfill her every wish. Somehow he had transformed into the very one responsible for the loss of her every comfort in life. She could not imagine what remained for his taking, but the very notion made her tremble.
Slowly, she opened the door and looked into the room. Her father sat in his favorite chair by the fire, reading the periodicals. Apprehensive, she entered quietly in the case he found himself angered purely at her existence. He lifted his head and saw her, grunting an acknowledgment of her presence. Then he returned his attention to his reading.
Caroline knew not what she should do. She stood for so long in such a state of trepidation that her knees began to ache. To be alone in her bedchamber suddenly seemed a far more welcome prospect. Finally, she could bear it no longer. “Papa? I was told you wished to speak to me for some reason.”
He jerked his head up and glared at her. “I have not forgiven ye, if t’at is what ye believe!”
Her lips fell open in astonishment.
“I shan’t tolerate such behavior, ye hussy! Ye shall catch cold at t’at, see if ye don’t!”
Caroline stifled a sigh and bowed her head. “If you are not to tell me what is wanted, I shall return to my room.”
“Ye shall not go to yer room ‘til ye are told to go to yer room!”
Caroline nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
“Ye shan’t speak ‘til I tell ye to speak!”
Caroline bit her lip and said nothing.
“T’ere is not one t’ing ye shall do unless I have commanded it!”
Tears stung her eyes as she considered her father’s lack of charity. He had never even allowed her to explain. It seemed now he would never know the truth. She sniffed as the tears began to fall.
“Is sniveling all ye have to say for yerself?” he demanded.
“If by that you mean to grant me permission to speak...” she started before he interrupted.
“Not if t’ere is to be tears! I cannot abide ’em! When ye are prepared to answer me questions wit’out weepin’, I shall hear ye.”
Silently, she held out the letter for Fiona.
He gave her a stony stare then returned his attention to his periodical.
Caroline allowed the letter to flutter to the floor in hopes the butler would collect it and see it delivered. Then she picked up her skirts and fled to her room. It was not until the key was turned in the lock that she began to weep in earnest. Wracked with anguish, she wondered if she would ever be able to speak of Mr. Doherty without weeping.
The following morning she heard the sound of wheels against the gravel of the drive. She ran to the window that looked out over the front of the house to behold Fiona as she stepped down from her jaunting car. She looked up at the window and smiled, putting her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the unusually hot sun.
With a surge of gratitude, Caroline greeted her friend with a wave. She waited as Fiona rapped and the door, followed by the sound of it opening and the faint murmur of voices. The tones of her friend’s voice, however dim, was so very welcome! To her dismay, Caroline heard the butler deny Fiona entrance and the snap of the door snapping shut. She no longer smiled as she looked up again at Caroline’s window.
“Wait!” Caroline called as she turned the window latch. To her surprise, the window would not be moved. At first, she thought it to be stuck, but as she pushed and prodded, the panes of glass merely rattled in their frames. At last, she shook her head as she gazed sadly down at Fiona. She seemed to understand, her head hung low as she climbed aboard her jaunting car and drove away.
Caroline waited with great misgiving until the jaunting car disappeared from view before she dashed to the window that overlooked the garden. Frantic, she turned the latch of that window, as well, and found that it would not open, either. Her skin flushed and her heart raced as she realized the truth: her papa had ordered the windows nailed shut from the outside. It was with a great sense of betrayal that she realized he must have had it done whilst she was with him in his study the day prior.
She fell across her bed and contemplated her choice to live with a man who possessed no honor. If she were to endure such selfishness, she ought to have done so as the baron’s wife and mother of his children. Tears would have been welcome, but to her astonishment they would not come.
The day after and the next were like the first. When, by the fourth, she still could not weep, Caroline felt ready to speak to her father. Each time someone came to the door with food or to pointlessly help her in and out of her gown, Caroline sent word to him. To her dismay, there was never any response. More days passed and Caroline grew desperate. Bess was never restored to her, so the letters Caroline wrote to Fiona were given to the kitchen maid in hopes she would see them carried to the O’Sullivans. However, in spite of Fiona’s daily visits with her letters clearly in hand, none of them made their way to Caroline.
After a fortnight of almost total seclusion, a folded parchment was slipped under Caroline’s door. In disbelief, she took it up and turned it over in her hands. The seal had been broken, leading her to believe her father had read it. Surely he had read all of the others, as well. She wondered what was different about this one that she should have the chance to know its contents. She spread wide the parchment and was immediately disappointed by the brevity of Fiona’s words. It told only of her invitation to return to Oak View. Mr. Wilkinson was still in residence, and he would not leave Ireland until he saw her. She was to depart the following morning.
Caroline read of her friend’s happy news with joy, even as her loneliness increased in equal measure. She suspected she would soon hear of Fiona’s betrothal to Mr. Wilkinson. Caroline did not know when she could hope to see Fiona again; Mr. Fulton was
not likely to allow his daughter to attend the nuptials.
Another week passed, one of very little rain, and her chamber became unbearable. As she could not let in fresh air, the unusually hot weather was a misfortune rather than a treat. How she would have loved to be outside basking in the sun! And yet, she did not enjoy her view of the garden as it slowly browned in the heat. She moved to the window that overlooked the front of the house in hopes of observing a passing carriage.
To her astonishment, she saw an unfamiliar vehicle roll along in the dust of a distant road. “Let us make a wager,” she said through the window glass to the pigeon that stood on the sill. “If that carriage turns down the lane to my house, come supper, I shall give you a parsnip.”
The pigeon cooed, a piece of brown grass in its beak as Caroline watched the progress of the carriage with growing anticipation. “Huzzah!” she cried when it turned into her lane. “I wonder who has come to call. It is not the O’Sullivan carriage, of that I am certain,” she said by way of informing the pigeon. “Nor does it bear a crest, so it might very well be a hired carriage.”
The bird tilted its head, but it did not fly away.
“You are after that parsnip, are you not?” she said with a smile. “Naturally, no one from Mullagh need hire a carriage to call on us. Therefore, whoever is in the carriage hails from somewhere far.” She watched the bird as it regarded her with an unblinking eye. “How delightful if it should prove to be Fiona with her Mr. Wilkinson. They had best hurry; it looks as if it shall finally rain. Then again, perhaps the driver has mistakenly turned down our lane and shall only circle the drive and go on his way.”
She had decided this to be likely, but waited, along with the pigeon, to ensure her accuracy. She had never been more surprised or delighted in the whole of her life when the carriage drew to a halt, and Mr. Doherty alighted. He looked extremely dapper in an elegant hat, a charcoal jacket, and buff pantaloons. He wore snow white gloves and in his hand he carried a proper cane which he employed to rap on the door.
O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 20