O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heidi Ashworth

  “I happened to overhear a portion of her conversation with Miss O’Sullivan. She said how she longed for her mother’s treasures. Can you make anything of that?”

  “I am afraid there is little I can tell you in that regard. The maid who attended her has long since been dismissed. I cannot say what any of those treasures might have been. If it is your wish to restore them to her, I am afraid I can be of no assistance.”

  “Is there anyone in the house who might know what these treasures are?” Niall asked in tones loud enough to be heard by the servant partially obscured behind a door to another room.

  “I am not certain,” the butler began, but was forestalled by the emergence of the old woman, feather duster in hand.

  “And who might you be?” Niall asked kindly.

  “I’m Mrs. Kiernan. I ha’ been with the family since Miss Fulton were a babe. I know exactly what she were talkin’ ‘bout, but she must have took t’em with her, for I not seen t’em since afore she left.”

  “Since before she left?” Niall asked. “Are you very certain?”

  “Yes,” she said in a fearful manner, her eyes wide.

  “Then it seems she has sold them to acquire the funds for her journey,” Niall pointed out. “Will you make me a list, Mrs. Kiernan?”

  “I canna write,” she replied.

  “Perhaps, if I were to have a pen and parchment.”

  “Of course,” the butler agreed. “If you would, please follow me into the study.”

  “Mrs. Kiernan?” Niall indicated that the maid should follow, as well. Like her, he entered the study with no small amount of trepidation; it had been the scene of his greatest blow since the death of his father. Looking about, he realized it was far less threatening minus its domineering inhabitant.

  As he sat at the desk, he was overcome with a curious feeling. To sit in the same chair as Mr. Fulton when he denied Niall his only happiness in life was unexpected in every way. Picking up the pen from the desk, he dipped it into the well. “Mrs. Kiernan, tell me, please, which items once belonging to her mother disappeared prior to Miss Fulton’s departure.”

  “Well, ’twere a set of coral-studded combs and a silver brush with a matchin’ mirror, the sort ye hold in yer hand.”

  Niall wrote them on the list. “Was there any jewelry?”

  “T’ere might ha’ been; I don’t know. I dust and clean in t’ere; I didn’t go pawin’ t’rough her box o’ jewels. If she had t‘em, she not often wore t’em.”

  “Thank you.” Niall recalled the ring of blue-green rhinestones Miss Fulton claimed to be her mother’s and added it to the list. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, a perfume bottle; ’twas empty, but it still smelt o’ flowers, and lastly, a porcelain figger; a shepherd and a lady with a lamb in the folds o’ her skirt.”

  “Excellent, Mrs. Kiernan,” Niall said, a smile spreading across his face. He was about to proclaim the three of them geniuses when a shadow fell across the room.

  “What are ye doin’ here?” a voice bellowed. “Out with ye!”

  “Sir!” the butler cried in astonishment. “I have had no word of your arrival!”

  Niall noticed that Mrs. Kiernan shrank in fear against the wall as he rose hastily to his feet. “Mr. Fulton, I beg your pardon. I have news for you of your daughter, very good news indeed.”

  Caroline looked down at the box of watercolors in her hands. It was not as ornate as the one she had sold to pay for her journey to Dublin, but it would do. Her students had other thoughts to occupy their minds. Those who had not returned to their homes for the summer were to go to the seashore for the day. Caroline would supply the lesson, a lecture on seascapes, whilst Mrs. Hill would provide transport for the six of them, as well as a hamper of food. It was just the sort of excursion Caroline had adored as a student at the school. This morning, however, she had not the heart for it.

  Placing her paint box into a hamper, she added parchment and canvases, as well as several small easels. The hamper would prove heavy, but she had arranged for the coachman to carry it to one of the carriages. She considered requesting that one of the footmen accompany them; it made her anxious to be so many females attended only by two aged coachmen. However, Mrs. Hill did all in her formidable power to discourage the intermingling of youthful males and her charming students. As such, Caroline supposed her request would be denied.

  She could not recall when she had felt so anxious, and supposed her concerns stemmed solely from the fact that a man had recently taken to following her about the city. She never dared look directly at him, so she had no notions as to his age or appearance. He was, perhaps, entirely unexceptionable. Nevertheless, it was passing strange that she should catch a glimpse of him on three different occasions in the course of two days. And there was the remark made by the maid who opened the door to her after her latest outing: she claimed that a man had followed Caroline to the gate and stood watching for some time after she had entered the house. The very idea made her flesh tingle.

  Whilst the girls were upstairs donning bonnets and gloves, Caroline made her way to the front hall. She noted her appearance in the mirror with no small amount of surprise: her face was wan and thin despite the healthy appetite she had maintained since arriving in Dublin. Fiona, who had recently passed through Dublin on her way to visit her parents in Mullagh, claimed that the fault lay in the fact that Caroline no longer smiled. Perhaps, she thought as she grimaced in the mirror, Fiona was correct.

  Forcing her lips to curve upwards, Caroline studied her reflection from various angles. To her chagrin, she caught the reflected expression of an appreciative footman as he stood guard in the hall. She had just opened her mouth to deliver a reprimand when someone rapped at the door. It felt almost as if Fate had come to call. Astonished at the shiver of anticipation that coursed through her at the sound, she slowly pivoted towards the door. .

  The footman pulled it open to reveal a tall man wearing a hat of glossy beaver, York tan gloves the same shade of yellow as his pantaloons, and a cravat that gleamed snow white against the immaculate cut of a deep blue jacket.

  Caroline did her best to feign disinterest in spite of the man’s appealing elegance; it would not do if it were said in the hearing of Mrs. Hill that Caroline had ogled a male visitor. She could not, however, refrain from stealing a glance into the man’s face.

  “Miss Fulton?” he asked, his expression a mixture of delight and something akin to regret.

  “Mr. Doherty?” she echoed, her heart hammering in her chest. Surely she stared at a ghost, one who was ever near but had somehow transformed into someone she never expected to see again in this life.

  “Miss Fulton,” he repeated, as if he expected those two words to say everything he had not.

  She knew she ought to send him away immediately, but she could not do it, not for any amount of money, love, or happiness. “I shall speak with him outside,” Caroline murmured for the footman as she swept past him. “Do shut the door after me,” she added.

  “What is this?” Mr. Doherty asked as she took his arm and led him a few paces down the lane towards the gate. “Am I to be denied entrance?”

  Caroline heard the words ‘yet again’ in his voice and felt her skin turn hot with mortification. “Pray, do not take offense. Mrs. Hill expects us to adhere most rigorously to her stricture against gentlemen callers. But tell me, how come you to be in Dublin?” She hungrily took in every feature of his face: the firm jaw and sensitive mouth, the fantastical, pale, blue-gray eyes fringed with sooty lashes, the startling contrast of black curls against his high-pointed collar.

  “I have been here since the start of the autumn term. I was fortunate to have found a position teaching history at the college.”

  “At Trinity! Mr. Doherty, how wonderful!” she cried in genuine delight. “I knew you were capable of more than teaching small lads. And how do they fare?”

  “I have not seen nor heard from them since I left Donegal,” he said wistfull
y. “I hope they shall soon learn to stand up to their brother.”

  Caroline smiled. “That is not likely. They are such charming lads; I should be grateful for a few such as they. Girls are astonishingly difficult.”

  He smiled, his expression bemused, as if he entertained thoughts that carried him far from her words. His reply was perfectly appropriate, however. “Am I right to assume you are teaching here?”

  “Yes; Painting and French. I have been in town nearly since the beginning of term, as well.” She speculated as to her own abstracted appearance as she briefly pondered on all that had occurred to bring her to Dublin.

  “I wonder that we have only now encountered one another,” Mr. Doherty said. “I should have liked to stop you when first I saw you, but you moved away too quickly. You were with Miss O’Sullivan, only, I believe she is now to be called otherwise.”

  Caroline looked up into his face in disbelief. How she had longed to see herself reflected in those eyes that stirred her very soul. “Indeed, she is now Mrs. Wilkinson. I only regret that I was unable to attend her marriage.”

  He seemed to hesitate. “Your father?” he asked knowingly.

  “As always,” she sighed. “Oh! There is so much to tell you! Unfortunately, I must take my leave. I am to escort the girls on a painting excursion. They are doubtless all assembled and waiting for me in the mews.”

  His lips curved into a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “There is much that I would like to tell you, as well,” he said. “However, I understand that you are not entirely... free,” he added, his tone inscrutable.

  Caroline paused, thinking of what she might manage. “I am free this Sunday. Is there somewhere we could meet?”

  “Truly?” he asked, with a doubtful smile that betrayed his disbelief. “Would you be inclined to meet me at the college? There is much of interest to see there.”

  Quickly they agreed on a time and place to meet, and she lingered by the gate, her feelings in a state of confusion, until he reached the corner. To her delight, he turned and doffed his hat to wave it in the air. “Until then!” he called so joyfully it made her blush.

  She responded with a demure smile that belied her excitement. Mr. Doherty was in Dublin! It seemed too impossible to be true. She walked up the path to the house as if in a dream. As she mused on what it was he wished to tell her, she entered the house and followed the sounds of girlish voices out through the back door and into the mews. Seeing that the painting supplies and food were strapped to the back of the carriage, she counted heads to ensure that all of the girls were in attendance. All of this was done with competence, though her mind was far from her deeds. It was as if her body occupied an entirely different sphere than that of her spirit.

  As the carriage rattled along the quay towards the shore, she wondered how Mr. Doherty had come to find her. Then she realized that which ought to have been unmistakable: the man of whom she had caught glimpses, the one who had evidently followed her to the house and stood at the gate had been Mr. Doherty. It was his proximity that made her skin tingle, though she hadn’t the least idea that he was near. Suddenly, an afternoon of painting at the seashore seemed the dullest of pastimes.

  When the day of their engagement to meet finally arrived, she considered her ensemble with great care. There had been no funds for new gowns since leaving home, nor had there been room in her solitary trunk for more than her most suitable outfits. After careful consideration, she chose a straw-yellow gown and a periwinkle-blue velvet spencer. With the addition of a Gros de Naples hat tied smartly under her chin, she felt as fashionable as she could wish.

  Her afternoon away from the school was not one of which Mrs. Hill would have approved. Though Caroline had often gone out, most recently on the arm of the new Mrs. Wilkinson, it had never been to meet a man. Mrs. Hill had made it more than clear that she did not approve of her female instructors meeting with gentlemen of any stamp. Caroline suspected this had most to do with the inconvenience of replacing those who traded teaching for marriage. And yet, as Caroline slipped out the front door, she felt nearly as censurable as she did when she had sneaked out of the house to meet Mr. Doherty by the spring at Oak View.

  She wondered if it would always be thus; if they were doomed to a clandestine alliance of which no one approved, one that could never be deepened nor fully acted upon. And yet, their circumstances had altered since she had watched Mr. Doherty through her rain-pelted window. He now held an honorable position at Trinity College, whilst Caroline was the penniless teacher. Perhaps he would finally find it acceptable to make her his wife.

  At the same time, she marveled that he had not yet married another. Surely the maidens of Dublin were queuing up for such a man. He was honorably employed, charming, intelligent, and highly attractive. She was tempted to believe it was his love for her that encouraged his single status, and yet, he had always seemed convinced that they did not belong together. Even if time had softened his doubts, so it would have his love. An acquaintance of five days could not be expected to endure a parting of a year. But, truthfully, she loved him more than ever.

  As she pondered such incompatible notions, she noted the turbulence of the sky above. The rain began to fall before she had covered half the distance between Mrs. Hill’s and the college. Opening her umbrella, she quickened her step until she arrived at the entrance to the old library. When after five minutes he had not appeared, she began to fear that he had changed his mind.

  And then she saw him; he was in company with a very distinguished gentleman, doubtless another teacher at the school. They seemed to be discussing a matter of great import as they walked towards where she waited. As she looked from one to the other, she realized Mr. Doherty was every bit as distinguished as his companion. Gone was his country attire of corduroy jacket and low straw hat, replaced by this elegant man in breeches, high-crowned hat, waistcoat, and smart jacket. It was the same gray coat he had worn the day he had come to her home the previous summer. She wondered what course her life might have taken if they had been allowed to meet that day. Quickly, she dismissed the thought as Mr. Doherty bid farewell to his companion and, seeing her, broke out into a smile of gladness.

  Her heart beat faster as he approached; she had always found him the most handsome of men, but when he smiled is such a way, it made her positively breathless. She hoped her admiration was not as discernable to bystanders as it seemed it must. She longed to throw herself into his arms and cling to him despite the blush that rose in her cheeks at the thought.

  He said nothing at first. Rather, he stared at her as if he doubted her presence whilst being enchanted by it. Finally, he held out his arm to her and said, “You have come.”

  “But of course I have,” she replied as she put her arm through his. She thought he restrained a start of surprise at her familiarity, but there was nothing in his manner that would lead her to believe it was unwelcome. “Did we not agree to?”

  “Yes, it’s only that I... Well, I don’t know what I thought,” he said as he led her into the long room of the library. “I suppose I believed it too much good fortune to see you again so soon after having been so long parted.”

  She looked up into his face and smiled. “It seems rather like a dream.”

  “Indeed, it does. For us to meet was always displeasing to one person or another. It now seems somewhat laughable, does it not?” he asked with an unwarranted intensity.

  Caroline nodded in agreement despite thoughts of Mrs. Hill’s opinion, if she but knew, on the matter. However, Caroline would not have Mr. Doherty guess the reason for her blushes. “Allow me to beg your pardon for the sake of my father,” she said. “He remained angry for so very long. It is why I was forced to leave. I could not contemplate being trapped in that house for the remainder of his life. There was a time when he even kept me locked up in my chamber! If I had not seen you through the window, I would never have known you had come to call.”

  He looked down at her in surprise. “Would you no
t? I left for you a very particular message, one he promised to deliver.”

  Her heart again began to hammer in her chest. “A message? May I know what it was?”

  Looking down into her face, he smiled, though his eyes were tinged with disappointment. “It no longer signifies,” he said shortly. “Ah! Behold one of the wonders I wish for you to see.” He stretched his hand towards a harp. It was made of a lustrous wood and stood on a plinth at the end of a row of tall bookshelves.

  “It is beautiful! Are any allowed to play it?”

  He shook his head. “It is far too old and precious. It is said to have belonged to Brian Boru, himself, the last High King of Ireland. But that is not what I find most interesting about this harp; it bears the coat of arms of the O’Neill family.”

  “But you are a Doherty,” she replied, somewhat bewildered.

  “My mother is an O’Neill by birth,” he said proudly. “My given name is in honor of her family. The O’Neill’s are descendants of Niall Noígíallach of the Nine Hostages. Have you heard the tale?”

  “I should like to hear it from your lips, at any rate,” she asserted with a smile.

  “Well, you see,” he said cheerfully, “Niall was the only son of Eochaid’s second wife, Cairenn. His first wife, Mongfind, mother herself to four fine sons, was so envious of Cairenn that she gave all of the heavy work to her so as to cause her to lose the child. When he was born, Cairenn was afraid for him, for the cruelty he should doubtless encounter, so she left him high in the rocks to die. Happily, he was found and raised to adulthood by a poet who told him of his true parentage. When Niall grew to a goodly size, he returned to Tara to rescue his mother from the cruel Mongfind.”

  Caroline willingly fell under the spell his voice wove. She did not want it to end. “But what of the nine hostages?”

  “It is not a pretty tale,” he said with a woeful shake of his head.

  She supposed the truth was that it was a story that did not speak well of his ancestor. “Tell me, then, about the coat of arms. I wonder what this red hand signifies.”