“’Tis an old legend, yes?” he said in the lyrical voice of his origins. “It tells of a promise made that all of Ireland would belong to the first to swim or sail across the sea and touch Irish soil. There were many contenders, including O’Neill, who somehow fell behind the others. But, the land was to be given to the first to touch the Isle of Eire, so O’Neill devised a cunning plan. Once he drew near enough, he cut off his hand and threw it to the shore, thereby being the first.”
“I suppose that is why the hand is red,” she said with a laugh. “Though, ’tis rather shocking.”
“Yes, and very likely a pack of lies. The story seems to originate hundreds of years after the coat of arms, complete with the red hand, first appeared.”
“We Irish are canny, are we not?” She smiled her pleasure. “Truly, ’twas a lovely story; one that demonstrates the nobility of the O’Neill family; and the harp is beautiful, but ’tis the rows and rows of books that entrance me!”
“I had hoped they would,” he admitted, his eyes dancing. “Believe this if you can; ’tis rumored that a second floor is to be added, one which shall also contain as many books as this entire room. ’Tis astounding.”
“I had never imagined there could be so many books in all the world,” she breathed.
He held out his arm, which she took as warmly as before. Together they strolled up and down the gallery, pausing to examine a book as often as they liked. When she grew tired, he suggested they sit on a bench in one of the window embrasures with a view of the grounds.
Caroline had so many questions, but hesitated to ask the ones closest to her heart. “Tell me of our friend Pierre,” she asked instead. “Pray tell that he survived!”
“Indeed, he did! The bullet passed through him, so once Mrs. Walsh rid the wound of the infection, the physician stitched it up. He was off again to London within a fortnight. I wrote to tell you of it, but I have been told that you were never given my letters.”
“No, I was not,” she said sadly. “I wished to write to you, as well, but I knew my letters would never find you. One of the questions I should have loved to ask is how you came to know our three Frenchmen in the wood.”
“That is, indeed, a tale!” he said with a smile. “Professor Luce had taken me off on a grand tour of the Continent, just as I would have had my father lived. We were abroad for two years and were glad when Napoleon was finally conquered at Waterloo. We were ready to go home. It was then that we met Pierre, Etienne, and Michel on the road from Edinburgh to Stranraer where we took ship to Larne. They had somehow escaped being sent home to France after having been shut up at Edinburgh Castle for a good deal of the war. They had been pressed into serving in the military in exchange for delaying a prison sentence, but they doubtless felt they had been imprisoned long enough.”
Caroline shivered. “So they were, indeed, criminals.”
“They claim to have been innocent of the crimes of which they were convicted. It never mattered to me whether or not they were guilty until it was your life that was at risk,” he said as a shadow crossed his face.
“That was a day like no other,” Caroline observed. “And now we are both here. I seem to recall that you moved from Donegal to Dublin when you were still young. Have you enjoyed living here again?”
“More than I thought possible,” he said, with so frank a look that her breath froze in her lungs. “I am a Donegal man to be sure, but Dublin has unexpected charms. And,” he said, breaking off his gaze to look out through the window, “I have only yesterday learned that the man who cheated my father at cards has agreed to make reparation. The townhouse shall soon again be in my possession.”
“Oh, Mr. Doherty!” she cried in delight. Perhaps now he would ask her to grace his home as his wife.
They sat in silence for a few moments before he quietly spoke. “There is a matter of importance that I must confess to you.”
His words gripped her chest in alarm. If he admitted his attachment to another, she was persuaded she would be unable to prevent herself from weeping in view of all assembled.
He hesitated. “The occasion when I came to your home last summer,” he said slowly. “That was not the last time I was there.”
“Was it not?” she asked, trembling with elation that her worst fear had not been realized.
“No. I imagine you have arrived at the correct conclusion; that I had seen you when you were out with Miss, er, Mrs. Wilkinson. I was amazed,” he said candidly. “I could not work out how you came to be in Dublin. I knew your father would never allow it. I confess it made me concerned for your welfare. So, I went to The Hollows to inquire after you.”
“You journeyed to County Cavan?” she asked in astonishment. “To ask after me?”
He nodded. “Your father had been in London looking for you. I could not refrain from easing his fears for you, though I did not tell him precisely where to find you,” he insisted. “He lives in expectation of a letter from you, however.”
“It is good of you to tell me,” she said for his ears alone. “I must thank you for not providing my father with my direction.”
His expression softened as he leaned back against the bench. “It was my good fortune to have discovered it.”
Self-conscious, she smiled and bit her lip. “I had been told that I was followed home one day last week.”
“I dared not make myself known to you,” he said, his cheeks reddening, “until I had learned more of your circumstances.” He drew a breath as if to speak further, but a frown appeared between his thick, black brows, and he fell silent.
“What is it?” she said with a bright smile contrived to hide her apprehension.
“I was thinking of the visit I paid to your little shrine in the back garden,” he said, his smile wry.
She felt her skin burn a fiery red. “Oh! No one was to see it; I thought I had hidden it so well.” She told herself it was impossible for him to know she had built it in hopes of making an offering that would bring him again to her side.
“I regret to say that this washed up,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. “As it was doing little good there, I thought you might prefer to have it once again in your possession.”
“Oh!” she said, startled. It was her mother’s ring, the one she had sacrificed at the shrine; somehow it had brought him back to her. “You are so kind to restore it to me. I have been missing it.”
He regarded her in some surprise. “You do not regret the loss of that for which you made the sacrifice?” His words were light, but his eyes were heavy with shadows.
“Indeed, no. That is to say...” She paused, unsure of how much she dared reveal. “There is time yet,” she finished with a hopeful smile.
He looked long into her eyes then turned away. “I have been given reason to believe it had all run out,” he said in low tones.
She could not discern his meaning until she remembered his own offering: the pocket watch of his father’s. “I am sorry,” she said, her heart aching. She had thought she knew what he had wished for that day at the spring. So, why did he not speak?
He continued to look off into the distance. “’Twas a dry summer.”
She cast about for a suitable reply. “’Twas, but this summer has been different. We have had so much rain.”
He turned to her and smiled. “I wonder that you did not sacrifice the little swan we found at the spring, rather than an item as precious as your mother’s ring.”
“I...” she said, hesitating as she searched his face. There was something of the old Mr. Doherty, the one she met when she first arrived at Oak View, in the cast of his eyes and mouth. Suddenly unsure, she refrained from telling him that the swan was her best-loved possession. “It is of no consequence,” she said dismissively.
He looked down at her hands in her lap as if he would take them in his own. “Might I ask what it was you wished for?”
“You may ask,” she riposted.
“However, you s
hall not say.” He smiled, seeming to have recovered from whatever dark thoughts had beset him.
“One must have one’s secrets,” she replied, her smile demure.
“I shall confess a secret if you do,” he offered as he drew a long, thin object from his pocket.
“It’s a piece of string,” she said in some confusion.
“Not a piece of string; the piece of string,” he said with a furtive smile.
“No! Say it is not so!” she gasped through her laughter. “You could not have kept such an ordinary item for all this time.”
“Indeed I have! Such work this string was set to; it should be preserved forever, like Brian Boru’s harp, should it not?” he asked merrily.
She held out her gloved hand, and he coiled the string into it. “It is a bit soiled and frayed at the ends,” she pointed out, “but I am persuaded it could yet bear the weight of as many letters as one could wish.”
He cocked his head. “I suppose so. It only lacks a pair of windows.” He offered her a curt smile as he retrieved the string and returned it to his pocket. “I would invite you to join me for supper at one of the pubs along the quay, but I am convinced you are otherwise occupied.”
“I wish I were free to accept, but I fear to be seen,” she replied. She trembled at the possible forms of chastisement that should fall upon her head if Mrs. Hill learned of such an outing.
“It is as I suspected.” The light faded from his eyes. “Might I at least escort you home?”
She smiled. “I would like that.” How she hoped it would give him further opportunity to speak. “However, I must ask you to accompany me only as far as the corner of the square. If anyone were to see us...”
“Yes,” he said sadly. “But do say you will see me again, at least once more before...”
“Before?” she asked, perplexed.
He looked at her quizzically. “Is there a place we could meet that shall not condemn you to stricture?”
She considered, but could not call to mind a place in Dublin that one of the other instructors might not visit at any time. “No, I do not think so, not a place in particular. However, no one could possibly object if we were to merely come across one another,” Caroline mused.
“No one?” he echoed doubtfully.
“No one that signifies,” she said, her face heated. “I have made a habit of leaving the house most afternoons to venture out across the river and back.”
“Yes,” he said with a sardonic smile. “That is where I first saw you here in Dublin.”
“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “How could I have forgotten? You may find me there any day that suits.”
“Thank you,” he said as he rose to his feet. “I cannot say precisely when it shall be, only that it shall be soon.”
“That is perfect,” she said brightly, despite her misgivings as to his intentions. Did he wish to offer for her hand or tell her that they shall never meet again? “Should anyone known to me be close enough to observe us together, my surprise shall be genuine.”
“I have long admired your capacity to turn every negative into a positive.” He held out his hand to her and, taking it, she stood. Again, she put her arm through his so that her hand rested on his upper arm, up against his heart. He covered her fingers with his; she could feel the heat of them through his gloves and hers. They started out on their return journey to Mrs. Hill’s, their steps in time with one another.
As they walked, the gray sky dissolved. Patches of blue appeared between pure white clouds, and rays of sunshine sparkled in the droplets of water that clung to every leaf and blade of grass. Birds appeared in the sky, warbling sweet songs. Caroline felt it a symbol of hope for her and Mr. Doherty. Looking up into his well-loved face, she pondered on how she might bring up the subject of marriage.
“I fear I gave you a disgust of my manners when we first met at Oak View,” she ventured.
He seemed taken aback. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Now that I am returned to the sensibilities of Mrs. Hill, I am reminded that there are social conventions one ought to observe. I have come to realize that my behavior in pressing you to speak with my father was improper.”
His arm tensed beneath her hand, and he frowned. “You regret that you were so free with me at Oak View.”
She felt stung, rebuked. “Only if it has proven to lower me in your esteem.”
He sighed, but the frown disappeared. “Your Mrs. Hill is English, I believe.”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“You are Irish; I am Irish. We do not stand on ceremony to the same degree as the English. Their ways are not always preferable, are they? I found the too-staid conventions at Oak View to be suffocating. I was very lonely there, and then you arrived,” he said, his voice thickening. “You were so ingenuous, so artless, you nearly sparkled.” He looked down into her eyes. “Every day before you came and every day after you departed were ones of desolation.”
Caroline felt her heart rise on wings of hope. Perhaps this was the moment when he would declare his intentions. She gazed back at him, her smile tremulous.
He slowed his pace and drew her round to face him. Looking into her eyes, he brushed his fingers against her cheek then took her hands in his. “It is I who must beg your forgiveness.”
“Pray tell, for what?” she asked in bewilderment.
“For the liberties I took,” he said quietly. “You need not fear it shall happen again.”
Caroline tried and failed to remember the liberties to which he referred. If only he kissed her now, she might be his bride by autumn. “I can recall nothing you have done or said that should require my forgiveness.”
“Now that matters stand as they do, was it not wise that we did not give too much of ourselves to each other?”
Caroline felt her face fall. “It is true that my circumstances are not as they were,” she began.
“You need say no more, Miss Fulton,” he said in tones too formal for contentment. “We have walked together as far as you have wished me to go. There is someone in the house you would not wish to see us together, am I right?”
“Well, yes,” she readily admitted.
“Then let us part as friends and say only that we shall see one another once more.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. He had only just reappeared in her life. “I beg you to understand; I do wish to see you more often! It is only that we must be cautious.”
“Of course,” he said, exactly as if he understood nothing at all. “Until then.” He lifted his hat, exposing his head of black curls, and bowed.
“Goodbye,” she said doubtfully. This time, she did not wait until he disappeared from view but made her way immediately to Mrs. Hill’s. If he turned to look for her upon reaching the corner, she did not wish to know of it. As she walked through the doorway, Caroline studied each face she encountered. If anyone knew of her tryst, they did not betray themselves. She took dinner with the other instructors who, like her, had no other home for the summer. To her relief, Mrs. Hill was in a spirited mood. In the end, it was a merry meal despite Caroline’s lack of appetite.
That night she lay in bed, clutching her mother’s ring in the palm of her hand. He had promised she would see him again. “Oh please, let it be soon,” she whispered into the dark.
Every day that week she made her way to and from the river, slowly, so as to be easily seen. She could not help but look for Mr. Doherty, though she hoped she was discreet in her manner. She had not guessed such subterfuge should prove so exhausting. Finally, almost a se’enight after they last met, when she had nearly given up hope, she saw him at the foot of the metal footbridge, a parcel in his hands.
He saw her nearly at the same moment and broke into a smile. They moved towards one another when, without warning, a young nursery maid who chased after a child ran directly into Mr. Doherty. The parcel he held fell from his grasp and he bent to retrieve it.
Caroline’s impulse was to hasten to his side,
but she was forced to turn away when she noticed one of Mrs. Hill’s instructors nearby. Her heart raced with apprehension as, silently weeping, she retraced her steps as quickly as possible. When she arrived at the bench where she rested before returning to the school, she sat down, pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. As she did, the ring she wore flashed in the light, demanding her attention.
Caroline considered the row of bluish gray rhinestones on the simple gold band and wondered what good her sacrifice had done. It seemed she had wished for the wrong eventuality. This time, she would cast the ring into a pool of greater depth. This time, her sacrifice would amount to something. This time, she would wish that Mr. Doherty would ask her to be his wife.
Quickly, she rose to her feet and moved towards the bridge; if she were late to Mrs. Hill’s, there would be unwanted questions. As she hurried along, she gazed intently into the water in search of a suitable place to cast her ring. The bridge was much occupied, and when her gaze fell on a bit of water bluer than the rest, she found she must push her way past several people to make her way to the rail. Then she pulled the ring from her finger and cast it into the River Liffey.
With a sigh of satisfaction, she looked up to realize that farther down the bridge stood Mr. Doherty, parcel in hand, his eyes fixed to the water. She felt almost overcome with joy, but as she drew near, she realized something was amiss. She had known Mr. Doherty to be lonely; she had seen him full of regret; she had looked into his eyes when they brimmed with sorrow. She, however, had never seen his face bear a look of such devastation, as if he had a moment ago learned of his own demise.
She made her way to his side. “Mr. Doherty.” She put her hand on his arm. “What is it?”
He turned, his eyes lifeless. When he saw that it was she, he swallowed hard, his eyes over bright and moist. “I met her,” he murmured, “just a few minutes ago, here, on the bridge. She is a Miss Lynch.” He blinked his eyes rapidly as if to hold back tears.
“Who?” Caroline asked, bewildered. “That nursery maid who collided with you?”
O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 24