The Secret of the Irish Castle

by Santa Montefiore

  “Then leave it with me,” Larry said, putting his hands in his pockets and gazing out over the water. “I know you never told me what happened in Ireland and I’m not asking you to tell me now, but I’ve lived longer than you and I can tell you on good authority that letting heartbreak go is the only way to move forward in life. Hurting is part of living, Martha. It’s part of God’s great purpose, to drive us deeper and to teach us about compassion so that we can better understand ourselves and other people. But healing is also part of the lesson. You mustn’t ignore that.” He looked at her and smiled kindly. “I’ll let you go to London if you promise me you will try to live a little.”

  “I will try,” she replied with a small smile.

  “I can’t ask any more of you than that,” he said, and he put his hand on the small of her back and turned to walk home the way they had come.

  ONLY DIANA AND Martha knew the full extent of her plan. Going to London was simply the first step. Diana secretly hoped that time in London would change Martha’s mind before she took the more drastic second step and went to Ireland. Being a traditional woman Diana believed in marriage and procreation and she considered the workplace the domain of men. What Martha planned to do was a leap too far from convention for Diana’s peace of mind. But Martha seemed determined, and it was her duty, as her grandmother, to see that she found her way, whatever that way was.

  Martha left for London at the end of the summer. Pam had tried to prevent her leaving, but her tears and protestations had not weakened Martha’s resolve. She had set her heart on going and Pam sensed that she would not be coming back. Larry told her that it was her fear speaking, but Pam shook her head. She knew she was right. Martha had grown distant over the past six years, and now she was taking herself off and there was nothing Pam could do or say to hold her back. She had lost her, and it was all thanks to Joan and her jealous, evil tongue.

  Pam looked back to that precious time when she had first held the small baby in the Convent of Our Lady Queen of Heaven and felt a terrible wrench in the middle of her chest. She could never have imagined then that she would have her for only twenty-three years. If only Martha could understand the depth of Pam’s longing to be a mother. If only she could know how deep and sincere her love was, then maybe she’d stay. But Pam had tried to tell her and her words had fallen short, for there was no adequate way to express something so powerful. She hoped that time abroad would make Martha appreciate what she had left behind. As Larry had told her dozens of times: Life is long. There is time enough for reconciliation. God writes straight on crooked lines. But Pam did not share his faith. Martha was leaving, and it felt terribly final.

  MARTHA ARRIVED IN London and settled into her new lodgings near the Embassy in Grosvenor Square. The lady who had agreed to take her in was the personal secretary to the Ambassador himself. Miss Moberly was a spinster in her late fifties with short white hair, an elegant physique and a busy, efficient air. She was classy and intelligent and plain-talking, kind but not effusive, and Martha was grateful for her hospitality and her readiness to show her the ropes in her new job, which consisted of typing, making the coffee and running small errands when Miss Moberly was too busy to go out. Martha was paid very little, but she didn’t mind. Her father subsidized her income so that she could buy nice dresses and go on dates. He was certain that it wouldn’t be long before she shook off her misery and started to behave like other girls her age. He had told Pam that he predicted she’d be married within the year. The Ambassador had assured him that his wife would take care of that. She knew all the young men in London on account of their own daughter, who had recently come of age.

  But Martha had no intention of going on dates. As soon as she arrived and settled into her bedroom she sat at the wooden desk in front of the tall sash window overlooking a communal garden and laid two pieces of ivory paper before her. She proceeded to write to Goodwin. She wrote occasionally to her old nanny, sharing her thoughts and feelings, and wanted to let her know that she was now in London and that it wouldn’t be long before she returned to Ireland to visit her. She didn’t, however, share her ultimate intention. She wasn’t sure that Goodwin would approve. Instead, for that sensitive matter, she wrote to the Countess. She had only met her once, at the milliner’s in Ballinakelly, but she had obviously liked her enough to gift her a hat. Martha had treasured it, but she had never worn it. She would now, when she went to see the Countess. But before she did she needed to remind her who she was and ask whether she might be permitted to call on her. She needed her help, and she was certain that, once she knew the whole story, she would give it. It wasn’t a lot to ask, but it would mean everything to Martha. She bit the end of her ink pen as she pondered how best to start her letter.

  Chapter 24

  Ballinakelly

  JP had never believed he would fall in love again. He had never believed that there existed another woman as lovely as Martha, but Alana had swiftly swept away all vestiges of her like a spring breeze blowing away the lingering leaves of autumn. The darkness that surrounded memories of his old love was now consumed by the light of his new one, and he thought no more of Martha. It was as if the cord that had joined them had been severed, and his heart brimmed with tenderness for Alana.

  After their initial meeting on the cliff top JP had taken every opportunity to see her for the remaining days of his leave. He had walked with her through the heather, ridden with her over the hills, even taken her out to sea in his father’s little rowing boat. They had talked about everything and nothing, laughed with the delight of old friends reunited and kissed with the thrill of two young people setting out on the greatest adventure of all.

  Alana was nothing like Martha, who had been shy and timid and sweet. Alana was bold, outspoken and confident. She dazzled JP with her wit, mesmerized him with her charm and always disarmed him with her wide, engaging smile. While he wanted to parade her through the town for everyone to see, she warned him that her father did not like the Deverills and would not permit her to be courted by one. “It must remain secret,” she insisted, “until the right moment presents itself to tell him.” JP didn’t doubt that Alana would fight for him if she needed to, and that she would win—he knew only one other woman with her strength of character and that was Kitty. He was certain that those two would instantly like each other if they had the opportunity to get acquainted.

  At the end of his leave JP returned to the RAF only to hand in his notice. His superiors were disappointed that such a skilled pilot had decided not to continue flying planes, but JP was eager to return home to Alana, whom he intended to marry when he had finished his studies in Dublin. This time nothing would thwart his plan. If anyone objected on account of the differences of their religion or class he would run away with her and he didn’t doubt that she would go with him; Alana was a girl who knew her heart and was brave enough to follow it. While he was away from her JP reread her letters, many of which he had barely glanced over the first time, and as he did so he saw from the content and style of her writing that, as the letters progressed, she had blossomed into a woman before his eyes and he had never even noticed.

  While JP was still in England Boysie and Celia arrived in Ballinakelly to stay with Kitty and Robert at the White House. Their reunion was bittersweet, for Harry had always been so much part of their group and now he was gone. But Celia and Kitty embraced keenly, and as they did they could not help but reflect on the family tragedies that had risen up around them like giant waves and yet still they remained, side by side, heads above the water; embodiments of the Deverill spirit. “Don’t ever go away like that again,” said Kitty, holding her cousin tightly by the hands. “We survivors must stick together.”

  Robert liked Celia and Boysie, for together they were electrifying, but he was not part of their intimate group, which included his wife, and he felt it. It wasn’t just that they reminisced about a past that excluded him but also that they almost seemed to speak another language, which he did not unde
rstand. With them Kitty became a more concentrated version of herself. She seemed to shed all the Trench traits she had acquired during their marriage and become a Deverill once again. He could not accuse her of being unkind, for she tried to include him in everything, but her euphoria in their company made their life together seem relatively dull. Robert felt drab and uninteresting and looked forward to their departure so that life could return to normal once again, and so could Kitty.

  “I have something I need to tell you,” said Boysie as he sat with Celia and Kitty on the beach finishing his picnic tea. Robert had chosen to remain behind in his study, working on his novel.

  “I hope it’s something exciting,” said Celia. “There hasn’t been nearly enough excitement since I came back from South Africa.”

  “I’m going to divorce Deirdre,” he said, and the smile vanished from Celia’s face.

  “Oh darling, I didn’t mean that sort of excitement!” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

  “When did you decide?” Kitty asked, knowing it had something to do with Harry.

  “Back in the spring, when she returned to London. I don’t want to live this sham anymore.” Boysie popped a cigarette between his lips and turned out of the wind to light it.

  “I feel mean calling her Dreary Deirdre now,” said Celia.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, old girl. It’s a very appropriate name,” he said, dragging on his cigarette so that the little end glowed crimson.

  “Does she know?” Kitty asked.

  Boysie shook his head of tousled sugar-brown hair, which had only recently started to turn gray, and looked at them with sad green eyes, once considered the most beautiful pair of eyes in London. “I don’t think she has a clue, poor darling. But then Deirdre has never really had a clue about anything. While Charlotte was forced into recognizing that her husband’s heart was elsewhere, Deirdre was never given such an opportunity. I’ll never know whether she would have been as open-minded and as generous as Charlotte was toward Harry. But I cannot live with someone who doesn’t know me, you see. I cannot be with someone who doesn’t understand me. I cannot be truly myself, and I’m tired of being someone else. Really, I’m too old now for pretense. I’ve been living a lie my entire life, and I’m weary of it. Harry and I crept about in the shadows like a pair of thieves, but I won’t do it anymore.” He took a deep breath.

  “She’ll kick you out of the house, Boysie,” said Celia with a grin. “So, come and live with me. I’m rattling around in Deverill House, and I’d adore you to keep me company. It’s almost like home to you already. Do you remember Mother’s Tuesday-evening Salons?”

  “She was a dreadful social climber, your mama,” said Boysie with a smile. “Such a shame your father’s death knocked the wind out of her, otherwise who knows who she’d be entertaining now? King George and Queen Elizabeth? She’d have been quick to embrace terrible old Wallis and would have relished the waves she’d have created! Really, she missed a trick there.”

  “She has no desire to go anywhere now,” said Celia sadly. “She’s a miserable recluse. But I feel sorry for her. She adored my father.”

  “She’ll rise from the dead, mark my words,” said Boysie.

  “I don’t think she will,” said Celia.

  “Perhaps you can restore her Salons,” Kitty suggested. “You can make waves of your own.”

  “I don’t have what it takes.”

  “A very fast propeller on your rear, my dear,” Boysie said with a laugh. “And a sharp eye for who is on the up and who is on the down.”

  “If Boysie lives with you, Celia, you can do it together.”

  “Yes, that might bring your mama back from the dead,” said Boysie.

  Celia grinned. She liked that thought. “Will you come and live with me, Boysie?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it, and Kitty suddenly felt a ripple career over her skin, causing the little hairs to stand on end. “I’d love to, old girl,” he replied, looking at Celia steadily. Indeed the two of them gazed at each other as if Kitty wasn’t there.

  THAT NIGHT LAUREL woke up with the sound of voices in her head. There were two, and they were calling to her from somewhere far away. “Come on, Laurel. It’s fun over here. Do hurry and join us!”

  “Yes, come on!” It was Lord Hunt, unmistakably. “We’re waiting for you on the beach. Do hurry.”

  Laurel climbed out of bed. She put on her dressing gown and slippers but left her glasses on the bedside table. She wouldn’t be needing those where she was going. She crept out of her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, and padded down the stairs. The household was asleep. She didn’t want to wake anyone, least of all Florence, who looked after her so tenderly. That dear, compassionate girl needed her sleep. It was tiring work being a full-time nurse, and Laurel knew that she wasn’t an easy patient. She had lost her mind, she was aware of that, but right now she felt more lucid than ever.

  Laurel wandered out of the front door and down the drive. The garden was lit up by the moon so that it looked like dawn was breaking but with a cold, silvery light. She wrapped her dressing gown around her and hurried down the slope to the gate at the end. She could see the ocean glittering beneath the luminous indigo sky and the stars were glittering too; in fact the whole world seemed to be glittering, and Laurel felt her spirits rise in anticipation, because surely Heaven glittered too.

  The voices grew louder and more insistent. She was getting closer now. She took the narrow lane between a cluster of white cottages, in the direction of the harbor where little boats bobbed about on the calm water. Everything was quiet. A black cat jumped lithely from one rooftop to another, but Laurel trotted on, her little feet swift in her excitement to join her sister and Ethelred. The fact that they were waiting for her spurred her on. She had believed they had gone without her, which was very mean considering she and her sister had always been inseparable. “Come on, Laurel!” Hazel called. “It’s so jolly over here. I’m longing for you to see for yourself.”

  “It’s not complete without you,” said Ethelred Hunt. “We’ve been waiting, but we don’t want to wait anymore. You have to come now. Come on!”

  Laurel wanted to shout that she was coming, but she was panting so heavily now that she couldn’t get the words out. She wanted to tell them to wait a little more, that she wouldn’t be long, that she was hurrying as fast as she could.

  At last she reached the quay. “Don’t be afraid, Laurel. It’s really very easy,” Hazel was saying.

  “Just put your toe in. It’s not cold. It’s lovely!” said Ethelred. Because she trusted him Laurel stretched out her foot. She lost her balance at once and fell into the water with a splash. The shock of it was terrible. But Lord Hunt was right. After the initial jolt she found that it wasn’t cold after all; it was warm and soft like treacle. She didn’t struggle. She simply gave in as the water closed around her and filled her lungs. Then she saw their faces, smiling at her with triumph as if she had achieved something miraculous, and Lord Hunt was holding out his hand in the gallant way he always used to. She took it and allowed him to lift her out of the sea into the sky of twinkling stars. She didn’t look back to where her body now floated on the small waves that lapped against the side of the wharf, because she was moving on into a place where she no longer needed it. She felt light, as if a great weight had been lifted from her, and happy, so deeply happy, that she could barely contain herself. She took Hazel’s hand and beamed at her. “And Adeline?” she asked.

  “Adeline isn’t ready to come with us yet,” said Hazel. “But it won’t be long.”

  “I do so wish to see her again,” said Laurel.

  “And so you shall, but just for a minute, then you must come. You have completed your life. She has much yet to do.” And for a brief moment Laurel saw Adeline standing on the shore, cocooned in a bright golden radiance, smiling at her with love. “Come now, Laurel. Ethelred and I have waited long enough for this.” And together the three of them floated t
oward the greater light.

  ADELINE WATCHED THEM go and wondered how long it would be before she and Hubert were able to join them. Her heart momentarily caved in, for the allure of that light touched her right at the root of her soul and it was becoming increasingly hard to resist. But the thought of her dear husband stuck in the castle strengthened her resolve. She would not leave him there; not ever. Only when he was liberated would she free herself, and together they would leave this shady limbo for that sublime light.

  NO ONE WAS more upset by Laurel’s death than Florence. She blamed herself for not locking her bedroom door. If she had been doing her duty, she said, Laurel would not have died. But Kitty wrapped her arms around her daughter and reassured her that, at ninety-eight, Laurel had lived a very long and happy life. “She had to go sometime,” she said. But Florence feared the loss of purpose that would come now that her patient had gone. Who would she look after now?

  JP returned to Ballinakelly in time for Laurel’s funeral and for the ceremonial planting of the laurel bush, which Bertie had promised to place next to the hazel. Kitty mischievously positioned a red-cheeked garden gnome between them in honor of Lord Hunt, but Bertie tactfully removed it a couple of days later in case Ethelred’s daughter, Lady Rowan-Hampton, happened to see it and take offense.

  Grace Rowan-Hampton was busy with Michael Doyle. The murder of the Count had once again embroiled them in conspiracy, and, as had so often happened in the past, the only way they could give vent to all that surplus energy was by making love. Michael had abstained from sex for so long he had almost forgotten how delicious it was. He kept Grace a willing prisoner in her bedroom, and they both forgot about her husband and his vows as they sank even further into iniquity.

  JP RESUMED HIS courtship of Alana, which continued to be a secret and would have remained so had Fate not interceded. It was the end of the summer, and JP and Alana had sneaked up to the Fairy Ring to watch the sunset. They had taken a small picnic, and JP’s horse had carried the two of them like a knight and his lady of legend. They were sitting on the grass, leaning against one of the ancient stones, chatting quietly, when Jack and Kitty came upon them. So shocked were JP and Alana at being caught that they did not question why Jack and Kitty were out riding together. They were intending to do what JP and Alana were doing, except without the picnic. They had met hundreds of times at the Fairy Ring and never encountered anyone. The two of them stared at the young people in bewilderment. JP scrambled to his feet and began to explain.