IN THE WEEKS following Gerald’s death Isabella found herself enveloped in a strange inertia, unable to think clearly or raise any enthusiasm about anything that was happening around her. She knew the children were equally upset about the loss of their brother, but she had not the heart or energy to contemplate any discussion of the matter. She could not put thoughts of Gerald from her mind and felt a deep anger at the way he had been so suddenly taken from them. Everyone kept reminding her that she and Frederick were fortunate to have been blessed with such a large family. She found no consolation in this fact, for it was her boy Gerald whom she missed, for whom she grieved constantly and who filled her mind.
Every summer they went to Greystones in Wicklow for two months’ holiday at the seaside, the days filled with picnics, swimming, walks, tennis parties and musical nights. This year she did not know how she would endure such things and suggested to Frederick that they remain at home instead.
‘My dear, a few weeks at the sea with fresh air and sunshine, away from this house, are exactly what we all need,’ he insisted, refusing to consider changing their holiday arrangements.
Isabella stood on the granite steps of their imposing, red-brick Georgian residence, supervising operations while Bridget, Nora, Essie and her daughters Kate, Nellie and Ada followed her orders as they carried the trunks of clothes and items needed for their annual trip to Greystones out to the waiting carriage. She had written a list and ticked off items as they were placed down on the gravelled driveway ready to be loaded.
It seemed such upheaval and turmoil arranging for their large family and staff to transfer to another home for the summer weeks. Normally Isabella relished the change from day-to-day routines and responsibilities, but this year was different. Perhaps once she saw the familiar curve of the Sugar Loaf Mountain and Greystones harbour with the sea beyond she would somehow feel more at ease. As usual, Frederick would travel to Dublin some days during July, but for the month of August he too was on holiday as the courts and his law firm closed. He was a diligent man and well deserved a break from the busy world of contracts and legalities.
‘Grace, there is an easel already in the house,’ Isabella warned, noting her daughter’s attempt to bring her usual boxes of art paraphernalia with her. ‘Your sketchbooks and a few small canvases should suffice. So please put the rest back.’
Grace looked as if she was about to argue.
‘Do what your mother says, Miss Grace,’ nodded Bridget, who always seemed to be better able to manage the children than she ever could herself. Unfortunately, their long-serving nanny had recently given her notice, announcing that she intended to marry. Bridget planned to return to her native county, where she and her husband hoped to run a simple boarding house.
Muriel, as ever, was organized, looking serene and lovely as she placed her belongings beside the carriages. She always reminded Isabella of a beautiful swan gliding along while everyone else flapped and splashed around her like ducks.
It mystified her that, having given birth to twelve children, they could all be so different. When she had held each of her newborn children she had thought them so alike, cherubic mirror images of each other, but as the months and years followed they changed, slipping away from her. And now dear Gerald was gone, lost to them for ever.
‘Mam, do you want the good linen tablecloths and napkins?’ interrupted Nora.
Isabella forced herself to think.
‘Yes, Nora, please pack them,’ she ordered and the maid disappeared quickly back into the house to fetch them as they climbed into their waiting carriages.
The train was busy, packed with holidaymakers and residents returning from the city to Bray and Greystones and Wicklow. As it made its way through Blackrock, Kingstown, Dalkey and Killiney they enjoyed sweeping views of Dublin Bay, the sea and the coastline. They stopped in the seaside resort of Bray with its wide promenade overlooking the beach, an array of hotels, tea-rooms and cafés all along the seafront. Sidney and Cecil gave whoops of excitement as the train shuddered and began to move once more, clinging to the curving railway track along by the cliffs to enter the dark of the railway tunnel.
Isabella tried not to think of the speed and precarious position of the train, and instead began to gather up her bag, gloves and the tickets for their arrival as Greystones, with its fishing harbour, North Beach and South Beach, came into view.
‘We’re here!’ shouted Muriel and Grace as the train stopped. Isabella took control as they alighted from the train and the porters ferried their luggage from the station to three waiting carriages. As the horse clip-clopped along Marine Road towards the imposing white-gabled house overlooking the sea, she had to admit she could already feel her heart begin to lighten.