‘MY DEAR, IT is good to see that you have colour back in your cheeks,’ said Frederick encouragingly on their return to Dublin.
Isabella finally sat down to tackle the vast correspondence they had received following their son’s death, the letters often making her weep as she drafted a reply. Then she turned to their social engagements. Frederick always relied on her to organize their calendar of social affairs and entertaining. She made notes in her diary of the usual Law Society dinners and balls, and of dinner and lunch invitations from friends for the next few months; but she was still in mourning and not sure she could face them yet, so she sent out polite notes of apology and regret.
‘Mother, why don’t you invite your friends to tea?’ Kate pleaded.
‘I will consider it in a few weeks,’ she promised, though she had no inclination at present to host her regular afternoons at home.
One morning Isabella realized that months had passed and their garden was now filled with bright spring daffodils and purple lilac blossom.
Claude had announced his engagement to Ethel Parks, a rather serious young woman whose family lived nearby on Temple Road. Claude was devoted to her and their temperaments seemed well suited. While Ethel seemed quiet and rather solitary, Isabella suspected that she was possessed of a much stronger character than appeared and was well cut out to be the wife of a talented young barrister, with all the demands the role would bring.
‘Ethel and I plan to marry at the end of the summer,’ Claude told her happily, ‘and we hope to rent a home near both families.’
‘We are very pleased for you,’ Isabella smiled, hugging her son but saddened by the fact that Gerald would not be there to see his older brother wed.
Isabella and Frederick had been invited to an important ball at Dublin Castle which Lord and Lady Aberdeen, the lord lieutenant and his wife, were hosting. It was an invitation that Frederick insisted they accept. As she dressed in her expensive black satin gown Isabella caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a small black crow. She ran her hands over the smooth waist and bodice. It was a beautiful dress, exquisitely made, her dress of mourning. Isabella had worn it first for her dear uncle Frederick’s funeral service and to the special exhibition of his art and paintings in Dublin’s National Gallery. A few months later she had worn it for the queen’s death, and then for Gerald.
Her breath caught in her throat as she thought of the great sadness and grief she had endured. She could barely draw breath, for it felt as though the black fabric was constricting her lungs and suffocating her. Suddenly she could bear it no more and began frantically trying to undo the dress. She called for Nora.
Her maid immediately ran upstairs as Isabella beckoned urgently for her to undo all her buttons and help her out of the dress.
‘Are you all right, mam?’ asked Nora anxiously.
‘Yes, but Nora, please pass me out the blue satin gown to wear instead,’ she ordered, trying to slow her erratic breathing and calm down.
As Nora helped to fasten up the pearl buttons of the blue satin, Isabella felt that at last she could breathe again.
The maid went to return the black dress to the large mahogany wardrobe.
‘No, don’t hang it up,’ Isabella told her firmly. ‘I will not wear the black again.’
‘Shall I have it cleaned, mam?’ she offered, studying the material and bodice.
‘No.’ Isabella shook her head vehemently. ‘I will never wear that dress again. Do you want to take it, Nora? You can have it. Get it altered, or Essie can have it. Or sell it if you like. But I promise you that I will never wear that black gown again.’
Puzzled by the behaviour of her mistress, Nora left the room with the expensive black satin dress folded over her arm.
The carriage had arrived and, fixing her pearl hairpins, Isabella went to join Frederick, who was waiting patiently for her downstairs.
‘You look beautiful, Isabella dear,’ he said, smiling gallantly, making no mention of the fact that she was not attired in mourning. She slipped on her velvet evening cloak and they stepped out into the night air together.