Co. Cork, Ireland, 1925
The two little boys with grubby faces and scuffed knees reached the rusted iron gate by way of a barely distinguishable track that branched off the main road and cut through the forest in a sleepy curve. On the other side of the gate, forgotten behind trees, were the charred remains of Castle Deverill, home to one of the grandest Anglo-Irish families in the land before it was consumed in a fire three years before. The drystone wall around the property had collapsed in places from neglect and harsh winter winds. Moss spread undeterred, weeds seeded themselves indiscriminately, grass grew like tufts of hair along the top of the wall and ivy spread its fingers over the stones, swallowing entire sections completely. The boys were unfazed by the large sign that warned trespassers of prosecution or the dark driveway ahead that was littered with moldy leaves, twigs and mud. The padlock clanked ineffectively against its chain as the boys pushed the gates apart and slipped through.
On the other side, the forest was silent and soggy, for the summer was ended and autumn had blown in with icy gales and cold rain. The drive once had been lined on either side with red rhododendron bushes but now they were obscured by dense nettles, ferns and overgrown laurel. The boys ran past them, oblivious of what the shrubs represented, unaware that that very drive had once witnessed carriages bearing the finest in the county to the magnificent castle over-looking the sea. Now the drive was little more than a dirt track and the castle lay in ruins. Only ravens and pigeons ventured there, and intrepid little boys intent on adventure, confident that no one would discover them in this forgotten place.
The children hurried excitedly through the wild grasses to play among the remnants of the once stately rooms. The sweeping staircase was long gone and the center chimneys had fallen through the roof and formed a mountain of bricks for the boys to scale. In the west wing the surviving part of the roof remained as sturdy beams that straddled two of the enduring walls, like the exposed ribcage of a giant animal left to decay in the open air.
The boys were too distracted to feel the sorrow that hung over the place or to hear the plaintive echo of the past. They were too young to have an awareness of nostalgia and the melancholic sense of mortality it induces. The ghosts who dwelt there, mourning the loss of their home and their brief lives, were as wind blowing in off the water. The boys heard the moaning of the empty windows and the whistling about the remaining chimney stacks and felt only a frisson of exhilaration, for the eeriness served to enhance their pleasure, not diminish it. The ghosts might as well have been alone for the attention the boys paid them.
Over the front door, one of the boys was able to make out some Latin letters, tarnished by soot, half concealed in the blackened lintel. “Castellum Deverilli est suum regnum 1662,” he read out.
“What does that mean?” asked the smaller boy.
“Everyone around here knows what that means. A Deverill’s castle is his kingdom.”
The smaller child laughed. “Not much of a kingdom now,” he said.
They went from room to room in the fading light like a pair of urchins, excavating hopefully where the ground was soft. Their gentle chatter mingled with the croaking of ravens and the cooing of pigeons, and the ghosts were appeased as they remembered their own boyhoods and the games they had played in the sumptuous gardens of the castle. For once, the castle had been magnificent.
At the turn of the century there had been a walled garden, abundant with every sort of fruit and vegetable to feed the Deverill family and their servants. There had been a rose garden, an arboretum and a maze where the Deverill children had routinely lost themselves and each other among the yew hedges. There had been elaborate glass houses where tomatoes had grown among orchids and figs, and yellow cowslips had reflected the summer sun in the wildflower garden where the ladies of the house had enjoyed picnics and afternoons full of laughter and gossip. Those gardens had once been a paradise but now they smelled of decay. A shadow lingered in spite of the sunshine and year after year bindweed slowly choked the gardens to death. Nothing remained of the castle’s former beauty except a savage splendor of sorts, made all the more arresting by its tragedy.
At the rattling sound of a motor car the boys stopped their digging. The noise grew louder as the car advanced up the drive. They looked at each other in bewilderment and crept hastily through the rooms to the front, where they peered out of a glassless window to see a shiny Ford Model T making its way past the castle before halting at the steps leading up to where the front door had once been.
Consumed with curiosity, they elbowed each other in their effort to get a closer look, careful to stay concealed behind the wall. The boys’ jaws fell open at the sight of the car with its soft top and smoothly curved lines. The sun bounced off the sleek green bonnet and the silver headlights shone like a frog’s eyes. Then the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out wearing a brown felt hat and smart camel coat. He swept his eyes over the castle, taking a moment to absorb the dramatic vision. He shook his head and pulled a face as if to acknowledge the sheer scale of the misfortune that had destroyed such a beautiful castle. Then he walked around to the passenger door and opened it.
He held out his hand and a small black glove reached out and took it. The boys were so still that, were it not for their pink faces and black hair, they might have been a pair of cherub statues. With mounting interest they watched the woman step out. She wore an elegant dress of a deep emerald green and a long black coat, with a black cloche hat pulled low over her face. Only her scarlet lips were visible, shocking against her white skin. Glittering beneath her right shoulder was a large diamond star brooch. The boys’ eyes widened, for she looked as if she came from another world; the sort of world that had once inhabited this fine castle before it was swept away.
The woman stood at the foot of the darkened walls and lifted her chin. She took the man’s hand and turned to face him. “As God is my witness,” she said, and the boys had to strain their ears to hear her. “I will rebuild this castle.” She paused and the man made no move to hurry her. At length she returned her gaze to the castle and her jaw stiffened. “After all, I have as much right as any of the others.”