Prologue
April 1809
Coolock House
Outside of Dublin, Ireland
“Comfort comes soon after a well-received trial.”
The words of the priest’s homily from last Sunday came to me unbidden as I stepped out of the carriage, ready to meet my new employers and explore my new home. Those words certainly fit my situation. After years of uncertainty, of depending on the generosity of others, and of constantly uprooting my life as I relocated from one dwelling to another, I finally had a home—and steady employment.
The two-story gray mansion called Coolock House welcomed me, its tall, gleaming windows and bright red front door signs of its master’s wealth and standing in the community. On the top step of a small staircase leading to the entry stood my new employers, William and Catherine Callaghan. Though his brown hair was liberally streaked with gray, William still had the straight, aristocratic bearing befitting a man who served as secretary and treasurer of the Apothecaries Hall, but Catherine’s shoulders were beginning to stoop beneath her shawl and she walked with a cane—assistance she hadn’t needed the last time I saw them.
William met me at the foot of the stairs and escorted me to Catherine’s side. She embraced me warmly.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to live with us,” she said. “It is my hope that over time we will become like family to one another.”
“I hope so, too,” I said, meaning it.
It was entirely possible we would grow to love one another, as the Callaghans were not strangers to me. The last family I lived with, the Armstrongs, were good friends with their family and mine, and I had attended many balls at Coolock House. At one such event, Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan, childless and both in their sixth decade of life, let it slip that they were considering hiring a live-in companion to care for them as they aged. My name was mentioned and the Callaghans agreed I was the perfect candidate.
“Come, come, now,” Mr. Callaghan coaxed. “Allow me to show you to your quarters.”
He took me to a small room adjacent to Mrs. Callaghan’s bedroom, just down the hall from his own. It wasn’t much, only large enough for a small bed, a dresser, a desk, and a wash basin. But to me it was grand; I hadn’t had my own bed, much less my own room, since my father died when I was five and my family’s fortunes plummeted. Plus, it was ideally suited for my roll, being near enough to both bedrooms that I could hear either one if they called for me in the night.
On our way back toward the stairs, two liveried servants passed us, each holding two grand silver candelabras. I followed them with my eyes, wondering where they were scurrying off to in such haste. Then a woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a large decorated cake. All three disappeared into a long room just beyond the drawing room that I recalled as the ballroom.
“We’re hosting a small event tonight,” Mr. Callaghan said, by way of explanation. At the door to Mrs. Callaghan’s room, he turned away, saying with a sly grin, “I will leave you women to do whatever it is you do.”
His wife beckoned me inside. She was holding an elaborate red ballgown, fluffing its sleeves and fussing with the roses at the décolletage.
“Would you like some help putting that on?” I asked her.
“Me? Oh, no, dear. This is for you.”
“What?” She wasn’t making any sense.
“We can’t have a beautiful young woman like yourself missing a party thrown in your honor.”
“My …what?”
“We want to celebrate your new role here and be sure you are introduced to everyone in our social group. That reminds me, would you honor us with a song, perhaps?”
“I … of course.” I had sung many times before in their home at both formal and casual events.
“Who knows, you might even meet a handsome young man,” Mrs. Callaghan elbowed me playfully. “You’re what, twenty? Yes, you are the perfect age to find a match. After all, we don’t expect you to live here forever.”