John Hamilton was as good as his word. When Rose finally slipped down the back stairs and made her way across the stable yard in the gathering dusk, she saw him excuse himself from the circle of grooms and coachmen sitting outside the stables, listening to Old Tom and enjoying the pleasant warmth of a fine May evening. He strode across the yard and was at her side before she’d even set foot on the steps that led up to her room.
‘Ye haven’t done so bad,’ he said cheerfully, beaming down at her, as he moved between her and the rising steps. ‘It’s only half nine. I thought it mighta been midnight if ye’d had wait up for her and unpin her hair and suchlike. Some women can take half the night to get to their bed. So I’ve heard, anyway. Will we go for a bit of a walk?’
Rose was tired. The hours since she’d last set foot on these same steps had not been easy. At six o’clock the servants’ hall had been noisy and crowded. Cook was in a bad temper and the butler, Mr Smithers was standing on his dignity, afraid the presence of servants not under his direct control might undermine his rigid rules and regulations.
As always on such occasions, he’d insisted that Hannah should have her meal in his room as a member of the Senior Staff. Normally, he was quite willing to let her to eat in the servants’ hall to be with Rose and Sam. And this evening, Sam too was missing from his usual place.
One of the young ladies had left her paint box at their picnic place and he’d been despatched to find it.
Rose ate her supper silently, avoiding the cautious glances of John Hamilton and the more engaging smiles of the groom from the O’Shea coach. Quite suddenly, the place, the known figures, the coming evening task, had all become part of a wearying round which no longer offered the comfort and support of routine and familiarity, but only the weariness of an endlessly repeating pattern.
As soon as supper was over she made her way to Lady Anne’s bedroom. This was often the worst point of the whole day. She hadn’t rung, for she could not expect Rose to do without her evening meal, but Rose knew she would be waiting impatiently. Although there was more than an hour to get her ready for dinner at eight o’clock, she would fuss and fret as if there were no more than a mere fifteen minutes before the gong sounded.
‘What shall I wear, Rose?’ she asked, the moment she entered the room.
The breathlessness of her voice was a warning that she was excited or overwrought. She’d thrown her hat and riding jacket so carelessly on the bed, they’d slipped on the silk coverlet and lay in a tumbled heap on the floor. Beyond that, she’d not bothered to undress further, even though her dressing gown was laid out waiting for her.
Rose put aside her own thoughts and prepared herself for whatever difficulties might lie ahead.
‘What about the green velvet?’ she suggested lightly.
‘You say that every time I ask, Rose,’ she began irritably. ‘Why do you always say the same thing? Don’t you like any of my other dresses, or is it just the green velvet is easier to clean?’
‘No, it’s harder to clean,’ said Rose patiently, ‘velvets always are. Specially if it’s water or wine you’ve spilt.’
Lady Anne had a habit of being unpleasant, even insulting, that Rose had long ago learnt to ignore, but to her surprise, this evening, she threw her a contrite glance and said, ‘You wouldn’t ever leave me, would you, Rose?’
‘What do you mean?’ Rose asked, so completely taken aback by the question that she spoke with a quite inappropriate sharpness.
‘Oh, go and work for someone else,’ she began hastily. ‘Go and join your brother in Nova Scotia, or the one in Scotland. Get married.’ She paused. ‘Leave me to manage by myself.’
With her shoulders drooping and her face crumpled almost to tears, she looked such a picture of misery it was all Rose could do not to smile.
‘But you wouldn’t be by yourself,’ she protested. ‘Your mother would find someone else to help you.’
She dropped onto the couch at the foot of the large, draped four poster. Mr Smithers would be apoplectic if he knew she’d sat down uninvited, but if Lady Anne was going to talk rather than get undressed there was no use waiting. You could stand all evening and she’d never notice, unless you stopped paying attention to her.
‘But that’s not what I mean,’ she said, shaking her head violently. ‘Any decent servant can do my hair and help me into my clothes. But …’
She paused awkwardly, looked around the room as if she had lost something.
‘Sometimes you can tell me what I ought to do,’ she burst out. ‘Like ignore that silly Captain O’Shea. Did you know he was married, Rose?’ she asked crossly.
‘No, I didn’t, not until I met his wife this afternoon.’
‘He’s horrible. Really horrible. He never even bothered to go and see her when he knew her coach had arrived. And he’s so rude to Lord Harrington. I couldn’t bear to be married to a man like that,’ she ended, her voice rising ominously.
‘But why should you marry someone you didn’t like?’
‘I might not know until it was too late and then there’d be all the babies and I might die.’
‘You might die anyway,’ said Rose crisply.
Lady Anne sat speechless, staring at her as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.
Rose knew she probably shouldn’t have said that, but now it was said it couldn’t be unsaid. This was not an occasion to humour her or to scold her. She wasn’t quite sure what sort of an occasion it was, but the signs were bad. The chances of getting her dressed and ready to go down by eight o’clock began to look very doubtful indeed.
‘You can’t do much about dying, no one can, so there’s no use thinking about it. But you can choose the man you want to marry. Your father wouldn’t dream of forcing you to marry someone he thought suitable if you didn’t like him. So it’s up to you.’
‘But how would I know?’
It was not the first time Lady Anne had asked a question that amazed her. For all her education, her visits to England and other parts of Ireland, her questions could suddenly reveal how little idea of judging other people she had yet acquired.
‘Simple. You’d go riding with him,’ Rose began quietly. ‘You’d watch how he behaves. That’s what you did with Captain O’Shea this afternoon, wasn’t it? That’s how you know you wouldn’t want to marry a man like him.’
Lady Anne shook her head vigorously.
‘That’s all very well, Rose, but what if he didn’t ride?’
Rose laughed and was grateful when the younger woman’s face softened slightly.
‘I don’t think he’d stand a great chance with you if he didn’t ride,’ she said easily, ‘but you could still test him out. Take him to the stables and introduce him to Conor. Get Conor to do his party pieces, like walking up the steps. See whether he’s interested or not. If he’s the right man for you, he’ll pay attention for your sake, even if he knows nothing about horses himself.’
‘Rose, how do you know all these things? You’re only three years older than I am and you’re a servant.’
Lady Anne’s whole appearance had changed. She looked puzzled and she was smiling, sure signs the danger point was passed.
‘I’m not sure how I know, but I am sure you’ll be late for dinner if we don’t get started,’ Rose replied crisply, as she stood up and waited for her to do likewise. But Lady Anne made no move.
‘Promise me you’ll never leave me,’ she said softly.
‘I can’t promise you that,’ Rose replied, just as softly.
For one long, exhausting moment, Rose watched her face, saw the conflicting emotions chase across her features, observed the twist of her mouth, the anxious flick of her eyes. She had almost prepared herself for the scream, the brush thrown violently against the wall, when she saw her drop her eyes. She heard the deep intake of breath.
‘I’m sorry, Rose. I shouldn’t have asked that.’
Rose smiled, relief and amazement flowing over her. It was the first time in her life she’d heard Lady Anne apologise to anyone.
‘Why do you always choose the green velvet?’ Lady Anne continued, smiling, as if the words had never been spoken.
‘Because it suits you. When you wear pink, or white, or blue, you try to look like your sisters. And you aren’t like them at all.’
‘Who am I like then?’
‘You’re not like anybody else, you’re like yourself. But too often you try to be like other people. That’s what makes you so unhappy.’
Startled by what she’d just said, Rose bent down quickly and picked up the jacket and riding hat. She’d no idea she’d been thinking about what made Lady Anne so unhappy until the words popped out, ready and waiting to be spoken.
‘I’ll wear the green. What about my hair?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you have good skin and fine eyes. When you smile they light up.’
‘So you think I’m pretty, Rose?’ said Lady Anne, turning from the dressing table to face her.
‘No, I don’t. I think your sisters are pretty. But you have much stronger features. You could be handsome.’
‘How?’
‘Just by being yourself and deciding what’s right for you.’
Lady Anne stood up, pulled off her shirt and scarf, dropped them on the floor and held up her arms.
Rose lowered her petticoats over her head, one by one, slid the green velvet down to her waist and let the soft fabric fall into place over the petticoats. She did up the fastenings in half the usual time, Lady Anne stood quite still, staring into the large triple mirror of her dressing table. She fetched the matching satin shoes from the cupboard, as Lady Anne pulled out the long hairpins from the tight coil that fitted neatly below her riding hat. She handed Rose the hairbrush, sat down and regarded her closely in the mirror.
‘You’re much prettier than I am, Rose, and much wiser. If I promise to be good, will you help me stop being so horrible?’
‘You’re lookin’ tired,’ said John Hamilton, bringing her back to herself with a jerk, ‘but a wee breathe of fresh air would do you no harm. It’s awful stuffy in that house.’
She looked up at the strong face regarding her so steadily. He was hardly what you would call handsome, but his features were pleasing, the skin tanned by sun and wind, the eyes bright and shining. She leant against the stable wall and laughed.
‘Mind now, you’ve no Icarus to bring me back. You’ll have to carry me if I fall with tiredness.’
‘Sure that’d be no bother,’ he said, lifting her up easily and setting her down again by his side.
‘Will we give it a try?’ he said encouragingly.
‘We will,’ she said promptly, suddenly aware that the whole collection of coachmen and grooms were watching them. She turning on her heel to lead the way down the stable yard. Despite the quickness of her movement John didn’t so much as miss his step. To the experienced eyes of their fellow servants, they looked as if they’d been walking out for months.
‘There’s a wee bit of life left in ye yet,’ said John as they came under the shadow of the trees and followed the cart track and towards the road.
‘Don’t depend on it,’ she laughed. ‘But I’m glad to be out.’
‘Was her Ladyship in one of her moods tonight?’
‘Who told you about that?’ she asked sharply.
‘A young gentleman with red hair and a quick wit,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘Goes by the name of Sam.’
Her look softened immediately.
‘Did he find the paint box?’
‘Aye, indeed. Just where she’d left it. Do they not teach these young ladies to gather up after themselves?’
Rose laughed heartily.
‘Are you joking? Where would servants be if there was no gentry to drop their belongings all over the place for them to pick up?’
He smiled and looked at her thoughtfully.
‘D’you like the job, Rose, pickin’ up and fetchin’ and carryin?’
‘It could be worse,’ she said honestly. ‘There’s plenty on the Kerry estates hard pressed to find a bite after a bad harvest. No one goes hungry at Currane Lodge.’
‘Did you go hungry in Donegal?’
She caught the edge of anxiety in his voice. It was there too in his eyes. She had not known many men as friends and only once had she walked out. But never had anyone asked her about her life as if it were of such consequence to them.
‘No, we came near, but father was always a hard worker and Ma was very careful to keep something for the bad times. Her uncle in Nova Scotia used to send her money and it was always put away.’
She paused and looked at him sharply.
‘Do you not have poor people in Armagh?’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m ashamed I don’t know more about m’own country,’ he said shaking his head sadly. ‘I was listenin’ to Old Thomas there after we’d finished our work and I thought to myself, “John aren’t you the lucky one has never wanted?”’
He paused, looked down at her and went on.
‘Ye see m’ father and grandfather and indeed his father too, were all blacksmiths,’ he said, throwing up one hand and bringing it down in a series of steps. ‘An’ sure there’s always work for a blacksmith wherever there’s horses, working horses or carriage horses, or where there’s militia. What I like best though is working with machines, looms and engines an’ suchlike, but I can earn a livin’ wherever I go. An’ that’s more than your poor farmer can.’
They came out onto the carriage road and stood by a gap in the low wall that bounded the lake. Across the perfectly calm water two swans were sailing slowly by, a cluster of grubby-looking cygnets following behind, the ripples of their passage spreading out like a long train behind them.
The light was fading faster now, the sky a pale gold. Where the rays of the setting sun still caught the high, wispy evening cloud, the flimsy scraps where touched with orange and red.
‘I think we’ll get another good day, the morra,’ he said gazing out over the lake. ‘This is a lovely place. Everywhere ye look is water or sky. I’m not used to that at all. C’oud we rest here a wee while?’
They sat down side by side on the tumbled stones and watched the swans dip their long necks deep into the water. From the bushes nearby came the scuffle of small birds settling to roost. A deep silence settled around them.
‘Whereabouts in Armagh do you live? Near the city itself?’ she asked.
‘About two or three miles outside, a wee townland called Annacramp.’
‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t notice,’ she said, grinning.
‘What d’ye mean?’ he asked, a look of complete bafflement on his face.
‘You must know what Annacramp means,’ she said, suddenly aware the more he said the more he seemed to live in a different world.
‘Means? It’s just a name, isn’t it?’ he added doubtfully.
‘In Irish, it means the place of the wild garlic.’
‘Oh.’
John dropped his head and looked at the grass growing up through the fragments of stone at his feet. He seemed dismayed and Rose wondered how such a light remark could have so dampened his good spirits.
‘An’ what does Salter’s Grange mean?’
‘That one’s not Irish. Grange is French. It means barn. It must have belonged to a man called Salter,’ she replied, still puzzled by the look on his face.
‘Ye mean ye can understan’ Irish and French, forby English?’
She nodded and watched the look of loss and sadness deepen.
‘Sure ye cou’d pass for a lady yerself,’ he said dejectedly.
‘Thank you very much for the compliment,’ said Rose laughing heartily.
‘Ach no, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said flustered. ‘Ye are a lady. I meant, you could marry gentry if you’d a mind to.’
‘An’ then I’d have servants to run after me and dress me for dinner and drive me round in my coach to see the sights,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You could come and be in charge of all my coaches and horses. I’d pay you very well.’
‘No. There’d be no payin’ me. Not all the gold in Ireland would do.’ He paused deliberately. ‘I’d want ye for meself.’
Rose looked away. In all her thoughts of men and marriage, it had never occurred to her it might be like this. A man she’d only met hours before. A man from a different world. A man who was so direct that there’d be no way of dealing with him other than honestly.
‘I’m not entirely sure it would suit me,’ she said lightly. ‘And I still haven’t found a young Sir or Lord that I like. I’ll maybe wait a bit longer.’
He smiled slowly, the sadness fading from his face as he drew her to her feet and put his arms round her.
‘How long d’ye think this visit might be, Rose? Would it be long enough for ye to make up yer mind? For my mind’s made up.’