Hazel and Laurel, Adeline Deverill’s spinster sisters, known as the Shrubs, stood by Adeline’s grave and admired the crimson berries they had placed there. They might have been twins, being of the same height, with round, rosy faces, anxious, twitching mouths and greying hair pinned onto the top of their heads. But on closer inspection, Hazel, who was older than her sister by two years, had bright, sky-blue eyes whereas Laurel’s were the colour of the mist that gathers over the Irish Sea in winter. They had not been beauties in their day, unlike Adeline with her fiery red hair and disarming gaze, but they both possessed a sweetness of nature that showed in the soft contours of their features and in the surprising charm of their smiles. Their need for each other was particularly endearing in two elderly women who seemed to have sacrificed marriage and children to remain together.
‘She always loved the colour red,’ said Hazel with a sigh.
‘She loved colour,’ Laurel agreed. ‘Any colour.’
‘Except black,’ Hazel added.
‘Black isn’t a colour, Hazel. It’s the lack of colour.’
‘Adeline used to say that “darkness is simply the absence of light”. That it doesn’t exist in itself. Do you remember, Laurel?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘She was so wise. I do miss her.’ Hazel pressed a crumpled cotton handkerchief to her eye. ‘She was a reassuring presence during the Troubles.’
‘Oh, indeed she was,’ agreed Laurel. ‘We’ve lived through turbulent times, but I do feel that peace has descended over Ballinakelly and those beasts who wanted us English out have put away their claws. Don’t you think, Hazel?’
‘Oh, I do. But how I wish that things hadn’t changed. I do so hate change. Nothing was—’
‘The same after the fire. I know,’ said Laurel, finishing the sentence for her sister. ‘No more games of whist in the library or parties – oh, how I loved the parties.’
‘No one threw parties like Adeline. No one,’ said Hazel. ‘All that’s left are the memories. Wonderful, wonderful memories.’ She sighed sadly at the thought of what had once been. ‘It won’t be the same now Celia’s bought the castle.’
‘No, it won’t be the same. It’ll be different,’ agreed Laurel ponderously. ‘She’ll bring it back to life, though, which will be lovely. I do hope she remembers the way it was. Should we advise her, do you think?’
‘She’ll be grateful for our help, I’m sure. We knew the castle better than anyone else.’
‘Except possibly Bertie,’ said Laurel.
‘Yes, except Bertie, of course.’
‘And Kitty, perhaps?’ Laurel added.
‘Yes, and Kitty,’ Hazel agreed, a little irritably. ‘But we know the way Adeline would want it to be,’ said Hazel, gazing upon the damp earth beneath which their sister’s body lay buried.
Laurel inhaled deeply. ‘We’re the last of our generation here, you know.’
‘I’m aware of that, Laurel. One has to look to the younger generation for comfort. I’m very grateful to Elspeth and Kitty. If it wasn’t for our great-nieces and their darling children, there’d be no reason to go on. No reason at all.’
‘Adeline was always certain we’d meet up in the end.’
‘A load of old rubbish,’ said Hazel.
Laurel stared at her in surprise. ‘My dear Hazel, I think that’s the first time we’ve ever disagreed on anything.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Well, I hope it doesn’t set a precedent,’ Hazel added anxiously.
‘I don’t know. It might. Wouldn’t that be awful? Suddenly at the grand old age of—’
‘Don’t say it,’ Hazel interrupted, putting a hand on her sister’s arm.
‘At our grand old age then, that we began to disagree.’
‘We couldn’t have that,’ said Hazel.
‘No, we couldn’t. It would upset everything.’
‘Yes, it would. Everything.’
‘Shall we go home and have a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Hazel smiled with relief. ‘I’m so happy we agree on that!’
Adeline watched her sisters walk out into the street and head off towards home. From her place in Spirit she could see everything that went on in Ballinakelly. Unlike her husband Hubert and the other heirs of Castle Deverill who were bound by Maggie O’Leary’s curse to remain in the castle until the land was returned to an O’Leary, Adeline was free to come and go as she pleased. Literally a free spirit, she thought with satisfaction. It would have been easy to have left this world altogether; after all, the allure of what human beings call ‘Heaven’ was very strong. But Adeline was bound to Hubert by a more powerful force than curiosity. She had resolved to stay with him because she loved him. She loved Ireland, too, and her family who remained here. Only when their time ran out would she go home to Heaven; all together, as they had always been.
Adeline was intrigued by the recent comings and goings at the castle. Celia, who was staying at the Hunting Lodge with Bertie, spent a great deal of time exploring the ruins and discussing her plans with Mr Leclaire, the architect she had brought over from London. Portly like a little toad, with a shiny round face, bald head, fleshy lips, and a speech impediment that caused him to spit on his S’s, Mr Kenneth Leclaire was wildly enthusiastic about this ambitious commission. Celia Mayberry was his favourite sort of client: clueless and with a bottomless budget. He had grand ideas and hopped from charred room to charred room behind the dreamy Celia, waving his arms about and describing in lavish superlatives the splendour of those rooms once rebuilt according to his glorious vision. Celia clapped her hands with glee at his every suggestion, squealing encouragement: ‘Oh, Kenny darling, I just love it! Import it, build it. I want it yesterday!’
Celia wanted Kitty to enjoy the process of restoration as much as she did, and Adeline, so amused by the prancing Mr Leclaire and Celia’s blinkered passion to recreate the past through the rose-tinted hue of her memories, was saddened by the sight of her favourite grandchild, wandering the ruins with her cousin as if she too were a ghost, searching for herself among the ashes.
Kitty cut a lonely, heavy-hearted figure. For Kitty, the loss of her home and her beloved grandparents had caused something to shift inside her, subtly like the small movement of a cloud that repositions itself in front of the sun, casting her in shadow. But there was something else. Adeline could intuit that from her vantage point. From where Adeline stood Kitty’s soul was laid bare and all the events of her life were revealed to her grandmother like the open pages of a book. Adeline saw the brutal rape in the Doyle farmhouse and the moment on the station platform when Jack O’Leary had been taken from her by the Black and Tans, and she knew that Michael Doyle had not only violated Kitty, but destroyed too her chance of happiness with Jack. His had been the hand that had swiped away her future, and yet, with the same stroke he had brought Little Jack from the convent in Dublin and placed him in Kitty’s care. Adeline saw it all with absolute clarity. She also saw the plans Kitty was making to leave for America. She had missed her opportunity once before and was determined not to do it a second time. But Adeline knew that Little Jack didn’t belong on the other side of the Atlantic. He was a Deverill and Castle Deverill was where he belonged.
No one had more right to Castle Deverill than Barton Deverill himself, the man who had built it and invented the family motto. Yet he was tired of haunting this accursed place. Adeline had tried to ask him about Maggie O’Leary but, unlike Kitty’s, the storybook of Barton’s life was closed defiantly shut. There was something in it, she sensed, of which he was greatly ashamed. She could almost see the stain seeping through the paper. Why else would he be so unhappy? Of course it made him desperately sad to see the castle reduced to rubble — it had made them all unhappy to see it so, but the excitement of Celia’s plans had cheered them up considerably. Only Barton remained in his mire of misery without any desire to pull himself out and Adeline wondered why.
The curse was constantly on her mind. If it wasn’t broken she knew what Bertie and Harry’s fate would be. On and on it would continue to punish the Lord Deverills for what the first had done. But what had Barton done, exactly? Building a castle on land given to him by Charles II wasn’t a crime. Maggie O’Leary had cursed him for what she felt was robbery, but Adeline sensed there was more to it. Perhaps if she could find out what he had done, she could figure out a way to undo it. When she went to her final resting place she was going to take Hubert, Bertie and Harry with her, come what may.
Kitty rode over the hills above Ballinakelly at a gallop. The wet wind made damp tendrils of her hair and brought the blood to her cheeks. The icy air burned her throat and froze the tip of her nose, and the rhythmic, thunderous sound of hooves on the hard ground took her back to a time of stolen moments with Jack at the Fairy Ring, when the only obstacle to their happiness had been her father’s blessing. She laughed bitterly, wishing she could turn back the clock and appreciate how simple life had been back then, before Michael Doyle, the War of Independence and the fire had complicated it beyond anything she could ever have imagined. But now she was leaving it all behind. She would start again from scratch, and forget the past. Together with her two Jacks she would create a future in a new land so that Little Jack could grow out from under the shadow of his family’s tragedy. But she couldn’t do it alone.
As she had done so many times in the past, she trotted up to Grace Rowan-Hampton’s manor and gave her horse to the groom. Once again, Grace was the only person to whom Kitty could turn for help.
Brennan, the supercilious butler, opened the front door and took her coat and gloves. He was not surprised to see Miss Kitty Deverill, as he would always know her even though she was now a married woman. He was used to her turning up without prior warning and striding across the hall, shouting for his mistress. He wondered what it was this time.
Grace was in the scullery, making a large flower arrangement for the church, although, at this time of year, there was little in the way of flowers to be found in the garden. She stood in a green dress and teal-coloured cardigan with her brown hair pulled back into an untidy bun, leaving stray wisps loose about her hairline and neck. When she saw Kitty she smiled warmly, her brown eyes full of affection. ‘What a nice surprise,’ she said, putting down her secateurs. ‘I need a break from this tedious task. Let’s go into the drawing room and have a cup of tea. Brennan has lit a fire in there. My fingers are near falling off they’re so cold!’
Kitty followed her into the main part of the house, which was lavishly adorned with Persian rugs and decorated with bright floral wallpapers, wood panelling and gilt-framed portraits of ancestors staring out of the oil with the bulging, watery Rowan-Hampton eyes that had been inherited by their unfortunate descendant Sir Ronald. ‘Ronald has sent a telegram announcing that he’s arriving the day after tomorrow with the boys and their families, so I’m trying to warm up the house,’ said Grace, treading lightly across the hall. All three of her sons had fought in the Great War and by some miracle survived. Since the Troubles they had preferred to remain in London where they considered the society more exciting and the streets safer for their children. ‘I persuaded them all to come home for Christmas this year even though there are few exciting parties to go to. Without the castle the place doesn’t feel right any more. Still, it will be nice to have everyone back in Ballinakelly again. It’s lonely here on one’s own.’
Kitty imagined that Sir Ronald knew all about his wife’s infidelity. They clearly adhered to the Edwardian mode of marital conduct: the wife produced an heir and a spare after which she could make her own arrangements, provided they were discreet. It was a given that men of Sir Ronald’s class would take lovers, but Kitty couldn’t imagine how the ruddy-faced, barrel-bellied Sir Ronald could appeal to anybody. Truly, the idea was distasteful. Sir Ronald rarely came to Ireland and Grace seemed to have made her own life here without him. Kitty sensed Grace was rather irritated when he showed up. She wondered whether Grace had had other lovers besides her father. Somehow she doubted Grace was ever really on her own.
They sat on opposite sofas and a maid brought in a tray of tea and cake and placed it on the table between them. ‘I see Celia is ploughing ahead with her plans,’ said Grace. ‘It must be hard for you and Bertie to watch her and that ridiculous little man she’s hired running riot among the ruins of your home. Still, I suppose it’s better than the alternative.’
‘It’s better than many alternatives,’ Kitty replied. She watched Grace pour tea into the china cups. ‘The Shrubs are driving her to distraction with their suggestions. They think they’re being helpful but they don’t realize that Celia wants to do it her own way.’ There was a long silence as Kitty wondered how to begin.
At length Grace smiled knowingly. ‘What is it, Kitty? I’ve seen that look in your eyes before. What are you plotting?’
Kitty took a deep breath then plunged in. ‘I’m leaving for America with Jack O’Leary,’ she declared. ‘This time I’m really going and Michael Doyle can’t stop me.’
At the mention of Michael’s name Grace put down the teapot and her smiling eyes turned serious. ‘Michael is at Mount Melleray, Kitty,’ she said in a tone that implied Michael had gone to the abbey for pious reasons rather than to be cured of the drink. ‘I’m sure he regrets many of the things he did during the Troubles, but I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, he’s not guilty of half the things you accuse him of She handed Kitty the teacup. ‘You have to forgive and forget if you ever hope to find happiness.’
‘There are one or two things I will never forgive him for, Grace,’ Kitty retorted, but she knew that Grace wouldn’t listen to a word against Michael Doyle. She hadn’t believed her when Kitty had told her that Michael had been responsible for burning the castle – and Kitty hadn’t told her what else Michael had done. She didn’t know why, perhaps because of the close roles they had both played during the War of Independence, but Grace cared for Michael. ‘I’m not here to argue with you,’ said Kitty. ‘I need your help.’
‘I thought so,’ said Grace, picking up her teacup and settling back into the cushions. ‘You’re sure you want to leave Ballinakelly? You’re sure you want to leave Robert?’
Kitty didn’t want to think about Robert. The guilt was unbearable. ‘Jack and I belong together, Grace,’ she said, angry that she felt she had to argue her case. ‘Fate has separated us at every turn, but this time nothing can prevent us being together. I need to invent a story so that I can leave with Little Jack without raising suspicion. As you know, Robert writes at home, so he’s always in the house. I need you to give me an alibi.’
Grace’s smile hovered over her teacup. ‘Considering the alibi you once gave me, it will be my pleasure to repay you in kind.’
‘So, will you help me?’
‘Kitty, my dear, you saved my life after the murder of Colonel Manley. If you hadn’t claimed to have had supper with me the night I lured him to his death they would have accused me of being an accomplice in his murder and put me away.’
‘If they had known half of what you and I got up to during the Troubles they would have put both of us away,’ Kitty added wryly.
‘Indeed they would. So, helping you now is the very least I can do. But it would be wrong of me, as a friend, not to advise you honestly. Little Jack has two fathers: Bertie, his biological father, and Robert who is everything a father should be. He has yet to know Bertie, although in time I’m sure he will, but he loves Robert, that’s undeniable. Think of him when you plot your escape. Is your happiness more important than his? By removing him from everything he knows and loves you will be causing him unknown distress. After all you have been through, surely you can appreciate the importance of firm roots and a loving home with both parents.’ Kitty’s face darkened as she was forced to confront the possible consequences of her actions and the shame in building her happiness on the unhappiness of those who loved her. ‘I’m sorry,’ Grace continued. ‘I don’t wish to be awkward, but I’m older and wiser than you, and it will be me who is left to pick up the pieces of your desertion. You may not realize it, but your father loves you dearly. He’s grown very proud of his illegitimate little son. I can see it in his eyes when he speaks of him. I’m sure that if you give their relationship a chance, Bertie and Little Jack could become great friends.’
‘Don’t forget that my father originally disowned me for taking in Little Jack. He would have preferred that I left him to die on the doorstep.’
Grace was shocked. ‘That’s not true,’ she interjected quickly. ‘He was horrified at first, of course, but once he had had time to think about it, he changed heart. He realized that nothing in life is more important than family. Didn’t he recognize him in front of the whole family? Little Jack is his son, Kitty. He’s a Deverill.’
‘I won’t be persuaded, Grace. I lost Jack last time because I believed I had a responsibility here, but this time I’ll take Little Jack with me.’
‘I don’t condone what you are doing, Kitty, but I know that I owe you my life. You can say you’re bringing Little Jack to London to stay with me. We’ll arrange it after Christmas. I’ll help you organize your passage to America and for someone to vouch for you when you get there. God help those you leave behind.’
Kitty stood up to go. ‘Robert will get over me and Papa will survive,’ she said, making for the door. ‘After all, he has you.’
Grace watched her leave. Kitty suspected that Grace’s affair with Bertie Deverill had ended the moment Kitty had saved Grace’s life. Indeed, Grace had used that as an excuse to end a relationship of which she had grown tired. She had explained to Bertie that she owed Kitty a debt of gratitude which couldn’t be paid if she was sleeping with the girl’s father. But that was a lie. Only Grace knew the real moment it had ended. When, high on the excitement of having played her part in the War of Independence and lured Colonel Manley into the abandoned house on the Dunashee Road so that Michael Doyle and the other rebels could murder him, she and Michael had fallen on each other like wild animals. It had all started then, her affair with Michael Doyle. She went and leaned on the fireplace and gazed into the fire. The flames licked the logs of turf and the smoke was thick and earthy. She wound her hand around the back of her neck and closed her eyes. The heat made her feel drowsy and sensual.
She could see him as clearly as if he were right in front of her, his brooding face close enough to feel his breath on her skin. She could even smell him, that very manly scent which was his alone: sweat, salt, spice and something feral that made her lose control and surrender herself to his every desire. He had taken her then and many times since, and Grace had grown addicted to the pleasure he gave her, for none of her previous lovers could compare to Michael Doyle. He made a mockery of all of them, even Bertie Deverill. There was a vitality about him, an earthiness, a hunger that made her wanton. He handled her roughly, impatiently and when he was done she pleaded for more. He had reduced her to pulp, but she had never felt more of a woman than when he was inside her.
Now he was at Mount Melleray she longed for the moment he would return. She fantasized about their reunion. His passion would be all the greater for his having been locked up in an abbey. He would be like a stallion let out into the field at last and she would be waiting for him like an eager mare. She would wait as long as it took. In the meantime, no one else would suffice.
Kitty returned home, weary and disgruntled. Grace had been the voice of her conscience and she didn’t like it. She knew that what she was planning was selfish and yet, after all she had suffered, didn’t she deserve to take something for herself?
She wanted to ride over to see Jack, but she was careful not to arouse suspicion. The many times she had used her father, her sister Elspeth, who lived close by, and Grace as excuses for her long absences only heightened her chances of getting caught. She had to be discreet. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have the rest of their lives to be together. Until that time she’d have to play the good wife.
After going to see Little Jack, who was having his tea, she found Robert in his study, writing. Knowing not to disturb him at his desk she went upstairs and changed out of her riding clothes. When she came down, Robert was in the hall. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he asked, smiling at her. ‘I could do with one myself. I’ve been deep in my novel all day. I can barely see the words for the paper.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. ‘What have you been up to, my darling?’
‘I went to see Grace,’ she replied, stinging with guilt.
‘So you did. How is she?’
‘Same as always. She’s expecting her entire family to descend on her in a couple of days for Christmas.’ She followed Robert into the drawing room and watched him make for the drinks cabinet.
‘What would you like to do for Christmas?’ he asked. ‘I’ve told my parents we’re staying in Ireland this year, considering we’ve just settled here. Elspeth and Peter have asked us to join them—’
‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘But I can’t bear their cold house and the chaos. Why don’t we ask them and Papa to spend it here with us? After all, Mother will be spending it with Victoria at Broadmere and I doubt Harry will come over. It’ll be nice for Little Jack to have his cousins here for a change. We can put up a tree over there,’ she said, pointing to the far corner, ‘and he can help decorate it.’ At the thought of this being Little Jack’s last Christmas at the White House her chest tightened and she put a hand against her breast and sat down. The reality of her decision made her appreciate what she had and suddenly everything seemed much dearer to her than she had previously thought. In fact, the idea of losing her home, perhaps forever, made her dizzy with despair.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ said Robert, handing her a glass of sherry. ‘You look very pale.’
‘I’m tired,’ she replied with a sigh. ‘I’ll go to bed early. That’ll put me right.’
‘Indeed it will. Let’s not talk about Christmas.’
Just then Little Jack stood in the doorway in his dressing gown with his red hair glistening wet and brushed off his forehead. He was holding a wooden clown puppet on a string. ‘Look what Robert gave me!’
Kitty looked at her husband. ‘Did you?’
‘I saw it in the window of the toy shop in Ballinakelly and couldn’t resist.’
‘Isn’t it fun?’ said Little Jack, making it walk across the rug towards Robert.
Kitty watched the child concentrate as he laboriously moved the wooden cross in his hand to lift the clown’s big red feet. He reached Robert at last and let him draw him onto his knee, wrapping his arms around his middle and kissing his cheek. ‘You’re so clever, Little Jack. I thought it would take you much longer to make the clown walk.’ Little Jack beamed a smile at Kitty.
‘You are clever, darling,’ she agreed. ‘How nice of Robert to buy you a present.’ Little Jack nuzzled against Robert and tears prickled behind Kitty’s eyes. Grace’s words echoed in her conscience and, with all the will in the world, Kitty was unable to silence them.