Bridie heard Rosetta’s laughter coming from inside the barn. It was blithe and bubbling like a merry stream. As she approached she realized that in all the months they had known each other, she had never heard Rosetta laugh with such abandon and she suffered a stab of jealousy, for that carefree sound excluded her as surely as the years in America had alienated her from her home. For it came from somewhere warm and intimate, a place Bridie couldn’t reach for all her wealth and prestige. Her thoughts turned to Jack O’Leary and the girl in her longed for that innocent time in her life when she had dreamed of laughing so blithely with him, when she had yearned for his arms to hold her and his lips to kiss her; when she had craved his love with every fiber of her being. But Kitty had stolen him as she had later stolen her son. Bridie pushed aside her childhood dreams with a sniff of disdain because she wasn’t Bridie Doyle any longer. With a determined hardening of her heart she smothered the tenderness in it that had only brought her unhappiness, and strode into the barn. The laughter stopped at once as the light from outside was thrown across the room. Sean’s surprised face appeared from around the back of the hay rick, flushing guiltily. A moment later Rosetta stepped out, the buttons on her blouse half undone and her hair disheveled.
“I need to talk to you, Rosetta,” Bridie said stiffly. Then, turning to her brother, she added, “I’m sure there’s something you can find to do outside.” Sean grinned at Rosetta, whose brown skin was flushed from the roughness of his bristles, and stepped out into the wind, closing the big door behind him. “I see you’re already helping on the farm,” Bridie said, regretting, even as she spoke, the resentful tone in her voice.
“I would like to be helpful,” Rosetta replied. “The countryside here is wild and romantic.”
Bridie noticed the dreamy look in her eyes and her jealousy made her mean. “Believe me, there was nothing romantic about my childhood here. Hard winters and poverty are all I remember.”
Rosetta’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, Bridget.” The two women had shared so much, they were more like friends than servant and mistress. Rosetta began to button up her blouse with trembling fingers.
Bridie’s heart softened. “Forgive me,” she said. “You’re right. It is romantic and wild here. There was a time when I felt it too. But those days are gone and I can never get them back. I’m leaving, Rosetta. I’m going back to Dublin. Then I’m taking the ship to America. This time for good. I’d like you to come with me, but it’s your decision.” She sighed, knowing already that their adventure together was to end here. “It’s time my brother married. I think he’s made his choice.” Rosetta blushed, lowering her eyes. “And it’s plain that you like him too.”
“I do, Bridget,” Rosetta replied and Bridie was surprised by the degree of her disappointment and hurt. But her affection for Rosetta overrode her bitterness and she took her friend’s hands.
“Has he . . .?”
“Yes, he’s asked me to marry him.”
“After a fortnight?” said Bridie, astonished.
Rosetta shrugged in that carefree Italian way of hers. “When you know, you know,” she said.
Bridie was moved and generosity flowed back into her. Rosetta had always been strong, now she admired her resolve and certainty. “Then you must stay.” She embraced Rosetta fiercely, suddenly afraid of setting off on her journey alone. “I’ll miss you,” she said huskily. “We’ve been through so much together, you and I. In fact, I realize now that you’re my only real friend. It grieves me to lose you.” Her voice had suddenly gone as thin as a reed. She cleared her throat and collected herself. “But there’s something important I have to do. Something that matters to me more than anything else in the world.”
“What will you tell your family?”
“I will write to them from Dublin and explain that I don’t belong here anymore. It’s like trying to put on an old dress I’ve grown out of. It no longer fits.” She laughed to disguise her tears. “You can tell them I have left for New York. That I couldn’t bear to say good-bye. I’ll make sure you are all well provided for. Mam can buy her mangle and Sean won’t have to worry about the farm any longer. He can buy the land now and repair the house. I doubt he’ll be able to do much more than that while Nanna is alive. Write to me, Rosetta.” She squeezed her hands.
“How will I know where to find you?”
“I will send you details once I have sorted myself out. It seems that I will require Beaumont Williams’s assistance after all,” she said, referring to her attorney.
“Are you sure you want to go back to New York?” Rosetta asked.
“Yes, I’ll go back and give all those society women something to bitch about! I can count on Mr. Williams to help me. He and his wife, Elaine, were good to me when Mrs. Grimsby died leaving me a fortune. When I knew no one in New York. I know I can rely on them now.” She smiled wryly. “Money has a funny way of inspiring loyalty.”
“Look after yourself, Bridget.”
Bridie gazed at her sadly. “And you look after Sean. He’s a good man.” She didn’t dare mention her other brother, Michael. Rosetta would discover soon enough how very different two brothers could be. It was only a matter of time before Father Quinn released Michael from Mount Melleray.
“Good luck, Bridget. I will pray for you.”
“And I for you. My family will be lucky to have you. They could do with some good Italian cooking.” Bridie fought back tears.
“I hope our paths cross again one day.”
“So do I, Rosetta. But I don’t think they ever will.”
A LITTLE LATER Bridie sat in the hackney cab that was to take her to the station in Cork. She knew it would be too dangerous to be seen on the platform in Ballinakelly. She held in her hands the toy bear that she had bought in town and hoped that the boy would like it. She hoped too that once they settled in America he would forget about Ireland and everything he had known here. She looked forward to celebrating his fourth birthday in January and rejoicing in the beginning of a new life together. She’d buy him more presents than he’d ever had. In fact, she’d buy him anything he wanted. Anything to make up for the years they had been apart. Her heart gave a flutter of excitement. If there niggled a shadow of doubt in the bottom of her conscience, she reminded herself that God had thrown light onto the darkness of her despair and inspired her to right this wrong. Little Jack belonged to her. As a mother, the Virgin Mary would surely be the first to understand.
Bridie asked the driver to wait in the road a short distance from the entrance to the White House, for she would bring the child through the coppice of trees and not down the main drive for fear of being discovered. She didn’t anticipate any obstacles to her plan, so great was her desire that it blinded her to the reality of what she was about to do. All she saw was her son’s small hand in hers and the happy-ever-after sunset into which they would surely walk, united and at peace.
It was early afternoon, but the sky was darkened by thick folds of gray cloud so that it seemed much later. The sea was the color of slate, the little boats sailing upon it drab and joyless in the waning light. Even the orange and yellow leaves looked dull in the damp wind that sent them spinning to the earth to collect in piles along the stone wall that encircled the Deverill estate. Bridie hurried down the road, searching for a place in the wall that was low enough to scale. She remembered the times she, Celia and Kitty had met at the wall near the castle to run off and play down by the river with Jack O’Leary, handsome in his jacket and cap, and she had to fight hard to suppress the wistfulness that washed over her in a great wave of regret. The sooner she left Ballinakelly the better, she thought resolutely, for memories were beginning to grow through her carefully constructed defenses like weeds through a crumbling old wall. At last she found a place where the stones had fallen into the decaying bracken behind and she lifted her skirt and nimbly climbed over, taking care not to get the bear wet.
She picked her way through the copse. Her heart was beginning to race and sweat collected on her brow in spite of the cold that was rolling in off the water. She could see the house through the trees. The golden lights in the windows made Bridie feel even more of an outcast, and she resented Kitty for belonging here. Holding the bear tightly she made her way around the back of the house, warily looking out for anyone who might see her.
When she was sure she was quite alone, she edged along the wall, peering in through the windows, searching anxiously. She was beginning to panic that she might never find her son when she spied an open window at the back of the house. Light poured out with laughter she immediately recognized by instinct: the long-lost sound of a child, her child.
Her chest constricted with emotion as she crept slowly over the York stone toward the voice that now called to her. In her overanxious imagination the laughter suddenly became the pleading cries of her nightmares, begging for her to find him and bring him home.
She barely dared breathe as she sidled up to the window and peered with one eye through the glass. The cries dissolved and there he was, on the floor with a man she hadn’t expected to see, laughing joyously as they played with a brightly painted wooden train set. She balked at the sight of the man, whom she at once recognized as Kitty’s old tutor Mr. Trench, now her husband. He was gazing down at the boy with a face full of affection. In fact, he looked quite different from the solemn man who had spent his time teaching Kitty and reading books in the castle. He had always been handsome in a bland, inanimate way, but now his features were brought to life by the laughter in his eyes and the merriment in his wide smile. She clutched the bear to her chest as Mr. Trench pulled Little Jack into his arms and pressed his lips to his face. The child melted against him and giggled. If she hadn’t known any better she would have supposed them father and son. Their fondness for each other was natural and real and caused a great swell of jealousy to rise in Bridie’s heart. Her eyes filled with tears and she muffled a sob into the bear’s soft head.
Just then the woman Bridie had seen on the lawn a fortnight before appeared in the doorway and said something to the man. He released the boy, pushed himself up and reluctantly followed her out of the room. Bridie saw her chance. The window was open. Jack was alone. She knew she only had a few minutes.
Without hesitation she lifted the latch and opened the window wider. Sensing someone behind him, Jack turned around and looked at her in surprise. Bridie leaned in and, smiling encouragingly, held up the bear. The child’s eyes settled on the toy and widened with curiosity. To her delight, she watched him jump to his feet and come running with his arms outstretched. For a blessed moment she thought that he was running to her and her spirits gave an unexpected leap of joy. But he grabbed the bear and took a step back to look at it. Now she had the opportunity to seize him. She could be quick, in and out in a second. She could lift him into her arms and carry him away and she’d be off into the night before anyone knew what had happened.
“If you come with me, I’ll give you another one,” she said softly, leaning in through the window. At this the boy’s face filled with fear and he dropped the bear as if it had scalded him. His ears flushed scarlet and he burst into tears. His rejection was horrifying and Bridie recoiled as if she had been slapped. She watched helplessly as he stood rooted to the spot, bawling loudly, staring at her as if she were a monster, and the truth finally hit her like a cold slap: Little Jack belonged here. This was his home. These were his parents. She was nothing more than a stranger, a threatening stranger, and her resolve was at once thwarted by compassion and remorse. She put out a hand to comfort him, but the child stared at it in terror and Bridie withdrew it and pressed it hard against her chest.
She stepped back and hid as Mr. Trench and the woman came running into the room. The crying continued but grew quieter as Jack was consoled in the arms of either Mr. Trench or his nanny, Bridie couldn’t see from where she stood. She sensed someone at the window and pressed herself flat against the wall, holding her breath and silently praying to the Holy Virgin Mary to protect her. A hand reached out and closed the window, then the curtains were briskly drawn and Bridie was shut out. With her heart now anchored firmly in despair she made her way back through the trees to the waiting cab.
WHEN KITTY RETURNED home, her heart full of hope and dread as she contemplated her future, she found Little Jack in his pajamas, sitting on Robert’s knee. Robert’s other leg, which did not bend as a result of an illness suffered in childhood, was stretched out in front of him. The boy was listening to a story about a car. He was sucking his thumb and holding his favorite rabbit with the other hand. Engrossed in the story, he didn’t lift his head from Robert’s shoulder, but remained there sleepy and content. Kitty hovered by the door, forgetting her plan for a moment as she gazed upon the heartwarming scene of her husband and half brother snuggled together in the warm glow of the fire. Robert glanced up at her without interrupting the narrative, and his eyes welcomed her with a smile. Kitty’s pleasure was at once marred by her guilt and she retreated from the room, trying without success to picture the same scene replacing Robert with Jack O’Leary.
She found Miss Elsie in the bathroom, tidying up the toy boats Little Jack liked to play with in the bath. “How was your day, Elsie?” she asked, determined to distract herself from the gnawing teeth at her conscience. Even thinking about her flight to America set them on edge.
“Very pleasant, thank you, Mrs. Trench. Little Jack’s such a good boy.”
“He’s tired tonight. He can barely stay awake to listen to the story.”
Miss Elsie smiled fondly. “Oh, he is. But he loves his bedtime story and it’s a treat to have Mr. Trench reading to him.” She turned to face her mistress. From the frown that lined her brow, Kitty could see that something worried her. “He’s been very needy tonight, Mrs. Trench,” she said.
“Needy?”
“Yes. Something frightened him in the nursery. I don’t know what it was. A fox or a bird perhaps at the window. Poor little mite was sobbing his eyes out. Since then he’s been clinging to me or Mr. Trench like a little limpet.”
Kitty felt that dreaded cold hand squeezing her heart again. “Did you see anything at the window?”
“No.” Miss Elsie hesitated. She didn’t want to admit that she had broken her promise and let Little Jack out of her sight or that she had found a strange bear on the floor by the window and hidden it in the bottom of the toy chest. “Mr. Trench was with him, but had to leave the room for there was somebody to see him at the door. I turned my back for only a moment and that was when he saw it. I’m sure it’s nothing but I thought I should tell you since you might wonder why he’s a little unsettled tonight.”
“Thank you, Elsie.” Kitty hurried back into the bedroom, where Robert was now lifting the child to his bed. She helped turn the blankets down so that Robert could slip him beneath. Then he stroked his red hair off his forehead and planted a kiss there.
“Good night, sweet boy,” he said. But Little Jack was suddenly stirred out of his stupor and grabbed Robert’s hand.
“Stay,” he whimpered.
Kitty looked at Robert in alarm. “What is it, Jack?” she asked, kneeling beside his bed. Little Jack sat up and threw his arms around her, clinging to her as if he was afraid the mattress might swallow him up.
“The lady might come again.”
“What lady?” Kitty looked at Robert in horror because she knew.
“There is no lady, Little Jack. There’s only us and Miss Elsie,” Robert reassured him.
Kitty held him close and stroked his hair. “Where did you see this lady, Little Jack? Can you remember?”
“At the window,” he whispered.
“What did she want?”
“She gave me a bear, but I don’t want it.”
Kitty’s stomach plummeted fast and far. “She must have been a tinker, Little Jack,” she soothed, struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Nothing to be frightened of, I promise you. She’s gone now and she won’t be coming back. You’re quite safe. We won’t let anything bad happen to you, sweetheart. Not ever.”
When at last the child had been coaxed back under the bedclothes and stroked to sleep with a gentle hand, Kitty found Robert downstairs in the sitting room, stoking the fire. “Do you think he did see someone at the window?” he asked. Kitty was as pale as ash. “What is it, Kitty?” He put down the poker.
“You know I told you that Little Jack’s mother was a maid at the castle?”
“Yes,” Robert replied, narrowing his eyes. “Who was she?”
“Bridie Doyle.”
Robert stared at her in astonishment. “Bridie Doyle? The plain young woman who worked as your lady’s maid?”
“Yes,” Kitty replied.
“Good Lord. What was your father thinking?”
“I don’t imagine he was thinking at all at that point. Well, after giving birth to him, she disappeared to America and we lost touch. I never thought I’d see her again. But she’s come back.” Kitty put her hand to her throat. “She’s come back for Little Jack.”
“How do you know?”
“She turned up here a couple of weeks ago. She told me she had to leave him once, but she wasn’t going to do so a second time. I think it must have been her at the window.” The full horror of what might have happened robbed the strength from Kitty’s knees and she sank into a chair. “I feared this would happen.”
Robert flushed with fury. “How dare she!” He made for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To tell Miss Doyle that she can’t simply march in and steal a child. He doesn’t belong to her. The fact that she gave birth to him is of no consequence. She gave him up and that’s the end of it. He’s Lord Deverill’s legitimate son and entrusted into our keeping.”
“Oh Robert, you can’t just storm into the Doyles’ house throwing accusations about. You don’t know that she came to steal him. Perhaps she came to give him a present.”
He raised an eyebrow cynically. “And you believe that, do you?”
“I want to.”
“Then you’re a fool, Kitty.”
“Robert!”
“Well, I’m not going to give her the benefit of the doubt. This is our boy we’re talking about. The child we love more than anything else in the world. You think I’m going to take a risk with him?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. I’m going to make sure she never comes near him again.”
Kitty had never seen Robert so angry. His fury frightened her. It frightened her because it was fueled by love—and if he loved Little Jack so fiercely, how could she even contemplate taking him off to America?
She thrust her plan to the back of her mind and stood up. “Then I’m coming with you,” she announced. “You shouldn’t drive with that leg of yours.”
“Very well,” he replied, walking into the hall. “You can drive, but first go and tell Miss Elsie to keep a close eye on Little Jack.”
They hastened down the lanes in silence. The car sped over fallen leaves and twigs swept onto the tracks by relentless winds and autumn rain. The headlights beamed onto the stone walls and hedgerows, exposing for a passing moment a pair of fox’s eyes that blazed through the darkness like golden embers. Kitty shivered and gripped the steering wheel with her gloved hands.
At last they began to bump along the stony track that meandered through the valley to the Doyle farmhouse. She slowed down for tonight was not a night to get the car stuck in a pothole or puncture a tire. Kitty’s heart began to accelerate as they approached the building where Michael Doyle had violated her, and although she knew Michael wasn’t there, the sweat still seeped through her skin because fear does not listen to reason.
Kitty pulled up outside the farmhouse and climbed out. She caught up with Robert and took hold of his hand. “Careful now, Robert,” she hissed. “I doubt Bridie’s family know about Little Jack.”
“I’m not about to set the whole Doyle clan onto our boy, Kitty,” he retorted and Kitty felt a surge of confidence at the commanding tone in his voice.
Robert knocked loudly on the door. There was a brief pause before it opened and Sean peered out. He looked surprised and a little apprehensive to see them. Without hesitation he pulled the door wide and invited them in. Inside, Old Mrs. Nagle sat beside the turf fire smoking a clay pipe while Mrs. Doyle rocked on the other side of the hearth, busily darning. A pretty young woman Kitty had never seen before was sitting at the table. Bridie was noticeably absent.
As Kitty and Robert entered, bringing with them a gust of cold wind, four pairs of eyes watched them warily.
“Good evening to you all,” said Robert, taking off his hat. “Please forgive our intrusion. We’ve come to see Miss Doyle.”
Mrs. Doyle pursed her lips and put down her sewing.
“She’s not here,” said Sean, standing in the middle of the room and folding his arms.
“Where is she?” Robert demanded. “It’s important.”
“She’s gone—”
“Gone where?” Kitty interrupted.
“Back to America.”
Robert looked at Kitty and she could see the relief sweep across his face like the passing of a storm. “Very well,” he said, replacing his hat.
“Can I help you with anything?” Sean asked.
“You just have,” Robert replied, making for the door.
Kitty noticed that Mrs. Doyle’s cheeks were damp from tears and Old Mrs. Nagle’s eyes were brimming with a world-weary blend of sorrow and acceptance. A heaviness pervaded that room which Kitty would have liked to alleviate, but she was keen to be out of there as fast as possible and home, where she felt safe. As she hurried to the car she thought of the loss that poor Mrs. Doyle had suffered and she felt sorry for her.
Kitty started the engine and they set off up the track. As the car drove slowly over the stones Robert reached across the gear stick and put his hand on her leg. He glanced at her, but her features were indiscernible in the darkness. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “I am now,” she replied.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“I wanted to.”
He grinned. “Didn’t you trust me to do it on my own?”
“I don’t trust you at the wheel, no. But I trust you completely in everything else, especially this, Robert,” she said, turning to look at him. “I felt very sure that whatever happened you’d protect Little Jack; that you’d protect the both of us.”
“You know, Kitty, you and Little Jack are the two people I love most in the world. I’d do anything for you.”
Kitty turned back to gaze into the road, her guilt slicing a divide through the center of her heart.
BRIDIE STOOD ON the deck of the ship and watched the Irish coastline disappear into the mist. She recalled with bittersweet nostalgia the first time she had left her homeland three years before. She had traveled in steerage then with little more than the clothes on her back and a small bag, full of hope for the future and anguish for the child she was leaving behind, and watched her past grow smaller and smaller until it was gone.
She felt that she had lost Jack not once but twice. She’d had the chance to take him. She’d reached for him but the revelation that the child loved his home had taught her that the fabric of living was as powerful as the lottery of blood, and the very fact that she’d tried to lure the child with a toy shamed her. She’d abandoned him again but this time she’d debased herself in the process.
Now she watched the swirling mist engulf the island she had loved and lost, and knew from the pain in her heart that the wrench was just as severe now as it had been the first time. For in that green land rested the body of her daughter and upon those verdant fields her son would thrive, without a thought for his mother and her longing, without realizing where he really came from. Indeed, he would grow up on the Deverill estate never knowing the simple farmhouse, barely a few miles over the hills, where his roots lay deep and silent.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. There was a strange pleasure to be found in grief, a certain satisfaction in the aching chest and dull, throbbing head, a sense of triumph in her will to go on living despite the sea below that swelled against the barrel of the boat, inviting her to taste the deadening flavor of oblivion in its wet embrace. She stared now at the black sea and found the rhythm of the waves hypnotic. They called to her in whispers and it would have been so easy to heed their summons and allow them to take away her pain. And yet she didn’t. She let grief rattle through her like an old familiar friend, searching the wreckage of her soul for the last remains of sorrow. She knew that, once it had consumed all that she was, there would be nothing left and it would move on. It had done it before and it would do so again.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the damp sea air. She might be leaving her son behind but her daughter, her sweet little girl whom she had not even blessed with a kiss, was with her, for hadn’t Kitty taught her that the dead never leave us? That was the only thing of value left of their friendship and she held it close, against her heart.