Book one

1888–1889

Prologue

Present Day

The man came rushing out of the front door of Armstrong House into the winter’s night. He was dressed in a black tailored Edwardian suit and his cloak blew in the wind as he quickly made his way down the steps in front of the house and across the forecourt to his awaiting phaeton two-seater carriage. Jumping in, he whipped the horse and took off at high speed.

The carriage raced out of the forecourt and down the long winding driveway that led through parklands. The bare branches of the trees swayed in the wind and stretched out against the clear moonlit sky as he drove past. He continued his journey down the driveway which hugged the lakeshore until the large stone gateway came into view. As he approached it he pulled on the reins and the horse slowed to a walk to go through the gateway.

Suddenly from the shadows of the night a man stepped out in front of the horse, blocking the carriage’s journey. The horse drew to a halt. Dressed in shabby clothes and a peaked cap, the man on the road produced a shotgun and aimed it squarely at the carriage driver whose face twisted in panic.

The man in the peaked cap pulled the trigger. The driver screamed in agony and fell back onto the leather seating of the carriage. At the sound of the gunshot the horse plunged forward through the gate and bolted down the road.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” shouted the director in frustration.

Kate Collins quickly made her way to him.

“It’s no use, Kate!” he snapped, annoyed. “This can’t be the way the shooting happened!”

“It is, Brian! I’ve checked and checked it with the inquiry and the newspaper articles at the time,” Kate defended herself. “Lord Charles Armstrong was just coming out of the main gates of the estate, exactly here, when he was ambushed and shot.”

The film’s firearms expert joined them. “It’s as I said – the horse would have bolted with fright when Charles was shot and there was no driver to control it.”

“So then, Charles couldn’t have been found here as you insist, Kate!” said Brian. “The gun we’re using is a blank-firing gun which has the same explosive sound and flash as if it was shooting for real. So the horse is reacting as it would to a regular gunshot. The horse would have been terrified by the gunshot and raced down the road to somewhere else, as we’ve just seen.”

“No! All the reports say Charles was found here at the gateway, shot in his carriage,” Kate insisted. “Even his mother Lady Margaret testified at the inquiry that she was the first to arrive at the scene and found him at this exact spot.”

Brian shook his head in despair. “Well, we’ve retaken this scene three times and each time the horse has bolted, and we’ve used two different horses!” This was the second night of trying to film the scene, as Kate had insisted the horse be changed.

Kate’s husband Nico Collins stepped forward. “Brian’s right, Kate. I’ve grown up with horses all my life and they don’t just hang around stationary after something like this.”

Kate sighed in frustration. “Well, this is how it happened. Maybe Charles’ horse was tame and timid?”

Both Brian and Nico looked at her sceptically.

“Okay, I think we’ll call it a day, or a night!” said Brian and the film crew all heaved a sigh of relief. “It’s late and everyone’s tired and cold and wants to go home. We’ll film around this scene for now.”

“Thank goodness for that!” said Nico who had feared they would have to re-shoot the scene when all he wanted to do was get out of this freezing cold and back to the warmth of their home, Armstrong House.

“Are you sure?” questioned Kate, ever the perfectionist. It had taken a long time to get right the exact circumstances of a crime that had taken place over a century beforehand and Kate didn’t mind in the least if everyone had to work through the night to get this crucial part of her docudrama correct.

“Yes, Kate!” insisted Brian.

The film crew was quickly dismantling the equipment and taking away the props.

“What we’ll have to do is use a replica prop gun which won’t make a noise, as the firearms expert advised,” said Brian, “and we can dub the gunshot sound to it digitally later. Then we won’t frighten the horse.”

“Come on, Brian!” Kate protested. “I’ve been on enough movie sets to know those replica guns just don’t have the same effect. I know no director who likes to use them and they’re only used as a last resort.”

“This is a last resort!”

“But the scene has to be as authentic as possible!” objected Kate.

The actor who was playing Charles was trotting the horse and carriage back up the road after regaining control of the animal. He pulled up at the gateway.

As Kate was talking in depth with Brian about the next stage of filming, Nico walked around the carriage. He had to admit it all looked very authentic to him. The carriage, the long winding driveway behind it and the lights of Armstrong House in the distance. He imagined what he had just witnessed being acted looked very like the real crime back in 1903, the night this shooting actually took place. Nico got an eerie feeling. For the film crew it was just another day’s filming. Even though his wife Kate cared passionately about the history of Armstrong House, she was still an actress by profession and had the professional training to be able to look at the filming in purely objective terms. But for Nico it was different. At the end of the day they had just filmed the shooting of his great-grandfather, Lord Charles Armstrong. And he would have to be made of stone not to have somehow been affected by seeing his ancestor being shot down in cold blood, albeit for a docudrama.

It took an hour for all the props and film equipment to be taken away. Then Kate came over to him as he waited patiently for her in their Range Rover.

“Well, I’m at a loss as to why the original horse didn’t bolt away after Charles was shot back in 1903!” she said in exasperation as he started the engine.

Nico just shrugged.

They drove back up the driveway to Armstrong House and pulled up in the forecourt.

She saw his unhappy expression. “Don’t you find it all fascinating?” she asked as they stepped out of the car.

“Well, it’s fascinating all right . . . but just remind me why we’re making this programme again?” He looked at her cynically as they walked up the steps to the front door.

“For the money, honey,” she said. “This house is costing a lot to upkeep, and we need the money.”

Both of them knew that was not strictly true. Ever since he had known Kate she had been fascinated with the history of Armstrong House and Nico’s family who had lived there for generations. They had been married only a couple of months when she had come up with the idea of a documentary about life at the Irish ‘Big House’ during its golden age of the late Victorian and early Edwardian period. She had discussed the idea with film-producer friends of hers and managed to get the project agreed to. Kate had always known it would be harder to convince her husband to agree to it than the film producers. Nico disliked the idea of their home and his family history being held up to public scrutiny. However, with acting roles thin on the ground for her lately and his architect’s practice struggling, she had used the financial rewards offered by the film as the lever to get him to give the go-ahead.

“So are you going to use a prop gun as Brian suggests?” Nico asked as they walked into the drawing room.

“No, not yet anyway. I want to know what the police report has to say first.”

“Police report?” Nico asked, surprised.

“Yes, when the horse bolted last night I decided to send away for the police report on the crime to see if that could shed any more light on it.”

Wearily, Nico sat down on the couch. “And how long is that going to take?” he asked, frowning.

“I’m assured it won’t take long at all. I’ve a friend in the police press office who said he would help locate it for me in the police archives. A couple of days at most. I haven’t told Brian yet because he’d be furious, seeing it as causing a further delay.”

Kate noticed Nico’s frown become more pronounced.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, pouring two glasses of wine.

“I just didn’t realise when we started all this we’d be concentrating so much on the shooting of Charles. I thought it was going to be about the social life at the house.”

“Of course we have to include the crime – that’s the hook for the whole film! Audiences love to hear about a glorious crime!” She handed him a glass and sat down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It’s easy for you to be so clinical about it – it’s not your great-grandfather being shown in such a bad light.”

“No, my great-grandfather was probably one of the peasant farmers who cheered when he was shot!” she laughed. Although Kate had mostly been brought up in New York, her family originally came from the area.

“It’s not funny, Kate. I feel I’m betraying my heritage with all this. I mean, I’m not saying Charles was a saint –”

“Far from it!”

“But I’m just saying we shouldn’t be concentrating on all his bad points.”

“Oh come on, Nico! Everyone would love an aristocratic cad in their family’s past. You should be proud!”

“Well, it’s too late to back out now, I suppose,” he said.

“Yes, it is! And I’ve put too much work and time into this for you even to say such a thing, Nico. I need your support on this!” She looked hurt.

He had to admit she had been working round the clock on it. He knew his wife and when she decided to do something she gave it everything. She had dug up a copy of the inquiry into Charles’ shooting and meticulously studied it so she could get the filming of it perfect. She had pored over all the newspaper reports of not only the crime but the terrible land war he had engaged in with his tenant farmers.

He smiled at her. “I’m sorry. Of course I support you, and if I’m proud of anyone it’s you, for working so tirelessly on what you believe in.”

“Thanks, Nico.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go to bed – we’ve an early start with more filming tomorrow.

Kate walked through the ballroom at Armstrong House, speaking as the camera filmed her.

“The ballroom here at Armstrong House witnessed many extravagant receptions. The Armstrongs were known as being generous and hospitable hosts and as one of the great ‘gentry’ families in Ireland residing in what was known as a ‘Big House’ would have considerable wealth to fund their lifestyle. The source of their wealth was the several thousand acres in the vicinity rented to tenant farmers whose own lifestyle was in stark contrast to the one led here at the house.

“It was the relationship between these tenant farmers and Lord Charles that erupted into a land war that ultimately led to the attack on Charles. At the inquiry, there were numerous accounts of the increasing animosity and aggression displayed on both sides. Chief witness at that inquiry was Charles’ mother, Lady Margaret Armstrong. Lady Margaret at the time lived at Hunter’s Farm, a dowager house down the road from the main entrance to Armstrong House. Lady Margaret testified that on the night of December 8th 1903 she heard a gunshot. Concerned, she went to her front door and said she saw what she described as a peasant man race past her house from the scene of the crime, holding a shotgun.

“Suspicion then fell on a tenant farmer called Joe McGrath. McGrath had recently been evicted from the estate. With a history of violence and known to the police, McGrath had threatened to kill Charles in retaliation for his ruthless eviction. Lady Margaret later identified the man she saw running with the gun as McGrath, from a police photograph. Police made extensive searches for McGrath, but he had fled from Ireland to America before he could be apprehended and interviewed, where it is presumed he disappeared into one of the teeming ghettos of New York or Boston, never to be found.”

“Cut!” said the director. “Great, Kate!”

Kate was glad when the filming was done for the day. Her friend in the police press office had come up trumps and located the file on Charles’ shooting. Kate had been handed the file by her researcher that morning and she was looking forward to spending the evening reading through it, to try to get to the bottom of the mystery of why Charles’ horse hadn’t bolted, as everyone was suggesting must have happened.

She waved off Brian and the rest of the film crew for the day, then walked through the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen where Nico had made them dinner.

They sat up at the island in the kitchen, eating spaghetti carbonara, as they discussed the day’s filming.

“Well, I haven’t managed to do a jot of work all day with all those strangers in the house filming,” complained Nico as they finished eating. “So I’ll try to catch up now while I have some peace!”

“I’ll leave you to your architect’s board then,” she said as she stacked the dishwasher.

“And I’ll leave you to your police report!”

Nico went into the library and Kate went into the drawing room where she poured herself a glass of wine and put on some music. She took the police folder from the sideboard and settled back on the couch to read through it. She started to decipher all the handwritten reports and then stopped when she found a black-and-white photograph. She picked up the photo. Along the top was written: Morning of 9th of December 1903 – Crime scene, shooting of Lord Charles Armstrong.

Wonderful! She had found an actual visual of the crime scene! Now they could compare it to how they had filmed the event. She studied the photo and her face creased in bewilderment.

The photograph plainly showed the entrance gateway to the estate. In the centre of the photograph was a vintage car with what looked like a bullet-hole through the passenger’s side of the windscreen.

Kate couldn’t believe her eyes.

“There was no horse and carriage!” she exclaimed.

She stood, picking up the file and photo, and raced from the room and down the hall into the library.

Nico looked up, startled.

“We got the filming wrong!” she exclaimed. “We’ve filmed the whole thing incorrectly!”

“Sorry?”

“The horse didn’t bolt . . . because there was no horse! Charles was driving a car that night.” She slammed the photo down on the desk in front of him. “I can’t believe it! We filmed Charles being shot in a carriage and he was shot in a car!”

Nico examined the photograph carefully.

“Brian is going to go mad!” she wailed. “We’ll have to find a replica car and re-film the whole thing! That footage we shot is useless. I can’t believe I made such a mistake! Why didn’t I research it better?”

Nico looked at his stressed wife. He knew the amount of preparation and research she had put in, which she had shared with him as she went along.

“But why were you so sure it was a horse and carriage, other than the fact that automobiles were extremely rare and a novelty at the time?” he asked.

“Because it’s in the official inquiry report!” she said, racing to a shelf in the library and retrieving it. She sat down beside him as she opened the report and went through it. “See, it plainly describes that Lord Charles was in a phaeton two-seater black carriage when he was shot.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t! This photograph says otherwise!” Nico said.

Kate looked through the inquiry file.

“But look at this! It’s the testimony from Lady Margaret, Charles’ mother . . . She states she was the first to arrive at the crime scene and found her son shot, slumped back in the phaeton carriage. She makes no mention of a motor car either!”

Nico was still looking at the police photograph. “I’m afraid you’ve got another detail wrong, my dear.”

“What?”

“A shotgun couldn’t have been used in the attack. When a shotgun fires the pellets spread and would have completely shattered the windscreen, as opposed to this one single bullet-hole, as can be seen from the photo.”

“Great! I can see my documentary falling apart around me!” Kate pointed to the inquiry report. “But the inquest distinctly says that the shot was fired from a shotgun, the type – and I quote – ‘generally used by farmers for hunting’.”

“Well, this bullet-hole was made by a hand-held revolver, I would say.”

Nico found another photograph buried in the police file. It was again of the crime scene and showed a side view of the car with the door open. Inside the car was a woman’s high-heeled shoe and a fur coat. He showed it to Kate.

“There must have been someone else in the car with him,” said Kate. “A woman.”

“Those items might have been left in the car previously, by his wife presumably?”

“Not a single high-heeled shoe! No woman is going to leave that behind, or an expensive-looking fur like that. They must have been abandoned in a hurry.” She pointed to the photo. “And look what side of the car windscreen the bullet-hole is on. It’s through the passenger side. Charles must have been sitting on the passenger side of the car, and so somebody else must have been driving.”

“Presumably the woman who owned this shoe and coat . . . There’s no mention in the inquiry or papers of anyone else being with him?”

“Of course not!” said Kate, looking expectantly at the police report. “Do you think I’d miss something crucial like that? So who was she? And why is there no report of her at the time?”

chapter 1

1888

The ball was due to commence at nine that night as the shadows of the evening began to descend on Armstrong House. A continual procession of carriages delivered guests to the front door. Inside, the house was a flurry of activity as the finishing touches for Gwyneth’s debutante ball were being administered by the staff and overseen by Gwyneth’s mother, Lady Margaret.

Charles Armstrong had made the journey from London to Dublin the previous day to attend his sister’s ball. He had then got the train from Dublin down to Castlewest, from where a carriage brought him the several miles to his family home. As the carriage pulled up outside the house, he stepped out and looked up at the magnificent manor house where all the windows were lit up that evening. He walked up the steps and was met at the door by the butler, Barton.

“Good evening, Barton,” said Charles, stepping into the hall and removing his coat.

“Ah, Master Charles, welcome home. We were beginning to worry you had been held up and wouldn’t make it.”

“And miss my sister’s debutante ball? I don’t think the family would ever forgive me, do you?” Charles handed his coat over to Barton and saw that there were staff rushing around in all directions.

“Where’s the family?” asked Charles.

“Your father is in the drawing room with some guests and your mother is upstairs in Lady Gwyneth’s room preparing the young lady for the night ahead. Your sisters and brother are with her.”

“I’ll go up to say hello then in that case. My trunk is in the carriage – please have it brought up to my room.”

Barton looked awkward. “I’m afraid, sir, that due to the large volume of guests staying in the house tonight your room has been commandeered.”

“Commandeered?”

“Yes, sir, your room has been allocated to Lord and Lady Kinsale.”

“I see.” Charles’ face was a mixture of surprise and irritation. “And where am I to sleep, Barton?”

“Your mother has had a bed set up for you in your brother Harrison’s room.”

“The whole thing is a bit of a nuisance, isn’t it, Barton? Such a fuss over trying to marry a sister off. Let’s hope the deed is done tonight and that’s the end of it and we don’t have to go through another season of Gwyneth trying to find a husband.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Very well – have my trunk taken to Harrison’s room.”

Charles looked around the expansive hallway. A wood fire was crackling in the marble fireplace. The house had been built by his grandfather Edward for his bride Lady Anna in the 1840s. Their portraits, along with those of other members of the Armstrong family, adorned the walls of the hall. At the front of the house to the right was the drawing room, and across the hall was a smaller family parlour. Behind this parlour was the dining room, which was splendidly furnished with mahogany chairs and a table capable of seating twenty-four people. Behind this room was the library, where his father Lawrence ran the estate. Across the hall from there and on the other side of the sweeping staircase, double doors led into a giant ballroom.

Charles walked across the hall and up the stairs. He passed two young female guests, neither of which he recognised.

“Ladies,” he said, nodding to them.

They smiled and nodded to him and giggled once he was past them.

Upstairs, he walked down the corridor to Gwyneth’s room and, opening the door, stood for a moment unobserved, taking in the scene before him.

Gwyneth was sitting at her dressing table in front of the mirror, dressed in a resplendent gown, as two hairdressers styled her blonde hair. Lady Margaret stood beside them, supervising. All around the room were bouquets of flowers delivered from the guests that night for Gwyneth. Standing beside Margaret was her younger daughter Daphne, taking a keen interest in the proceedings. Stretched out on a chaise-longue was their brother Harrison who was busy talking, while lying out on the bed was their youngest sister Emily who looked completely disinterested in what was happening as she read a book.

“Higher! Sweep her hair higher!” instructed Margaret as the hairdressers combed strands of hair.

“Well now, this is a pleasant welcome for a returning son and brother,” said Charles as he entered the room and closed the door after him.

“Charles!” said Margaret, leaving her supervision to come and kiss him. “We were expecting you this morning.”

“I know, I got delayed,” said Charles.

“Well, at least you’re here now,” said Margaret and she quickly returned to the dressing table to keep an eye on the work being done there.

Harrison got up and hugged Charles. “It feels like such a long time since I’ve seen you.”

“Last Christmas,” said Charles.

He went over to Gwyneth and bent down to kiss her before then kissing Daphne. He glanced over at Emily who hadn’t even looked up from her book since he arrived.

“Are you all prepared for tonight?” he asked as he sat down.

“It’s been absolute chaos,” said Margaret. “So much to organise and get ready. There will be two hundred guests. We’ve had a nightmare with accommodation. We’ve tried to accommodate as many as we can here at Armstrong House, while others we’ve put in Hunter’s Farm and other houses on the estate.”

“I’m afraid we’ve had to put you in with Harrison,” said Gwyneth.

“So Barton told me,” said Charles. “Let’s hope, with all these strangers in the house, we aren’t missing any silverware tomorrow.”

“Charles!” said Gwyneth.

There was a knock on the door and Barton came in with another bouquet of flowers.

“Bring them over to me,” said Gwyneth as she stretched out her hand to the side, unable to move her head due to the combing of her hair.

Barton brought them over and Gwyneth reached for the card and quickly opened it.

“Well?” asked Margaret.

“They’re from Cecil Rotherham,” said Gwyneth, a note of disappointment in her voice.

Barton put the bouquet with the others.

“She’s waiting for a bouquet from the Duke of Battington,” explained Harrison with a smirk.

“The Duke of Battington?” repeated Charles, looking impressed. “You’re setting your sights quite high, Gwyneth.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” said Margaret. “She would make a wonderful duchess. He would be lucky to have her.”

Gwyneth looked concerned. “He hasn’t sent any flowers and it’s very late at this stage. He definitely said he was coming, Mama?”

“Yes,” said Margaret.

“But if he doesn’t send flowers then he’s clearly not interested.” Gwyneth’s face creased with worry.

“Gwyneth, during the season in London you attended fifty balls, thirty lunches, twenty tea parties, and twenty breakfasts. I know, as I attended every one with you, and the Duke went out of his way to attend as many of those occasions as possible, where he monopolised you for the whole time. He will be here, he will send flowers and he is clearly interested in you!”

“You hope!” Emily suddenly said without looking up from her book.

Margaret gave Emily a warning look. She looked at the clock. She was glad five of her children were now accounted for, but there was still no sign of her sixth child, her youngest son James.

“Barton, has Master James returned to the house yet?”

“I’m afraid not, my lady.”

“For goodness sake! I told him not to go gallivanting anywhere and to be back here in plenty of time. I have no patience for any of his tomfoolery tonight!”

“I think you know where he is if you want to find him,” said Emily, again not looking up from her book.

Margaret looked at Emily again and frowned before thinking hard and then saying, “Barton, can you send a footman into town and collect Master James from . . . Cassidy’s public house.” She said the name of the establishment with a note of disgust.

“Very good, my lady. It’s just –” Barton hesitated.

“It’s just what, Barton?” snapped Margaret.

“It’s just, if the young master is in Cassidy’s, he will not pay any heed to a footman sent to bring him home.”

“For goodness sake!” Margaret’s voice rose in frustration.

Harrison, seeing his mother’s distress, stood up. “It’s all right. I’ll go into town and collect him.”

“Oh, will you, Harrison? Thank you. And tell him I insist he comes straight back here. Don’t take any of his nonsense.”

“If I have to throw him over my back and carry him out of that dive, I will do so,” said Harrison and left the room with Barton.

“I see some things never change,” said Charles. “James is still giving trouble?”

“I really don’t know what we’re going to do with him. Expelled from two schools. No direction in life.”

“It’s your own fault, Mama – you let him get away with everything,” said Gwyneth.

“Well, I’ve been so busy this year with you being a debutante and being in London for the season. Neither your father nor I have had the time to try and sort him out. But we will now, once we get you married.”

“If you get her married,” Emily pointed out.

Charles sat down on the chaise-longue. “Perhaps you took too much on with this ball for Gwyneth. You could have just had an afternoon tea party for her in London. That’s what most young women are having these days.”

“A tea party!” Margaret was horrified. “I doubt a Duke would have too much interest in a young lady who had a tea party for her coming-out event!”

“Perhaps the Duke isn’t that much interested in Gwyneth anyway after all this expense and effort,” said Emily. “Maybe he stayed in his castle in England and didn’t make the journey over here for tonight.”

“Emily!” snapped Margaret. “Your comments are not being very helpful!”

“And perhaps Charles resents all this money being spent on Gwyneth,” Emily went on. “After all, he is the heir and future Lord Armstrong – all this is coming out of his future coffers.”

“Emily, isn’t it time you went and started getting yourself ready for tonight?” urged Gwyneth.

“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about the expense of me being a debutante, Charles,” said Emily.

“And why is that?” asked Margaret.

“Because I’m not going to be one. Paraded around a lot of balls and lunches, waiting for a marriage proposal! It’s no better than being a prize cow at a market fair. Disgusting!”

“You most certainly will be a debutante and, by the time I’ve knocked some sense into you, you’ll be as popular as your sister Gwyneth on the circuit.”

“Anyway, I’d better go down and say hello to Papa,” said Charles.

“Yes, do that – he’s in the drawing room with the Tattingers.”

“And who are the Tattingers?” asked Charles as he stood up.

“Sir George Tattinger and his wife Caroline. Sir George is the Governor of the Bank of Ireland and Harrison’s boss.”

Harrison hadn’t opted to go to university but had chosen a career in finance where he worked for the bank in Dublin.

“They are here with their daughter Arabella as Harrison’s guests,” explained Gwyneth.

“Harrison’s guests?” asked Charles.

“Yes, Harrison and Arabella’s courtship has become quite serious,” said Margaret, looking delighted with the situation.

“Harrison is seriously interested in someone?” Charles was amazed.

“Not just someone, but Arabella Tattinger – quite a catch,” confirmed Gwyneth.

“But he’s too young to be serious about anyone!” said Charles.

“Harrison always knows what he wants and always gets it,” said Margaret. “I wish all my children had the same direction,” she added, giving Emily a displeased look.

Surprised by this news, Charles took his leave and as he opened the door Barton came in with a bouquet of flowers.

“The Duke of Battington has arrived, my lady, and sent these flowers for Lady Gwyneth.”

Gwyneth pushed the hairdressers away and, jumping up, went quickly to the flowers and took the card excitedly.

“I told you he would send flowers,” said Margaret.

“Yes,” said Gwyneth, smiling.

Emily raised her eyes to heaven.

“Barton, have all these bouquets of flowers taken down to the ballroom and arranged at the entrance,” said Margaret.

“All except this one,” said Gwyneth, taking the Duke’s bouquet and holding it close. “I’ll be holding this bouquet when we greet the guests.”

Margaret moved over to her. “Are you sure? You know holding the Duke’s bouquet is telling everyone, including the Duke, you’ve chosen him?”

“I’m sure,” said Gwyneth.

Margaret nodded and smiled. “Very good.” She sighed as she looked at all the other bouquets. “I feel sorry for all these other young men who have sent you flowers and come tonight in the hope you would choose them . . .” She looked at Daphne and Emily. “Still, I’ve two more daughters they can meet tonight which will give you two a head-start for when you are debutantes.”

Charles was coming down the stairs when his eye was caught by a stunning young woman walking across the hallway. He continued down the stairs, his eyes not leaving her.

“Good evening,” he said, pausing in front of her.

She nodded and walked past him. He watched her as she climbed the stairs. Barton came hurrying down past her, carrying two large bouquets of flowers.

“Barton, who is that woman?” asked Charles.

Barton glanced up the stairs. “I’m afraid there’s that many young gentlemen and ladies staying at the house tonight, that I’ve lost track of who is who.”

“You’re falling down on your duties, Barton,” said Charles with a smirk.

“That I am!” agreed Barton as he hurried with the flowers to the ballroom at the back of the hall.

Charles continued across the hall and, opening the door, went into the drawing room where he found his father Lawrence standing talking to a distinguished middle-aged man and a refined woman who was seated.

“Ah, my dear son!” exclaimed Lawrence, quickly going to Charles and shaking his hand. “I was wondering if you had got here yet.”

“I’ve been here a while. I was upstairs with Mama and Gwyneth and the others.”

“I’m staying safely out of the pandemonium,” smiled Lawrence.

“Very wise,” agreed Charles.

Lawrence led him into the room which was painted a deep red and furnished elegantly with large couches and chaises-longues.

“May I present my son and heir, Harrison’s brother Charles,” he said to his two guests. “Charles – Sir George and Lady Tattinger.”

Charles kissed Lady Tattinger’s hand and shook hands with Sir George.

“Another fine young man you have,” said George.

“Yes, we’re all very proud of Charles. He’s just finished university this year at Oxford.”

“Well done,” said George.

Lawrence went to the drinks table and poured Charles a glass of wine and handed it to him.

“Sir George is Harrison’s boss at the bank,” Lawrence informed Charles.

“Really?” said Charles. “I hope he isn’t getting too much in the way there?”

“On the contrary, Harrison has been such an asset since he started with us,” said Sir George. “We’re expecting great things of him. We imagine he will rise to the very top.”

“Well, he will with your guidance and help, Sir George,” smiled Lawrence.

Charles sat down. “I hadn’t realised Harrison was so industrious. I imagined he was buried as a bank clerk somewhere.”

“His star started to shine as soon as he joined us,” said George.

“We’re all terribly fond of him,” said Caroline.

“Isn’t everybody?” smiled Charles.

“We’ve been meaning to visit Armstrong House and meet Harrison’s family since his courtship of our daughter became serious, but we kept putting it off,” said Caroline.

“I’m afraid my wife was quite nervous about coming to Mayo with this awful Land War going on,” explained George.

“Well, it is the epicentre of the whole thing, isn’t it?” said Caroline.

“The Land War did start here in Mayo, yes,” agreed Lawrence sadly, “and has been a focal point for it since.”

“So many awful stories you read in the newspapers,” sighed Caroline. “Landlords being murdered, crops being destroyed, agents attacked,” said George. “Wasn’t Captain Boycott, who was ostracised, here in Mayo?”

“Yes, he was, unfortunately,” said Lawrence.

“I don’t know how you sleep easy in your beds at night with all that going on. Give me the leafy avenues of Dublin any day,” said Caroline.

“Well, we’ve had no trouble whatsoever here on the Armstrong estate, Lady Tattinger,” said Lawrence, “so you are quite safe here I can assure you.”

“That’s good to know, Lord Armstrong.”

“Out of the many social occasions myself and Lady Margaret have hosted here at Armstrong House, we’ve never lost a guest yet, you’ll be pleased to know!” There was a hint of mockery in Lawrence’s voice at Caroline’s urban prejudices.

“That’s comforting, Lord Armstrong.” Caroline laughed lightly as she admired the hand-carved oak fireplace. “And it is a pleasure finally to stay here when this house has one of the finest reputations in Ireland for hospitality.”

“And how have you avoided being embroiled in the Land War?” asked George.

“We’ve always had an excellent relationship with the tenant farmers here. Even during the famine when my father and mother, Edward and Anna, were alive there wasn’t one eviction and my mother worked tirelessly for famine relief.”

“Yes, Lady Anna was renowned for her good works,” nodded Caroline.

“And we have kept relations very good throughout the years. I don’t mean to criticise my own class but a lot of them have nobody to blame but themselves for this Land War. They see their estates as nothing more than moneymaking devices to be squeezed for every drop of blood they can get. Ruthless evictions and whatnot. And then so many now are absentee landlords living the high life in London, barely ever visiting their country estates here in Ireland. The whole thing was bound to explode one day.”

“I believe you spent a good part of the year in London this year yourself, Lord Lawrence,” said Caroline.

“Yes, but only under duress. I had to attend the season because of Gwyneth. I’m delighted the whole thing is over and I’m back home at Armstrong House where I belong and am happy.”

“And what of you, Charles, now you’ve finished university?” smiled Caroline.

“Well, Charles will naturally be coming back to Armstrong House to learn the running of the estate and ensure its continual smooth and successful running into the future,” smiled Lawrence.

“Indeed,” smiled Charles, taking a sip of his wine.

Harrison’s carriage pulled up outside Cassidy’s pub in the main street of Castlewest. There was loud music, laughter and merriment coming from inside as he walked up to the door. He pushed it open and stepped in.

Inside, the pub was packed with a very jovial crowd, most of whom looked inebriated, with a strong swirl of tobacco and turf smoke from the blazing fire in the air, while a group in the corner played lively traditional music.

He peered through the crowd, looking for his brother, and finally spotted him sitting in an alcove, an arm around a young woman, with a crowd gathered around him.

Harrison pushed through the crowd till he reached the alcove.

James was whispering something in his female companion’s ear that caused her to erupt in raucous laughter.

“James?” Harrison said, leaning forward.

James looked up and smiled. “Harrison! Pull up a chair and have a drink!” He nodded at the young woman beside him “This is Dolly Cassidy – her father is the publican.”

Harrison looked at the young woman who was dressed cheaply and provocatively as, with a cheeky smile, she said, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Harrison nodded. “Likewise. James, you’re to return with me at once to Armstrong House.”

“For what?” James said dismissively.

Harrison leaned forward and spoke forcefully. “For Gwyneth’s party, of course.”

“Pah!” James spat dismissively and sat back, folding his arms.

“Mama insists!” Harrison said.

“Oh well, if your mama insists, you’d better toddle along!” said Dolly and she roared with laughter.

“Come on, James, don’t make this difficult. You have to attend. If I have to physically drag you back to Armstrong House, I will.”

“I’d like to see you try!” James taunted. Then he sighed loudly and stood up, throwing back the last of his drink.

“Leaving me so soon?” Dolly said, jumping up and draping her arm around his neck.

“Duty calls,” said James as he removed her arm.

Outside Harrison was already waiting in the carriage as his brother climbed in. He looked at James and shook his head as the carriage took off.

“Your carry-on is disgraceful. Lord Armstrong’s son going into a place like that and flirting with a woman like that Cassidy girl! Why do you do it?”

James looked at him as his lit his cigarette. “Same reason you hang out with a bunch of boring Dublin bankers – because I enjoy it.”

Charles brushed his hair, surveying himself dressed in his immaculate, tailed dinner suit in the full-length mirror in Harrison’s room. He turned and looked at the temporary bed placed there for him and frowned.

“I’m so late – damn James!” snapped Harrison, rushing in.

“Did you find him all right?” asked Charles, still brushing his hair in the mirror and not looking too interested in the answer.

“I found him, his arm draped over some tart in Cassidy’s pub,” Harrison informed him.

“Anyway, you were there to rescue the day, as always . . . What’s this I hear about you being all very serious about some young girl?”

Harrison stopped and smiled. “Who told you about her?”

“Well – everyone! In fact, I’ve just been introduced to her parents. Go on, tell me all about her!”

“Her name is Arabella. Our paths crossed through work as she’s my boss’s daughter.”

“Very tactical of you.”

“I wouldn’t care who she was – my feelings about her would be the same,” said Harrison, looking shy.

Charles sat down on a chair and studied him. “You have that stupid look of a man in love on your face. Tell me, little brother, that I won’t be hearing the sound of wedding bells ringing soon?”

Harrison looked sheepish. “Yes, you will.”

“But – but you haven’t really lived yet! You haven’t met all there is to meet, seen all there is to see – tasted all there is to taste.”

“What’s the point in doing all that meeting, seeing and tasting, when I was lucky enough to find what I was looking for straight away?”

“Well, I look forward to meeting this – incredible – girl.”

Harrison looked at his watch. “I’d better get ready very quickly. Arabella and her parents are waiting for me to escort them in to the ball.”

All the bouquets of flowers had been arranged at the entrance of the ballroom and Gwyneth stood just inside surrounded by them, beside her mother, as the guests were being announced. The ballroom had been set with long meticulously arranged tables.

Barton stood at the door and announced the guests as they entered.

“Lord and Lady Kinsale!” Barton called.

“Lady Margaret, good evening,” said the couple together.

“I’m so glad you could both be here tonight,” Margaret said, then indicated Gwyneth. “Lord and Lady Kinsale, may I introduce my daughter, Gwyneth?”

Gwyneth curtsied deeply.

“Your daughter looks most beautiful tonight,” said Lady Kinsale with a smile, and then they walked on into the room and were shown down to their seating by a footman.

Charles looked on as this procedure was repeated over and over again with each guest who was shown in. He was standing by his father at the row of French windows that lined one wall.

“It’s so good to have you home again,” said Lawrence.

“And good to be home,” smiled Charles.

“And I need you now more than ever – on the estate. Now the children are becoming adults, I’ve been taken away from estate business as you know. Gwyneth’s coming out meant I had to be in London for weeks. I need to know the estate is in reliable hands when I’m not here.”

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know how reliable my hands would be. I don’t really know too much about running this place.”

“Exactly, and now it’s time you learnt.”

“You see, I hadn’t planned on coming back to Armstrong House quite so soon,” explained Charles.

“I don’t understand,” Lawrence was perplexed.

“I was going to stay in London for a while.”

“London! And what would you be doing there?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . Relaxing for a while.”

“Relaxing!”

“Yes, well, you see, university was such hard work.”

“Your grades didn’t reflect much hard work!” snapped Lawrence.

“I know, but imagine how much worse they would have been if I hadn’t put the work I did in!”

“And where do you propose to live in London?”

“I thought I’d open the house at Regent’s Park.”

“My house, you mean? And what do you expect to live on while you – ‘relax’ – in London?”

“My allowance naturally.”

“Your allowance was for when you were studying, not for partying in London!”

Charles remained cool but his eyes glared. “So you are denying me my allowance while you squander all this money on frocks and balls for all my siblings?”

“The money spent on your siblings is so they will obtain good positions in life. Everything else goes to you as my heir . . . that is the natural order of things.”

Margaret was beckoning Lawrence over to her.

“Your mother needs me – we will discuss this later.”

Lawrence made his way across the ballroom to his wife and Gwyneth, his smile disguising his anger and worry after his conversation with Charles. His worst fears had been confirmed after those few words with his son. Charles’ lack of interest in the estate was obvious and from what he could see his son was intent on living the life of an absentee landlord in London – a breed Lawrence despised.

He reached his wife and Gwyneth.

“Lawrence, I’ve asked Barton to make a quick rearrangement with the seating. I’m placing the Duke of Battington at the head table with us and placing Charles with Harrison and the Tattingers.”

“Why are you putting the Duke with us?” Lawrence looked confused.

“For obvious reasons!” whispered Margaret. “Oh dear, I feel sorry for all these young men who made the journey here only to discover Gwyneth has decided on the Duke.”

Charles looked on as the long lines of tables filled up with guests.

“Seemingly you are to be removed from the head table to make room for the Duke,” said a voice beside him and he turned to see Emily there.

“I’m beginning to wonder why I made this trip home for this ball at all,” said Charles. “I seem to be shuttled around like unwanted luggage.”

“Well, you know Mama and Papa. They always like to get their priorities right. And tonight’s priority is the Duke.”

“Really?” Charles looked unimpressed.

“That’s the advantage of being the youngest – I’m last on their list of priorities,” said Emily.

“Perhaps, but I imagine you are highest on their list of concerns.”

“Oh, no, you are top of their concerns, with all their plans for you,” said Emily teasingly.

He studied her and put his arm around her shoulders. “And tell me, favourite sister, what have Mama and Papa planned for me?”

Emily stood on her tiptoes and started whispering into Charles’ ear while he listened intently. “You are to remain here at Armstrong House and start immediate training for your role in life as dutiful son and heir of the Armstrong estate!”

“Anything else?” he asked, his expression clouded at the thought of it.

She got on her tiptoes again to whisper. “You are to be married off to a young lady with impeccable breeding and unquestionable character forthwith.”

“Do I have any say in these matters?” he asked, irritated.

She shook her head.

He looked around at the tables, which were now almost full as the last of the guests took their seats. The noise level was high with chatter and laughter as an army of staff glided through the tables serving the hors d’oeuvre of smoked salmon and caviar.

“This house can drive me mad,” Emily said. “Even with Harrison in Dublin most of the time and with Gwyneth soon to be married, there is James and Daphne and Mama and Papa . . . I always feel under Papa’s control here.”

Charles suddenly saw the beautiful woman he had passed in the hallway, walking through the aisles between the tables. To his surprise he saw she was walking alongside Harrison, and behind Sir George and Lady Tattinger. He realised she must be Arabella Tattinger.

“That is Arabella Tattinger?” he checked with Emily, with a discreet nod over at the young woman.

“Yes, that’s her.”

He gazed at Arabella, her dark-chestnut hair groomed high, dressed in a long ivory satin dress with the bodice embroidered in gold.

“What is she like?”

“Friendly, but keeps her distance. Quite proud of herself, I imagine.”

“Well, let’s not miss the first course,” Charles said abruptly and left Emily.

He strode confidently to his appointed place at the Tattingers’ table.

“This is my seat, I believe?” he said, pulling out the empty chair beside Arabella.

Harrison was sitting on her other side while her parents were across the table.

Harrison stood up and greeted his brother. “Ah, there you are, Charles! I believe you’ve already met Sir George and Lady Tattinger . . . and this . . .” he paused as he smiled proudly, “is Arabella.”

Arabella smiled at him and held out her hand, which he took and held tightly before bowing and kissing it briefly.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said.

“Harrison speaks so much of you, I feel I already know you,” she said.

“And I feel I already know you,” he smiled.

He took his chair and nodded smilingly to Arabella’s parents.

“Charles was to be seated up at the main table, but the Duke of Battington has displaced him as the . . .” Harrison paused and pulled a funny face, “special guest.”

“I was wondering whose bouquet she was holding,” said Caroline Tattinger, looking impressed as she observed the Duke sitting at the top table talking privately to Gwyneth. “Is the deal done?”

“Looks like it – he’s mad about her – she’s mad about him. My parents are ecstatic – his family are delighted. It’s as happy as a tennis match on a sunny afternoon!” Harrison laughed.

“And when are you to have your debutante ball?” Charles asked Arabella.

Arabella turned and smiled at him. “I’m not having one.”

“Not having one?” Charles looked at her incredulously.

“I’ve been going to parties and functions since I was sixteen. I think there’s no need for me to have one all to myself.”

Harrison leaned over and touched her hand lightly. “Especially now.”

Charles watched the secret glances, rich in nuance, that passed between his brother and Arabella.

“Imagine, your sister will be a duchess!” said Caroline.

Charles laughed lightly. “We’ve been used to having a duchess in the family since the day Gwyneth was born!”

“Yes, she’s very regal,” agreed Caroline, her eyes fixed on Gwyneth.

Charles tried to engage Arabella in conversation throughout the dinner, but she seemed more interested in chatting to Harrison.

“So what do you do in Dublin all day long?” he inquired over the main course of baron of beef and lamb.

“The same as most young women my age do everywhere, I imagine,” she smiled at him.

“Do you have many brothers and sisters?”

“One brother, one sister – I’m a middle child,” she said before turning quickly to Harrison. “Don’t forget we’re going to the Gaiety on Thursday night.”

“How could I forget? You’ve reminded me five times today already.”

“You’re a fan of the theatre?” asked Charles.

“Yes, I adore it,” she said.

But not as much as you adore Harrison, thought Charles as he observed them enter into another whispered deep conversation.

“When do you return to Dublin?” asked Charles, interrupting their private chat.

“We are going back on Sunday,” said Arabella.

“I’m taking Arabella on the grouse shoot tomorrow,” said Harrison. “She has never been on one before so I promised to take her.”

“Are you going on the shoot, Charles?” asked George.

“Well, if everyone else is – why not me?”

“Well, I’m not and neither is George. We don’t enjoy rural pursuits,” said Caroline.

After dessert was served and then coffee and liqueurs, the tables were cleared away and the orchestra took up position at the top of the ballroom. As they began to play people moved onto the dance floor.

As the evening wore on, Charles was increasingly irked by Arabella’s indifference to him. He set about gathering a handful of young beauties he knew around him. Most of them were daughters of his parents’ friends who he had known over the years. Their attention was all very well as they circled around him, laughing at his conversation, but his own attention was on Arabella who was either dancing or deep in conversation with Harrison.

Eventually Charles walked over to Harrison and Arabella who were speaking with the Tattingers.

“Ah, Charles, perhaps you could settle an argument for us,” said Sir George. “Do you think the whole Home Rule question is dead now Charles Stewart Parnell has disgraced himself with this affair with the married woman?”

Charles thought quickly – he hadn’t given either topic any thought. “Em, no, I don’t suppose it is.”

“My thoughts exactly!” said Sir George. “The way I look at it, this is an ongoing thing since Catholics got the vote and the agitation after the Famine. It won’t stop until the Irish get an independent country.”

“Well, hopefully that will be a long time off,” said Caroline. “I can’t imagine Dublin not being part of the United Kingdom.”

They continued their discussion in depth and Charles wondered if this was all they talked about in the parlours of Dublin.

“Arabella, could I ask for this dance?” asked Charles.

Arabella looked at him in surprise. “Eh . . . I’m afraid I’m too tired after all the earlier dancing so I’m afraid not.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Harrison. “Off you go!”

“I’d really rather not. It was such a long journey from Dublin today,” said Arabella.

“Oh don’t be so silly, Arabella! Go dance with Charles,” urged Caroline.

Arabella looked awkwardly at Charles as he indicated the dance floor to her.

Then she stepped unsmiling onto the floor and Charles slipped his left hand into her right and his right arm around her waist. They then joined the other couples swirling around the dance floor to the loud music. He held her firmly, as she tried to keep her distance.

He was going to try to enter into conversation with her but, as she looked off coolly into the distance, he knew he would only get one-word answers till the dance ended.

“Thank you for the dance,” she said, nodding politely when the music stopped before quickly walking back to Harrison.

Emily sidled up beside him.

“They make a beautiful couple, don’t they?” she smiled and indicated Gwyneth and the Duke of Battington.

“Yes, they do,” said Charles, but his eyes were focused on Harrison and Arabella.

Charles made his way to the back of the hall behind the grand staircase and through the door that led down to the servants’ quarter. He passed startled staff who were rushing up the stairs to the ballroom with trays of drinks and bottles of alcohol.

As he entered the kitchen which was an extensive semi-basement at the back of the house, he saw it was a hive of activity with servants rushing around. The head cook Mrs Carey was there giving orders and she got a start to see Charles.

“Mr Charles! What are you doing down here?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t mind me, Mrs Carey, I’m just looking for your medical supplies. Slight headache, you see,” explained Charles.

“Follow me, sir,” said Mrs Carey as she marched to one of the small rooms off the kitchen.

“Now . . . what have we got for headaches?” she mused, perusing the shelves of bottles.

“Mrs Carey, I’m being a bore and a chore. You have enough to be doing with the ball – you get back to your work.”

“No, it’ll just take me a minute,” she said, peering at the bottles.

There was a sudden large crash in the kitchen and a scream from a kitchen maid.

“What on earth?” snapped Mrs Carey as she rushed from the storage room to the kitchen.

Charles closed the door and started examining the bottles.

As the ball carried on into the early hours, the alcohol continued to flow as the joviality became louder. Charles waited for his moment, carefully scrutinising Harrison as he finished his glass of champagne and then offering to refill it for him. Making sure he was unobserved he quickly took out the bottle he had got from the kitchens and poured a part of it into the glass before filling the glass to the top with champagne. He then gently shook the glass, making the liquid swirl inside, before heading back to Harrison and handing it to him with a smile.

He then watched Harrison chatting happily to Arabella as he drank from the glass.

“I’d better not have too many of these,” laughed Harrison. “The grouse shoot starts at eleven in the morning. I don’t want to have too bad a head for it.”

It was four in the morning before the last of the guests went to their rooms or made their way to the awaiting carriages which would take them to their accommodation. Charles was the last to leave the ballroom as he drank back his champagne and placed the empty glass on a nearby table.

He walked upstairs and down the corridor to Harrison’s room. He opened the door and walked in. Harrison was sitting on his bed bent over double, his face contorted in agony.

“Harrison! What’s wrong?” said Charles, rushing over.

“I don’t know! I started getting these pains in my stomach an hour ago. I feel like I’m going to be sick all the time.”

“Probably too much champagne,” said Charles.

“I feel wretched.”

“Maybe mixing the wine with the champagne?”

Harrison suddenly jumped up and, placing his hand over his mouth, he went racing to the door and down the corridor.

Charles casually walked over to the door and closed it.

“Looks like I won’t be sharing a room tonight after all,” he said aloud.

chapter 2

The next morning the servants were up early putting the house back into its normal spick-and-span condition as Margaret issued them orders. It was nearly noon and the grouse-hunting party had set off an hour before. Arabella and her parents sat in the dining room, having finished a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausages. Arabella was dressed warmly for the day of shooting ahead in a dress with a dark-grey knitted V-line top over it.

She looked up at the clock. “Where has Harrison got to?”

George chuckled. “I imagine he’s sleeping off a hangover, my dear. He did knock back the drink last night.”

At that moment Harrison and Charles walked into the dining room.

Arabella took one look at Harrison, who was as pale as a ghost and shaking, then rose to her feet and rushed over to him.

“What’s wrong, Harrison?”

“I haven’t been to bed all night. I’ve been throwing up for most of the night.”

“A hangover?” suggested George.

“No, it’s more than that,” objected Harrison as Arabella felt his forehead.

“Perhaps something he ate,” Charles suggested.

“Well, whatever it is, you need a doctor immediately,” said Arabella.

“No. The worst of it is over. All I need to do now is go to bed and sleep. I’m exhausted.”

“My poor darling!” Arabella stroked his cheek.

“But what about you?” said Harrison.

“What about me?”

“You were so looking forward to going on the shoot.”

“Oh, it’s not a worry. I’ll just stay here in the house,” said Arabella.

“But you’ll miss the shoot!”

Charles stepped forward. “Well, you can accompany me, Arabella. I’m setting off to join the others shortly.”

“No, thank you,” said Arabella firmly.

“But that’s a great idea,” said Harrison. “Thank you, Charles, that’s very good of you.”

“I couldn’t possibly burden you with me for the day,” insisted Arabella.

“No burden at all,” said Charles.

“Thank you but no.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Arabella,” interjected Caroline. “You wanted to go and here is your opportunity.”

“But . . .”

“That’s decided then,” said Charles happily. “I’ll get the groomsman to bring our carriage to the front. I’ll meet you there in – say – twenty minutes?”

With that he turned and walked out of the room.

Arabella walked out the front door of Armstrong House and took in the view. It was a clear late-August day and she looked across the expansive forecourt beyond which was a series of terraced gardens leading down to the lake, which stretched out for miles to the other side.

She couldn’t see Charles and strolled across the forecourt then turned and looked up at the house. She took in the majesty of the baronial three-storey granite house. The third storey was tucked just under the black tiled roof. A flight of stairs led up to the front double doors and the windows were tall and gothic.

She heard a horse and carriage approach and saw a smiling Charles enter the forecourt in a phaeton two-seater carriage.

He waved at her and smiled.

“It is a good day for the shoot,” said Charles as he jumped down from the carriage and assisted her up.

She nodded as she sat down.

He jumped up beside her, turned to her and smiled broadly. He shook the reins and the horse took off down the long avenue.

Arabella was entranced by the beautiful views as they rode through the narrow roads of the estate.

“It is exactly as beautiful as Harrison described it,” said Arabella. “You’re very lucky.”

“Am I?”

“Well, all this is going to be yours as the future Lord Armstrong.”

“Yes but, having said that, with it comes responsibility, or so my father is always insisting. I think the younger children of peers have it easier.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, they are free to choose whatever they want in life. I envy that.”

“I can’t see you working in a bank like Harrison,” Arabella said.

He was surprised she had made any judgement of him at all as she seemed to pay no attention to him.

“But Harrison doesn’t have to work in a bank. He can do anything he wishes but he chooses to work there. It’s that choice I envy.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be more than compensated with an eight-thousand-acre estate and all the other benefits you’ll get . . . Ah, there are the others, see!” She pointed at the crowd scattered across a hill, walking along with dogs.

“Yes – I see.”

Charles parked the carriage and they walked towards the others to join the shoot. As they did so she kept her distance from him.

“Is Gwyneth on the shoot today?” she asked.

“No. She will be in Armstrong House dissecting the success of her debutante ball with anyone who will listen to her.”

“She’s entitled to talk about it.”

“She’ll be married to the Duke in a few months and go to live in Battington Castle or Battington Palace or whatever he owns. And there she will stay forever in her ivory tower, deigning to come amongst us mere mortals only on special occasions.”

Arabella glanced at him. “You sound contemptuous.”

“Not contemptuous. Just disappointed in people that they take an easy route, and Gwyneth has taken the easiest route of all . . . but then she was always going to.”

“She’s just following her destiny, like you are yours.”

He stopped and looked at her. “Is that what you think of me? I want a lot more than just taking over from my father here in Armstrong House.”

She stopped and glanced at him. “I’m sure I don’t think of you at all.”

Arabella held the gun shakily while Charles got into position to guide her. He stood close behind her, putting both arms around her arms and holding the gun with her.

“You watch your prey very carefully,” he said in a low voice as they watched the grouse in the distance. “Then you follow it with your gun until you have it in your sights . . . What’s the real reason you’re not having a debutante ball?”

She was startled with this sudden question. “I was going to have one this year but it was cancelled.”

“And why was it cancelled?”

“Because I had met Harrison by then, and knew we were meant for each other. Can we just concentrate on the shooting?” she urged.

He pulled his arms closer around her as he tightened his grip on the gun.

“I’d have thought a girl like you would have had many options.”

“I do.”

“Then why Harrison?”

She was becoming incredulous. “Why not Harrison?”

“I just thought you’d have aimed for something a little . . .” he tilted the gun upwards as a grouse came into view, “higher.”

He suddenly pressed his trigger finger over hers and the gun fired a shot into the distance. The shot missed its target and the grouse fled.

He didn’t move from the position he was in.

“We missed,” she said eventually. She pulled away from him quickly and faced him. “I’m quite glad actually – I don’t think shoots are for me.” She handed him the gun back. “Let’s go back to Armstrong House.”

“But I bet you’re glad you tried it!” he called after her.

Most of the guests that had attended the ball had left by the Saturday evening and Lawrence and Margaret hosted a dinner party for close friends in the dining room that night. The Tattingers were among the twenty present. Charles found himself that night at the polar end of the dining table from Harrison and Arabella. He found it hard to keep his eyes from straying to observe them constantly.

“Well, congratulations, Lady Margaret, on a magnificent ball,” complimented Caroline Tattinger as she enjoyed her duckling.

“We’re well used to entertaining at Armstrong House – but I was so busy introducing Gwyneth.”

“Introducing her to everyone she already knew,” said Charles.

“That’s not the point, Charles. I was officially introducing her as a young woman come of age,” said Margaret.

“I meant to say before,” Sir George interjected, “I met friends of yours at a function recently.”

“Really? Who?” asked Lawrence.

“The Earl of Galway and his wife.”

Lawrence looked displeased. “Yes, the Galways were friends of ours. But we never see them any more.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid the Galways live in their London house permanently now. Their manor in Galway is left in the care of an elderly housekeeper and their estate left to the running of a particularly nasty land manager. They have joined the ranks of those absentee landlords who see their estates as nothing more than moneymaking devices to squeeze every last penny from, to fund their extravagant lifestyle in London.” Lawrence shook his head in disgust.

“Maybe they are just scared to spend too much time on their estate with the Land War going on?” said George.

“If they are targets, then they have made themselves so!” snapped Lawrence.

Caroline was surprised. “We found them very agreeable.”

“Now, Lawrence,” cautioned Margaret firmly, “what the Galways do is really none of our business.”

“But –” began Lawrence.

“And the Countess of Galway had impeccable table manners, from what I remember,” Margaret smiled and nodded at Caroline in an approving way.

Arabella was sitting at the end of the table, engrossed in conversation with Harrison.

“Well?” asked Harrison. “What is your verdict so far? Is Armstrong House what you expected? What do you make of everyone?”

“It’s exactly as you described it. And everyone is exactly as you described them. Everyone is lovely,” said Arabella.

Harrison smiled proudly. “It won’t be long before we have a beautiful home and family too.”

She reached forward and stroked his hand in delight.

Harrison looked worried. “Although I’m not sure how I’m going to afford to give us a beautiful home just yet, not on my wages.”

“Father says you’ll continue to gallop up the ranks of the bank.”

“Still – in the meantime that doesn’t help us. I spoke to my own father and he said we can live in his Dublin house on Merrion Square for however long we want.”

Arabella started laughing lightly with a slightly mocking tone.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, confused.

“You! You are a silly goose! Don’t you realise my parents have given me a substantial dowry? One large enough to buy us the house of our dreams in Dublin?”

Harrison looked shocked. “No, I didn’t! I never even thought about such a thing.”

Arabella smiled lovingly. “I know. And that’s one of the reasons I love you as much as I do.”

She glanced down the table and saw Charles was sitting back in his chair observing them. The intensity of his eyes unnerved her. Then he smiled at her. She nodded at him and quickly looked away.

She had found the Armstrong family utterly charming. Lawrence and Margaret were overly welcoming and kind, if Margaret was somewhat neurotic. The children had all been sincere and friendly, although James was unruly and Emily had a rebellious streak. But it was Charles that had caused her concern. Harrison had nothing but high praise for his brother. He had said Charles was charming, fun and intelligent. And Arabella agreed he was all those things. But there was more to him. She felt Charles’ charm was self-serving, his fun side might be dangerous, and his intelligence used to get his own way. She believed Charles was too aware of his charm, his looks and his intelligence. She was wary of him. She was sure he had attempted to flirt with her, which she found very unsettling. Harrison had said Charles was planning to return to London without much delay. Arabella was glad. She thought the less she had to do with him the better.

Lawrence suddenly chinking a fork against his crystal glass brought a hush to the room as he rose to his feet.

“Family and friends, this has been such a wonderful weekend at Armstrong House. And I have some wonderful news to share with you. Harrison asked Sir George for his daughter’s hand in marriage during the week. Sir George and Lady Tattinger have agreed and I am delighted to announce the engagement of my son Harrison to the very lovely Miss Arabella Tattinger.”

There were gasps of excitement and applause around the table as the footmen quickly refilled everyone’s glass with champagne. Harrison and Arabella held hands tightly while they grinned at each other.

“And I would like you to join me in a toast,” said Lawrence as everyone rose to their feet. “To Harrison and Arabella!”

“To Harrison and Arabella!” everyone chorused.

Arabella nodded appreciatively at everyone who was smiling happily at her, except for Charles whose cool eyes continued to stare at her.

On the Sunday the Tattingers and Harrison were at the front door of Armstrong House saying their goodbyes.

“Thank you so much for a wonderful time and no doubt it won’t be long before we see you again,” said Caroline as she kissed Lawrence and Margaret goodbye.

“Well, see you soon,” said Harrison as Charles walked him and Arabella down the steps to the carriage.

“Yes, indeed.” Charles turned to Arabella and, smiling, took her hand and kissed it. “Until the next time?”

Arabella nodded. Harrison handed her up into the carriage, then stepped back to allow George and Caroline to join her, before getting in himself.

“Safe journey,” said Charles as he closed the carriage door after them.

He stood in the forecourt as he watched the carriage move away and make its way down the long driveway. Turning, he looked up at the house, then climbed the steps up to the front door and entered.

“Charles!” called Margaret from the drawing room.

He walked across the hallway and into the drawing room where his parents were sitting with serious looks on their faces.

Charles crossed over the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the drinks table.

“Thank goodness that’s all over,” said Lawrence. “Now we can get on with the business at hand.”

“Charles, your father has been telling me of your plans to live in London,” said Margaret.

“Charles, it’s simply not allowable!” insisted Lawrence. “This is going to be your house, your estate and you need to take responsibility for it!”

Charles turned around and saw the distress on their faces.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding. I’m not returning to London.”

“You’re staying here at Armstrong House?” Lawrence asked, confused.

“Of course – where else would I be?” He smiled at them.

Margaret and Lawrence looked at each other, visibly relieved.

chapter 3

There were many villages scattered through the Armstrong estate but the one nearest the house was a model village that had been built by Lawrence’s father, Edward, at the same time he built Armstrong House. It was a beautiful little village with stone houses around a village green which had a little clock tower in the middle of it and a church in pride of place.

That day the green was a hive of activity with many stalls set out as there was a turnip competition being judged. Charles found himself walking down the rows of stalls looking at turnip after turnip. He paused at the next stall to look at a particularly large specimen.

The farmer’s wife picked up the turnip and held it out to him.

“Would you like to hold it, sir?” she asked with a smile.

He glanced at the vegetable which looked as if it had barely been washed.

“No, it’s quite all right, thank you.” He nodded at her and moved on to the next stall, looking. He looked at his watch and wondered how much longer he would have to stay.

He looked around and saw his mother and Gwyneth nearby, eagerly engaging with a farmer about his fertilising methods.

Margaret saw him and, coming over, said, “Well, I think it’s a close race between farmers O’Donovan and O’Hara. What do you think?”

“To be honest, they all look the same to me. Once you’ve seen one turnip you’ve seen them all!”

Margaret looked irritated. “It’s not about the turnips, Charles. It’s about morale and good relations in the estate.”

“Oh, is that the point of it all?” Charles didn’t hide his sarcasm.

“Gwyneth understands the point of it, so why can’t you?” She observed her daughter with pride as she moved effortlessly amongst the people, chatting. “She has such a way with her. She’ll be such an asset to the Duke on his estate.”

Gwyneth came over to them. “Well, I think we should give it to the O’Donovans. They lost one of their children this year and I think it would give them a boost.”

“What do you think, Charles?” asked Margaret.

“Do you know, I couldn’t care less! Can we just give the bloody prize and get on with it!”

“Charles! These people have gone to a huge effort to try and impress you, their future landlord,” said Gwyneth.

“All right, and I’m impressed as I ever could be about a turnip!”

Margaret was annoyed. “In that case, as Charles has no objection, O’Donovan is the winner.”

The three of them went up on the stand and everyone gathered around.

“Well, get on with it,” Charles hissed at his mother.

“No, you have to make the speech, Charles – it’s you they’re expecting to hear.”

“For goodness’ sake!” snapped Charles.

“And be enthusiastic and complimentary,” Margaret advised. “Let them know you appreciate the lengths they have gone to. Reward them with your words and win them over.”

Charles raised his eyes as he stepped forward. “Eh, thank you, everyone, for coming today . . .” He looked down at all the expectant, curious and excited faces. He glanced back at his mother and Gwyneth who were smiling encouragingly at him. “And the winner is O’Donovan!”

Charles stepped back and stood beside his mother, looking bored.

“Charles! That was hardly worth the effort!”

“Short and sweet, Mother, short and sweet.”

“Short and nothing!” snapped Margaret.

The crowd applauded as O’Donovan stepped on the platform and Gwyneth presented him his prize and offered warm congratulations.

Lawrence ran the estate’s business from the library at Armstrong House. It was an endless parade of meetings with the farm managers, accountants, tenant farmers, all of which Charles found he was expected to attend. His mind drifted to what his friends were getting up to in London, and to Harrison and Arabella in Dublin, and he found it hard not to doze off as he listened to the minutiae of the matters being discussed.

“And O’Reilly is how long in arrears now?” Lawrence was asking the estate manager.

“Four months, your lordship. If it was any other estate he would be evicted by now.”

“No, I want no evictions. Bring O’Reilly to me during the week and I’ll see what he has to say for himself and see if we can come to some arrangement.”

“Very good, your lordship.” The farm estate manager left and Lawrence sighed loudly.

“If he’s not going to be able to pay now then he never will,” said Charles. “The longer it goes on, the more arrears he will be in and the less chance of him catching up. Drinking his money in a bar, no doubt.”

“But he has always been a good payer in the past. And don’t be so judgemental, Charles. Being a landlord of an estate like this takes humanity and understanding – you should keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I will, Father, I will!” Charles said sarcastically as he got up from the chesterfield and sauntered over to one of the large windows that overlooked the courtyards at the back of the house. In the courtyard he saw James standing there with some groomsmen, ordering them about while exchanging banter with them at the same time. James was dressed as casually as the groomsmen.

“What is James up to now?” said Charles as he observed him.

Lawrence got up from behind his desk and came and joined him at the window.

He smiled. “James loves the land. Loves working on it.”

“Hardly the correct thing for a gentleman to be doing.”

“Ah, your mother and I have had to accept what James is. School and university would be wasted on him.”

James was saying something to the groomsmen and suddenly they all burst out laughing.

“And he has a great way with the people. He loves them, and they love him.”

“Still, he’s making a show of the family. I hear he goes socialising with the peasants in the town bars.”

“But he has a great heart. And I don’t think anybody knows this estate as well as he. He will be a great asset to you when it comes to running this place.”

“A great asset or a great embarrassment?” said Charles before sauntering out of the room.

Lawrence glanced after Charles, surprised, before returning to his desk.

James came through the front door of Armstrong House, a rifle in one hand and some shot rabbits in the other. He flung the rabbits on an ornate side table.

“James!” screamed Margaret who had been coming down the stairs. She rushed over to him.

“What?”

“That is eighteenth-century Italian!” She pointed to the side table.

“So?” James looked unimpressed.

Margaret turned and tugged the bell pull with zest.

Charles sauntered down the stairs as Barton came hurrying along.

“You called, my lady?” asked Barton.

“Barton, take these rabbits quickly down to the kitchen to Cook or somebody and away from my side table.”

Barton reached out and took the rabbits. Holding them out in disdain, he carried them away, with Margaret in quick pursuit issuing orders.

“Use the back door in future when you bring in game, James!” Margaret called over her shoulder.

James started laughing to himself.

Charles looked James up and down condescendingly. “Maybe you should use the back door all the time in future.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” James asked, his laughter suddenly gone.

“Well, it’s just if you want to dress like a peasant, act like a peasant, then use the back door like a peasant.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” James said angrily.

“Why? You need somebody to tell you. Your habits were very endearing when you were younger, I’m sure, but now you’re just becoming a joke.”

James came up to him. “I have an interest in what goes on around here, which is more than you’ll ever have.”

“Pity you don’t have as much interest in what you look like, isn’t it?” Charles turned and went back into the drawing room, leaving James staring after him.

The family were gathered in the drawing room in the evening. Emily was walking up and down the room with a book balanced on her head and a displeased look on her face.

“Can I stop now?” she asked.

“No, Emily,” said Margaret. “Keep walking and concentrate! Shoulders back and head kept level.”

Emily gritted her teeth and kept walking back and forth.

“Any word from Harrison?” asked Charles who was stretched out on the couch.

“No, he’s probably far too enraptured with his young lady and the Tattinger family to give us a second thought,” chuckled Lawrence.

Margaret smiled. “Arabella is such a fine young woman – so beautiful – and her parents so impressive.”

“Aren’t they just?” agreed Charles then waited a while before speaking again. “I might go up and visit him next weekend.”

“Go to Dublin?” Lawrence was surprised.

“Yes, I miss Harrison. It would be nice to spend some time with him.”

“You never missed him when you were in England. Harrison said you never even bothered to write,” said Emily.

“Why don’t you just be quiet and concentrate on your posture, Emily,” warned Charles.

“Yes, it might be nice for you to go to Dublin,” said Margaret.

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Charles.

Daphne came rushing into the room, waving a card.

“A ball, I’ve been invited to a ball!” she said excitedly.

“Where?” asked Margaret.

“At the Bramwells’ – I’m so excited.”

“The Bramwells?” Lawrence’s face creased in concern. “I’m afraid you can’t go, Daphne?”

“But why ever not?” Daphne was horrified.

“Because the Bramwells’ estate is caught up in the Land War. There is much hatred felt towards them.”

“But what’s that got to do with me?” Daphne was aghast.

“It’s simply not safe for you to go,” said Lawrence. “Anything could happen.”

“Mother?” Daphne appealed the decision.

“I’m afraid if your father says it’s unsafe then you can’t go.”

“This stupid Land War!” snapped Daphne. “It’s ruining all my fun!” She threw the invitation into the fire and stormed off.

“Such a pity! The Bramwells were always such a nice family,” sighed Margaret.

“They weren’t nice to their tenants, especially during the famine,” said Lawrence.

“The famine was forty years ago, Father,” Charles pointed out. “Isn’t it time we all moved on?”

“It will take a long time to move on from that. It changed this country and changed our class’s position forever. Before the famine families like ours were invincible. Now we can’t take our power or position for granted.”

The book fell off Emily’s head on to the floor.

“Emily! You aren’t concentrating!” snapped Margaret.

Emily reached down, snatched up the book and threw it at the wall. “What’s the point in being able to walk properly if we are all going to be killed in our beds some night by rampaging peasants!”

“Emily!” Margaret said. “Go to your room!”

“Good! At least there I won’t have to parade around like a peacock!”

Charles laughed as Emily ran off.

“Oh dear!” sighed Margaret. “Two disgruntled daughters under the same roof on the same night!”

chapter 4

Charles got the train from Castlewest to Dublin and from there got a hansom cab to take him to their house on Merrion Square. As he looked out the window of the cab he inhaled the atmosphere of the busy streets, the traffic, the amazing Georgian architecture. He was excited about the prospect of meeting Arabella.

The cab pulled up outside the house in Merrion Square. He got out, walked up the steps and knocked loudly on the door. The house was a four-storey-over-basement townhouse. His father had bought it some twenty years before. For a family that was as distinguished and wealthy as the Armstrongs, it was important for them to have homes in Dublin and London, and his parents had hosted many functions in both houses over the years. However, the visits by his parents to Dublin were now cut short with Lawrence’s obsession about being on the estate as much as possible and avoiding any label of being an absentee landlord.

The butler opened the door.

“Ah, Mr Charles, it is good to see you again,” he said, taking his suitcase.

“You too. Is my brother home?”

“No, Mr Harrison usually returns from work around half five, sir,” said the butler as Charles followed him up the stairs as far as the drawing room on the first floor.

“Unpack my case in my room, will you?” said Charles as he walked into the drawing room and lit a cigarette.

On the mantelpiece there were four photographs of Arabella arranged in frames. He walked over and taking one of the photos in his hand, studied it intently.

An hour later he heard the front door open and slam and somebody taking quick steps up the stairs. Harrison came into the drawing room and came to an abrupt halt when he saw Charles standing there.

“Charles! This is a nice surprise!” He strode over to Charles and gave him a hug.

“I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just the weekend. Going back on Monday.”

“And what are your plans?”

“I have none. My appointment book is empty and I’m yours for the whole weekend.”

“Excellent! I’m meeting Arabella for dinner tonight. She’ll be delighted to see you.”

Arabella walked up the steps of The Shelbourne Hotel and through the ornate foyer to the restaurant.

As she was being shown through the restaurant, she nodded and said hello to people at different tables who were friends of her family. She saw Harrison and smiled at him. She then spotted somebody else sitting at the table and her eyes widened in shock as she realised it was Charles. Her stomach knotted at the sight of him, as she wondered why he was there.

Both men stood up as she reached their table.

“Look who’s here, Arabella,” said Harrison happily.

“Yes, I can see. Hello again, Charles,” she said as she sat down.

“You are looking as lovely as before,” Charles complimented her as he sat down.

“You flatter me, Charles,” she smiled.

The waiter handed her a menu.

“You deserve flattering,” said Charles.

“I thought you were in London?” said Arabella.

“No, remember I told you Charles decided to stay at Armstrong House,” said Harrison.

“Oh, yes, of course. And how are you finding life down on the farm?”

“Oh, you know! Life goes on there the same as always. Dinner parties and shoots.”

“The hunt season will be starting soon – that’s always fun,” said Harrison.

“Yes, the hunt balls can be entertaining all right . . . if I hear the words Home Rule or Land War again, I think I’ll scream!” Charles started laughing.

“Politics doesn’t interest you?” asked Arabella.

“Not really. I can never understand people who spend their lives caught up in what’s going on with society. I think they are trying to escape something in their own lives.”

“‘No man is an island’,” said Arabella.

Charles took up his menu. “Shall we order?”

Arabella managed to get through the evening. There wasn’t much for her to contribute as Charles dominated the conversation with hilarious stories and anecdotes. At least Harrison found them hilarious – she remained on guard, smiling and nodding only when she needed to.

She found the next day that she and Harrison were expected to nanny Charles again when he showed up with Harrison for a garden party they had been invited to. The garden party was being hosted by friends of Arabella who lived in a house on a leafy street in Rathgar. The back garden had been laid out with a series of round tables with crisp white tablecloths on which were silver teapots that glistened in the early-October warm sunshine.

Arabella walked to her table and Charles hurried after her.

“Allow me?” he said as he pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you,” she said as she sat down.

The afternoon passed in a leisurely enjoyment of company over neatly cut triangular sandwiches, scones with strawberry jam and cream, and an array of cakes.

“I’m not even going to look at another cream cake or I may as well say goodbye to my figure forever!” Arabella declared.

Charles bent forward to her and whispered, “But you have an amazing figure.”

She ignored him and continued to chat to the others.

Charles soon went and circulated among the other guests. She watched from afar as he charmed and entertained them throughout the afternoon.

She had to put up with him only for one weekend, she reminded herself.

On the following Monday afternoon Arabella was sitting in her bedroom in front of her mirror as she tried on necklaces. The maid knocked and came in.

“Miss Arabella, Mr Armstrong is here to see you.”

Arabella turned around as she fastened the clip of the necklace at the back of her neck.

“Harrison didn’t say he would be calling over.” She stood up. “Tell him I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Em, it’s not Master Harrison. It’s a Mr Charles Armstrong to see you,” explained the maid.

“Charles?” Arabella was confused and surprised. “Tell him that I’m with guests, and can’t see him.”

“Very good, my lady.” The maid turned and left.

Arabella sat down at the dressing table again and stared at her reflection, lost in thought. What did he want? Why did he want to see her without Harrison? Her suspicions of him increased even more.