Kilpara Page 16

  She began coughing, strangling on her breath. This brought a worried look to Sadie’s face. It was time to leave. I hurried into the garden to find our hostess and make our apologies. She smiled gracefully and told me any time I wished to visit my grandparents' house, I was welcome. I thanked her and joined Mother and Aunt Sadie in the carriage.

  Aunt Sadie sat with her arms around Mother, stroking her hair, as we headed back to the convent. Mother, exhausted from her experience, dozed in the comfort of her sister’s arms. I watched the countryside lazily pass by. That’s when I saw her again. Our carriage driver slowed to let an oncoming vehicle pass. As the two carriages came side by side, I came face-to-face with her gaze. She smiled. Her carriage passed and I felt a chill spread through me when I recognized the man sitting beside her. It was Purcenell. His eyes were averted. I caught only a side view of his face, but there was no mistaking it was him.

  Aunt Sadie saw him, too, and frowned. “Purcenell,” she whispered.

  “The woman in the coach with him, who is she?” I asked tersely. What if she was Purcenell’s wife? I was certain I hadn’t seen a ring on her left hand.

  “His daughter, Morrigan,” Aunt Sadie replied. “She spends most of the summer with her aunt at Salthill, on the strand.”

  Relief spread through me. Then fear struck me. The woman who consumed my thoughts was Purcenell’s daughter. I was about to enquire more about Morrigan when Mother coughed, and Aunt Sadie’s and my concern shifted to helping her through the spell. After she had calmed, I wanted to return to the topic of Morrigan, but the moment had passed and bringing up the subject would make Aunt Sadie suspicious about my interest. We rode the rest of the way in silence.

  Back at the convent, I saw Mother safely to her room. Assured that she was resting, I went to my own room and paced as I tried to decide what to do next. I was torn. Admittedly, Morrigan intrigued me. Under different circumstances, I could arrange a formal meeting. But she was Purcenell’s daughter and that complicated matters. I couldn’t announce myself at Kilpara as an O’Donovan. I was guaranteed to have the door slammed in my face. Besides, I had set things in motion under an assumed name. If I was to eliminate the barriers between us, I had to arrange a meeting with Purcenell. I would admit my identity and make my appeal on Mother's behalf. If he responded favorably, then I could forge ahead and clear up all pretenses with Morrigan. A nagging thought stuck in the back of my mind reminding me that Purcenell and Morrigan may refuse to accept me as a visitor in my ancestral home. I pushed the thought aside. I wanted Morrigan to know who I was and to see her as much as she would allow. Every waking moment, if possible.

  In the end, I sat down and composed a letter. In it, I appealed to Purcenell's sense of vanity and requested to see his champion horse. When it came to signing my name, I hesitated. Impulsively, I just scribbled Ellis. I paused before sealing the envelope, wondering how I would explain my deception to Morrigan should I find her at Kilpara. Sealing the envelope, I hoped that situation would not arise. The following morning, I instructed a groom to deliver the letter to Kilpara. By afternoon he returned with a reply. I was invited to visit the following day.

  Aunt Sadie ordered Mother to continue resting. I sat briefly by her bedside and read to her, my words mixing with the sound of her uneven breathing. That evening, when Aunt Sadie and I walked in the gardens, I voiced my concern. “Mother seems worse.”

  “She’s worn out,” Aunt Sadie replied. “Yesterday's visit may have been more of a shock to her system than I anticipated, but it had its merit, too. It wasn’t easy for her to endure facing the past where she was left desolate after your grandmother’s death. They were close, those two. I was closer to your grandfather and understood him better. We were both devastated by our mother’s loss, but it weighed more heavily on Ann. She didn’t understand Father’s insistence to keep us away from the sick room during those last stages of Mother’s illness and blamed him for failing to save her. It didn’t help matters that afterwards he withdrew into himself and hardly knew we existed. He couldn’t help it; he was suffering from self-guilt and grief. His indifference severed their relationship. After yesterday, Ann more fully understands how their fears and grief drove them apart. I apologize for taking such risks with her health.”

  Aunt Sadie touched my hand comfortingly, tears standing in her eyes. I was growing fond of this woman and was sad to think my brothers and their families would never know her.

  “I've been invited to visit Purcenell tomorrow,” I said, as we walked toward the strange little building that had become our home.

  She stared at a rose bush. “Does he know who you are?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don't agree with the falsehood, Ellis, but selfishly I'm happy you'll have this chance to talk to him. I’ll pray that he has the generosity of heart to grant Ann's request.”

  She didn’t sound hopeful.

  Gully Joyce, who I came to know as the convent’s head groom, had the carriage ready the following morning. At first we traveled the same road that took us to the Burke home. Further on, we turned onto the road that curled around the shoreline of Lough Corrib. We passed fields where workers cut brown sod out of the ground in brick-size chunks. Aunt Sadie had explained this was bogland where turf was taken from the soil and used to heat homes throughout most of Ireland. We lost sight of the lake when the road turned inland and before long we came to a high stone wall that ran parallel to the road. Gully pointed out that this marked the beginning of Kilpara. The wall ended at a gated driveway that was protected by a gatehouse. Gully Joyce dismounted, yanked the bell pull hooked on an iron rail beside the gate, the noise bringing a man out from behind the gatehouse. He asked the nature of our business and when the groom showed him Purcenell’s invitation, he unlocked the gate and allowed us to enter.

  We drove up the avenue that curved round the hill, neatly trimmed grass banks bordering each side and large oak trees lining the way. I caught my breath when the house came into view. It was Stonebridge! With a few minor differences; the walls were older, more weather-beaten, but the same green ivy clung to dark stone. The windows were longer, wider, the front doors heavier with older steps leading up to them. When Gully pulled up in front of the house, there was no Eileen to greet us, only a stable-hand who came to guide the carriage to the stables.

  I walked up the steps, banged the knocker on the heavy double door. A butler answered and I stepped inside the foyer that was fitted with the same dark green marble that adorned Stonebridge. I presented my letter. Moments later he returned and ushered me into the library.

  “My dear Mr. Ellis, how kind of you to come.” Purcenell rose from behind a writing-table and came forward smiling, displaying the prominent split between his teeth. “You’ve come to hear the details of the race and to see Pandora? Of course, you have. It’s in two days’ time—at Ballybrit.”

  He handed me a drink and pointed to a chair. I could have been back at Stonebridge; the room was similarly arranged. One wall was fitted with bookshelves. The rest of the room was arranged with comfortable chairs, a divan to sit and repose on, a wide table with paper and pen on top for writing, and a liqueur cabinet stocked to satisfy every taste.

  “This chap, Thornton, is already at Larcourt with his horse,” Purcenell said, a hint of anxiety in his voice. When I looked blank he rushed to explain. “Of course, you don’t know Larcourt, how could you? You’re a stranger here. It’s the estate a mile or so over the hill there, owned by Charlie Sloane. We’ve been neighbors for years, though he does own other properties in England and Europe and spends a good deal of time away. I’ve known Charlie since he was a baby. His father is a good man, but Charlie—” He paused and rubbed his chin.

  “Anyway, Charlie has arranged a foxhunt for tomorrow to entertain Thornton. There’ll be dinner afterwards.” He looked at me. “It’s the wrong time of year for a foxhunt, but then Thornton is a sportsman, and Charlie wants to be accommodating. You’ll attend? Of course, you will. You’
ll want to meet Thornton. I’m sure Charlie has already penned you an invitation.”

  I managed to sound surprised, and confessed that I had been occupied with business and had not seen an invitation arrive at the convent. I added that in the excitement of such a significant event, Sir Charles may have had a lapse in memory and neglected to send one.

  Purcenell immediately apologized. “Because Charlie is seldom here, he tends to forget genteel customs on occasion, indeed he does. He leaves such details to his personal manager. It’s impolite, however, to ignore an esteemed American visitor like yourself.”

  Purcenell sat down at the wide table and began writing. When he finished, he put the letter into an envelope and stamped it with his seal. He rang a bell and the butler appeared. “Have this delivered to Sir Charles Sloane at once,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” The butler took the letter and disappeared.

  “Now that we've taken care of that, you’ll want to see Pandora.” Purcenell finished his drink. “Of course, you do. You’ll see for yourself that she’s the finest horse in all of Great Britain.”

  I accompanied Purcenell to the front door half-hoping we would run into Morrigan. She hadn't appeared to receive me which she would have been required to do, if only out of polite courtesy. I wondered if her absence meant she was at the beach. If so, this was the perfect opportunity to make everything right with her father and restore my true identity. Once I convinced him my parents should be buried at Kilpara, I could drop all pretenses and openly announce my interest in Morigan. But as I observed Purcenell's ruddy face, the excitement of challenge in his small round eyes, I knew now was the worst moment to make such an appeal. I would just have to be patient and wait for the proper time.

  It was a short walk from the house to the stables, and once inside, I followed Purcenell to a stall at the back. A groom stood next to a jet-black mare brushing her coat. At our approach, the horse reared up as if frightened.

  Purcenell nodded. “That’s Pandora. She’s a bit touchy. Settle down, settle down,” he ordered the horse. But his words agitated the mare even more. “Settle down, you bitch,” he yelled. This tirade didn’t help the groom who was trying to maintain control of the horse. She began beating her hooves against the wooden gate.

  “Control her,” Purcenell ordered, picking up the whip hanging on the wall outside the stall. There were already marks showing on the mare’s right side. I knew then that Purcenell cared about winning above all else.

  “Fine animal. Thoroughbreds tend to be excitable,” I said, as the groom tried to calm the frightened horse. I knew if Purcenell raised the whip, I would have to take it away from him. That would end my chances of speaking to him about Mother or becoming formally acquainted with Morrigan. In an attempt to deflate the situation, I turned away from the horse's stall and began walking back toward the stable entrance.

  “Very contrary,” Purcenell agreed, putting the whip back on its hook and hesitantly following me. “After this race, I’ll break her bad habits once and for all, so I will.”

  As we left the stables I looked back; the horse was visibly calmer.

  After that, Purcenell talked about the race and nothing else. He didn't share Sloane's interest in my business, although I had prepared a commentary on the marble quarry should the topic arise. I was relieved his curiosity wasn’t piqued because it meant I didn’t have to embellish the lie I had already told. But each time I tried to steer the conversation to more neutral subjects, he ignored my attempts and only talked about Pandora and the upcoming contest. When it became evident it was futile to engage him in another subject, I waited an appropriate interval, then took my leave. As the carriage made its way down the avenue, I felt a sad sense of failure that I had not accomplished my goal. And I wanted to see Morrigan more than ever.

  Aunt Sadie and I sat on a wooden bench under a chestnut tree that evening after spending time with Mother, who looked much better, although still quite weak. Aunt Sadie asked about my visit to Kilpara. Her face was so expectant that it hurt me to say the opportunity had not arisen to talk to Purcenell about Mother, neither had the proper moment presented itself to reveal my identity.

  “I’m still hoping to find him in a charitable mood,” I said. “I’ll have another chance tomorrow. Purcenell has invited me to a hunt at Larcourt. The atmosphere should be more amiable. Perhaps there I can talk to him.”

  “I wish I could share your optimism,” Aunt Sadie said. “But I'm afraid you’re wasting your time. His pride will suffer when he learns you’ve deceived him. He’ll be too angry to listen to you. It’s only a matter of time before Ann starts wanting to visit Kilpara. It’ll break her heart when I tell her she can’t.” Aunt Sadie fiddled with the heavy cross on her rosary as if trying to invoke a higher intervention.

  “He has to agree,” I said. “I'm not giving up.”

  Aunt Sadie looked at me sadly. “You’ll need an early start tomorrow. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Chaos abounded at Larcourt when I arrived. Panting brown and white foxhounds with wagging tails ran amok. Riders, dressed in bright red jackets and black hats, guided horses to an arena of excited chatter. Local country people lined rock fences some distance away to watch the fanfare.

  A stable-hand escorted me to the stables and assigned me a horse. On my way out I saw Sloane, crop in hand, standing at the side of the entrance in deep conversation with a dark-haired woman in a brown riding habit. They were absorbed in discussion, their faces intent and frowning. Curious, I stood in the shadows of the stable door watching them while pretending to tighten the saddle strap.

  The woman’s outraged voice carried to where I stood. “Charlie, surely you can find me a better mount than this old rundown bag of bones,” she complained. “If I’d known this was all you had to offer, I’d have asked Father to bring my horse along.”

  Sloane answered smoothly. “Truly, Daphne, Caesar is not old. He’s an excellent steed.”

  “Then you ride him, Charlie. I'll take your horse.”

  “I would but—er—”

  “Say it, Charlie. He can't keep up. And you know it.”

  “Umm—well—er,” Sloane stammered. “He’s gentle. An obvious choice for a lady.”

  The woman laughed harshly. “Don’t patronize me, Charlie. You know I’m competitive when it comes to the chase. I prefer an animal that satisfies my determined nature. If that makes me any less feminine, I shall have to give you a private demonstration to refresh your memory.”

  “Enough, Daphne! You know I’m practically engaged to Morrigan.”

  “That’s not what I hear.” Spite entered the woman’s voice. “You can’t possibly prefer that waif over me. She’s not quite right, you know.”

  “She doesn't succumb to feminine wiles to get her way. If that's what you mean.”

  The woman ignored his words. “You’re kidding yourself, Charlie, if you think you'll be happy with her. The same way you kidded yourself with Laurel. It didn’t take you long to find your way into my bed after you married her. You need a woman with passion.”

  “That’s cruel,” Sloane said. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “It’s true, Charlie. Hang on to your illusions about dear Morrigan if you wish, although you could save yourself the trouble by marrying me. You’ll come crawling to me anyway when you find out your waif is just that—a waif and nothing more. She’ll never satisfy a man with your sexual appetite.”

  At that moment a horn sounded. The woman’s voice became even more agitated. “Drat! This dilapidated old slow poke will have to do.” The horse snorted.

  I watched the woman take the horse by the halter and walk toward the other riders. I moved out of the shadows and into the open. Sloane saw me and raised his hand in greeting. “Umm, er—”

  “Ellis,” I said.

  “Right, right.” Sloane frowned continuing to look after the woman. We mounted our horses and moved to the starting line. �
�The marble quarry, right? How is that going?”

  I hesitated. “Things are moving slowly.”

  “That's how it is with the clergy. A herd of wild elephants won't budge them until they're ready. If ever.” He laughed bitterly. “There’s a card game tonight after dinner. You’ll stay, of course.”

  “Be glad to,” I replied.

  At that moment the horns blew again and the hounds were off followed by what seemed like a hundred red jackets. The horse I rode appeared to have an adversity to people, dogs, and other horses. No matter what direction I tried, he preferred a different one.

  Side by side, horsemen and horsewomen galloped through woods and fields on the heels of barking hounds. I couldn’t keep up, and after a while I stopped trying and let the horse have his way. The countryside was refreshing. Daisies, buttercups, and cowslips grew in thick clusters among fields of green grass. The barking hounds grew distant as the horse and I began to wander farther afield. We came upon a fast rushing stream where swans swam unperturbed and cows munched contentedly close to its banks.

  Then another sight caught my eye. To my delight and surprise I saw Morrigan, hair hung loose and curling over the hood of her blue cape. She stood crumbling crusts of bread and dropping them for ducks, gathering on the bank around her feet. She hadn’t seen me, so I pulled the horse into a clump of trees not far away from where she stood. Tufts of long grass grew among the trees and my horse seemed contented to graze here. Hidden from sight, I observed her interaction with her web-footed friends. She must be talking to them, I thought, because her lovely face was animated and happy. I would have watched her indefinitely, but my pastime ended when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rider appear over the crest of the hill.