“So Captain Marsmain
was your mysterious cavalier all along. You kept your secret well, Caroline. I
think you might have told me.”
“How could I be sure that the man you
described was really he. I knew him as Nick.”
“Ay, the devil, though I do believe
you are the girl who may turn him into an angel. I have never seen him so
devoted to anyone. I'd have sworn he had really fallen in love at last”.
Caroline felt uneasy under her
sister's gaze. Last night was a dream, she had no
surety that there was any substance in it. She was tired after days of
exertion, tousled and a little out of humour. So much of Nick Marsmain's past was unknown. She found the hints
irritating.
“Lucy,” she said, “I wish you would be
quite frank with me. Tell me how Nick got that scar. Was it in a duel? Why?”
“Yes Caroline, it was in a duel ..... or so it is said. Nick was very silly in his younger days ..... always hot-headed and
hot-tempered ..... ready to fight at the drop of a hat
..... or a glove. He met another fighter in Richard
Daly, the actor-manager of
“But why did they fight?”
“Over a lady ..... an
actress. Some young bloods attempted to kidnap her from the theatre. It may
have been a prank. At the time, Nick seemed quite crazy about her. It is years
ago. He was very young.”
“And the actress, what became of her?”
“Her stage career was brief and
spectacular. I think she enjoyed notoriety. As far as I know she has retired to
complete obscurity, though there are rumours that a lover has set her up in an
establishment of her own somewhere in the country.”
“Not Nick!”
“Oh no, not Nick ..... an elderly gentleman of wealth and position who prefers to
remain anonymous. Quite the lady she is nowadays, if one can believe what one
hears.”
“Nick lost the duel, did he?”
“That time he did. It was better so.
It was the only defeat Nick Marsmain ever suffered.
No one would challenge him now. You may have noticed how all your
eager suitors kept at a safe distance last night. One look was enough.”
“You make him sound quite an ogre. He
seemed so strong and brave.”
“He is strong and brave ..... and determined to the point of ruthlessness. If he has
chosen you, my darling Caroline, then you will find
him an ardent lover who will not be baulked. Sincerely, I think you will be
very lucky to capture him.”
“I had no thought of capturing him as
you put it. Aunt Millicent seems to have taught you very successfully. A girl's
one aim in life is to capture a suitable husband. How
perfectly disgusting!”
“Oh no, Caroline. Marriage is a most desirable aim for
a girl with good looks and no fortune; the better the marriage, the better for
her. Believe me, beauty can be a handicap unless it leads to a sound marriage.
You have begun well ..... do
not trifle with your chances. Nick Marsmain was a playboy ..... may be still.”
Lucinda's homily was interrupted by
the appearance of Annie with a message. Captain Marsmain
was below and wished to see Miss Caroline O'Shaughnessy. No, he had refused to
come up; he was in a hurry. He begged Mrs Seveny to
pardon him for calling so early. It was unavoidable.
Caroline blushed to think how she
looked as compared with the previous night. She had risen late, for her, and
had done nothing to beautify herself. She looked exactly like the wild child
who had gate-crashed the Ferriter's ball. Lucinda
noted her confusion, and said kindly:
“You'll do as you are. You look as
sweet as a dryad of the trees, all tousled hair and rosy cheeks. I declare you
will drive the poor man wild. But, do not keep him waiting; it sours the
keenest lover.”
Caroline hurried down, trying as she
descended the stairs, to summon some semblance of calm; failing utterly as she
saw the eager look on Nick Marsmain's face. Her dishabille had just the effect
Lucinda foresaw; Nick's eyes devoured her. At the bottom of the stairs he
caught her in his arms.
“Oh my darling, darling, darling
Caroline!” he exclaimed huskily, “I am so glad to find you at home. And so beautiful even on the morning after the ball. What a
picture I shall carry in my heart, though it breaks my heart to leave you now.
But duty calls. I have received orders to report to General Dundas
at Kilcullen in the
“I will wait,” she promised.
Wrapping his great cloak about her, he
swung her off her feet in a powerful embrace.
“Oh Caroline, I wish I could carry you
away with me; then there would be no more waiting for either of us. I am not a
man who enjoys waiting. I want you now.”
He embraced and kissed her fervently.
In a daze, she allowed him to lead her to the door. His horse stamped
impatiently, defying the efforts of a groom to hold him. There, in full view of
the eyes behind lace curtains, Nick embraced and kissed her, holding her close
and tenderly. Then he leapt to the saddle and, bending down, took her hand and
kissed her finger tips.
“You have promised,” he said, his eyes
fixed on her flushed face. “I expect you to keep your promise. Remember.”
As he clattered away at a smart trot,
there was hardly a window without its watchful eye. At the end of the street,
he turned once and waved back and Caroline waved like a girl in a dream: the
girl on the tower waving to her knight. She knew intuitively that she had made
some sort of impression, whether of wantonness or triumph. She was too young to
know, or greatly care what the good folk of Fermoy
made of her behaviour.
Lucinda was clearly pleased for she
had missed nothing. She was even more pleased when rumour told what an
impression her sister had made. She basked in the reflected light. There
followed a busy social round for the two girls; they were included in
invitations to tea parties in the best houses; they were fawned on by the wives
of local squireens and businessmen. No assembly was
complete without their presence and, as the circle of admirers and
acquaintances widened, the sea-green coach was seen more and more frequently on
the roads about Fermoy. Lucinda devised coiffeurs and
corsages, ordered gloves and slippers, kept Annie busy altering and re-trimming
gowns and mantles till the whole of life seemed to be a fashion parade.
Everywhere they went, the sisters drew murmurs of admiration, feats of
gallantry, envying glances. Gerard Seveny rejoiced to
see his sweet Lucy so happy and blooming. Her extravagance alarmed him, but he
comforted himself that, after the child was born, she would settle down, and
that, perhaps, his father might increase his personal allowance.
Seveny was the sort of man to carry burdens
not meant for him. He was uneasy about Marsmain, not
sure of the man's intentions towards Caroline. He was too old for her, not that
age mattered, too colourful and dramatic, drawing too much attention. His
reputation was, to put it mildly, rakish. Quite simply, he did not like the
man. Maybe it was through envy; Marsmain was
everything, had everything, that he might have wished
for himself, and carried it all with a careless arrogance he could never
emulate.
He considered paying a visit to his
parents in the
Meanwhile, Lucy chose a different
metier and her whim must be indulged. She and Caroline would spend a few days
at the fashionable spa of Mallow. At the close of the season, it was denuded of
much of the fashionable and feckless society who flitted from one rendezvous to
another ostensibly taking the waters, but more eager to squander time in
dancing, flirting and dressing up.
An aura of notoriety clung to the
place even in dull November; only the “rakes” who were too impoverished to
venture on the
“What a conceited lot of young
blockheads they are,” she remarked as they sat one rainy afternoon by their
window watching the bucks strut by. “Hardly one has the price of a new pair of
breeches ..... small clothes, to be polite ..... and yet they are arrayed like Solomon in all his glory. Some
of their attire is as old as Solomon too, I declare. I doubt if one would see
so colourful dandies in the city nowadays where uniform and plain cloth are all
the rage and even Lord Edward himself has been seen driving abroad attired in
plain brown. What colours we have here! What loosely fitting frock coats, what
flowery waistcoats, what prodigious pantaloons! What powdered hair ..... and what cropped hair!
What a diversion of buckles and shoe-strings! What ruffles and no ruffles! What
a vast array of silken stocks! What capes and cape-coats! All
styles and no style. I do declare I could laugh till I dropped down dead.
How Gwen would laugh. My darling Caroline, look long and hard; never again may
you see such a promenade of masculine vanity.”
“How loudly they talk! How they
guffaw! Even to me, and I have seen but little, they seem uncouth.”
“Uncouth they are. At this time of the
year, in particular, they hang about the spa because they cannot afford to be
in
“I do beware, Lucy. It is quite
unlikely that any of these can turn my head. The whole parade reminds me of the
Ferriter's ball.”
“You were the belle, I wager.”
“I felt so plain in my high-waisted blue dress ..... not a
flounce or furbelow.”
“Quite tonish,
I assure you. Why Lady Edward dresses simply in Irish muslin; so Gwen tells me.
All the mode is for simplicity. It suits you. Quite a
dasher, they would say. But tell me about the Ferriter's
ball ..... everything. It was
there you met Nick Marsmain was it not?”
Caroline told her the whole story for
the first time. Lucinda heard with many an Oh and Ah of surprise or amusement.
Maureen, whom they had brought with them, came in with tea on a tray. The three
were like children together, laughing and happy, just being themselves and
minding no rules of manners or position.
“I declare,” Lucinda said at last, “this
evening has done me more good than the waters of the
spa ..... or the entertainment ..... or the rest. I have not laughed so much in ages. Your
Maureen is quite too funny. I only wish I could have her to care for my child.”
Later, when they were alone, she asked: “Are you really in love with Nick Marsmain ..... really, truly?”
Caroline could only smile. It was all
like a dream. For weeks now, and for the weeks that followed their visit to Macroom, she drifted in a dream of love which gave her face
so sweet, elusive gravity that the young blades were ready to die for one
passing smile. Her very detachment rendered her the more alluring. She moved
between two worlds and which was real she could hardly have said. Her state was
quite uncharacteristic of her, who had always, even in her dreamiest phases,
been essentially realistic. This was not a passing mood; in ways, it was more
like a sickness. But had not the poets said so of love. She waited for the
missives that came regularly from Nick by mail coach, read them as though they
were poetry, folded them in the bosom of her dress, never wearying of their
repetitive triteness. In love for the first time in her life, she was unaware
that her delirium was more a state of being in love with love than of loving
any man.
Though it was winter, she lived in an
inner glow that was Indian Summer. A delicious
lethargy held her bound in the narrow circle that would, at one time, have
seemed stifling. Little news of the unease in the country reached this small
paradise for Gerard was careful never to excite Lucinda. If the French were on
the sea, it was no more than a mirage. War was something that happened
elsewhere.
But the golden band that bound her
thigh was real. And she could not quite forget Fergal and the ship speeding out
to sea in the autumn haze. And Hugh Ro O'Moran
watching from the high road. And Dunalla ..... the fort of the swan.