CHAPTER 52
Her first sensation on waking was of
lightness. Her menstrual flow had started. Maureen found her in tears. She
sobbed out some sort of explanation.
“Don't cry, Miss Caroline,” she
soothed, “sure you’re young. There's no use wastin’
your time frettin'.”
“But Maureen, I'm not crying from
sorrow. I think I’m crying for joy.”
“Och you
couldn't be ..... after losin'
the baby.”
“I didn't lose the baby. There was no
baby.”
Maureen studied her gravely for a few
moments. She had learnt a great deal from her grandmother, who had nobody else
to talk to.
“’Twould be
one of them false pregnancies, then. It fooled me. It fooled the smart
little doctor, him that told Lord Ballinmore.”
“It fooled me too, Maureen ..... fooled me ..... or maybe it was all
the talk ..... I'm so glad ..... glad
..... I can't tell you how glad. I feel as light as a feather
..... as if my shackles had fallen off. I'd
like to go out and ride Leviathan ..... and gallop, and gallop to the earth's end and the dawning of
the sun.”
“Maybe you'd be betther
not, unless you want HIM to twig somethin ’. If HE
saw you out gallopin' on Leviathan an’ you carryin' the gran’son an 'heir,
there'd be wigs in the green an' hair for sale. But maybe you'd rather he
knew.”
“I'd rather he didn't ..... yet. He mustn't even guess. Promise you'll never breathe a
word, Maureen ..... to
anybody.”
“I'll promise all right. I like to see
you well treated an' you'll be that so long as he thinks you're carryin' his gran'son. You’ll
tell the colonel first?”
“I'll tell him ..... but not yet.”
There was no need to write the letter
now. She did not write that day, nor for many a day. Nothing in the world must
come between her and her liberation. The whole green
These thoughts were random, running
about her head like busy ants as Maureen helped her dress. She chose sedate
attire and wrapped up warmly against the outward chill of December. She also
embarked on a new course that soon became habitual. Every day she would drive
out, extending the drive beyond the gates to the village and the homes of the Ballinmore tenantry. Soon she
became a familiar sight in her little carriage. She became a welcome guest in
the humble homes. Her interest was genuine and it grew as she came to know more
of the lives of the peasantry about the estate. They poured out their tales of
joy and sorrow and she gave them, not mere sympathy, but all the practical
assistance she could. She set up a simple community service of help in times of
sickness and deprivation. The resources of the great house and of lesser
prosperous houses where she gained sympathy, were
lavish. A bowl of soup, a slice of game pie, a tincture of
herbs were hardly missed.
More and more the people came out to
meet her instead of crouching in their doorways. The better off were surprised
and pleased to have her call to see their clean, comfortable homes and express
her appreciation of their well-doing. As she moved among them, she learnt a
great deal. If she made no progress as a bright “social” hostess, she was
accepted in her own right as “my lady”. The late Lady Ballinmore
had been somewhat of the same calibre. She had never relished fashionable
assemblages, preferring to visit among the poor. In her time and way she had
conferred many benefits on them. Though by nature stand-offish, her intent had
been fully appreciated and she had been genuinely mourned. It warmed Caroline's
heart to discover the respectful affection these poor people had had for the
lonely lady in the great house. All the books of her life had not been empty.
Caroline and Maureen, who always
accompanied her, brought more than soup and sympathy to the poor; she brought
them music and dancing, a feeling of warmth that went beyond charity. She was
their angel and, as long as she remained at the Castle, the place would suffer
no harm that they could avert. The grapevine vibrated with good news. Many a
mansion, in the fateful year ahead, would fall in smoking ruin; Ballinmore was sacrosanct. Caroline had stumbled,
unwittingly, into a network of loyalties that she could barely have understood.
All these things were to come. On that
first outing she returned to find that a messenger had outridden
Lord Ballinmore. He was coming home. It was dusk by
the time his lordship's carriage drew up before the door. The castle was
a-blaze with lights; lanterns flickered and flamed about the stables; ready
hands were waiting to assist the master; the hall door was flung wide; fires
crackled in every grate. There was no mistaking the welcome extended to his
lordship; welcome was a custom.
The welcome for Arabella
was of acceptance. They had had a little of her domineering before and thought
her despatched for good. Caroline was to learn, via Maureen, what comments were
made in servants' quarters. “She's back again”, “She's
got her clutches on him”, “It'll be the sad day for the oul'
castle if she takes the reins”, “We were well enough with the young lady; what
say will she have if madam rules the roost?”, “He's took leave of his senses!”.
“Ah Caroline,” she said, extending her
fingertips, “I see you have settled in. Quite the mistress of
Ballinmore. You and I must come to an
understanding. We shall have to spend a lot of time together.”
“You need some lively young company,
Caroline,” Lord Ballinmore said, lamely. “Arabella will cheer us up.”
In the glow of candlelight the two
women faced each other, Arabella regal in her
splendour, Caroline young and fresh-cheeked after her outing. They were of
equal height, their only apparent equality. Beside them, Ballinmore
seemed to shrink. Arabella set about establishing her
position immediately. Dissatisfied with the apartment chosen for her, she
insisted she must have a room overlooking the lake. She must have a personal
maid. Supper must be served immediately.
In the fortnight or so that followed, Arabella made no serious attempt to control the household.
She was completely occupied with exercising her influence over its master. They
drove out together every day, dined together, spent their evenings by the fire
in the small parlour where Arabella entertained him
with music, consoled him with flattery, wooed him with caresses. It did not
seem to matter whether Caroline was present or not. She was meant to see what
was happening.
As a dutiful wife, she would report to
Nick. This she had no intention of doing. She had more important secrets to
keep. This was none of her business. She was free to go her own way, as they
did theirs. When he noticed her at all, Lord Ballinmore
was extremely solicitous for her welfare. He never forgot for a moment how
vital her role was. When Arabella was not looking, he
would pat her on the hand and tell her how pleased he was with the way she
organised meals or how amicably she managed the servants. Seeing her position
and sympathising with her heartily, the servants went out of their way to keep
things running smoothly. The housekeeper, who had previously been neither for
nor against the new mistress, was now a staunch ally. Caroline really had very
little to do. Her tête-à-têtes with the housekeeper were mere formalities.
Arabella's attitude was patronising, though
larded with false sweetness for his lordship's benefit. At times she teased
with her outrageous conversation and overt flirtation; this Caroline learned to
tolerate without a blush. In some ways, she helped Lord Ballinmore
to regain his interest in life. She urged him to take an active interest in the
yeomanry and to make contact with the local military. They presented themselves
at a garrison concert, a meet of foxhounds. They were seen wherever it seemed
socially expedient. What need had the lord of Ballinmore
to care if people talked?
Ballinmore was so far recovered that he insisted
that he must be present for the opening of parliament in the capital. At first Arabella determined that she would travel with him, but
eventually she resigned herself to remaining at the castle. In truth, she quite
fancied the idea of establishing herself as its queen. She could see a bright
prospect. She would liven the old place up. As Lord Ballinmore left in the grey dusk of a January morning, she
stood weeping on the terrace as though she were parting from the one great love
of her life.