Rose took another swig from the flask,
glancing at Caroline as she did, seeing her as a bird about to take flight.
“Sit down Caroline,” she commanded
abruptly, and Caroline sank obediently into the chair at the bottom of the
table where she could keep the brightly coloured mural in view. Rose fixed
Millicent with a hawk-bright eye:
“Fergal's gone,” she
said, “and God knows when he'll come again ..... if
ever. Following his own mad star, he is, not caring about Dunalla ..... not that it's much to care about now ..... only a black husk full of ghosts. Caroline can't stay here,
that's plain. I'm taking her back with me to Moybranach
where she can live the life she's used to.”
“What would life at Moybranach fit her for?” Millicent asked sharply. “What
future would she have? She's my sister's child and she has a right to as good a
chance as her own sisters.”
“A chance to marry a redcoat like Lucy
did; a chance to live in some little garrison town like Fermoy,
minding her manners, presiding over the tea-tray, following the latest trim of
a hat, mincing and mouthing like a nitwit. Or a chance to
traipse about the city of
“Gwen mixes in the very best society.
My sister would have approved.”
“She approved well enough of the wild O'Shaughnessys too. So did you in your time, Millicent. Eh?”
The wrangle went on. It might go on
for hours, getting angrier and more insulting getting nowhere. Caroline
resented the things said of her sisters, but there was no use intervening.
Besides, she was tired. She laid her head on her bare arms and closed her eyes.
The sunlight fell on her long auburn hair draped like a shining veil over the
fumed oak table. She might have been asleep. But the angry women took no
notice; they were intent on their personal duel; she was a thing apart, the
prize for the winner.
“I intend to take her to Philipstown with me,” Millicent insisted.
“She's coming back to Moybranach this very day,” Rose thundered.
They broke into Caroline's dreams,
irrelevant voices asserting their rights. It seemed to make no difference what
she thought or wished. There was no point in staying. She slipped quietly from
her chair and ran down the stairs. Out in the sunny bawn,
Owen was brushing the horse, talking to him softly as he sleeked the smooth
hair. He gave Caroline a knowing glance.
“I suppose they're still at it,” he
said with a jerk of his head toward the upper window. “It'll be a long
disputation, I'm thinkin'.”
There was a wealth of appeal in
Caroline's eyes.
“Owen,” she said seriously, “they're
arguing about me ..... what's to be done with me .....
where I'm to go. Moybranach or Philipstown? Somehow, I don't
fancy either of them, just now. But Dunalla's too
lonely. Tell me Owen, what shall I do?”
“Do just whatever your heart tells
you, Miss Caroline. Your pick is as likely to turn out well as theirs, surely.
Just look at them. What did they make of themselves, that they should be so
wise now? Maybe this would help you.”
He drew an envelope from inside his bainin jacket.
“It's from
Caroline took the envelope. It was
large and fat and her name and address was in Gwendaline's
decorated copperplate. It smelt faintly of some rich perfume. There was no
doubt at all. She could hardly wait to tear it open. With trembling fingers,
she smoothed out the creases in the flimsy paper, and began to read aloud. Owen
moved away, but she recalled him. He was one of the family.
What secrets had they ever had from him? The letter ran:
“My dearest Caroline
It is so long since I have heard from
you that I wonder how you are faring and if Aunt Millicent is still with you at
Dunalla. My conscience pricks when I think how lonely
you must be. I know very well what dull company Aunt can be. Now that you are
very nearly seventeen, she will be trying to make a lady of you according to
the rules of Miss Dinkleford's school. You would
learn so much faster if you were here in
I long to show my pretty young sister
off in Beaux Walk or at the Rotunda. What elegant company, what brilliant
assemblies! You would love the parade of fashion and wit. I can imagine the
admiring glances you will call forth.
This winter there are to be more balls
than ever ..... never a dull
evening. I have had invitations to several already. The Breretons
are giving a ball for Theodosia; it would be a splendid chance for you to make
your
But there may be better things in
store. I am not without admirers. I am besieged with proposals, but the only
man I really like is Morrey ..... Lord Moreton. He has a fine
house quite near us in
I believe you would love the theatre.
We have a choice of entertainment, especially now that Edward Daly's theatres,
Smock Alley and Crow Street, have got an up-to-date rival at Fishamble Street. The latter is exceedingly elegant, and
quite new still. The Earl of Westmeath, its director, is a most civilized
gentleman. He made the grand tour of
By the by, I have been taking part in
some amateur theatricals myself. It is quite the thing at evenings in private
houses to have such entertainment. I was invited to join a troupe of young
ladies who danced at Lady N.....'s evening. We were
attired as dryads in shades of green and russet, with our hair flowing over our
shoulders. We learnt some very pretty dances which pleased the guests, for we
have had many offers since. I can see all sorts of opportunities for you to win
the hearts of
Do come, Caroline, if it is at all
possible. I want you to have at least one season in
Do come, Caroline. I shall look
forward to a letter saying when to expect you. You can catch the Galway-Dublin
mail any day. The thought makes me wildly excited. Do not disappoint me.
Your affectionate sister,
Gwendaline.”
Caroline's face was aglow. Owen nodded
solemnly and went on grooming the horse; any words from him would be an interference.
As Caroline read, her emotions raced
from the first thrill to a certain apprehension. The envisaged grandeur of
assemblies and house parties made her aware of her soiled cotton dress and lack
of polish. The stress on theatricals touched some chord of delight. The very
notion that she should be chosen to perform electrified her. Her life had been
solitary, and yet she had been surrounded by drama; drama over which she had no
control and in whose confines she had always played a solitary, detached part.
Even at this moment, a drama was going on in the dim room overlooking the creek ..... a drama in which she
was protagonist, yet non-participant, a war between good and evil, or between
two conceptions of good, her good perhaps, but the war had nothing to do with
her. The whole world was her stage for the choosing. The sun shone; the wind
from the sea was cool in her hair. She had Fergal and Gwen and Lucy, her
faraway wandering blood and kin; not one of them had yet found a fixed place or
a determined destiny. Nor she! Nor she!
She raced across the bawn, auburn hair streaming in the sun. Hiding the letter
in the bosom of her dress, she climbed the sea wall and stood, arms spread
wide, on its broad summit. On the rocks far below her the sea, blue-green as
her eyes, and sparkling in sunlight, churned and slithered, frothing lace on
the satin-dark rocks. High in an opaline sky the
harvest sun rolled his chariot wheel. She turned her head from the sea and saw
Owen smile as he seldom smiled. He raised his hand, saluting; then turned back
to his work. The horse's rump shone with good grooming; he was fed and watered
and ready for another journey.
The aunts appeared,
tiny, incongruous figures against the great mass of the keep. Seeing Caroline
perched between earth and heaven, they approached, Rose with long strides,
Millicent stepping carefully over the rough grass and cobbles. Like puppets,
they halted, staring up with the sun in their eyes.
“Come down! Caroline,” Rose called, “we
have a question to ask you.”
“Ask on,” Caroline called down,
smiling as though it were all a game. “I can hear.”
“I think you'd better come down,”
Millicent coaxed. “It's private, my dear.”
“There is nothing private about Dunalla. It's open to the wind.” Millicent indicated Owen's presence, but Caroline shook her head.
“He's only the amadhan,
Aunt Millicent. A fool wouldn't understand, would he?”
“Stop acting, Caroline,” Rose ordered
impatiently. “You're not a child any more.”
“I'm not a child! Are you sure? I was
a child only a short time ago, and you two deciding how I should be reared.
Now, it seems I have to decide. Is it that you can't agree?”
“Never mind. Well, if you insist on perching up
there, answer one question for I have not all day to waste and a long journey
before me. Are you staying here or are you coming back to Moybranach
with ME?”
Millicent's voice was an attenuated
echo:
“You're coming to Philipstown
with me, aren't you? You don't want to live your life apart from your sisters,
do you?”
So they were leaving it to her.
Caroline kept them waiting. Poised on the wall, towering above their taut
figures, she stood tall and free and splendid as a young queen. Rose champed at
the bit; Millicent wrung her hands and tried not to shiver. How unreal they
looked, like puppets dangling on the strings of their own nerve-lines. When she
chose to speak, her voice was clear and firm, but gentle:
“I will not go with either of you. I
must make my own life. For the moment it will be here, at Dunalla.
This is my home.”
“You're crazy, child!”
Which aunt spoke she was not sure; it
seemed irrelevant. Her reply was for both:
“I am no more crazy
than most people.”
“Fergal would wish .....”
“You do not know what he would wish,
Aunt Rose.”
“Gwen and Lucy would .....”
“You cannot speak for them, Aunt
Millicent. I think I understand them better than you do. We are sisters. By the
way, I have just received a letter from Gwen. She wants me to come to her in
“Hmph!” Rose snorted,” so that's why you're
so high and mighty. Well if it's the bright lights and the fast life of
Millicent smiled a smug smile of
complicity. Her voice was full of the music of triumph, though carefully
modulated:
“How splendid for you, Caroline. We can catch the mail together. I
might go all the way to
Caroline gave no indication of
hearing; she was watching the harnessing, waiting for Aunt Rose to settle herself
in the gig. It was a relief to see her going, yet she could not regard the
spare frame and the proud, mad, defeated head without a tug of regret, a sense
of desolation. It would have been so easy to call out, run after her aunt, let herself be driven home to the wide welcome of Moybranach. Only the crisp touch of Gwen's letter against
her heart and the fine band of gold about her thigh were stronger than the tug
to home and mothering. Millicent, seeing herself
ignored, walked huffily away. She did not look as Rose drove out of the bawn.
A shake of her whip was the last
Caroline saw of her. She waved back. Poor old, crazy, generous, overwhelming
Aunt Rose! Moybranach so heartsome
and free after this stronghold! But Gwen's letter rustled in her bosom, whispering
the delights of the city. She heard music for dancing and a man's voice: “I
shall be prompt to attend fetes, balls, entertainments, all assemblies where I
may catch a glimpse of you.”
As soon as both aunts were out of
sight and earshot, she leaped from the wall and ran across the bawn. Through the arched gateway and clear of the walls,
she found a familiar path that descended steeply to the rocky shore. Half way
down she found her own secret refuge, a sheltered nook where she had often lain
hidden as a child. There was no view from this spot except of the waves surging
between the dark rocks, and the sky above in the colour of the day.
High in the air seagulls swooped and
soared above their nests on a flat ledge of rock. Sometimes a pair of swans, or
perhaps a whole company rocked gently on the waters of the narrow estuary,
resting from the rough winds of the outer bay. Today a majestic pair sailed,
dreaming on a gentle tide. They had been there since the beginning of time it seemed ..... Lir's children under Aoife's spell ..... Aoife, their aunt, jealous and putting the curse on them. Dunalla .....
the fort of the swan. How many daughters had fallen
under the spell of envious frustrated aunts. The
thoughts sifted through her brain as she lay, warm in the sun and sheltered in
the cleft of rock, rocked by the lulling waves ..... falling asleep.
How long she slept she had no notion.
When she woke a chill air was fanning off the sea and the sun was well to
westward. Maureen must have called; she was perched on a boulder a few feet
from where Caroline lay.
“You looked so peaceful, like a
sleeping princess, that I hated to rouse you, but there's a big howdy-ye-do up
there an' you not seen since forenoon. Your aunt thinks you went after Miss
Rose or that maybe you drowned yourself. She leans more to the drownin' story; she has a scared look in her eyes that
looks like guilt. 'It's my fault' she keeps saying! I told her not to get
herself in such a sweat; you were like
as not run away with a wanderin' piper an' you'd be
back the minute you got tired of his tune. I said that just to keep her goin'; it was bad of me. I let on I had no notion where to
look for you, till she got in such a state I thought
she'd have a fit. Anyway I was thinkin' you'd be
hungry. Come on up an' have a bite to eat.”
“Rabbit broth again! Still, I'd be glad of anything.”
“You'll be real glad of what's in
front of you. Owen caught the finest fat trout you ever did see an' my granny
has it roastin' on the grid this very minute.”
The two girls climbed the steep path
with the speed and agility of young goats. The sizzle of trout greeted them,
and the succulent smell of melting butter. The fire blazed a welcome and the
table was set. Millicent waited, warming her hands, not daring to take the chieftain's
chair. She looked wan and distressed. Caroline felt genuinely sorry for her;
she settled the seating matter at once.
“We'll leave the chieftain's chair for
himself,” she said. “He has had a restless night and day of it.”
Millicent obeyed, taking the chair
opposite Caroline. The grotesque carved mask on the big chairback
grinned and winked in the guttering rushlight.
Fire-light glanced off Rose's silver mounted flask. She had forgotten it in the
fuss. Millicent found it a good excuse to say something:
“Maureen,” she said, asserting some
authority that she felt had slipped from her, “will you kindly remove that.
Maybe your grandmother could make some use of the contents.”
“She could, ma'am. There's nothin' like the uisce beatha for the pains.”
But first there was the trout to serve ..... noble on a silver
salver, wreathed with fresh watercress. Maureen set the salver before Millicent
and the gesture pleased her; she smiled with sheer pleasure.
“I say, Maureen,” she remarked warmly,
“this looks really delicious.”
“It is that. While you're serving the
trout I'll fetch the roasted spuds an' the butter. There's a bottle of wine, if
you like. You might as well make a feast of it.”
“We might as well, Maureen,” Caroline
replied. “It might be a last supper.” She hardly knew what she meant, but
Millicent took heart.
“Yes, Maureen,” she said genially. “I
think Caroline has made up her mind. We'll be leaving you very soon. Ah, you
look surprised! No wonder; we decided rather suddenly.”
“I decided,” Caroline corrected. “I'm
going to Gwen in
“Soon, Miss Caroline?” Maureen asked anxiously.
“Probably. I'll let you know, Maureen.”
Millicent caught the look that passed
between the two girls. Things were going her way up to a point; but there was
some understanding between these two that she could not fathom. It annoyed her
to be left guessing. As soon as Maureen had brought the potatoes and butter and
set the uncorked wine and glasses, she dismissed her peremptorily and turned a
searching gaze on Caroline.
“Aren't you just a little too familiar
with the servants, Caroline? You have had little opportunity to learn how a
young lady should behave. Give them an inch and they take a span
..... forget their proper place.”
“There are no proper places at Dunalla. When the so-called servants share the same blood
and the same hall door as the family, there is no thought of proper places.
Their place is ours.”
“Your father treated them like slaves.”
“That was how they expected the
chieftain to treat them.”
“And the chieftain's daughter?”
“Not the chieftain's daughter. She is
not 'my lady'.”
“You have a lot to learn, child. There
is so much I could teach you, if you'd .....”
“Gwen will teach me.”
“She's very young ..... twenty-two isn't she?”
“Yes, but experienced in the ways of
the world.
Read this.”
She drew Gwendaline's
letter from the bosom of her dress. As Millicent read, deciphering its import
in the uncertain light, Caroline addressed herself to the excellent food. The
red wine glowed luxuriously in crystal goblets. She drank to her own future
whatever it might be ..... and
to Fergal's safe return. She felt mistress of her destiny, secure in this
strong fortress, warmed by wine and fire, appeased with delicious food. Her
eyes met Millicent's frown with complete calm.
Millicent detected her confidence; she
also saw the girl's dishevelled state, her touching childishness.
“We must go into this more carefully
when we have dined. This letter confirms my belief that you are not quite ready
to face the fashionable world. It has many pitfalls and there are some things
in this letter that suggest that Gwendaline is not
the best person to warn you. There are subtleties under the surface. A young
girl could be misled by appearances.”
“I think Gwen knows what she is about.”
“Perhaps. It is time she was wed. This affair
with Lord Moreton has been going on too long. It
would be a brilliant match for Gwen, but is that his intention? A carriage and pair, but no word of betrothal. It raises
some doubt.”
“You have no need to doubt. Gwen knows
what she is doing, I am sure of that.”
“I think you are an imprudent young
girl.”
“Impudent, you mean, Aunt Millicent.
Well, never mind just now. Enjoy your supper. Let me pour you some wine.”
Millicent put her worries aside for
the moment. She was hungry and the meal looked delicious. She sipped her wine;
its fine bouquet beguiled nose and palate. They ate in a happier atmosphere
than they had ever experienced since Millicent's coming. Caroline
free in her dreams, Millicent growing confident in her plans. They were
at peace for some time, lingering over their meal, sipping the wine slowly,
postponing whatever conflict might be brewing.
When at last they finished and
Millicent prepared to have the heart-to-heart talk, Caroline startled her by
saying quietly:
“Aunt Millicent, you don't mind if I
retire, do you? I feel drowsy. The wine was too good.”
“But,” Millicent began, “we must talk
.....”
“Not now, dear aunt, not now. Another time, perhaps.”
She rose from the table and, leaned
down to kiss Millicent on the brow. Lightly she touched the worry lines, but
Millicent was not comforted; her hands reached out to hold the girl, but swift
as a shadow Caroline withdrew and walked away.
“Good night Aunt Millicent,” she
called from the doorway and Millicent could only gasp “Good night”. Caroline
turned deliberately from her stricken appeal. The door closed firmly behind her
leaving Millicent alone with the dying fire, the winking masks and the remains
of a superb meal. She filled her glass to the brim and swallowed the wine in
one long draught.