Edith, page 11
‘A lorryload of soldiers driving up and down the road between here and Skib would soon put the frighteners on those scoundrels. No, that wouldn’t work, the roads are in pieces. But they could ship them in over water.’
Edith grips the table edge.‘Don’t even think about it, Cam. For pity’s sake. Imagine if they turned the Black andTans loose on Castletownshend. The villagers would never forgive you. Our name would be mud forever. The Tans have terrorized the people in other parts of the county – ask the Hurleys, ask Philomena and Mrs O’Shea, if you don’t believe me. The truth is, the Government has washed its hands of Ireland.While the war was on, it let the Tans and Auxiliaries behave any way they liked.They’ve been reined in now because of the truce. But if it falls apart, all hell will break loose.’
Cameron occupies himself with Loulou for a minute or two. ‘I just want peace and quiet, Peg. All those years overseas, I kept thinking about Drishane. It was meant to be my haven. But I don’t feel the same about it anymore.’
‘Because of the IRA raid?’
‘Damned rebels. Strutting about. Making threats.’
He wanted to sell Drishane before the flying squad paid them a visit, but Edith doesn’t point this out. Her brother needs reassurance.‘I know how you feel, dear. But Drishane will survive – I feel it in my marrow. We just have to lie low. Cam, you’ll leave Jeremiah alone, won’t you? Let him stay in the gatehouse?’
‘Suppose so.’
—
‘Take it easy today, Peg. See you at dinner.’
Edith and Cameron, the latter dressed for a journey, are standing on the front steps. He sees Mike Hurley lead Tara and the trap around the side of the house and raises his voice. ‘How’s that nephew of yours this morning, Hurley?’
‘Not too bad, Colonel. It takes more than a dunch on the noggin to floor a Hurley.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ He walks across the gravel and slips something into Hurley’s hand.‘For the young fellow’s trouble,’ he says quietly.
Hurley touches his cap to Cameron.
Edith observes the exchange with approval. Correct behaviour never fails to please her.
The trap bowls away in a whirl of small stones.
‘Just a minute, Mike.’ She joins him.‘Are you really all right?’
‘Not a bother, Miss Edith.’
‘Do you think they’ll be back? Our night visitors?’
‘I can’t say. All I can tell you is the Somerville name means something in these parts. The people wouldn’t take kindly to outsiders doing you down.’
‘Outsiders? Were they all strangers?’
A look, quick, before his eyes turn away. ‘Mostly, Miss Edith. The fella they left outside to keep watch over us was from somewhere not a million miles from here.’
‘I see. Does my brother know?’
‘Not unless you have it in your head to go telling him.’
The wind is chilly, pinching colour into her nose and chin. Edith hugs herself. Lately, she’s been feeling the cold. She bends down to pick up a leaf that’s the precise shade of the patch on Dooley’s face. Dogs – they burrow through your defences and plant themselves in your heart. After they’re gone, a piece of your heart is lost with them. Her eyes mist over.
‘Miss Edith? Are you intending for to tell the colonel?’
She pushes the leaf into her pocket. She’s planning to do a portrait of Dooley from memory and it will be a useful colour prompt.‘I shouldn’t think so. Least said, soonest mended.’ She hesitates, wondering how to phrase her question.
If the Somervilles are to survive in Castletownshend, it must be with local support. One of her ancestors saved two local men who were Fenians. That hasn’t been forgotten. All of them, Somervilles and villagers alike, weathered the Famine and the Land War. But since that Easter 1916 business in Dublin, certainties have eroded and grievances reignited. Something powerful is swimming to the surface. Over the summer, a scarecrow of a travelling man stopped her near the boathouse and said he wanted to buy back his ancestral lands from them, if you don’t mind. As though the Somervilles were squatting on something that belonged to others.
Edith is hybrid and can live with her hybridity. But can the Irish, who are bound to take over one of these days, live with it too? No point in asking Mike. He might give her the answer he thinks she wants to hear.
‘All the same, Miss Edith, good job we got those young horses away. In the nick of time, it was.’ A slow grin stretches Mike’s face.
It’s catching. She smiles back.‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’
‘We pulled one over on the Sinn Féin boyos, so we did.’
‘They’d have loved to get their hands on my hunters.Where are they, by the by?’
‘Over by Leap direction.Your sovereigns will see them through the winter.’ He tips the brim of his cap to her and walks away in the direction of the greenhouses.
Despite everything, she’s less melancholy as she strolls towards the lawns overlooking the bay, Drishane at her back. In the 1700s the house was designed to face towards the quays where Tom the Merchant could watch his ships load and unload the goods by which he made his fortune. His heirs, who regarded trade as ungentlemanly, were unable to change Drishane’s aspect. Instead, one of them re-routed the driveway towards a different door. Edith thinks of it as a metaphor. Same house, new doorway – things went on as before. Hopefully, things will continue to do that under a new regime.
She watches the progress of a sailboat steering for Castlehaven Bay. It’s tacking sideways against the contrary wind. Shading her eyes, she tries to detect which of the local fishermen it belongs to. All at once, she becomes aware she’s not alone. For one heart-stopping moment, she thinks the Sinn Féiners are back. Edith lays her hand against her sternum and counts to three before turning her head.
‘Hello, Flurry.Where have you been hiding yourself?’
He’s watching the boat, too, and doesn’t look at her. But he salutes her with a tip of his hat.‘Here and there.’
‘We’d a bit of a night of it last night. An IRA captain and his men paid us a visit.’
‘Hunters by the sound of them.’
‘Boys, Flurry.Younger than you. And decades younger than me.’ She sighs.‘We were expecting a call sooner or later. But the nervous strain of waiting grinds one’s nerves to powder. I can’t help wondering how long the staff will put up with it.’
‘Until they can’t is my guess.’
‘One of them, a chap with his teeth hanging out to dry over his lower lip, had a grenade dangling from his belt. He murdered Dooley. Kicked him to death as easy as he’d squash a fly. Are you listening, Flurry?’
From his pocket, he produces a crushed packet ofWoodbines, shakes out a cigarette and lights it by striking a match on the sole of his boot. The whiff of sulphur blows across to her. ‘Hunting’s what I’m thinking about. Are there many foxes in the woods this season?’
‘Oh, Flurry, no one has time to think about foxes or hunting.’
His voice radiates reproach. ‘What else is there to think about but horses, dogs and foxes?’
‘Keeping Drishane intact for the next generation. Passing it on in good shape.’
Flurry takes a draw, cheeks hollowing, and she smells tobacco smoke. She’s always liked it in the open air.
‘You mightn’t be too keen on handing it over when the time comes. My grandmama has a tight grip on Aussolas. She’s always promising to leave it to me in her will. But as sure as eggs is eggs, she’ll outlive me. Out of pure spite.’
‘Flurry, what should we do? About the raiders, I mean?’
Moody, he studies the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘If there’s trouble in store, I’d get your brother away from here. He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.’
‘They can think again if they think they’re going to get rid of us!’
‘The people won’t bother you, Edith. But I can’t say as much for your
brother.’
eight
‘Cam, we need to talk.’
‘Mmm.’ Cameron is sucking peppermints, lost in Bach’s Italian Concerto on the gramophone, his foot beating out the notes. Towards the end of his career, he was commander at Kneller Hall in Twickenham, the British army’s school for bandsmen. It was his favourite posting.
Edith knows it was an act of kindness to invite her into his sitting room to listen to the concerto with him, but under present circum- stances the music is lost on her. She tries again.‘The thing is, Chimp, it’s not safe here for you.’
‘Wretched troublemakers. I’d like to horsewhip the lot of them!’
‘I’m worried about you.You’re Master of Drishane. That makes you a kidnap target.’
His eyes snap open.‘They wouldn’t dare!’
‘You’re forgetting about the heir to the Powys estate. He was held for nine days until a ransom was paid.’
He harrumphs and she presses home her advantage. ‘Look, Chimp, the winds of change are blowing. Old loyalties can’t be relied on. Besides, it’s men from outside doing these things. The Somerville name means nothing to them.’
He broods. Crunches his peppermint. Settles the pleat in a trouser leg. By and by, he says,‘Doesn’t seem right that our place here should be questioned. It’s our native soil, too.’
A spark flies out from the log on the fire, bright as a miniature comet: glory followed by extinction. Edith shivers. ‘Of course we belong here. But discretion is the better part of valour.’
‘I’d go away if you came with me, Peg.’
‘But the house. Somebody has to hold the fort.’
‘It wouldn’t feel right leaving you here on your own.’
‘Nobody would trouble themselves about an old woman like me. Besides, I’d have Philomena and Mrs O’Shea. Mike Hurley’s here every day, and Jeremiah O’Mahony’s always tinkering about in the garden. I wouldn’t be alone.’
‘Why don’t we shut up shop and leave Philomena as caretaker?’
Edith wants to say that Drishane is more than her home – that her sense of self is tethered to the house. And Martin’s presence is powerful here. But she needs to advance a more practical argument to Cameron. ‘I’d be afraid of the place going up in flames with none of the family here.’
‘Animals. Burning two-hundred-year-old houses. No rhyme or reason to their destruction.’
‘The Tans have been torching houses, too.’
‘Cabins and shacks. Hardly in the same league.’
‘You make us a target by being here, Cam. You know you do.’ She waits. He can be as obstinate as a rock if pushed. But she knows he wants to go away.
The music comes to a halt, and he stands up to lift the needle from the disc.‘By the by, I met aYank in the West Cork today, when I stopped in for a bite to eat. He’s a reporter for some New York newspaper or other. I forget which.You want to see what this chap was driving. A ripping roadster made by the H.C.S. Motor Car Company of Indiana. Had it shipped over. Bit showy, to tell you the truth. Couldn’t be any more yellow if it was a bowl of custard.’
Edith remembers a man and his chauffeur in Skibbereen, fretting about missing a train. There can’t be two such motor cars in West Cork. How odd he’s still here.‘You’d think, if it was news he was after, he’d be in Dublin or London.’
‘Fellow was proud as Punch of his motor. “I know folks stare but to blazes with them,” he said. What do you say we take a leaf out of his book, Peg? Let everyone go to blazes? You and me, we could take a place together in London.’
‘Cam, I love London for a visit. But I couldn’t live there. I’d turn into one of those lumpen women, from overeating and want of exercise. But you’d enjoy it, I know you would.You could go to concert halls. Stay at your club. Catch up with the family – the boys spend their leave there. I suppose Hugh and Jack think of it as home now.’ She frowns, wishing this scattering hadn’t happened. ‘When everything’s settled in Ireland, you can come back.’
‘Settled? The Irish question? Fat chance.’
‘The politicians are making a hash of things but sooner or later they’ll see the light. As sure as springtime, there’ll be an end to these disturbances. But for now, you go and I’ll stay.Yes?’
‘Let me sleep on it.’
—
‘Cameron, can you come and look at something with me please?’
‘What’s wrong, Edith?You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Can you come here? Now?’
Cameron leaves the breakfast table and follows her to the front door, lying ajar. He stands out on the step and gazes down the avenue. ‘Well? What is it?’
‘Look behind you, Cam. On the door.’
Pinned to the wood is a note. Cameron tears it down with an oath.
‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ says Edith. ‘Lucky I spotted it before any of the staff. I was outside picking ferns.’
Flushed crimson, he reads the note aloud.
CROMWELLS SPAWN
YOUR BEING WATCHED YOU LEECHES
YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED
YOUR SITTING DUCKS KEEP LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDERS
SIGNED THE PEOPLES DEFENDERS
‘Infernal cheek,’ says Cameron.‘We were never Cromwellians.’
‘Of course not. Though we did marry in …’
‘I see this putrid piece of coercion is anonymous. People’s defenders, indeed! Probably some errand boy with no seat in his trousers.’
‘You’re attracting this, Cam, dear.’
‘It’s not addressed to anyone.’
‘Honestly, Chimp, you’re a target.A colonel.A landowner.A gentleman.’
‘It would be shabby to bolt. Besides, I refuse to be intimidated.’ He crumples the dogearned sheet and throws it on the ground.
Edith picks it up, and they walk back together to the breakfast room. On the way, she smooths out the page and flicks a glance at the pencilled message. She used one of her graphite pencils. Less chance of the lettering becoming illegible if it rained overnight.
Cameron sits down in his place, expression testy, but Edith goes straight to the fireplace.
‘Don’t destroy it, Peg, we might need to show it to someone.’
‘There’s no one to show it to. It’s vile, let’s just get rid of it.’ Quickly, she throws the note into the flames.
—
Edith and Cameron say their farewells in the outer hall, Cam holding Loulou, who knows something is afoot because of all the luggage. She licks his face and keeps her dark eyes on him.
‘My little, little, Lou-lou-lou,’ he says. ‘Daddy will miss you. He’ll think of you every minute of the day. But he’ll bring you back some yummy Swiss chocolate from the Alps.’
A jaunt to Switzerland is news to Edith. ‘I thought you were going to London, Cam?’
‘Yes, all booked. Rendezvous with the clan, and so forth. But I might go further afield. I’ve been feeling cooped up.’
Where on earth is he getting the money? Edith bites back criticism. The main thing is he’ll be safe.
‘Begging your pardon,’ says Philomena. ‘I just wanted to wish the master a safe journey.’
‘Thank you, Philomena.’
‘Mrs O’Shea will be up directly. She has a cherry cake baked fresh this morning to put in your picnic basket.You won’t go hungry, Colonel, even if the restaurant cars are shut.’
‘Everything has gone to hell in a handcart, Philomena. You’ll look after Miss Edith, won’t you?’
‘You can count on me, Colonel. I don’t see how you’ll get across the water at all tonight, mind you. There’s not enough wind today to snuff out a candle.’
‘The boats are steamdriven now, Philomena,’ says Edith. ‘I think perhaps you should go and see what’s keeping Mrs O’Shea. The colonel needs to be on the road.’
Just then, Mrs O’Shea huffs up from the kitchen with a basket. ‘Colonel, I’ve a feast in here for you, so I have.There’s a couple of chicken legs, ham sandwiches, and I know you’re fond of …’
‘You’re an angel, Mrs O’Shea,’ Edith interrupts the litany. ‘Take that out to Mike, would you, Philomena? Now, Cameron, you really must leave. Miss one connection and they’re all at sixes and sevens.’
From a pocket in her vast apron, Mrs O’Shea produces a parcel tied with string.‘Could I trouble you to post this in England for me, Colonel? It’s for me brother Francie and his family in Liverpool. A barmbrack made the way our mother always baked them, God rest that hardworking saint of a woman. Francie does be lonesome for the taste of her food. And here’s some money for stamps. I hope it’ll be enough.’
One-handed, still clasping Loulou, Cameron accepts the package but refuses the coins.‘No need for that, Mrs O’Shea. Stamps won’t be a problem.’
Edith ushers him outside, the cook’s effusions trailing after them. ‘You mustn’t worry about a thing, Chimp. I’ll keep everything ship-shape here for you.’
‘I know you will, Peg.Wish I didn’t have to leave Loulou behind. Poor girl is sure to get the mopes. But London’s no place for her. Someone would tread on you, wouldn’t they? My teeny-tiny baby girl.’
‘I’ll see to it she has plenty of exercise.’
‘And her coat needs brushing every day.’
‘All right.’
‘Talk to her – she gets lonely.’
‘I will.’
‘When you’re out walking, watch out for large birds. Remember the time that owl tried to fly off with her? Thought she was prey.’
Edith holds out her arms. ‘I’ll take her now. Off you go, dear, you haven’t a minute to lose.You know how messy the roads can be.’
Cameron deposits a kiss on Loulou’s nose, hands her over and climbs into the trap.
Loulou wriggles in Edith’s arms, trying to chase after him, but is held tight. ‘Behave, young lady. I’m going to train you. Your master was too soft with you.’
Hurley cries out ‘hup’ to Tara and the wheels start rolling. Mrs O’Shea and Philomena wave from the steps.
Edith walks alongside for a few steps. ‘Tell the boys their sons really need to spend more time in Ireland.’
