The Made Marriage Read online

  She replaced the receiver slowly. So Mrs. Fitzpatrick desired an audience with her! Well, this time it would be on her own terms. Her chin squared resolutely. She would let the mistress of Ballyfeeny know that she was quite capable of giving as good as she got.

  As She crossed the hall Kate was barely able to stifle a scream of terror as a tall thin figure, dressed from head to toe in white, stood at the top of the stairs outlined by the lamp.

  She gave a sigh of relief when she heard the apparition say in Florrie’s unmistakable tones, ‘I thought I heard the phone ring. Who on earth is calling at this time of night?’

  ‘It was Nicky,’ Kate told her, when she reached the top of the stairs.

  The older woman regarded her speculatively. ‘Nicky! So that’s how the land lies! Well, if you’ve any sense, you’ll drop that young man like a red-hot potato, for there’s not the smallest chance of happiness for you if you marry him. He’s a ne’er-do-well and is incapable of putting his mind down to anything constructive. Now why don’t you concentrate on Owen? There’s a young man who would be well worth catching. Really, Kate, I should have thought you had more sense than to fall for an out-and-out philanderer like Nicky!’

  ‘I was wondering, Mrs. Lawlor,’ Kate put in hurriedly, ‘if you could take over things the day after tomorrow. Nicky’s taking me for a drive and I’d like to have the whole day.’

  ‘So that was what the call was about! What a peculiar time to let you know! However, I can’t deny it’s typical, for he has no consideration for anyone and that mother of his hopelessly spoils him. However, I haven’t the smallest objection to taking over for the day for, goodness knows, you deserve it. But don’t make a habit of it, young woman, for I’m not cut out for domestic life, I assure you.’

  ‘I shan’t,’ Kate said wryly.

  Florrie yawned. ‘Well, I don’t know how you feel about these midnight perambulations, but I’m going back to bed.’ It was a long time before Kate fell asleep, and when she did she dreamed that Alice Fitzpatrick, dressed in gipsy clothes with gold rings in her ears, was sitting behind a crystal ball and was on the point of imparting to her some dread secret that made her heart beat fast with terror.

  Kate walked to Ballyfeeny by a short cut which had been explained with a wealth of detail by Joe and in fact she had had some difficulty in restraining him from showing her in person ‘just in case she was to go astray’, as he put it.

  She was greeted by the conservatively clad chatelaine of Ballyfeeny who was descending the stairs with majestic dignity as Kate was admitted by an ancient manservant. To Kate’s relief there was no sign of Nicky or of the twins, although their depredations were still plainly evident in the damaged furniture and torn hangings of the hall. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, however, seemed oblivious of the havoc her children had wrought in what must, at one time, have been an exquisitely furnished home; no doubt, Kate thought, this haughty and arrogant woman considered the twins’ behaviour as becoming the lordly Fitzpatricks.

  To her surprise, Mrs. Fitzpatrick extended a languid hand and, after a few words of greeting, led the way up to the drawing-room. It was, in keeping with the rest of the house, beautifully proportioned: blue and white Adam medallions and swags ornamented the walls and high stuccoed ceiling. It was easy to imagine in such surroundings brocade-coated men and panniered ladies: yet over it all lay the cold hand of decay and, for the first time, Kate felt a growing pity for the mistress of this old house. There was something pathetic about her efforts to preserve the traces of a grandeur that had already vanished.

  ‘I’ll ring for tea,’ she announced formally, crossing to a tapestried bell-pull, heavily encrusted with bread-work which she tugged imperiously.

  Kate felt her heart sink. For some reason or other Mrs. Fitzpatrick was not yet prepared to reveal the reason for her summons and tea with the autocratic mistress of Ballyfeeny would be anything but an enjoyable experience.

  A long and uncomfortable pause followed and when the door at last opened it revealed the old servant who regarded his mistress with small angry eyes. ‘You rang?’ he inquired sourly.

  ‘Bring tea, Byrne, and we’ll use the Beleek today, I think.’

  ‘Use the Beleek?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘But sure isn’t Master Nicky getting one of them antique dealers down from Dublin to put a value on them? He has a mind to sell, and sure why not, and them gathering dust on the shelf—and you couldn’t serve a decent cup of tea in them eggshell things anyway.’

  His mistress drew herself up grandly. ‘While I’m mistress of Ballyfeeny no antique dealers will as much as cross the threshold. Now serve tea immediately, Byrne, and be sure and use the Beleek as I ordered.’

  Grumbling, the old servant took his departure, making no secret of the fact that he was not abashed by his mistress’s disapproval. In spite of his sour manner, Kate suspected, he would find it as hard to adapt to changed conditions as his mistress.

  When at last tea did arrive, accompanied by rather ancient-looking sandwiches and stale madeira cake, Kate was enchanted by the cups formed in the shape of sea-shells and of such fine porcelain that they seemed to be transparent. Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded complacently at Kate’s enthusiastic appreciation and poured tea from a pot that was twisted and convoluted in the shape of a conch shell. ‘These are early Beleek: the shamrock design came later,’ she explained. ‘Of course Nicky’s young and the young are inclined to be impatient with their elders, but I should never agree to selling them. I should be extremely unhappy without all my treasures around me.’

  In spite of her enthusiasm for the beauty of the porcelain, Kate could not help agreeing with Byrne: the tea was pale and tepid and did not at all resemble the strong dark brew she had become accustomed to at Laragh, served out of a brown earthenware pot, its glaze cracked with long use.

  Glancing around the drawing-room at the elegantly stuccoed ceiling and long french windows, she realized that Ballyfeeny was a mansion while Laragh was only a farmhouse, built to accommodate a man prepared to labour in the fields beside his own workmen. There was no stateliness about Laragh, only homely warmth and comfort, and on the whole she decided that beautiful as Ballyfeeny was she much preferred the smell of baking bread and burning turf that always seemed to permeate the lower rooms at Laragh. She gazed at her hostess covertly as she nibbled a piece of crumby madeira cake. Strange that Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who had been a Lawlor, should so openly despise Laragh and all it stood for, when it had been her childhood home, and Kate wondered if it had anything to do with her brother making what was euphemistically called ‘a made match.’

  As though guessing her thoughts, her hostess said suddenly, ‘Of course, Laragh’s all very well and good, but my brother could have married one of the wealthiest girls in Tipperary: she was extremely beautiful and would have inherited one of the biggest estates in this part of the country, but my brother had this pig-headed notion that like should marry like. They first met at a hunt ball: Owen’s father at that time was extraordinarily handsome and the girl fell madly in love with him. She was an only child and had been educated abroad and would, in time, have come into her father’s estate which was really a magnificent place.’ Her lips tightened. ‘But, as I said, my brother was determined to marry a farmer’s daughter as he felt that only someone brought up on the land would be capable of fitting into life at Laragh. A very short-sighted attitude, in my opinion! Owen no doubt has been very successful, but Laragh couldn’t possibly be considered anything more than a farmhouse—even by the biggest stretch of the imagination.’

  No, that was true, Kate thought with a satisfaction she managed to hide from her hostess.

  ‘In the end my brother’s marriage was arranged, as no doubt by now you have heard from Florrie, for the woman is an inveterate gossip and in spite of the fact that she is only married into the family can’t keep her fingers out of our affairs.’

  ‘Yes. she did mention it,’ Kate admitted, ‘but I understand they cared for each other.’

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sp; Alice Fitzpatrick shrugged. ‘Owen’s mother was an insignificant little thing, not fit to say boo to a goose. However, as I say, my brother was stubborn and wouldn’t listen to reason though, goodness knows, I pointed out to him over and over again how foolish he was being.’

  She sighed. ‘I notice the same stubbornness in Owen when it comes to marriage. In fact I sometimes wonder if he intends to marry at all—and that’s what I want to speak to you about.’

  She hesitated and laid down her cup and Kate realised that at last she was going to find out exactly why she had been sent for. ‘Perhaps in the past I may have appeared a little too censorious regarding yourself and Owen, but I think you will agree that the circumstances were most peculiar,’ Alice said hurriedly. ‘However, I realise now that I may have been mistaken. You appear to be most conscientious and a distinct improvement on that tippling Mrs. Murphy. It is also high time my nephew married and settled down. On the other hand I would not wish him to make a disastrous marriage, and he most certainly will if he continues to take an interest in Doretta Denzzani.’

  She paused, as though steeling herself for further revelations. ‘I have discovered that, far from being the daughter of a successful hotelier, Doretta’s father is merely the owner of a tiny waterfront cafe.’ For the first time she appeared to be slightly uncomfortable. ‘I think you will agree with me that such a union would be highly unsuitable and I’m sure I can count on you to discourage their friendship.’

  So this was why Alice Fitzpatrick had sent for her! Kate thought bleakly. To ask her assistance in discouraging by any means possible what she considered a mésalliance . Suddenly she felt a longing to be out in the sunshine, away from the fusty and outmoded atmosphere that this woman seemed to carry around with her. If only Alice Fitzpatrick had been prepared to accept the changed circumstances of her family and had not insisted on living in a world of make-believe, how different the twins might have been— and Nicky too, with his demoniac sense of humour and ruthless disregard of other people’s feelings! Was a revolt against his mother’s stultifying gentility an explanation of part at least of Nicky’s outrageous behaviour?

  As Kate took her departure Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s manner unbent somewhat as she inquired if Kate was the daughter of James Norbert the famous architect. She had read, she remarked, an article concerning him in one of the magazines she subscribed to and it had mentioned that he had been survived by a daughter.

  When Kate admitted that James Norbert had indeed been her father, Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded in a satisfied way. ‘I know I can rely on you to do your best,’ she said confidently. ‘I know Owen is inclined to be rather aloof and reserved, but I am quite sure that you would get on very well together, if you were to encourage him a little.’

  As she walked down the avenue Doretta, carrying a few parcels and accompanied by the twins, approached her. The children looked sulky and lagged behind scuffing their feet on the stones and making hideous faces at Doretta’s unconscious back.

  When she drew level with Kate she stopped and called to the twins, ‘You two go up to the house, I want to talk to Kate.’

  Immediately the boys advanced eagerly, agog with curiosity. ‘But why can’t we stay?’ Sean asked plaintively. ‘If you’re going to tell secrets, we won’t tell a soul. Sure we won’t, Eamonn?’

  Eamonn nodded. ‘Gross my heart. It will go with us to the grave.’

  Doretta regarded them coldly. It was clear that she had no affection for her charges and that the twins returned her dislike with interest.

  ‘Oh, all right, keep your silly secrets,’ Sean said insolently, and adroitly dodged the slap that Doretta directed at him.

  ‘Horrible, loathsome children,’ Doretta said with feeling, as the boys reluctantly ambled towards the house. ‘Mrs. Fitzpatrick insisted they accompany me to the village when I wanted to do some shopping, and all the time they make a perfect spectacle of themselves—and me too. I am furious, but what can I do? Until I make other arrangements I must stay with that silly snobbish woman who has such a great opinion of herself.’

  No doubt the other arrangements she spoke of would be marriage to Owen, Kate thought.

  Doretta frowned. ‘I do not understand Mrs. Fitzpatrick. Lately her manner has changed towards me, but I have no idea why she is cold and distant.’ She glanced suspiciously. ‘Someone must have been talking to her about me.’

  So Alice Fitzpatrick had not confronted Doretta yet with her deceptions regarding her background and it was clear that Doretta was completely at sea as to the reasons for her employer’s change of attitude. Kate glanced away uncomfortably, aware that she was possessed of knowledge concerning the other girl that it was impossible to impart.

  ‘She is quite angry that I go with Owen to Blarney, yet will give no reason, but I shall go anyway. When I came here it was on the understanding that I was to be treated as one of the family, yet this woman now treats me as though I were a servant.’

  Again her angry gaze regarded Kate speculatively. ‘Someone is lying about me: deliberately trying to get rid of me.’

  ‘But why should anyone do that?’ Kate asked soothingly. She had a long walk ahead and hoped that Doretta would be placated sufficiently to drop the subject and let her depart.

  ‘Ha!’ Doretta laughed significantly. ‘Perhaps it is someone who would like to see my friendship with Owen Lawlor brought to an end. Someone jealous of me who, perhaps, wishes to make trouble so that I go home.’ She glared at Kate accusingly and seemed on the point of launching a furious diatribe, then, as though with a tremendous effort, turned on her heel and stalked furiously towards the house.

  As she went on her way, Kate reconsidered her interview with Alice Fitzpatrick. It was fairly obvious that she was extending the hand of friendship in exchange for her assistance in preventing Doretta and Owen’s friendship developing into something closer. And although it had been left unsaid, it had been hinted that she would regard Kate herself as an acceptable substitute.

  When she arrived at Laragh there was a letter awaiting her from Margot. She hurried up to her room and, seated on the side of her bed, ripped open the envelope and scanned the contents. So Margot was to be married in the following month—and what was more, was insisting that Kate should be her bridesmaid!

  ‘It’s impossible, Kate, for me to think of you far from me on this most important day of my life, so do try to arrange to be here or I shall be dreadfully unhappy. Who knows, perhaps you will change your mind and agree to live with us when Kenneth and I are married. I should hate to think of you alone and unhappy in Ireland. Do write and let me know I can expect you...’

  Kate let the pages drop from her hand and lay back against the pillows. In a few days, after what would undoubtedly be a disastrous outing, Owen would very probably make it clear that her services were no longer required at Laragh. She must write to Margot and tell her she would most certainly be her bridesmaid, she thought reluctantly. How strange that Margot in her own unemotional independent way was perfectly sure of happiness and contentment in her marriage whereas she, who had always longed for romantic love, was wretchedly unhappy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘WELL, here we are!’ Nicky had parked the car. ‘And no sign of the love-birds!’

  Kate glanced around with a sense of relief. No, there was no sign of Owen’s well worn car, and she could not help but feel her spirits rise.

  They had sped down through the warm sun-drenched countryside and now as they pushed their way through the turnstile she saw ahead, perched on a high rock, the towering walls of the medieval castle. In the still parkland, centuries-old trees stood motionless in the hot summer and ice white clouds floated over the tall ruined battlements. The path they followed led over a small wooden bridge that spanned a clear bubbling stream that rippled over speckled stones and trailed long green weeds that rippled and undulated like long bright green tresses.

  Nicky, she had been surprised to discover, had been very well informed about the history of t
he villages and towns they had passed through. ‘Blarney was built in the fifteenth century by the MacCarthys who were the most powerful family in this district,’ he informed her. ‘Actually, they owned rafts of castles about the countryside, but they got their come-uppance when the Earl of Desmond, of old Norman stock, decided to take over.’

  A spiral stone stairway led upwards and as Kate peered into the dim bare stone chambers set into the walls she found it hard to realise that in past centuries people had lived and loved within these grim walls: once they had held scenes of revelry and feasting: minstrels had plucked their harps and had sung the ballads of the countryside, while great wolfhounds crouched on the floor amongst the strewn rushes and wild flowers awaiting the bones that their masters flung to them from the festive table.

  Nicky’s mind, however, was on other things and he hurried Kate up the steep twisting stairs that were only broad enough for a single person at a time. Kate began to wonder if they would ever reach the top and was experiencing a slight claustrophobia when suddenly they stepped out on to a wide wind-blown space on the top of the keep. From the battlements there was a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside.

  ‘And where is the famous stone?’ Kate inquired.

  ‘It protrudes on the outside of the wall just under the battlements,’ Nicky explained. ‘Formerly they used to hold the gentlemen over the side by their legs, so that it took considerable courage to kiss the stone considering the length of the drop to the ground beneath. Of course, propriety prevented the poor ladies from kissing it at all.’

  Kate shuddered as she looked down on the tops of giant trees that were dwarfed by the height.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Nicky assured her with a grin as he saw her look of apprehension, ‘nowadays it’s kissed from the inside, and there’s a grating beneath you, just in case of accidents.’

  Kate looked on curiously as a young couple took turns to kiss the stone. First the young man sat down at the edge of the keep, then lowered himself holding on by iron bars inserted into the stones on either side until his head was under the stone and he was able to raise his face and kiss it. Meanwhile, an attendant held tightly to his legs. The girl, giggling nervously, followed suit.