The Made Marriage Read online

  As it was impossible to consider this detached statement as even remotely flattering, Kate didn’t allow it to sidetrack her from her original idea. Now that there was this slight chance of remaining on at Laragh she determined to fight to the last in an effort to convince him that she was right for the job. ‘But your Aunt Florrie’s coming to stay, you told me—I mean, Nicky did,’ she added.

  ‘Nicky seems to have put himself to quite a deal of trouble in this matter,’ he said dryly. ‘It’s clear he inveigled you over with the story that Aunt Florrie would be here.’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ she persisted, ‘that your aunt is coming to stay? Couldn’t she act as a sort of—of chaperon?’ she concluded desperately.

  ‘She does stay here from time to time,’ he admitted, ‘but when she next intends to descend upon me, I simply don’t know. No, the whole idea is out of the question!’ He spoke with an air of finality that made her heart sink. ‘I don’t want any young females disrupting my life, especially one who imagines she has some sort of claim on me.’

  ‘Oh, but I don’t,’ Kate rushed in. ‘You can simply think of me as a substitute for Mrs. Murphy.’

  He frowned thoughtfully down at his mud-stained boots. This girl was dangerous, he told himself. Obviously without caution or plain common sense, she could prove a serious nuisance, yet it was imperative that the men’s meals be prepared and the house kept in some sort of order. He did not particularly look forward to the tiresome search for someone to undertake Mrs. Murphy’s duties. Definitely the sensible thing to do would be to bundle the girl and her cat into the car and deposit them at the station as quickly as possible.

  ‘I’m quite a good housekeeper too,’ Kate put in thoughtfully, and stole a glance at the harsh features. At least he was considering her proposition, she thought hopefully. Now was the time to press home her advantage. ‘Bedsocks and I won’t give you the smallest trouble. You won’t even know we’re in the house.’

  She waited hopefully and for the first time saw a slow smile cross his craggy features.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly doing a good job of putting yourself over,’ he remarked grudgingly, ‘but remember, if you do stay on, it’s not to be a moment after Mrs. Murphy recovers. This is only a temporary job, so get that into your head, right from the start.’

  Elated, she nodded. She was not prepared to look any further than the present. She would face her problems again, she told herself, when Mrs. Murphy’s return appeared imminent.

  ‘All right, that’s settled then.’ He got to his feet, his mind already on the work he had abandoned to deal with this ludicrous episode. ‘The men will be in for their tea shortly. No doubt you’ll be able to cope. They have a simple meal of soda-bread, tea and boiled eggs, but remember to make the tea very strong or you won’t be popular around these parts.’

  Rapidly she unbuttoned her coat and again donned the minute apron.

  For a moment he stood and regarded her critically. ‘Physically you’re a poor substitute for Mrs. Murphy. She weighs about fourteen stone and is built in proportion.’

  Kate, however, was much too anxious to hold on to her newfound position to take this as a compliment. Instead, she said hurriedly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be able to manage all right, and I’ll be sure to make the tea nice and strong.’

  He nodded. ‘In that case I’ll leave you to find your way about the house. It’s not really very big or complicated and Mrs. Murphy always keeps one of the rooms ready for an unexpected guest—as you most certainly were! It’s the first door at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Owen—I mean, Mr. Lawlor,’ she amended hastily. ‘You see, after several of your letters, I began to think of you as Owen. They were so warm and friendly. But of course it wasn’t really you who was writing, but your cousin Nicky—’ She trailed off on the verge of being hopelessly involved.

  He nodded. ‘Exactly! And as there is no resemblance whatsoever between Nicky Fitzpatrick and myself I suggest that on the whole it might be as well if you regard me as Mr. Lawlor. After all, I’m your employer, nothing more or less,’ he said ungraciously.

  It might be as well considering the girl’s highly romantic nature to keep her on strictly formal terms. In that way she would get no mistaken ideas concerning his attitude towards her.

  ‘Very well, Mr. Lawlor,’ Kate said submissively, as he departed.

  He frowned as he strode across the yard and along the narrow boreen that led to the top field. The bright merry glance of her grey eyes had belied the meekness of her tones. It was just as well that it wouldn’t be long before Mrs. Murphy with her comfortable bulk and homely features was once again bending over the steaming pots and jollying the men with her easy banter.

  And that was another point he had not considered! How would this odd girl get on with the men? Would she be insufferably superior in approach, or foolishly easygoing? He had been ill-advised to let her stay on, he told himself glumly, and the prospect of arbitrating between the men and his new domestic help didn’t afford him any satisfaction.

  Once he was gone and Kate was left to herself in the kitchen, she pirouetted around the table in a sudden access of good spirits. Even Bedsocks seemed to realise that her stay at Laragh was not to be rudely disrupted and had already taken possession of the cretonne-cushioned rocking chair that stood by the range.

  First, Kate decided, she would take her case up to her room and study her new domain. As her employer had pointed out, it was not a particularly large house, but it was a far cry from the tiny thatched cottage that she had pictured. A winding oak staircase led from the broad hall to a panelled landing off which lay rows of solid oak doors. At the extreme end was a large stained-glass window casting amber and pink lights on the old rocking-horse that stood against the wall; battered and scarred, and with most of its mane missing, it was she suspected a souvenir of earlier generations of Lawlors. Mrs. Murphy, she decided, in spite of her weaknesses, was an excellent housekeeper; Kate discovered the house sparkled with cleanliness and her own room, she was pleasantly surprised to find, was fresh and gay with curtains of crisp muslin: the carpet was of almond green and valances of matching green lawn hung from each end of the bed.

  When she had tidied herself she crossed to the window. Her view, she found, was of the farmyard which she had crossed with Owen. It was now a buzz of activity. Two men were using a cross-saw on an enormous beech log and brown and white cows were straggling between the tall iron yard gates, shepherded by the two collies, and a young fair-haired farm labourer. As soon as the milking was over, no doubt the men would be in search of their evening meal, and she hurried downstairs to begin preparing it.

  She discovered, to her dismay, that Mrs. Murphy, although keeping the kitchen scrupulously clean, had the unfortunate habit of storing the necessities in the strangest and most inappropriate places; she found the tea in an enamelled container distinctly marked ‘Rice’, and the rice placed in a receptacle obviously intended for coffee. However, after a short time she began to anticipate the likely spots for the other ingredients of the meal and felt a glow of achievement when she climbed on a chair and retrieved a large bag of sugar from the top of the dresser.

  While the tea brewed in the enormous teapot, she cut brown and white bread and placed golden butter and various jams in the pretty cut-glass dishes she had come across in one of the rooms beside the pantry. Then as she awaited her fellow-workers, on impulse, she changed the water in the vase of daffodils and, rearranging the flowers, placed it in the centre of the red and white checked tablecloth.

  She was standing by the range, wondering just when to pop the large brown eggs into the water, when the men trooped in. Solemnly they gathered around the table and after a swift glance in her direction, muttered an embarrassed greeting and, placing their caps beneath their chairs, sat down and studied the table in silence.

  It was Obvious that her preparations had created a profound impression, although whether it was a flattering one or
not it was difficult to judge. The two older men, one stout and solemn, the other thin and wiry, sedulously avoided her gaze. However, the young boy with the tow-coloured hair whom she had seen herding the cattle seemed to have difficulty in restraining his mirth and after a series of suppressed explosions of hilarity came from his direction the stout man said sharply, ‘That’s enough, Joe, no doubt the young lady will get into our ways all in good time.’

  In spite of the magnanimity of this speech, Kate got the strong impression that her efforts were not entirely to their satisfaction. She tackled it with her usual directness. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked anxiously as she poured tea. ‘Do please tell me, as I’m new here.’

  An embarrassed silence followed her request. The stout man slowly stirred his tea and with a self-conscious cough said, ‘Well, it’s this way, miss, Mrs. Murphy doesn’t go in for the small fancy glass dishes of jam. Why, Dan here,’ he pointed to his companion, ‘would knock back the whole shebang, fancy dishes and all, and not notice it.’

  A guffaw of laughter from his companions greeted this sally. At the sound, Bedsocks woke up with a start and after one terrified glance at the unaccustomed gathering of males, gave a squeak of fright and disappeared beneath the dresser. Her antics were a further cause for mirth and soon the kitchen was resounding to their peals of laughter.

  Happily Kate served the eggs and replenished the dishes as quickly as they were emptied. Now that the ice had been broken so satisfactorily they pointed out to her that the red and white tablecloth was usually reserved for Sunday’s use and that Mrs. Murphy had never been known to garnish the table with floral decorations, although they conceded both the contributions an improvement.

  Owen entered the kitchen to the sound of chatter interspersed with the sound of laughter. For a moment he stood unnoticed in the doorway, watching Kate as she busily replenished cups, her face flushed and happy, eagerly listening to young Joe as he promised shyly that on the following day he would show her the first calf of the season.

  'Take no heed of anything young Joe says, miss,’ the stout man bellowed jovially, ‘he’s taken a fancy to you and would think nothing of stealing a kiss in the cowshed if he got half a chance, the young rascal.’

  Kate blushed hotly and turning away pretended to busy herself at the range.

  ‘That’s enough, Mike,’ Owen said sharply. ‘The young lady isn’t used to your form of humour.’

  Immediately Mike sobered and applied himself to removing the top of another egg. But although the men soon broke into desultory conversation Kate noticed that their employer’s presence had an inhibiting affect and that they finished their meal quickly and, solemnly retrieving their caps from under their chairs, disappeared one by one.

  Hands in pockets, Owen watched Kate as she cleared up, washed and dried the dishes and replaced them on their ends on the open dresser. This was evidently Mrs. Murphy’s method and she didn’t wish to appear to be usurping her predecessor’s position.

  Thoughtfully Owen filled and lit his pipe. ‘Well, you seem to have gone down pretty well with the men; frankly I was a little worried as to how they’d take you. It would have made things extremely unpleasant if you had proved unpopular with them.’

  Grudging as his words were, Kate felt a little glow of satisfaction and achievement. ‘Oh, but they were so nice and good-humoured,’ she said disclaimingly, ‘especially the stout man.’

  ‘You shouldn’t take people on their face value,’ he said dryly. ‘Actually Dan, who looks like a male Mrs. Gummidge, is much better humoured, although he has a bullying wife and is inclined to be reserved. Young Joe too is prone to fall in love with every girl he meets. That’s why I found Mrs. Murphy so comforting. In her case problems like that didn’t arise.’

  ‘Oh, I expect it’s because he’s young and just beginning to grow up,’ Kate said with an air of wisdom.

  ‘Not like you, of course, who are very old and very wise.’ He sounded dry and mocking, but Kate didn’t mind. She felt happy and confident that she had surmounted the first hurdle in her new job.

  Then a sudden thought struck her. ‘Good heavens, I’d forgotten all about your tea!’

  ‘Don’t worry. I stopped off at Dan’s cottage on the way back from the fields and his wife entertained me to tea and a dissertation on her husband’s Shortcomings. So much for married bliss!’

  ‘So that’s why you’ve taken such a dislike to marriage,’ Kate said, before it occurred to her that perhaps it wasn’t the type of remark one makes to one’s employer. Immediately she realised her mistake as she saw his face stiffen.

  ‘My views on marriage are certainly no concern of yours. I suggest you turn your mind to getting ready a room for my aunt, Mrs. Lawlor. I’m going to write to her now and invite her to Laragh. The sooner she arrives the better, considering the present domestic set-up. By the way,’ he added, as he left the room, ‘you can use the sitting-room if you like. I do my paperwork there, so if you’d like to read or write letters in the evenings, you can feel yourself perfectly free to do so, provided, of course, that you don’t chatter.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Lawlor,’ Kate replied demurely, making up her mind to avoid the sitting-room and Owen Lawlor as much as possible.

  As he turned to leave the room she longed to assert herself, to say something rude and crushing to her arrogant employer, but caution intervened. He was quite capable even at this stage of bundling Bedsocks and herself out of Laragh and his life and for once prudence prevailed. ‘I’ll see to Mrs. Lawlor’s room right away, sir,’ she replied, and just prevented herself from bobbing a curtsey.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SUDDENLY Kate was reminded by a gust of smoke from the direction of the kitchen that she had forgotten the soda-bread. Flinging down her duster, she dashed towards the kitchen to be met by even denser clouds of choking smoke. She reached for an oven cloth and flinging open the oven door, pulled out the tin of charred bread.

  She had been a week now at Laragh and she had made several disastrous attempts at baking soda-bread in the old-fashioned range oven. But on each occasion failure had stalked her, although she had faithfully followed the recipe culled from a local newspaper. Time and again the men had made valiant efforts to consume the results of her labours, but she had only to take note of Dan’s lugubrious features as he stolidly chewed through the soggy undercooked slices of her earlier attempts to know that once again she had failed.

  On this occasion she had conscientiously followed out the instructions in a cooking article, having pinned it against the dresser so as to refresh her memory. She had even persuaded Mick to give her a jug of the buttermilk he brought back from the creamery and which he usually kept for feeding the young calves. However, whether or not her latest effort would have proved a success would never be known.

  Having slid the tin on to the table she pulled open a window to clear the kitchen of all evidence of the latest catastrophe. She could well imagine Mick humorously sniffing the air and the teasing remarks that would be bandied should they suspect that once again she had failed.

  But where should she hide the evidence? she wondered, glancing around: to burn it would only add to the penetrating smell that seemed to fill every nook and cranny of the room. Then she remembered how soft the earth was in the kitchen garden that was situated in the orchard.

  There was a selection of pitchforks and spades leaning against the stable door, and except for the poultry picking amongst the cobbles, the yard was completely deserted. The men were all busily engaged in the fields sowing and planting. Bedsocks, being an inquisitive cat, followed, delicately picking her way over the cobbles and carefully sidestepping a bad-tempered turkeycock.

  Feeling like a conspirator, Kate glanced about as she helped herself to a spade and, pushing open the orchard gate, walked towards the plot which was planted with spring vegetables. She would bury it between the rows of peas, she decided, as the supporting staves would give her at least an illusion of being unseen.<
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  She dug into the soft loamy earth and when she had excavated quite a deep hole, placed the shrivelled and blackened object in it and swiftly covered it, feeling with each shovelful more and more like a criminal. When she had finished and had neatly patted the earth down into place to cover all trace of her handiwork, she straightened with a sigh of relief, and was about to turn and retrace her steps when she felt a vice-like grip on her arm.

  With a swallowed scream of fright, she dropped the spade and twisting round, she found Owen gazing at her grimly. ‘Oh, what a fright you gave me!’ she quavered.

  He appeared unsympathetic, however. ‘And just what are you doing?’

  ‘Digging,’ Kate said weakly.

  ‘So I gather. I assume you weren’t just digging for gold, like the man in the song.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Kate assured him, trying to sound bright and guiltless.

  ‘Then just what were you digging for? Do you realise you’re not doing those peas any good?’

  ‘Well, nothing in particular, really,’ Kate said slowly. However, as Owen showed no sign of relinquishing her arm and in fact gave it a hasty shake, she added hurriedly, ‘I haven’t really done the peas any harm. I was only digging between the rows. And now,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I think I’ll go back to the house. I haven’t finished dusting the sitting-room.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Eh?’ Kate said in surprise. It was not at all like Owen to take any interest in the domestic arrangements. In fact, at times he showed a depressing indifference to her activities.

  ‘I said, why have you not finished the dusting you spoke of? Shall I tell you? Because you were too busy going about your nefarious concerns out here in the kitchen garden.’

  ‘Not nefarious,’ Kate protested in shocked tones.

  ‘Stop beating about the bush.’ He spoke loudly, losing patience. ‘You shan’t go back to the house until you tell me what you’re doing here.’