It was late in the day when Caroline
awoke. Though the remains of a fire still glowed in the grate and a stump of
candle glimmered by the bedside, they did little to create a cosy atmosphere.
The heavy curtains were drawn; the air was dank. The predominating dismal blue
of the decor, the massive fumed oak furnishings, the skulking shadows and the
musty odour combined to make the bedroom more like a burial chamber than a
place of healthful rest. Over the mantel a huge gilt-framed mirror reflected
the massive bedstead. She was but a diminutive waif on a vast tombstone. Enough
of gloomy reflection; she threw off the coverlets and leapt to the floor.
Her travelling attire was gone, her
sealskin and the bag which contained her blue dress and slippers. A great plushy purple wrapper was draped over a chair. It smelt of Arabella .....
musky and over-powering. Since there was nothing else,
she draped it about her and made her way to Arabella's
boudoir. A husky “Come in” greeted her knock.
Arabella raised magnificent eyebrows in mock
astonishment as though a latecomer had interrupted her opening lines. The room
was more than ever like a stage set, and the principal actress, groomed and
gowned, sat serenely at its centre. Her elaborately coiffeured
head, rouged lips and cheeks, her flowing green satin gown and innumerable
tinkling bracelets, even her pose seemed copied precisely from the portrait
above the mantel.
“Ah, dear Caroline,” she greeted,
appraising the unlikely figure in the purple robe, “you have slept well. Now it
is time to make you 'presentable' as Captain Marsmain
requested. He may arrive at any moment.”
If Arabella
intended that she should be caught at a disadvantage, Caroline would have none
of it. Fanny had ironed the creases out of her blue dress, and this she insisted
on wearing despite Arabella's offer of more gorgeous
plumage. She refused to have Arabella’s maid help
with her hair. Her old blue silk clung sweetly as a caress. Reassured, she
picked up the silver-backed brushes laid out on her dressing table and brushed
her hair till it shone, then bound it with a blue ribbon. She bit her lips and
patted the colour into her cheeks till the gilt-framed reflection satisfied
her. A fig for Arabella, she thought, walking tall
and proud in her worn slippers.
As she entered the boudoir, Marsmain rose to meet her. He took her hands in his. His
eyes feasted on her. How she pleased him, this artless, lovely girl. Arabella missed nothing.
“Well,” she said, “I did my best; but
she would insist on wearing that old dress.”
“I'm glad she did,” Nick replied, “it is my favourite.”
This was not the angry man of the
previous night. His voice was gentle, his looks all of love and admiration. He
slid his arm about Caroline's waist, holding her tenderly. Arabella
flashed one look of malice, then resumed her gracious, theatrical smile. Off-handedly, she reached for the bell-rope.
“We shall sup here,” she announced. “I
declare it is the only warm room in this wretched house.”
Her maid-servant appeared carrying
napery and followed by a hired man who had been hastily rigged with
ill-fitting, would-be livery. He drew a low table near the blazing fire and
arranged settings in silver and crystal. Presently the dishes arrived, piping
hot and aromatic with spices. The wine was poured.
“An excellent choice, Arabella,” Marsmain commented. “A splendid vintage. Of course, my father always keeps a
fine cellar. You have acquired a discerning palate. I'm sure he appreciates
that. My mother took no interest in the good wine of life.”
“I trust she is well?” Arabella asked politely.
“Not at all well, I fear. The move to
“Quite unlike Lord Ballinmore. He always liked a full life ..... had no wish to bury
himself in the country.”
“Even there he provided himself with
distractions!”
“You include me in those distractions,
I presume. I am not a mere distraction. Your father needed me. I gave up my
career on the stage for him He hated to see me making an exhibition of myself.
He wanted me to be a lady.”
“Alas Arabella,
you will never be Lady Ballinmore.”
It was spoken smoothly, but the words
found their mark. Arabella's glance was a sabre
thrust. She collected herself, answered softly:
“I never hoped to be Lady Ballinmore. I had hoped to be a lady. But,
in this small town, no. My lord's carriage calls at my door. They bow
and scrape to him. I am ignored. They whisper behind their hands.”
“You are an ambitious woman, Arabella.”
“And you, dear Nicholas, have no
ambition. At your age, you are content with a mere captaincy when you should
command a regiment ..... still
riding the roads of
“I am at war. The French have
attempted an invasion only a few miles from here. Who is to defend the country
if every soldier leaves?”
“Or defend your precious inheritance?”
“Both. And why not?
The lands are mine ..... and
the country.”
“There are those who deem
it impossible to defend both at the same time. Have you never thought to join
the United Irishmen? Lord Edward would appreciate your assistance, no doubt.”
“You jest, Arabella.
Lord Edward may follow his own delusions. I must stand with my kin. What would
“The devil wind blew the handsome
liberators off course. Who knows, if they had landed .....”
Arabella's smile was provocative. Oh devil
woman! Like so many women, only too ready to embrace a romantic enemy. And
Caroline, eating with a healthy appetite, glowing with life, sitting so near
him that their thighs touched, was she too a traitor at heart? Would she run
eagerly to the arms of a handsome stranger? The thought maddened him more than
anything Arabella could say.
“I do not wish to continue this
wrangle, Arabella,” he said decisively, “it is of no
consequence. With your permission, I would speak to Caroline alone.”
“You have no need of my permission in
your father's house, Nick. Unfortunately there is no private apartment aired ..... except the blue bedroom
..... if you consider it a proper place.”
“I have no more regard for propriety
than you. That ghastly chamber will serve.”
He led Caroline to the blue room.
There the fire had not been renewed and the last embers were dying. The light
of one candle scarcely relieved the gloom.
“Egad, what sepulchre!” he exclaimed, “enough
to cool any man's ardour in troth. Or his anger. I am
angry, Caroline.”
“With Arabella?”
“She means nothing. What she says
means nothing. I am angry with you.”
“With me,
Nick,” she asked, frightened by his changed expression, “why with me?”
“Need you ask? You must prepare to
answer rather than ask. I must know the truth. Promise me that you will answer
truthfully.”
“I promise ..... as
far as I can.”
Though she had turned pale, she did
not tremble. He noted the stubborn line of her jaw, half hating, half admiring
her resistance.
“Very well, tell me how you came to be
hiding in a deserted church at
“I was not hiding, Nick. I was
sheltering, as you did the previous night”.
“Sheltering. Had you not adequate shelter in your
sister's house? Why did you leave it ..... under false pretences, as far as I can gather?”
“There are things I cannot explain to
my sister. She is a married woman.”
“Things her husband must not know?”
“Things that are not his concern.”
“Concerning your precious brother. Oh, I have heard of him from Captain Ferriter. I should have thought his movements were very
much Seveny's affair.”
“My loyalty is to my brother.”
“Then you had an assignment with him.
Fortunately he failed to keep it.”
“For you. Fortunately for him
also, perhaps.”
“There was a body washed ashore at Bantry. It wasn't .....”
“It was not Fergal. You may meet some
other time.”
“Would that we could meet in happier
circumstances ..... as gentlemen ..... and friends. I have a request to make of him.”
“A request ..... of
Fergal?”
“For his sister's hand in marriage He
is your guardian, I presume. Or has he abdicated that responsibility?”
“I am sure he never assumed it. I
would like to think of him as my guardian. I have none other.”
“You shall have Caroline, will you
marry me?”
The question was as unpremeditated for
him as it was for her. She did not answer, but he saw tears well in her eyes.
Yet not for a moment did she lose that dignity and unmistakeable courage that
so fascinated him. She would thwart and anger him, yet he must always admire
her. She had no false coyness, no flirtatious ways, none of the carefully
schooled 'ladylike' ways of which he was heartily sick. If someone must tame
this wild, lovely creature, then that someone must be he; the thought enchanted
him. Even how, the fact that she hesitated to answer him, drove him wild with
desire. He gathered her in his arms and felt her strong, warm young body yield
to his embrace without fear or dissemblance.
“You will marry me, my darling,” he
whispered, holding her close, caressing her, touching her face and hair, “we
were made for each other, Caroline. We were predestined to meet. You know that,
my little love.”
This was not Nicholas Arthur Barnsby Marsmain, heir to Ballinmore, the man who took what he wanted from life; his
old acquaintances would have scarcely recognised him. But to Caroline, he was
the man on the horse who had come to rescue his maiden .....
the man she had dreamed of ..... the
father, the brother, the lover in one; in short, he was the personification of
all the human relations she needed and missed. She was his to do as he pleased
with. Though she gave no answer, he knew he had won her. But, too soon, he
sought mastery, not of her body but of her mind.
“I must ask you one thing,” he said
abruptly, “how did you learn in advance that the French fleet was expected and
at Bantry?”
She drew away from him, her face cold
and stubborn again.
“I had it from a friend,” she replied
quietly.
“A friend? Or a conspirator?”
“I said a friend.”
“Your brother's friend also, I must
assume?”
“You assume rightly.”
“Which makes him a
conspirator. Don't you know how dangerous such a friend may be? To
consort with the enemy is an act of treason Perhaps you are too young and
innocent to understand the implication. But, surely you can understand the
personal risk for you ..... and
for me. You would not be guilty of betrayal?”
“The O'Shaughnessys
have never betrayed their country,” she answered, proudly, “nor do they betray
their friends and lovers. You will have to trust me.”
His face flushed with anger. His eyes
grew hard.
“As my bride, you will take a vow of
obedience.”
To his consternation, she laughed ..... threw back her head,
tossing her auburn hair, filling the solemn room with youthful scorn.
“In your society, how many wives obey
their husbands?” she asked mockingly.
“In small matters, very few, in really
serious affairs, most do, implicitly.”
“Then it depends what they consider
serious. When I marry, I will love with all my heart; that will be very
serious.”
She was gentle and winsome again. What
she had said was sincere and, for the time being, seemed sufficient. He could
question no more. Instead he laughed as though the whole episode was no more
than a prank.
“But fie,” he said, “Arabella must grow concerned for your honour. Tomorrow
morning you shall catch the mail to Fermoy. I will
see you there. I must talk with Lucinda ..... and Seveny. “
He pressed the fare into her hand, then took her in his arms again. One last kiss and he was
gone.
As she drifted into sleep, his kiss
still warm on her mouth, she heard his voice raised in
rebuke:
“No Arabella,
you cannot trick me into that betrayal. I will have a virgin for my bride. No
man's whore ..... not even my
own ..... shall bear my son.”