Ashton Park (29 page)

“Can you see Ireland?” he teased.

“On a good day.”

“Homesick already?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

Robbie bent down and plucked a long blade of grass, placing it in his mouth. “I do miss Dublin.”

“You can’t miss the killings that have started up again.”

“The Irish Republican Army wants a free country. They’ll do to us and we’ll do to them, and it’s always a nasty twist of the knife from either side.”

“Will it be over and done with quickly like last time?”

“It’s not like what happened at Easter in 1916. This fight will carry on for a good bit. It’s not just a couple of hundred rebels in Dublin anymore. It’s bigger than that. It might peter out. But it also might turn into something worse.” Robbie took the half-chewed grass from his mouth. “I saw you cross yourself while father was saying grace last night.”

Catherine glanced at him. “Is that a crime?”

Robbie continued to stare out at the sea. “Not a crime in England. Not anymore. But odd in a family of Protestants.”

Catherine did not respond.

“You should know,” Robbie carried on, “that I didn’t sign on for another five years with King George out of love for my country. I requested that I be permitted to stay on in Dublin for other reasons. One of them is a young lady.”

Catherine half-smiled. “How many Protestant women can there be in Dublin?”

“Shannon comes from a fine Catholic family who’ve always harbored nationalist sentiments. And I am a soldier of the British Empire. It makes no sense that we should come together.”

“Her parents approve?”

“I’m sure they know nothing about it. We’ve kept it very private. I meet her at one of the churches. The priests are aware and they let us be. When we meet, I’m always in civilian clothes.”

“How on earth did this get started?”

“I wasn’t out looking. She was nearly trampled by a team of horses. I stepped in. Kept the team back and got the horses under control. Her parents thanked me publicly. Shannon slipped me a note.
Meet me at evening mass at St. Patrick’s.
So I went in the dark and out of uniform.”

“Sounds risky.”

“The IRA could shoot me for a spy and the British could shoot me for a traitor.”

“Why do you keep it up? You were never one for the girls.”

Robbie decided to sit, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his arms on them. “At first it was a bit of a lark. She’s extremely beautiful and I was certainly flattered that she would pay any attention to me. I was certain it had to do with my saving her life and that she felt obligated to graciously extend a few hours in her company. It became something much more rather quickly. Now I doubt I would break it off even if an IRA gunman put a pistol to my head.” He watched a string of white gulls doing loops over a patch of ocean. “I’ve taken steps to convert.”

“What?”

“On the quiet. With a priest at St. Patrick’s. Once this latest spot of troubles is over I intend to resign my commission and become a good Catholic boy married to a good Catholic girl. I know it will drive Father and Mother mad but I can’t help it. A girl like Shannon is once in a lifetime.”

Catherine smiled down at him. “She must be.” She settled herself down next to her brother. “And you felt you could trust me with all this news? Thank you.”

“You’re the quietest of the lot. And you crossed yourself.”

Catherine tugged her shawl about her shoulders as a sharp sea breeze cut into them. “All right. Tit for tat. We’re both in the confessional today. I moved out on Albert over a year ago. Yes, yes, I know, we’ve kept up the pretense of a happily married couple. I caught him having an affair and that was that. I have my own money and my own bank account. So I got myself a flat in a Catholic neighborhood in Belfast. Right next to a convent. I’ve become good friends with a few of the nuns. Father O’Flynn has been taking me through the steps to my baptism.”

Robbie stared at her. “Just like me.”

“Exactly like you.”

“What about Albert?”

Catherine’s eyes darkened despite a burst of sunlight that made sea and land blaze. “They don’t know about him.”

“Cath. You know they’ll find out. Someone will put two and two together.”

“Why should they? I have birth documents saying I’m a Danforth.”

“The Catholic community knows all about him. They detest him.”

“So they should. He’s become a brute. Always ranting and raving. I’m sure that’s why he struck up with another woman. I’m for Home Rule like Papa, and he’s a unionist. Albert got sick of coming home to me and my politics.”

“You’ve been out in public with him, haven’t you? People will remember that.”

“Maybe not. You saw I changed my hair color a bit. You have noticed that, haven’t you?”

He smiled. “Of course I have.”

“Mum’s taken me to task over it but I told her Albert liked it. A redhead. I’m quite a pack of lies these days.”

“I hope you get away with it. I hope
I
get away with it. Albert is looking for you. He’s bound to be. Eventually he’ll need to have you on his arm for some public occasion. What’s he telling people? What’s he telling your friends? That you’re at Ashton Park? That you’re bedridden and too ill to show your face? Father will make a trip to Belfast now that the war’s over. He’ll want a look at the shipyards. How’s Albert going to explain your absence then? He has to have you back.”

Catherine clenched her fists as she gripped her shawl in another icy gust. “I won’t go back. Father and Mother and the Church of England and Ashton Park will just have to get used to it. I’ve become a different person.” She looked at Robbie. “Don’t I sound rough?”

“Just Cath acting determined. I’m in the same boat. I’ll look like a turncoat. A Papist through and through. Shannon’s folks swear the family has been Roman Catholics since Patrick. No different than the Danforths, who swear they’ve been Church of England since Henry VIII. Well, I don’t mind. The Dungarvans are a kind family from what I can see. The time to tell Shannon’s parents about the pair of us is when I’m out of the army and a baptized Catholic. I suppose there’ll be no good time, so far as telling Mum and Dad goes.”

“It may work out with Shannon’s parents—unless you kill an Irishman in this new war of theirs.”

“You can be sure I’ll do my best to avoid that. The Irish rebels treated me well enough when I was their prisoner in 1916. I’ll return the favor if I’ve got one of them at gunpoint this time around.”

Catherine shook her head and stared down at the ground. “You can’t control war, Robbie.”

He scooped up a handful of dirt and pebbles and sifted it until only the pebbles were left. “I can’t fret over what may or may not happen. If God doesn’t strike me dead for turning Catholic perhaps everything will turn out all right. Even if I’m disowned and disinherited. Like you.”

They laughed. Catherine gripped the hand that held the pebbles. “You still haven’t told me what she’s like.”

“The sea runs from gray to green and back again. Her eyes do that. Except when she’s in her brightest moods the green is clear as glass, you can see right through it into her heart. You’ve never seen eyes like hers. She’s got small freckles, just here across her nose and cheeks—” He touched his own face. “And her hair is fair. Like light. It’s how the sun shines through a rain shower. So sweet to kiss and put my cheek against. It’s like dreaming to be around her.”

“Listen to you. Do you fancy yourself Lord Byron?”

“All the reading of the classics I did in school is now serving a greater purpose.”

She kissed her brother’s fist, still curled around the pebbles. “Hail Mary, full of grace.”

He responded, “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women.”

The next morning, making Catherine Danforth’s bed, Norah Cole found the crucifix and rosary Catherine had forgotten under her pillow. Slipping them into her dress pocket, she plumped the pillows, glanced around the room she had tidied, and left.

Sir William glanced at Kipp over the pieces on the chessboard as they sat in his study. “Lady Caroline has been invited to Victoria’s and Ben’s wedding ceremony. Did you think of that?”

Kipp kept his eyes on the board. “Perhaps she’ll decline.”

“Decline? There will be a raft of MPs present. There’s even talk of the Prince of Wales making an appearance. Of course she’ll be at the wedding. Her whole family will be at the wedding.”

Kipp moved his rook. “I didn’t do this in the dark, Father. I told Caroline about it some time ago. I’ve written her and explained the matter.”

“That was a bad move.” Sir William captured the black rook with his white bishop.

“I’m sure Caroline and her family will have the good grace to accept it.”

“How sure are you? If she’s told her family already they will take it as a slap in the face. If she hasn’t told them and they see you sitting with this—”

“Christelle Cevennes.”

Sir William leaned forward and put a hand gently on Kipp’s uniformed arm. “She is striking. I see that. Charming to speak with. Her family have a Huguenot past, she told me. They are Protestants. No one faults her in any way. Your mother and I do not look for French nobility—good heavens, we fought the nobility at Agincourt. But there is the matter of the Scarborough family.”

Kipp had moved his knight. Sir William captured it with a pawn.

“We were never formally engaged,” Kipp said. “I realize it was expected. But it never took place and it was never announced.”

“No matter. Half the nobles in England are aware of your relationship with Lady Caroline. Listen, my boy. You and this Christelle Cevennes make a handsome couple. But I wish you would ask her to return to France before the wedding. You can join her there once the ceremony is over. You have your work with the aerodromes to complete in any case. But I beg the two of you not to make a spectacle of yourselves on Victoria’s special day.”

Kipp settled back in his leather chair after moving his queen. “I brought her here to meet you and to see Ashton Park. She is properly impressed with the family and the estate just as I expected her to be. You must understand she means more to me than Caroline ever has. Yes, Caroline is handsome, but Christelle is vibrant. Like an essence of life itself. I cannot give her up. England is full of Lady Scarboroughs. But a woman like Christelle is rare.”

His father was silent.

Kipp coughed. “Checkmate, by the way.”

Christelle was walking with Emma and Libby. The evening light seemed green to her as the sun poured through the leaves they walked under. She was holding James and making him laugh while Peter walked between his mother and Aunt Libby, gripping their hands.

“It’s beautiful here,” Christelle said. “Will the wedding be outside, Emma?”

“Well, if it doesn’t turn into English weather it will be.”

Christelle looked at her for an explanation.

“English weather is wet. Perhaps you’ve brought this lovely sunshine with you from Amiens. If that’s the case, it might remain with us for as long as you do.”

“Kipp must return and work with the French air squadrons and the RAF. To make sure everything is as it should be. I will leave with him right after the wedding.
J’en suis desolée—
I’m sorry.”

Emma seized Christelle’s arm playfully. “Tell us the truth. What do you intend to do with our brother?”

“I don’t know. So quickly it all happened. We have never talked about—you know—the life together.”

“France is so pleasant,” said Libby. “I wonder if you could ever consider Ashton Park a home.”

“
C’est magnifique—
it’s magnificent here, Libby. And you are all very gracious. But I fear your father and mother are not comfortable with me. Dear Kipp should have written them. They are both surprised to meet me. It would have been better if they had known.”

“Mother and Father have had to get used to a great deal since the war began,” Libby replied. “They can get used to a great deal more now that it’s ended. Just give them some time, Christelle. The changes are coming too fast to suit them. They have no idea what is going to happen next and they’re a bit overwhelmed.”

Harrison admitted much later to Todd Turpin it was the greatest surprise in his life.

He returned from mowing the lawn for the wedding and wanted only to lie flat on his bed and fall asleep with his clothes on, hat, corduroy jacket, boots, and all. He entered his rooms in the Castle to find they smelled of perfume. Standing in the front room with its couch and chairs and table he tried to identify the source of the scent. But while he might have been good at tracking fox and deer and rabbits, this left him totally perplexed.

Then, to his astonishment, Holly stepped from the small room where Harrison stored the two or three dozen books he possessed as well as back issues of various British outdoor magazines. She wore a simple black summer dress over her slim figure, a silver necklace, and silver earrings. Her smile was bright, her voice taunting.

“The perfume is from France. Kipp’s friend, Christelle, brought a bit for each of the ladies at Ashton Park. Don’t you think that was kind of her?”