Tyringham Park (31 page)

There was really no need to worry about Niamh. According to Harcourt, half the men in the year, including himself, were in love with her. She would soon find someone else. She had a large pool
to choose from, whereas Charlotte, part of a dwindling number of aristocrats in the country, had so few. Niamh also had the advantage of having time on her side.

A beautiful dream.

Plenty of time to fantasise when she was miles away, living on her own. Charlotte picked up a pencil and started to make a list of what she needed to take with her to England. Not much. She
could buy what she wanted there. It was some compensation to know she would never have to worry about money.

When Lochlann was shown into Lady Blackshaw’s presence after being summoned by her he was struck again by how much Harcourt looked like her, and how little Charlotte
did.

He felt the chill of her personality even from a distance.

She didn’t greet him or call him by name before she accused him.

Lochlann felt as if a cannonball, fired at his chest, had gone right through his body, taking all his vital organs with it, leaving a gaping hole.

No recollection whatsoever of the action he was accused of came back to him. He had a vague memory of being in a bedroom sometime during the night after a deliciously erotic dream about Niamh,
and it was only after waking later that he identified the room as Charlotte’s. Distaste at the thought of intimate relations with that lonely woman was his initial reaction, but what could he
say in his defence? Everything that happened after eleven o’clock on the night of the party was either a blur, a dream or a blank.

Harcourt brought the news that Lochlann had agreed to marry her so there was no need for any dramatic resolutions as the family honour had been saved. He looked at her as if he
hated her.

“That’s not what I wanted. You must know that.”

“Don’t insult me by lying. Besides, you have no choice. It is all arranged.”

“What if I refuse to marry?”

“I don’t think that’s an option unless you want to spend the rest of your days locked up in a lunatic asylum. Mother has already threatened that and you know she’s not to
be trifled with.” He backed out of the room. “You are not to receive anyone in case pressure is brought to bear on you, and you are not to leave the house. Mother’s orders. Now
don’t expect me to speak to you ever again from this moment on.”

Lochlann’s mother cried and prayed for three days, his father felt unmanned by not being able to save his only son from a life of certain misery, and his sister Iseult,
from her perspective of twenty years, was revolted at the thought of her twenty-three-year-old brother marrying an old woman of thirty. His friends thought he was making a joke in poor taste when
he told them he was going to marry Charlotte.

“You’ve fallen for the oldest trick in the book,” one of them said bitterly, when Lochlann explained the circumstances. “Poor, innocent, sacrificial lamb.”

Edwina needed a favour. Mr Kilmartin, the specialist who had looked after her since she had been transferred to Dublin after her accident, was the only person she could think
of to ask. Would he find a position for her future son-in-law whose one desire all his life had been to travel to the outback of Australia and work there for a couple of years? The fares were to be
a surprise gift from her – he was penniless – and the position would have to be arranged at once. Could Mr Kilmartin contact one of his many colleagues who had emigrated there (he had
often referred to them) by cable – letters would be too slow at this late stage – and let her know?

Mr Kilmartin said he would be only too delighted to help. He had never seen his brave, resigned patient look so vital and animated. She must think a lot of her future son-in-law. He was pleased
to inform her within a fortnight that a friend of his had found advertised in a medical journal a small twenty-bed hospital serving a small town in the midst of a large area on the top of a plateau
400 miles from Sydney. At present it had no doctor, which wasn’t surprising, as it was an isolated, cold, rainy place, quite unlike the sunnier parts of the country that most people
favoured.

“That sounds ideal,” said Edwina, and asked if Mr Kilmartin would send a telegram to the hospital, accepting the post on behalf of Dr Lochlann Carmody.

Edwina then bullied the local priest into officiating at a wedding ceremony three weeks hence, a speedy resolution by anyone’s reckoning. To ensure the contract would be legal and binding
by Lochlann’s standards, she swallowed her prejudices and opted for a Catholic service. Let them try to get out of that one. Finally she booked two oneway tickets from Southampton on a cargo
ship. By registering Lochlann as a doctor, she was not charged for the fares.

Satisfaction all round. The Blackshaw name rescued, Charlotte off her hands. What did she care if Lochlann was a fortune-hunter and not of her class if the pair of them were living 12,000 miles
away? She could tell everyone a baby had been born five months later than it had in reality and there would be no one in a position to contradict her.

Lochlann didn’t try to contact Charlotte – seeing her on their wedding day would be too soon. Being married to her loomed like a sunless, bleak, never-ending
winter. And there would he be, wearing neither shoes nor coat, standing on ice in a treeless landscape.

If only Niamh could return from Africa so he could hold her in his arms one more time and have her press her dear hand against the wound in his chest so he could forget for a moment the
nightmare that was sucking the spirit out of him and colouring his future in various shades of black.

With relief, Charlotte changed her mind about escaping to England. She was too weak in her dehydrated state to undertake a journey, and besides, when one came to think of it,
did one have any right to deprive a baby of its father or a man of his own flesh and blood?

She thought not, and perhaps things might not turn out so badly. She could be the most generous benefactor as well as the best wife and mother in the country if she put her mind to it. Her
fortune would enable Lochlann to study in the best hospitals in Europe and America if he so wished. In time he would be able to set up his own private clinic, enabling him to fund wonderful
research that would change the face of medicine and, with her contacts, have no shortage of influential patrons and patients. It was even possible that one day he might bless the moment they met,
and publicly acknowledge his good fortune in having married her.

The fact that Niamh McCarthy's life might be destroyed by Lochlan's betrayal of her was something she wouldn't think about right now. Protecting her unborn child from the effects of dark and
depressing thoughts must be her priority from now on.

Sydney
1939

Dixon placed her bunch of keys beside the copy of
Middlemarch
on her rosewood desk. Her office was behind Reception – through the glass panels she could keep her
eye on activities in the foyer. Some guests were signing in, some leaving. She knew them all by name. Two more pairs of handmade shoes on account were being delivered to her. The head chef’s
weekly projections were ready for her assessment. Five young girls were sitting outside her door waiting to be interviewed for the waitress vacancy.

She walked from her office to the reception desk to look over the register. Guests and staff passing greeted her with deference, and those to whom she spoke the extra word felt honoured by being
singled out. Now that she was past her prime, respect acted as a satisfactory substitute for admiration. If her fiancé had lived, she would be a lady of the manor by now, the story went.
Just look at the size of those diamonds. She’d stayed true to his memory all those years, you have to give her credit for that – heroic and romantic at the same time. Worked hard. A
good listener, a keeper of secrets. A real battler, and you can’t give higher praise than that.

She was expecting a promotion she knew she deserved that would make her the first non-family female to become the manager of any hotel in NSW. As she completed one task after another she
rehearsed the speech she would make after the promotion was announced.

There was a visitor for Dixon at Reception. It was a journalist from the
Woman’s Monthly
who wanted to write an article about her. About how she had transformed the Waratah from a
basic watering hole into a comfortable hotel and become a legend herself in the meantime, rumoured to be about to make history. The dead aristocratic fiancé and the pieces of fine jewellery
he had given her before he left for the front would add glamour and pathos to the story.

Dixon agreed to give an interview and be photographed provided they didn’t mention the promotion as it hadn’t been made official yet.

If only the Matron from the orphanage and Manus, Miss East and Teresa Kelly could see me now, she thought as she posed, making sure her best features were facing the camera.

Dublin
1939

Edwina’s orchestration of the matrimonial merger was swift and thorough. In exchange for the wedding taking place at such short notice and in a Catholic church (though at
a side altar and not the main one) plus a promise that all their children would be reared as Catholics – even Edwina couldn’t make the parish priest back down on that one –
Lochlann agreed to accept the post in Australia. With Niamh lost to him, Siberia or the Arctic would have done just as well.

The night before the wedding Lochlann wrote a long letter to Niamh and entrusted it to Iseult to give her when she returned from Egypt in three days’ time. Iseult dreaded
that task almost as much as she dreaded attending the wedding.

“This is the last time we’ll talk like this,” Lochlann said to his sister.

How he would live without Niamh he didn’t know. As best he could, he supposed, now that there was no option. At least he had a profession he loved and would soon have a child of his own
– there were a lot of people worse off.

He wanted to put on a good front for his parents’ sake.

The two embraced in sorrow, before parting to prepare for the ordeal.

Iseult felt so ill on the morning of the wedding that she asked her father for some calming medicine to help her cope with the farcical ceremony she would give anything not to
have to attend.

The mother refused anything, in case she might be needed.

The father was filled with an awful hopelessness at being forced to witness the procedure as if it were a normal occasion. Try as he might, he couldn’t blame Charlotte for insisting on the
marriage – it was her right to give her child a father and a name. He could only lament the unfortunate background to it, and his son’s part in it.

Edwina didn’t even tell Waldron about the wedding, and Verity was sent off to Tyringham Park for the week to get her out of the way. Only the Carmodys were in the pews,
with Edwina in her wheelchair alongside, when the silent, unsmiling Harcourt supported an unsteady, weakened Charlotte into the little side chapel. Charlotte kept her head down when she reached
Lochlann’s side. She was heard to say “I’m sorry.” Lochlann didn’t turn to look at her and didn’t acknowledge the apology.

While they said their vows Charlotte felt the presence of the absent Niamh and shivered. Lochlann turned to look towards the door as if expecting a late arrival.

After the ceremony Edwina beckoned to Charlotte and indicated that she should wait until the others had left the side chapel. Charlotte sat in a pew beside the wheelchair and
waited.

She’s going to tell me I look nice and that Lochlann is a worthy addition to the family, she thought.

Edwina drummed her fingers on the arm of the wheelchair. “I want to make two things clear before I give you your tickets, so listen carefully and don’t tell me later that you made a
mistake because you didn’t hear what I said. Are you concentrating?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Under no circumstances are you to write to me when the baby is born. Let five months elapse before you do.”

“Then how will you know about it?”

“I am quite capable of restraining my curiosity for five months. I’ve made it easy for you to remember. A year to the day from today – you’ll hardly forget your first
anniversary. I don’t want to risk anyone knowing the real date of birth and turning me into an object of ridicule.”

“But all Lochlann’s family and friends know the circumstances, and they will be informed.”

“That is hardly a consideration to me seeing their paths and ours are unlikely to cross ever again. I made it clear that there will be no social contact between the two families from this
day forward.” Edwina’s face twisted in a grimace of unholy triumph. “I think I can say with certainty they won’t talk out of turn after what I’ve said – well,
‘threatened’ might be a more accurate word. No need for you to know the details. You can thank me for knowing how to save the family honour.”

Charlotte was filled with cold displeasure at her mother's attitude and had no inclination to thank her.

“So you don’t even want me to write privately to you?” she asked.

“No. Decidedly not. Verity collects the post every day and she’s likely to steam open your letter, she’s so desperate to know what doesn’t concern her. There’s been
talk. The fact that you’ll be abroad and they won’t be able to count the months is frustrating the gossips and Verity would love to claim her moment of glory by uncovering the truth and
spreading the word. She’s far too weak to keep a secret and your father can’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut when he’s drinking, so Harcourt and I are the only ones who know.
Unless you’ve been talking.”

“Of course not. Why would I? What’s the second thing?”

“I want you to find your sister. That is why I picked Australia for your exile. I would do it myself if it weren’t for this accursed wheelchair. I would have travelled there twenty
years ago if the accident hadn’t happened – Beatrice and I had it all arranged. As you know, I have made some attempts to advertise in Australia – to no avail – and I hired
that private detective who did nothing but pocket my money I suspect, apart from verifying that a Teresa Kelly arrived in Australia. But it’s a common name. He could not confirm that Dixon
arrived, for lack of a first name, though several female Dixons entered the country around the time. And so I have to rely on you to find Teresa Kelly and Victoria for me – or, failing that,
Nurse Dixon. It is my belief that they are together.”