The English Tutor (4 page)

“
He
’
ll scarcely be anything else coming all the way from England and shutting himself up in an old castle like Kil
mallin
with a couple of ignorant young hooligans,
”
he retorted.
“
Be cripes! I
’
m sorry for the poor man.
”

It had stopped raining when she rowed back across the loch, and the wind had dropped. Conn stood on the jetty waving to her, and they shouted to one another until he turned and climbed the path to the house in easy, leaping strides. No, she must not lose Conn to Kilmallin
’
s wrath. I
’
ll behave, she told herself, but I won
’
t submit. I
’
ll never submit.

On the other side, Brian waited for her. He seemed to have recovered from his pique at being left behind.

“
What did Conn say?
”
he demanded excitedly.
“
Wasn
’
t he amazed?
”

“
Not very. I think he thought it was a good thing,
”
she replied.

“
So do I. But Agnes says a tutor will destroy me entirely.
”

“
Agnes talks a lot of nonsense. What does Aunt Bea say?
”

“
She never says anything—I don
’
t expect she cares. Don
’
t go into the study tonight. Kilmallin
’
s doing accounts.
”

Clancy sighed. Kilmallin had in his own phraseology been doing accounts a great deal of late. He was drinking far too much.

Agnes met them in the hall.

“
Come in out of that,
”
she snapped, bustling Brian up the stairs.
“
There
’
s mist rising after the rain and your chest will be bad.
”

Clancy watched them disappear and felt very alone. For no reason, she suddenly remembered those words of her father
’
s, so many years ago.
“
If it had to be one of you, Clancy, God help me, it should not have been her. She should have given me another son.
”

She went into the library, and still in her wet clothes began to write a long letter to her cousin Clodagh in Dublin.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a spell of fine weather following the day of Miss Dillon
’
s departure, and Clancy and Brian, temporarily freed from study, spent much of their time on the loch. Each morning they listened for the postman
’
s shrill whistle and tore down to the gates to collect the letters, inspecting them closely for one from England, but so far there had been nothing.

Clancy wished that Clodagh would arrive from Dublin with her usual accompaniment of smart luggage and new clothes, but Clodagh was having too good a time in the city just then to spare a visit to her cousins in the west, though she promised to come and inspect the new tutor when he arrived.

They were all at breakfast when the letter came. Kevin, always restless until the morning papers arrived, paced about the room eating his porridge which he had never been known to take sitting down, while Brian plagued his aunt to know whether the English always dressed for dinner.

“
I don
’
t know, dear,
”
Aunt Bea said vaguely.
“
I shouldn
’
t think so, these days. In recent years there have been great changes in England.
”

“
I don
’
t suppose he
’
ll bring anything dressy here,
”
remarked Clancy, with her mouth full.
“
The English have queer ideas about us. They think we keep cows and hens in the house and never wash.
”

“
How disappointed he
’
ll be,
”
said Brian.
“
We don
’
t even have the dogs in the house and Agnes is always making me wash. Where will he sleep?
”

“
The tower room,
”
said Kevin shortly, from behind Clancy
’
s chair.

She wriggled round to look at him with disbelief.

“
The tower room!
”
she exclaimed.
“
You
’
d give him the tower room where men have watched and waited for the English for generations—the room Grandfather had as his own?
”

“
Why not?
”
snapped Kevin.
“
You talk as though the tower room was sacred.
”

“
It is,
”
said Clancy quickly,
“
I mean, it
’
s historical. I shouldn
’
t think an Englishman
’
s ever set foot in it.
”

“
Well, one is going to set foot in it now,
”
said Kevin.
“
See to it, will you, Bea?
”

Aunt Bea pursed her lips and looked pained. However, she only said:
“
Very well, Kevin,
”
and went on with her breakfast.

Kevin gave her a look. He was not unattached to his
si
ster and found her useful in many ways, but her vagueness and slight air of martyrdom exasperated him.
K
ate, now, was quite different. In their young unmarried days, it was always thought that the bouncing, domineering
K
ate would remain a spinster, but it had been she who had got a husband, and her gentler elder sister left an old maid. Perhaps it was just as well as things had turned out. He could not have bo
rn
e Kate keeping house for him
.

“
It
’
ll be pleasant to have another man in the house,
”
he said, frowning at Aunt Bea.
“
If he
’
s the right sort we can have a bit of fishing and one thing and another when he
’
s not knocking knowledge into you two children
’
s addle-pates.
”

“
Conn says he
’
s bound to be old and dried up, taking a job like this—you won
’
t want
him,
Kilmallin,
”
said Clancy.
“
There
’
s Micky-the-post! Come on!
”

At the long blast of the postman
’
s whistle she and Brian had leapt to their feet and were out of the room, Brian still holding his egg spoon, before their aunt could protest. At the gate Clancy inspected the mail.

“
Two for Aunt Bea, six for Kilmallin—two look like bills. That one for Aunt Bea is from that frightful Miss Foley—did you know, Micky, that she wears her sister
’
s false teeth—the one that died of the fits?
”

“
Is that so?
”
The postman was much interested.
“
She always was the mean wan, waiting, no doubt for the poor soul to die so she might get a loan of her teeth. Did you hear, Miss Clancy, that old Mr. Grady turned his only daughter out of the house after giving her a great skelpin
’
, an
’
she with no place to lay her head this night?
”
Micky-the-post had long been their main source of information as to what went on in the neighbourhood, and
many were the highly coloured and probably untrue tales they had taken with delight back to Kilmallin, but today Clancy was not interested. There were two other letters for Kevin, both with English stamps, one typewritten with the name and address of a London firm of solicitors stamped on the back, and the other a square tidy envelope bearing neat, precise handwriting.

“
Sure, I thought I
’
d brought the right wans this time—two of them,
”
the postman said, winking at Brian. He knew all about the new tutor, and the fact that he was English pleased him. The English were foolish with their money, and Micky had other sidelines besides being Micky-the-post.

“
This must be from those London lawyers Kilmallin wrote to,
”
said Clancy, turning the letters over.
“
And this is from him. Ah, he
’
s an old man for sure—look at the neatness of it. A professor, no less, as Conn said. Let
’
s get Kilmallin to open them at once. Hide the papers, Brian, or he
’
ll want to read the headlines first.
”

They raced back to the house and Aunt Bea said disapprovingly:

“
You
’
ll get overheated, Brian, if you race about like that. Sit down now and finish your breakfast.
”

Brian obliged her, sitting on the newspapers at the same time. Clancy flung the letters down in front of her father and requested him to open them immediately.

“
What
’
s all the fuss?
”
he said.
“
Where are the papers?
”

“
We have them, but please open these first—just these two,
”
begged Clancy.

Kevin was in a good humour. He obediently took up the solicitor
’
s letter and slit open the envelope.

“
For a girl who made such a scene at the very idea of an
E
n
glish
tutor, you seem mighty anxious to hear all about him,
”
he remarked.

“
We want to know the worst,
”
Clancy said, and watched in silence while her father read the letter. He read it to the end, then lay back in
hi
s chair and shouted with laughter. He then read the second letter w
hich
seemed to afford
him
nearly as much amusement, and, still chuckling to himself, folded both letters up and put them back in their envelopes.

“
What
is
it, Kilmallin? What
’
s so funny about it?
”
asked Clancy in a fever of curiosity.

“
It
’
s funny all right,
”
said Kevin, glancing at the rest of his mail, and tossing it aside to be dealt with later.
“
It tickles my sense of humour, though I doubt if it will yours.
”

“
Why, isn
’
t it all right? Are his references queer?
”

“
His references seem to be admirable, and he writes a good letter himself. No, I should say he
’
s just the man for us.
”

Clancy nearly stamped in her impatience.

“
But aren
’
t you going to read us what he says? Is he old? What
’
s his name?
”

“
His name?
”
This seemed to amuse Kevin afresh.
“
Ah, no, I
’
ll not spoil the joke by telling you. I
’
ll send
him a
wire and he
’
ll be here by the end of the week. You can wait till then for your information. Now give me the paper and leave me in peace.
”

Brian silently handed over the papers, and Clancy sighed but said no more. She knew her father in this mood. He would tell them nothing until he was ready.

Aunt Bea got up.

“
I
’
m going to give my orders in the kitchen. Will you be in for lunch, Kevin?
”
she said.

He did not look up from his paper, but replied that he would not. It was market day in Duneen, he said, and he had business there.

Clancy leant across the table.

“
Take me with you, Kilmallin,
”
she pleaded.
“
Just this once—
please.
I love to hear you bargain and make a good deal. Please,
Kilmallin
—let
’
s go roystering.
”

He gave in, why, he was not quite sure.

“
Oh, very well. Be ready by half-past ten. What about you, Brian? We might as well make it a family occasion.
”

But Brian did not want to go. A whole day in his father
’
s company, even though Clancy would be there to lend support, filled him with dismay. He looked quickly at his aunt, saying:

“
I think I
’
ll stay with Aunt Bea, if you don
’
t mind.
”

“
Much more sensible,
”
Aunt Bea said as she left the room.

Kevin, turned back to his paper with a deep sense of irritation. He knew quite well that had Brian asked if he could come in the first place, he would never have hesitated to grant the small favour as in his daughter
’
s case, and he felt at once unjust and ill-served by both his children.

“
Be ready by half-past ten,
”
he said again to Clancy.
“
I won
’
t wait a minute after.
”

T
o
Clancy it was one of the halcyon days to be remembered forever after for the little things. The way the thin brittle sunshine struck through the loch mist, as they rattled down the drive in Kevin
’
s old V8; the soft grey sky curving to the hills, the little, ho
rn
ed mountain sheep with their long tails, skipping out of their way on the moorland road.

The little grey town of Duneen was always a source of delight, and Clancy and Brian would sometimes walk to the village and take the old ramshackle bus and spend a happy day idling in the market and the shops with no money to spend. But to come with Kilmallin was entirely different. Everything had a flavour of adventure, and she loved to watch her father making a purchase or a deal, striking the bargain so dear to Irish hearts if it was only the matter of a hundredweight of maize. He would greet his friends with increasing
bonhomie
as the day wore on and the whisky flowed. Clancy sat in a
corner
of the saloon and listened to their racy stories and sometimes one of them would come over and speak to her, and Kevin, if he was in a good mood, would introduce her all round and she would fancy there was pride in his voice.

“
Ah, Clancy
’
s a son to me,
”
Kevin said, and pride and pleasure brought the tears pricking to her eyes.

But one of the men said quietly:

“
I
’
d not be wanting a son, Kilmallin, if I
’
d a daughter
like this one.
”

It was the first compliment she had ever received and she was bewildered. Had not she, as well as Kilmallin, all her life wished she had been a boy?

“
You
’
ll be marrying her off one of these days to a fine young fellow,
”
the dealer said, his shrewd bright eyes tw
in
k
lin
g.
“
And there
’
ll be no lack of suitors, I
’
m thinking. What news have you of Conn Driscoll?
”

Kevin laughed and ordered another round of drinks, and Clancy turned to the dealer with eagerness and began to tell the story of Conn
’
s grey mare who had lost
him
the best price he had got for a twelvemonth.

“
Och, that
’
s the bad luck!
”
the man sympathized.
“
But I
’
m always telling the boy he
’
ll never make money till he moves his stables. The land his side of Loch Sidhe is no good for horsebreeding.
”

“
But Conn doesn
’
t want to make money—not a lot of money,
”
she said.

The dealer smiled.

“
He may want to one day,
”
he said, and pulled one of her curls.

The afternoon went well with Kevin. His bargaining produced the right results, and Clancy, encouraged by his good humour, put in a little bargaining of her own and received a slap on the back from her father who told her she was a true
O’
Shane and as shrewd as himself.

“
You
’
re a good child, Clancy, here—buy yourself a fairing,
”
he said, and flung her a five-pound note.

Clancy
’
s eyes grew dark with wonder. There was nothing to spend money on at Kilmallin, so she seldom had any. This was riches indeed.

“
Can I spend it
al
l
?”
she asked with awe.

“
Sure you can spend it all,
”
laughed Kevin.
“
Buy yourself some fal-lal to dazzle the eyes of Conn Driscoll.
”

“
Conn takes no notice of fal-lals,
”
said Clancy happily, and rushed off to spend.

But she did not spend it all. An old-fashioned glass paperweight in the form of a globe which when turned upside down became a snowstorm, took her eye, and she bought this for herself and something for Brian, so that he should share in the pleasure of such a perfect day, and the change she stowed carefully away in the pocket of her neat tweed suit against another occasion. One never knew, she thought, suddenly sober, when one might need money.

They visited more saloons before they went home. Kevin, mellowed, but by no means drunk, told the company at large all about the English tutor he was engaging for his children, together with anecdotes of the string of governesses, prompted by Clancy when his memory failed him. It would be good, he said, to have a man in the house besides himself. They nodded their heads wisely and all approved his choice of a tutor, even of his nationality.

“
My daughter,
”
said Kevin solem
n
ly,
“
has a mislike for the English. She
’
s a great patriot, my daughter. She doesn
’
t take kindly to British rule.
”

This was considered a great joke, and one little man, raising his glass said:
“
To hell with the British, here
’
s to them!
”

They drove home in the darkness, Clancy
’
s head resting against her father
’
s shoulder, while he told her disreputable stories of his youth, and sang old ballads in a rich, tuneful baritone.

Clancy sighed deeply with contentment and closed her eyes. If the notion of another man in the house—even an Englishman—could do so much for Kilmal
li
n, then she would suffer him, for now at last they were companions, father and son, roystering together.