Call Home the Heart (8 page)

 

 

She had even, Lochlainn noticed, made the ultimate sacrifice,
removing her wedding ring in the shop and offering it to Mr. Murphy,
who had eventually purchased it with obvious reluctance. He had no
doubt see through the story of the fake sister after all. The story
of Augustine's death had been the morning papers. Perhaps Mr. Murphy
had guessed who she was? He only hoped he would be discreet about
who had sold him all the finery.

 

 

Lochlainn munched a second muffin slowly, savoring the rich buttery
taste, while Muireann occasionally chatted with the older lady by
her side, Mrs. Barnes, asking questions about all the town and
villages they passed, and avoiding any personal matters she tried to
pry into.

 

 

Mrs. Butler and her husband sitting opposite were quite
knowledgeable about the countryside they traveled through. They were
only too pleased to give the young Scottish girl a little lecture on
the glories of the countryside.

 

 

"There are the Four Courts. They stand on the site of an old
confiscated monastery. James the Second held his last ever
parliament here in 1689, and they became the official law courts,
replacing an older building erected in 1541.

 

 

"That's Whitworth Bridge, built in 1818, and quite modern compared
to some parts of the city. For example, St. Michan's over there
dates from 1095, long before the Normans ever arrived here, though
it was partly restored in 1685. Over there on Usher's Island is the
Mendicity Institute."

 

 

"It's a fine building," Muireann remarked, "though it does look like
it's seen better days."

 

 

"It was once the home of the Rawdons, but they lost it in 1808.
There is the Bluecoat School, very prestigious, and the Royal
Barracks."

 

 

"What are they constructing over there?" she asked, pointed at a red
brick building rising up from the south bank of the River Liffey.

 

 

"That's going to be our railway station," Mr. Butler announced
proudly.

 

 

Lochlainn glanced over at it, trying desperately to stay awake.

 

 

"There's Phoenix Park, set up by the Viceroy Lord Chesterfield in
1747. The wall is seven miles long, and that huge obelisk is the
Wellington Testimonial, put up in 1841. There's even a zoo, full of
lions and other exotic animals," Mrs. Butler said with a quiver of
excitement.

 

 

"Oh my, lions!" Muireann marveled.

 

 

"Have you ever seen one?" Mr. Butler asked. "Magnificent beasts."

 

 

 Muireann nodded. "Yes, I have. As you say, they really are
quite splendid."

 

 

Lochlainn glanced at her in surprise, and made a mental note to
himself to go to the zoo the next time he happened to be in Dublin.

 

 

"Mr. Roche once lived in Australia, so I'm sure lions are nothing
compared to all the wonderful things he saw there," Muireann said.

 

 

The other elderly gentlemen, Mr. Stubbs, who made up the rest of the
party, began to press him for specific details of koalas and
kangaroos, which Lochlainn did his best to answer.

 

 

"And there is Kilmainham Gaol, and the Royal Hospital," Mrs. Butler
said, pointing, as the sky began to darken with clouds and a few
swirling flakes began to fall.

 

 

"Now we're passing the Royal Canal, and this is Blanchardstown,"
Lochlainn chipped in, trying to impress Muireann. "The castle is
Norman, but was destroyed in a great siege during the Civil War by
General Monk in 1642."

 

 

"And this is the village of Dunboyne, where Colonel Blood was born.
He nearly succeeded in stealing all the Crown Jewels of England for
the Tower of London in 1671. And the next village will be Laracor,
where Jonathan Swift was incumbent from 1699."

 

 

"Oh really?" Muireann asked excitedly. "I love Swift's writings,
don't you?"

 

 

Lochlainn nodded, and noticed Mr. and Mrs. Butler giving them
speculative looks.

 

 

"Newlyweds, are you?" she asked sharply.

 

 

"That's right," Muireann answered easily, squeezing Lochlainn's hand
to silence him. The last thing they needed was any gossip about
their circumstances.

 

 

"There, Mr. Butler, you see, I told you!" Mrs. Butler exclaimed in
delight. "They can't keep their eyes off each other."

 

 

Muireann blushed to the roots of her hair.

 

 

Lochlainn looked out the window in an effort to conceal his
discomfiture.

 

 

Fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Butler were pretty much oblivious to the
feelings of others, and continued on with their travelogue through
Trim and past the Hill of Tara, droning on and on, until at last
Lochlainn, exhausted, rested his head on the top of Muireann's
unconsciously and began to doze.

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

It seemed as though Lochlainn had only been asleep for a few minutes
when he noticed the coach had halted. It was pitch dark outside the
window, and Muireann was standing over him with all of their
traveling rugs draped over one arm.

 

 

"Where are we?"

 

 

"At Virginia, sleepy head. Come on, it's very late. They're getting
our room ready for us, and some supper."

 

 

"Our room?"

 

 

He had no time to press the matter further, for several porters came
to help Muireann get their luggage down. She skipped out of the
coach, and lifting her skirts high, entered the lobby of the inn,
where she ran over to the huge blazing fire. Lochlainn was left
alone to follow along behind.

 

 

When he came inside, the servant boy said, "This way, please," and
led them up to a pleasantly decorated, wood-paneled room with a huge
oaken four-poster bed. Other servants began to parade up and down
the stairs with cans of hot water. Another maid took Muireann's food
order for their evening meal, which she requested should be served
in their room.

 

 

Only when the tub was full and the servants had disappeared did
Lochlainn have the opportunity to ask with a disconcerted frown,
"Our room? And a bath?"

 

 

"Well, what do you want to do, spend money we really don't have on
another chamber? And if the estate is as bad as you say it is, this
might be the last decent bath and meal I'll get for a while. So I'm
going to enjoy it," Muireann said a trifle impatiently as she
stripped off her cloak and shawl, and then began to unbutton the top
of her gown. "What did you want me to do, tell the manager that we
weren't married, and cause a scandal?"

 

 

"No, of course not, I just thought that-"

 

 

"I've told you before, we're in this together. We share everything,
unless of course you object with regard to the bath water. We did it
all the time at Fintry to save the servants trouble. You can go
first if you like. And as for false modesty, you've already seen me
in my underclothes yesterday. I think I can trust you."

 

 

Lochlainn, astonished at her forthrightness, shook his head. "Never
mind, Muireann, forget I said anything. You're right, of course. I'm
sorry. But you should go first. Get into that bath now, before it
gets cold, and I'll go downstairs."

 

 

"Please, Lochlainn, I'm not that modest," she answered with a
withering look. "There is a screen, you know. If you're still
sleepy, go lie down on the bed. If not, then here's a copy of
today's paper. Read me the items while I have a soak, and then it
will be your turn. Unless of course you don't wish a bath."

 

 

"I'd love one," Lochlainn said enthusiastically, looking forward to
the prospect of his first full bath in over a week. Muireann had
been absolutely right about the primitive conditions at Barnakilla.
In the summer the lake was fine, but in the winter, hot baths were
an unheard-of luxury for him except when his sister took the trouble
to set up the tubs for washing day and boiled them a few extra
cauldrons for a hasty, tepid dip.

 

 

Muireann tugged out the lilac nightdress and matching robe from her
valise and went behind the screen. Soon Lochlainn could hear her
happily splashing, and the sounds of her lathering herself all over.

 

 

"Go on, read to me," she encouraged.

 

 

Lochlainn did as he was told.

 

 

She sat back in the tub with a satisfied sigh and soaked, adding a
bit more hot water from the cans the servants had left, until at
last she felt cleansed after her terrible journey from Scotland and
the dreadful ordeal she had endured the day before at the hotel.

 

 

It's like it all happened in
another lifetime,
she reflected in surprise. She decided
that that was as it should be. It was better for her to pretend her
past life had never happened if she was to face the hardships of
Barnakilla.

 

 

She was no fool. Lochlainn had been very sparing with the details
about circumstances there, but she had got to know him well enough
over the past three days to sense the fear lurking just below the
surface.

 

 

She certainly couldn't blame him for being frightened. She had
learnt for herself about the tragedy caused by a bankrupt estate
when her Uncle Arthur had made some unwise speculative ventures.

 

 

Her father had bailed out Uncle Arthur, but not without issuing a
stern lecture about his foolishness, and frequent reminders ever
since about his own largesse in having helped, for which her father
felt Arthur should be suitably grateful for the rest of his life.

 

 

Muireann was determined that that would never happen to her. She
loved her father, but his smugness from his superior position as a
person who had never know a day's want would be more than she could
ever bear.

 

 

All the same, Muireann knew she would have to tell the truth to
someone back home, if only to prevent her family from coming over
once the news of her widowhood reached them.

 

 

The only effective ally she was convinced could be trusted was her
brother-in-law, Neil Buchanan. Over the years he had always defended
Muireann's actions while her mother and sister had denounced them as
unfeminine.

 

 

Neil had four sisters, all talented, beautiful and well educated. He
had always been impressed with her head for figures, and had
carefully explained investments and other financial matters to her.
He had been pleased at how apt a pupil she had become.

 

 

As their family's lawyer after the early death of his father, Neil
would be as familiar as anyone with her father's affairs. He would
be able to tell her whether there might be funds she could get her
hands on easily without her father discovering that Augustine had
frittered away her entire marriage portion. And as a landlord
himself, he might have a few good ideas about the estate.

 

 

Neil was also a fine judge of livestock. He had taught her a great
deal about that as well during her visits to his family's estate at
Dumbarton, and lately at his new home just by Dunoon on the Firth of
Clyde.

 

 

He had always loved living near the water, and had purchased the
estate from a bankrupt laird. He would no doubt sympathize with her
plight, and admire her for trying to do the right thing by the poor
wretches who were dependent upon her prosperity for their own.

 

 

Neil and Alice had been married the previous year, and had been
insistent that Muireann visit often. Muireann knew it was because
Alice wished to show off how well she had done for herself in the
marriage stakes.

 

 

Though Neil was fairly handsome in an earthy sort of way, his
deciding point had been his wealth. Muireann sometimes felt sorry
for Neil for having made such a poor bargain. She was certain that
the only person her icy sister loved was herself.

 

 

Muireann's visits at Dunoon House would have seemed interminably
long if Neil and his much younger brother Philip, a few years older
than herself, hadn't taken it upon themselves to entertain her. She
had been allowed the run of the estate, and there had been a
conspiracy of silence regarding what she had got up to whenever she
hadn't been under the sharp eyes of Alice or her mother.

 

 

Muireann was an excellent horsewoman, a good cook, and had assisted
at the births of many calves, lambs and foals. She had little fear
of men, for she had practically grown up with Neil and Philip as
part of her family, and her Uncle Arthur and his large family of six
boys had come to live in the gate house at Fintry many years before.

 

 

Muireann had been a terrible hoyden in her younger days, she knew.
But at least the boys had been given a good education. Her father
had emphasized this as the only way the penniless lads would ever be
able to make a living for themselves. Muireann had insisted so
intently that she be allowed to take lessons with their tutor that
she had eventually been allowed to join them in the school room, and
possessed Latin, French, German, and an excellent grasp of
mathematics.

 

 

Three of the boys were now in business in London, Paris and
Edinburgh, in jobs with financial institutions and trading houses.
Muireann wondered if they might not be able to give her some advice.
The three youngest were still at Fintry, working in various
positions to help their uncle run the mighty estate.