Ruby Flynn (34 page)

‘I think I know that story,’ said Ruby. ‘A woman in one of the cottages on the Mulranny road, she told me something on the night of the fire.’

‘Ah, yes. It is remarkable, is it not, that every family in every cottage knows more about my family history, than I do? But, that’s the Irish for you.’

Ruby smiled. His demeanour had lightened as he spoke of Iona. The cares and woes etched in the lines on his face became smoother and lighter with each phase of the story he told. He felt as though he had been to confession. Holding Iona’s story secret in his heart for so many years had been a heavier burden to carry than he had realized.

‘Your mother, Iona, had a wonderful nature. The tenants still whisper about the famine girl, Eilinora. She was a witch, if you believe in that sort of thing. It was all a long time ago. Anyway, the direct line to Ballyford was broken by a train crash in England, so there is no one who really knows. Ballyford started all over again, if you like, after that. We were just distant cousins.’

‘In the linen room, I found a box with the clothes of a baby in it. Were they my mother’s?’ asked Ruby.

‘Ah, you found the box.’ Charles looked hurt. ‘I wondered what Mrs McKinnon had done with it. I never had the nerve to ask her. It was supposed to have been burnt, on my father’s orders. Isobel also found it. You must have heard of the curse of Eilinora. I never believed the curse. Sadly, when Isobel found the box, she did believe it and began to blame me for the deaths of our sons. I looked for Iona you know, just as soon as my father died, but my son died and then another and finding Iona just slipped from my mind. I know you won’t forgive me for that. By the time I did pull things back together and start the search again, I discovered she had died in the storm of ’47. We still don’t know where she was taken or how she arrived at Doohoma. It is some comfort to know that she met your father and that she had you and your brother. She knew love. She hid herself away and in that cottage, which made finding her so difficult. It feels as if nothing but bad has happened since the night Iona was taken. If only my father had known that it wouldn’t take a young girl who everyone loved to destroy Ballyford, just his own idiot of a son.’

Ruby said, ‘The books, at home, at Doohoma, the books had a Ballyford stamp in them, that is why? She took them with her?’

‘Probably,’ said Charles.

Ruby’s hair lifted up into the wind and blew around her face.

‘Is that why Mrs McKinnon came to find me?’

‘As soon as we found out Iona was dead, we sent for you. It took the clerk six years to discover that Iona had once lived at Ballyford. He only found out by chance. He never gave up on you, Ruby. He told me that you never left his thoughts. And, thank God you didn’t, because otherwise, you would not be here now.’

Later, when she looked back on that moment, Ruby didn’t know how she found the courage to take his hand in hers. It was almost as if her hand had acted of its own will. She pressed their palms together, hers small and white, dwarfed by his. For a long, long moment they looked at each other, eyes locked in meaning and hearts beating in unison. His words, when they came, took him as much as Ruby by surprise.

‘Since I first saw you on the steps, you have never left my thoughts. Yours is the first name to enter my mind each morning and the last to leave at night. You have bewitched me, Ruby. I must seem like a very old man to you, but right now there is only one person in my life I could be persuaded to live for, and that is you.’

Ruby’s heart pounded in her chest. She found that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

‘You and I, we’re equals. We both have nothing and no one. We’ve both lost those we love and are both connected to Ballyford. Maybe this needed to happen, for things to be right, maybe this was where I needed to be.’

‘I don’t think we can count a fire and two deaths as benefits,’ said Ruby. She had picked up a small twig from the beach with her free hand and was writing something in the sand.

‘No, I wasn’t saying that, Ruby. What I meant was that however it happened, here is where we are. I have nothing left and neither do you. All we have is what remains of Ballyford. It belongs to you as much as it does to me. It’s ours Ruby, and my heart, that is all yours too.’

Charles placed his arm around Ruby as he spoke and pulled her towards him. Two hours ago, he wanted to drown in the ocean. Now, he was looking at Ruby and knew that he was going to kiss her. He felt as if he was soaring.

Ruby was greedy. She had never been kissed before and as his mouth closed over her own, she knew at once that she never wanted anyone but Charles to kiss her again.

They both yearned in the aftermath of death. They ached for a love which was life affirming and real. As she pulled Charles towards her, eagerly, he whispered into the ear he was kissing, ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘It is, it is,’ she gasped back.

‘Ruby, this won’t be easy,’ he said as his hands caressed her back and slid down her sides and along her thighs. He wanted to touch every part of her soft skin, to know all of her at once. As his thumbs circled her breasts and his teeth sank into her neck, he felt her rise and arch against him. She was urging him along, impatient for something she had never known. As he undid the buttons on the front of her dress, he felt the heat of her skin escape and for a moment, he looked down as she lay on the sand, trembling, afraid of what came next but imploring him with her eyes. Her head was giddy, he felt half drunk but his mouth, his teeth, they searched and aroused her further as she felt her abdomen tighten in response. Ruby’s lips sought his eagerly. They clung to him, demanding and urging him on. As she held him to her, she saw the look of astonishment in his eyes and she smiled at the sound of his groan. She felt as though she were in a state of bliss, overwhelmed by a barrage of new sensations that assailed every part of her body. Her eyes closed and her lips parted as she moaned helplessly and as Charles looked down on her now naked body, he thought he had never seen a woman as beautiful. His own need consumed him as, unable to wait, he slowly entered her.

Her response was to arch against him as she shuddered violently and gasped as the tremors swamped her and left her unable to speak. Charles moved deeper into her and with the rhythm of the waves he lost himself, all he could hear was Ruby sobbing with pleasure beneath him. Ruby felt as though she would die and climb to heaven. Never had she known such a deep intensity of emotion. As he cried out, she wrapped her arms around him. It felt as though he were falling, falling deeper into her, but she caught him, wanting him to know that she was still there, and always would be there, supporting him, forever more.

*

Charles was deep in thought as they walked back to the castle.

‘What do we tell them? What will Mrs McKinnon say?’ Ruby asked.

‘We cannot tell them anything, or we will scandalize the entire Atlantic coast. We will have to wait a whole year Ruby and until then, it will have to remain our secret. Can you wait that long. Will you trust me, Ruby Flynn?’

As they walked hand in hand up the path to Ballyford, where they would have to part and live as near strangers, a master and his servant, the tide returned and washed the name, which Ruby had carved into the sand with her stick, clean away.

Eilinora had worked her magic. Taken by the tide, she had finally gone.

I can hear them laughing down on the shore, Charles and the boys, and Lottie is with them, carrying her and Danny’s new baby daughter in her arms.

I am in the study and their laughter drifts in through the open window. I can see fishing boats and the ocean. My view of the beach is blocked by the rhododendrons, but hearing their squeals of pleasure is enough to make me smile too.

But someone has to work. If Charles can sneak outdoors with our two boys, he will jump at the chance and so they are off, leaving me shouting after them, but it is no use. They outnumber me and besides, they know I am helpless when it comes to saying no, they have me wrapped around their little fingers, the three of them.

I can’t say I really mind, ’tis a true joy, watching them, like now through the open window walking back up the drive.

The lorry collecting the last load of bottles of Ballyford spring water has just left for Cobh.

Oh, how everyone laughed at me when I suggested we could restore Ballyford’s fortunes by selling bottled water. Especially Lottie. It was something Charles had said when he offered me a glass of water in his study and it had played on my mind ever since.
I swear that the water from our streams has fabulous restorative properties. If I could, I would bottle it and sell it.

‘You can’t sell the water God put into the mountain spring!’ That’s what everyone said.

And now, here we are, exporting over ten thousand bottles a year to New York and sure, the Americans can’t get enough of it. I have new equipment being delivered from England soon, which will seal the bottles and save the lads having to do it by hand. When that happens, we can produce more and export more. The English aren’t as keen yet, but they will follow. They say England is ten years behind America, I can wait. I designed the label on the bottle myself and even drew the picture of the castle and the words
Ballyford, Irish Spring Water
around it.

I have also had the nursery wing knocked down. There are thirty-six rooms in the castle. Why there needed to be a wing so far away that the children cannot be heard, I have no idea. I want to hear my children and I want others to hear them too.

When our first son, Owen, was born, I am sure Charles didn’t sleep for six months. For the first three, the baby slept in our room and every time I woke, Charles was sitting up in bed, looking at him. By the time Eamonn arrived, he had relaxed. He carried Eamonn into Owen’s bedroom and introduced him to his brand new baby brother. I have never seen a grown man shed so many tears.

We persuaded Mr and Mrs McKinnon to stay. They have their own house on the estate. Mr McKinnon’s pigs won best of breed at Galway and we have orders for bacon pouring in. We can barely supply the demand from England fast enough. The McKinnons are like grandparents to the boys and we see them almost every day.

Rory Doyle is missing, a rich man. His mother finally died of a broken heart. We did the best we could for her. Charles had a soft spot for her kindness when he had been a boy and he would never have blamed her for the behaviour of her son. He shared her sorrow. Betrayal is a difficult pain to bear.

Lottie and I tracked down Maria who became the new cook and Lottie took over as housekeeper, once we had persuaded Mrs McKinnon that it was time for her to enjoy her retirement. I can tell you, giving birth to Owen and Eamonn was an easier job than that. Betsy and her Jimmy, they are expecting a new baby any day now and Mary, she is still in the kitchen, but she is special to us and we treat her as one of the family and she loves to do nothing more than accompany me to Galway when I get the chance to visit the shops. Jack is running the bottling and he now lives in the cottage next door to Amy’s mother. We are happy. We have our roles and we know what they are. We have all been through enough together to enjoy every day to the full and not one of us wants to look back. Not ever. The past is behind us. We speak only of the future, even Jack.

Tomorrow, Charles and I are leaving the boys with Lottie and we are driving out to Doohoma.

We will walk up the cliff to my parents’ house and picnic on the rock, facing Blacksod Bay, then we will walk down to visit Con and Susan and their boys and Sister Francis will join us for the day. I will have told Charles the news by then as we look out over the deep water my father and brother fished on. I shall do it when we are sitting on the rock where I myself spent hours as a girl. I will tell Charles. I think our daughter is on her way and we shall name her Iona.

~

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Nadine Dorries’ next book,
The Angels of Lonely Lane,
is coming in spring 2016

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Acknowledgements

About Nadine Dorries

Also by Nadine Dorries

About the Four Streets Trilogy

An invitation from the publisher

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