Ashworth Hall Read online

  “I’m so glad you came!” she said, throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly. “This is my first really important political weekend, and it’s going to be absolutely fearful. In fact, it already is.” She stood back, pulling her face into an expression of acute anxiety. “You should feel the tension. If these people are typical of the rest of the Irish, I can’t imagine how anyone thinks they are going to find peace between them. Even the women dislike each other.”

  “Well, they are Irish as much as the men,” Charlotte pointed out with a smile. “And possibly they are Catholic or Protestant as much, or just as dispossessed, or just as frightened of losing what they have and have worked for.”

  Emily looked surprised. “Do you know something about it?” She was wearing a morning dress of pale green, a color which suited her fair hair and complexion extraordinarily well, and she looked quite lovely in spite of her agitation.

  “Only what Thomas told me,” Charlotte replied. “Which was not a great deal. Naturally he had to explain why we were here.”

  “Why are you?” Emily sat down in one of the large, floral-covered chairs and pointed to another for Charlotte. “Of course you are most welcome, I don’t mean to sound ungracious. But I should like to know why anyone thinks the police should be here. They are hardly going to come to blows, are they?” She looked at Charlotte with a half smile, but there was a note of genuine alarm in her voice.

  “I doubt it,” Charlotte replied candidly. “I think there is probably no danger at all, but there have been threats on Mr. Greville’s life, so they have to take every precaution.”

  “Not from one of the guests here!” Emily said with horror.

  “I shouldn’t think so, but naturally they were anonymous. No, I expect it’s just a matter of being careful.”

  “Anyway, I am very glad you are here.” Emily relaxed a little. “It is going to be a most testing weekend, and it will be far easier with you to help than trying to do it alone. I’ve often had visitors here before, of course, but of my own choosing, and people who like each other. For goodness sake, do try to be tactful, won’t you?”

  “Do you think it will make any difference?” Charlotte said with a grin.

  “Yes! Don’t talk about religion, or parliamentary franchise or reform, or education … or landowning, or rents, or potatoes … or divorce ….”

  “Potatoes or divorce!” Charlotte said incredulously. “Why in heaven’s name should I talk about potatoes or divorce?”

  “I don’t know. Just don’t!”

  “What can I talk about?”

  “Anything else. Fashion … except I suppose you don’t know about it. Theater—but you don’t go to the theater, except with Mama, to watch Joshua—and you better not mention that our mother has married an actor, and a Jewish one at that. Mind, I think the Catholics are too busy hating Protestants, and the Protestants hating Catholics, to care about Jews one way or the other. But they probably all think anyone on the stage is wicked. Talk about the weather and the garden.”

  “They’ll think I’m a simpleton!”

  “Please!”

  Charlotte sighed. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is going to be a difficult weekend, isn’t it?”

  Luncheon fulfilled her prophecy. They met in the large dining room around a table long enough to seat twenty but set for twelve. Jack Radley welcomed Charlotte, and then introduced her, and of course Pitt, to the rest of the company, and they all took their places. The first course was served.

  Charlotte had been placed between Fergal Moynihan on her left and Carson O’Day on her right. Fergal was a striking-looking man of slightly above average height and refined aquiline features, but she thought there seemed little humor in his face. She was not immediately drawn to him, although perhaps it was her image of an intransigent Protestant which unfairly prejudiced her.

  Carson O’Day was a smaller man, far grayer, and at least fifteen or twenty years older, but there was a strength in him it did not take more than a glance to see. His manner was benign and courteous, although beneath the niceties of the social situation it was easy to see his gravity and the fact that he never for an instant forgot the reason they were met.

  Opposite her was Padraig Doyle, also an older man, perhaps in his middle fifties, with a genial expression and the kind of features which could not honestly be described as handsome, being too uneven, his nose too long and slightly crooked, but there was laughter and imagination in him, and Charlotte felt even before he spoke that he might be most entertaining company.

  Although Emily was the hostess, once she had seen that everyone was seated and served she made no demur about Ainsley Greville assuming a natural leadership of the occasion. His wife, Eudora, was a remarkably handsome woman, looking to be several years younger than he, with very fine, rich, auburn coloring; wide, brown eyes; high cheekbones, and a lovely mouth. She was modest of manner, and it only added to her charm.

  The other two women at the table were less easy for Charlotte to see, but as soon as the opportunity offered itself, she studied them discreetly. Kezia Moynihan bore a superficial resemblance to her brother. Her coloring was also fair, with very clear, almost aqua, eyes and thick hair which looked enviably easy to dress. But unlike Fergal, there was a quickness in her expression, as if humor came to her naturally, although perhaps temper also. Charlotte found it an easier face to like.

  Iona McGinley was a dramatic opposite. Her slender hands moved nervously on the white tablecloth. Her hair was almost black, and her dark blue eyes were wide, vulnerable, full of dreams and inward thoughts. She spoke very little, and when she did her voice was soft with a southern lilt almost like music itself.

  The only other person present was Lorcan McGinley, fair haired with a long, narrow face, wide mouth and very blue eyes which were startling, almost sky blue, disconcertingly direct.

  The conversation began with a few remarks which seemed harmless to the degree they were almost banal, especially among people who had all been present since the previous afternoon, therefore had shared at least two meals before.

  “Very mild,” Kezia said with a smile. “I notice there are still a great many roses in bloom.”

  “We sometimes get them right up until Christmas,” Emily replied.

  “Does the rain not rot them?” Iona asked. “We find at home it tends to.”

  “We are not so wet further east,” Carson O’Day put in.

  There was a sudden silence, as if the remark had been critical.

  Emily looked from one to the other of them.

  “Yes it does, occasionally,” she said to no one in particular. “I think it is a matter of luck. There seem to be a lot of berries on the hawthorns this year.”

  “Some say it means a cold winter,” Lorcan observed without looking up from his plate.

  “That’s an old wives’ tale,” Kezia replied.

  “Old wives are sometimes right,” her brother pointed out without a smile. He looked at Iona, and then away again quickly, but not before their eyes had met. He continued with his soup.

  Emily tried again with a different subject. This time she addressed Eudora Greville.

  “I hear Lady Crombie is planning to visit Greece this winter. Have you ever been?”

  “About ten years ago, but in the spring,” Eudora replied, taking up the opportunity to assist. “It was very beautiful indeed.” And she proceeded to describe it. No one was really listening, and perhaps she did not care whether they were or not. It was a safe subject, and the tension eased.

  Charlotte would have liked to help as well, but all she could think of was politics, divorce or potatoes. Everything seemed to lead back to these, one way or another.

  She was happy to look agreeable and affect a great interest in travel, asking questions every time it seemed the discussion might flag. It looked as though it would be a very long weekend indeed. Five or six days of this, with at least three meals every day, not counting afternoon tea, would seem like the best part of a
year.

  She watched the others around the table as one course was removed and the next served. Ainsley Greville appeared very much at ease, but looking more closely at his hands, she saw that when he had no food they did not lie loosely on the cloth beside his place, but one finger drummed silently, and now and then the smile on his face became fixed, as if there by effort not instinct. The responsibility for this conference must lie heavily upon him. For all his experience, and no doubt the rewards, she felt a moment’s pity for him.

  Eudora, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable. Was she a far better actress? Or had she little idea of the true nature of the weekend?

  Padraig Doyle also seemed to find genuine satisfaction in his meal and ate it with enjoyment, giving sincere compliments to the cook, through Emily. But since he was the representative of a major cause, he must be aware of the task which faced them and the difficulties of finding any semblance of a solution. He was simply a very fine actor. Regarding him while the main course was removed and dessert was served, Charlotte thought she saw in his face the quick emotions of an artist, the wit of a raconteur. He certainly told a very lively tale of his own travels in Turkey, mimicking various people he had met and describing their clothes and general appearance with poetic detail. Several times he set them laughing.

  Charlotte noticed he spoke to Eudora very easily, as if he had known her for some length of time.

  She was also aware of the brittleness between Lorcan McGinley and Fergal Moynihan, as if they could barely bring themselves to agree even upon complete irrelevances, such as the exorbitant price of decent accommodation abroad or the discomforts of travel in bad weather.

  Kezia seemed very close to her brother, supporting whatever view he offered, while she never directly agreed with or contradicted O’Day.

  Iona McGinley, on the other hand, seemed self-conscious when she spoke either directly to Fergal Moynihan or gave an opinion on something he had said.

  Several times Charlotte caught Pitt’s eye and saw the flicker of anxiety in his gaze as he too studied the guests. And she saw Jack and Emily look at one another more than once in silent understanding and sympathy.

  The meal was drawing to a grateful close when one of the footmen came to Jack’s side and announced that there was a Mr. Piers Greville arrived, and should he show him in.

  Jack hesitated only a moment. “Yes, of course.” He looked across at Ainsley, then at Eudora, and saw the complete surprise in their eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Eudora said simply. “I thought he was still up at Cambridge. I do hope nothing is wrong!”

  “Of course not, my dear,” Ainsley assured her, although his expression belied his words. “I daresay he went home, which is only about eleven miles away, after all, and when he was told we were here, he decided to come and see us. He could have no idea it would be unsuitable.” He turned to Emily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Radley. I hope it does not inconvenience you?”

  “Of course not. He is most welcome.” Emily said the only thing she possibly could. In high society people frequently turned up at country house parties uninvited. Hospitality was always given, and could be equally reciprocated when the host should return the visit at some other time. People came and went as suited them, although less so now that train travel stretched easily and conveniently all over the country. In earlier days one might be obliged to stay for a month or two at a time, simply because of the physical trial of moving, especially on appalling roads, heavily rutted by rain and sometimes unpassable in winter. “It will be charming to meet him,” she added.

  Charlotte looked across the table to Pitt. He smiled back at her ruefully. It was just one of the many unexpected possibilities that could arise. No one had asked him, but then to do so would have betrayed his importance, which would immediately rob him of the only advantage he had.

  The footman bowed and retreated to obey.

  Piers Greville came in a moment later. He was not quite as tall as his father but he had the same coloring, and a regularity and charm of feature which were more like that of his mother. On this occasion his whole being was alight with excitement and anticipation. There was a flush in his cheeks and his gray-blue eyes were bright. He spoke first to Emily.

  “Mrs. Radley, how do you do? It really is very generous of you to allow me to burst in on you like this. I appreciate it enormously. I shall try to be the least possible inconvenience, I promise.” He turned to Jack, still smiling. “And to you too, sir. In advance, I thank you profoundly.” He looked swiftly around the table, acknowledging each of them although he could have no idea who they were.

  Everyone smiled back, some with genuine warmth, like Kezia Moynihan, others gradually, without more than courtesy, like her brother and Lorcan McGinley.

  Piers turned to his father.

  “Papa, I had to come because this week is the only opportunity I have within the next two months, and I felt the news could not wait.” He swiveled around to his mother. “Mama …”

  “What news?” Ainsley asked, his voice very level, noncommittal.

  Eudora looked puzzled. Obviously, whatever Piers had to say was not expected. Presumably it could not concern his studies or any examinations he was to take.

  “Well?” Ainsley asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “I am betrothed to be married!” Piers said with happiness filling his face and ringing in his voice. “She is the most unique and marvelous person I have ever known. She is quite beautiful and you will love her.”

  “I didn’t even know you had met anyone,” Eudora said with a mixture of surprise and anxiety. She made herself smile, but there was a flicker of pain behind it. Watching her, Charlotte thought for a flying moment of her own son, Daniel, and wondered if she too would be caught unaware when he fell in love, if she would not be close enough to him for him to have confided in her long before asking a woman to marry him. It gave her a sharp feeling of fear for the loss.

  Ainsley was more practical.

  “Indeed. Then I imagine congratulations would be appropriate. We shall discuss the arrangements at a more suitable time, and of course we shall wish to meet her and her parents. Your mother will no doubt have much to ask her mother, and to tell her.”

  A shadow passed over Piers’s face. He looked very young, and suddenly also vulnerable.

  “She has no parents, Papa. They died of fever when she was a child. She was brought up by grandparents, who are unfortunately also dead now.”

  “Oh dear!” Eudora looked startled.

  “As you say, unfortunate,” Ainsley agreed. “But obviously it cannot be helped. And there is plenty of time. You cannot consider marriage until you are qualified and have purchased a practice, and possibly not for the first year or two after that.”

  Piers’s expression tightened and some of the light faded from his eyes. The thought of waiting so long would be hard for any young man in love, as he so clearly was.

  “When may we meet her?” Eudora asked. “Is she in Cambridge? I imagine she is.”

  “No … no, she is in London,” Piers said quickly. “But she is coming here tomorrow.” He swung around to Emily. “If I have your permission, Mrs. Radley? I realize it is a fearful impertinence, but I do so badly want her to meet my family, and for them to meet her, and this is the only chance for at least another two months.”

  Emily swallowed. “Of course.” Again she made the only answer she could. “She will be most welcome. Congratulations, Mr. Greville.”

  He beamed. “Thank you, Mrs. Radley. You are terribly generous.”

  After the meal was over the men adjourned to begin their discussions, and Emily went to inform the housekeeper that there was an extra guest and require that a room be prepared for him, and one for the following day for the young lady who was expected.

  After that she joined the other women in a gentle stroll around the gardens in the late sunshine, showing them the maze, the orangery, the long lawn with its herbaceous borders, now full of chrysanthemums and late
asters, the water lily pools and the woodland walk with its ferns, wild white foxgloves, and then back through the beech walk and ending in the rose garden.

  Afternoon tea in the green room offered the first opportunity, and necessity, for conversation. Until then, comments on flowers and trees had been sufficient. Emily had walked with Eudora and Iona, Charlotte had followed a step or two behind with Kezia. It had all seemed very agreeable.

  Now, in the green room, with its French windows onto the terrace and the grass sloping down to the rose garden, the fire crackling brightly and the silver tray of hot crumpets and butter, delicate sandwiches and small iced cakes, it was impossible to avoid speaking to each other.

  The maid had passed the teacups and withdrawn. After the exercise Charlotte was hungry and found the crumpets delicious. It was not easy to eat them in a ladylike fashion and not drip hot butter onto the bosom of her dress. It required a degree of concentration.

  Kezia looked at Emily gravely. “Mrs. Radley, do you think it will be possible to purchase a newspaper in the village tomorrow—if I sent one of the footmen for it, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “The Times is delivered here every day,” Emily replied. “I expect we have already arranged to have several copies sent, but I will make sure that it is so.”

  Kezia smiled dazzlingly. “Thank you very much. That is most generous.”

  “I don’t imagine there will be much news of Ireland in it,” Iona observed, her eyes wide. “It will be all English affairs, English social news and theaters and financial dealings, and of course a certain amount of what is happening abroad.”

  Kezia returned her stare. “The English Parliament governs Ireland, or had you forgotten that?”

  “I remember that even in my sleep,” Iona replied. “Every true Irish man or woman does. It’s only you who want to remain in the English pockets who let yourselves forget what it means, the shame and the grief of it, the hunger, the poverty and the injustice.”

  “Yes, the whole of England is riding on Ireland’s back, I know that,” Kezia said sarcastically. “So small as Catholic Ireland is, it’s no wonder it finds the weight too much! You must work like galley slaves to keep us all going.”