Laurel McKee Read online

  “There now,” Eliza murmured. “Just rest now. The midwife will be here soon, and you and your baby will be just fine.”

  She was not so sure about the baby’s father, though. Eliza shuddered as she thought of the young man’s bloody back. But she could not help him now. She could only help these people right in front of her.

  “ ’Tis lucky you came along, my lady,” Bridget said. “They would have taken Annie, too, no matter that she’s about to have the baby.”

  “I only did what any sane person would do,” Eliza answered. Though it did seem as if sanity was in short supply of late.

  Bridget shook her head, holding her daughter closer. “They would just say we brought it on ourselves and go on their way.”

  She meant no one else from an aristocratic family would help, Eliza thought sadly. Most of them probably huddled in the luxury of their great houses, while the peasants suffered and died.

  The truth was, suffering and death could come to any one of them at any moment. No great house could protect them now. As she looked down at the sobbing Annie, she smelled the blood and dirt and smoke—and wondered just what she would find at home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eliza slumped over in the saddle, so numb and exhausted she could only stare up at the house. It was there; it was whole. The pale gray stones were intact, the stern Palladian façade balanced by the romance of the old medieval tower at one end, the only remnant of the original castle. The late afternoon sun gleamed on the many windows, turning them pinkish gold.

  But it was also eerily quiet. Usually at this time of day, Killinan was a veritable beehive of activity, especially if her mother was having one of her many parties. Servants rushing to and fro, merchants and caterers arriving. Or, if Lady Killinan was going out, the carriage would be waiting with the liveried footmen. Smoke would be billowing from the kitchen chimneys, and gardeners would be finishing up their tasks on the vast grounds.

  Now there were no parties, no outings. But the gardens were as lovely as ever with their rolling, velvety green lawns, symmetrical beds colorful with red and yellow blossoms, shaped topiaries, and gurgling fountains. Those gardens were her mother’s great pride, the most famously beautiful in all Kildare County. Today they were deserted.

  Eliza studied the blank windows, taking in the perfect stillness. Not even a bird sang. Had her family fled, then?

  Her footman helped her from her horse, and for a moment, she held on to the saddle, swaying at the sudden feel of solid earth under her feet. She took in a deep breath, hoping the cool, clover-greenness of home would erase the sour scent of smoke and fear. But the air was hot and thick, and she could imagine the flames followed her even here.

  She draped her saddlebag over her shoulder as feeling finally flooded back into her feet. “I will go back to the village later, once the horse is rested,” she said. She wanted to check on Annie, who had just been barely settled in the midwife’s cottage before her little son arrived.

  “Of course, my lady,” he answered. “Shall I go with you?”

  “No, no, you need to rest. It has been such a long journey.” She needed to rest, too, yet she feared it would be a long while before she could sleep. Even though she could hardly put one foot before the other, her nerves felt all a-jangle.

  She hurried up the wide marble front steps and into the shadowed foyer. It, too, was silent, as echoing as a cave, the curving staircase with its lacy gilt work soaring up from the black and white tiled floors. Her ancestors stared down at her from their portraits, surmounted by ornate white plaster wreaths that contrasted with their dark sternness. High above, a domed ceiling was painted with a blue sky, curious Greek gods and cherubs peering at the follies of humans below.

  It all looked just the same as ever, and even in the quiet, Eliza blessed its solid reality, its haven of familiarity. She took off her hat, dropping it onto the base of a statue of Artemis, along with her saddlebag. Her curls escaped their net, and she impatiently shoved them back.

  And at last she heard a sound, the heavy thud of booted footsteps on the stairs. She spun around to find a man making his slow way down, and at first, she did not know him. He was not very tall but was well muscled, his dark hair tied back tightly from a square face.

  And he wore a red uniform.

  Eliza shrank back against the statue’s stone base, but it was too late. He already saw her.

  “Eliza,” he said, none too happy. “Your mother said you were in Dublin.”

  “George!” Eliza answered, equally surprised—and unhappy. George was a sort of distant cousin to her mother, though closer in age to Eliza than to Lady Killinan. When they were children, his parents often came to visit Killinan Castle, which Eliza hated because George often pulled her hair and threw her books into the fountain.

  They saw him much less often in later years. The last Eliza heard, he had married some Ulster heiress and joined a regiment there in the north. Yet here he was.

  “What are you doing here?” Eliza asked.

  “Now, is that any way to greet a kinsman?” he said, leaning on the banister as he smiled down at her. “It has been far too long since we saw each other. Though I see you are quite as lovely as ever, cousin.”

  “And you are as great a liar,” Eliza answered. “I have been traveling for long hours and don’t look lovely in the least.”

  He laughed unpleasantly, coming down the rest of the stairs. “Nonsense. The Blacknall beauty will always shine through. Perhaps especially with Anna?”

  There was a glint in his hard gray eyes as he said her sister’s name that Eliza did not care for. “And how is your wife, George?” she said pointedly.

  He shrugged. “She does well enough, from what I’ve heard. I have not been home in a long while; duty has called me here.”

  “To subdue the discontented populace of Kildare?” Eliza said doubtfully. From the family gossip she had heard, George was best at subduing bottles of brandy.

  He scowled at her. “I don’t like your tone, dear cousin. We all must do our duty, and mine is to uphold law and order among ignorant, violent Irish peasants who don’t know what’s good for them.”

  “We all do what we must, I suppose. But I don’t see any violent peasants here in my mother’s drawing room, do you?”

  His eyes narrowed, and she remembered too well the angry boy who once pulled her hair. “I came here to warn your mother. We will disarm Kildare, by whatever means necessary, and that includes her own estate. She is too kind and trusting to see sedition even when it is right under her pretty nose.”

  “I am sure she appreciates the warning.” Eliza started to turn away, but George suddenly grabbed her arm, crushing her linen shirt sleeve and the soft skin beneath.

  She tried to wrench away, but he held fast.

  “You always were a smart girl, Eliza,” he said harshly. “Too smart by half. You never knew your place, and Mount Clare wasn’t man enough to take a horsewhip to you and correct you. But you had best tread carefully now, cousin. Rebellion won’t be tolerated, even in a Blacknall.”

  Eliza glared up at him. A horsewhip, was it? She wished she had one right now to wipe that smug look from his face.

  Then she smelled it. That heavy scent of stale smoke, thick in his hair and on the red wool of his coat. And…

  “Is that blood on your sleeve?” she gasped, staring at the long rust-red stain. She remembered the burned cottages, the gash on the old man’s forehead—the boy dragged away from his pregnant wife.

  She had been too exhausted to see it before, but now it was much too clear. It had been him, the man on horseback at the village. It was George. “You,” she whispered.

  He let her go, stepping away as he shook his head. “Just remember what I said, Eliza. You are not as clever as you think.”

  “Good-bye, George. My felicitations to your wife. She is such a… fortunate woman,” Eliza said tightly, restraining the overpowering urge to slap him. George was nothing. She needed her energy
for other battles.

  As he finally left the house, Eliza leaned back heavily on the statue. Only when she heard his horse gallop away down the drive did she breathe again. She rushed to the door, slamming it shut.

  “Eliza!” she heard someone cry. She glanced up to see Caroline leaning over the balustrade from the landing above, waving wildly. Her spectacles were pushed atop her head, her brown hair gathered in a hasty braid that snaked over her shoulder and down the bodice of her simple white muslin dress.

  The sight of her sister’s face was like a balm to her injured spirits. This was her home, and she was back at last.

  “Eliza, you’re here,” Caroline said, running down the stairs two at a time to throw herself into Eliza’s arms. “I’ve missed you so much!”

  Eliza held her close, breathing in her fresh scent of soap and ink, the sweetness of her blotting out the smoke and the coppery blood.

  “I’ve missed you, too, Caro. But I’m sure you’ve been working too hard to even notice my absence.”

  “I have been working. I’m devising a history of ancient Ireland, which requires a great deal of time and research.” Caroline drew back, carefully studying Eliza’s face. Eliza tried to smile. “But that never means I don’t miss you. Are you sure you’re well? You look pale.”

  “I am tired. It was a long journey. And I just encountered George.”

  Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Oh, George. What a menace he is.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Came to frighten Mama, of course. He told her they just cleared out a rebel village and that some of her own tenants were planning to burn Killinan as they did Moreton Manor.”

  “Moreton was burned?” Eliza cried. Will’s home, destroyed?

  “No, but they tried. And Lady Moreton went scurrying off back to England. Just like a Tory, Mama said.”

  “Has anyone tried such a thing here?” Eliza asked, still shaking with shock.

  Caroline shook her head. “It’s been quiet here. Too quiet. It leaves Mama too much time to fuss at me.”

  “Well, now she can fuss at me instead,” Eliza said lightly, but her heart was heavy with worry about Will and his home.

  Eliza took her sister’s arm as they hurried back up the stairs. Caroline pushed open the door, tugging Eliza into the drawing room with her. Despite the warm, sunny day outside, the heavy satin draperies were mostly drawn, candles lit against the shadows. There was no fire in the large black marble grate, but the room was still stuffy and stale, smelling of candle smoke and the dying flowers in the Chinese vases.

  Katherine Blacknall lay on a settee by the fireplace, staring at the portrait hanging there of Eliza’s late father with his beloved hunting dogs, Killinan Castle in the background. She did not appear to really see it but merely lay there motionless, the folds of her blue and yellow striped dress spread around her like a cheerful reminder of another time.

  Anna sat on a chair beside her, her golden head bent over a piece of embroidery. She tossed it aside when she saw Eliza, leaping up to run over and hug her.

  “Oh, Eliza! You’re safe; you’re here,” Anna cried, gathering Caroline into their embrace, too. Eliza held them both close, her precious sisters, laughing with them as they all spoke at once.

  Their mother slowly stirred, sitting up to blink at them in the gloom. A whisper of a smile crept over her face, which was pale without her usual powder and rouge, but younger and more vulnerable. “Oh, Eliza dear. Why did you not write us you were coming home?”

  “There was not much time, though I did send a note ahead.” Eliza hurried over to sit beside her mother on the edge of the settee, kissing her cheek. She smelled of white lilies, of course, as she always did. It made Eliza feel suddenly absurdly young, and she longed to bury her face in her mother’s skirts, as she did as a child, to take refuge in Katherine’s calm assurance.

  But she was not a child now, and she had to take care of them. She clasped her mother’s hands, studying her closely. Katherine was as beautiful as ever; she had always looked as if she was another sister, not their mother. Her fair skin was unlined, her features fine and delicate, her golden hair scarcely threaded with silver. But she looked tired.

  “Did my note not arrive?” Eliza asked.

  Katherine shook her head. “The post has been terribly unreliable of late. And my cousin has just told us some of the mail coaches were stopped and burned and an officer who was a passenger killed.”

  The interruption of the mail coaches—the signal for the rising to start. Eliza’s hands tightened on her mother’s.

  “I would place no credence in anything George says,” Anna said contemptuously.

  “He surely knows more than we do, isolated here as we are,” Katherine said. “How are things in Dublin, Eliza?”

  “Quiet enough,” Eliza said, not mentioning the constant firing of the guns and the troops in the streets. “Crowded. Everyone floods into the city, looking for passage to England.”

  “England.” Katherine sighed. “Everyone leaves. Lady Moreton was one of the first to go.”

  “Caro tells me there was trouble at Moreton Manor,” Eliza said.

  “Oh yes. But we have had no such incidents here. We’ve been left in peace.”

  “They haven’t sent troops to quarter here at Killinan?”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Lady Moreton’s son was here as well, but he left to rejoin his regiment,” Anna offered.

  Eliza glanced at her, startled.

  “But we have heard nothing else.” A small frown drifted over Katherine’s face. “Were you not friends with him once, Eliza?”

  “Yes, I was. But you did not like that, Mama,” Eliza said wryly.

  “I only wanted what was best for everyone.” Katherine suddenly dropped Eliza’s hands, turning to Anna. “Girls, your sister looks tired. Could you go and ask Cook to send up some food and tea? And have the maids air out her chamber.”

  Eliza wondered why she did not ring the bell for such tasks. As Anna and Caroline hurried from the room, she watched her mother rise and go to the fireplace. Katherine fiddled with the china ornaments arrayed there on the mantel, moving one, then another, only to replace them again.

  “How are things here really, Mama?” Eliza asked.

  Katherine took a deep breath, the silk rippling across her delicate shoulders. “I told you, my dear. It is quiet enough. Some trees have been cut in the night, some provisions stolen from the smokehouse, but I have not seen the culprits.”

  “Yet someone tried to burn Moreton. That is so near.”

  “That is different, I’m sure. Lord and Lady Moreton never cared for their people as I have. They squeeze what they can from their land and send the proceeds off to London.”

  Katherine turned back to Eliza, and she saw the bright sheen of unshed tears in her mother’s blue eyes. It was the only crack in her dignity. “I have always taken care of our people, have I not, Eliza? I have always made sure that they are comfortable and well rewarded for their work. I have never been severe toward them. I have never let my comforts take away from their prosperity. I have nursed them, helped them whenever I can. I have lived my life among them!” Her voice broke, and she spun away again.

  Shocked, Eliza could only nod. “Yes, Mama, you have. Of course.” And it was true. Katherine Blacknall had always been a fair and caring landlady, the Angel of Kildare.

  “Then how can they think I am their enemy?” Katherine said. “How can they think I would deceive them? I have begged them to confide in me, to turn in their arms and maintain the peace. And yet they turn from me. You turn from me.”

  “I, Mama? No, never! I am here, am I not? I traveled as fast as I could because you said you needed me.”

  “Yet you always had such strange notions, Eliza, things I could not understand. Such thoughts about the social order, about Irishness. Lady Louisa Conolly says you are friends with her nephew, Edward Fitzgerald, and that odd French wife of his.”
/>   “I have not seen them in months,” Eliza said truthfully. Not since that night she went to the ceilidh with Will and he sang “Cliffs of Doneen.” That felt a thousand years ago. “I will help you, Mama, if you will let me.”

  Katherine wiped at her eyes. “Will you go with me to visit our tenants one more time? They always did like you so much. You were always running off to talk to them when you were a girl.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I know that you and I have sometimes been at odds, Eliza,” Katherine said. She sat back down on the settee, taking Eliza’s hand again. “Perhaps we have seen things differently in the past. Perhaps I was wrong to encourage the match with Mount Clare.”

  Eliza shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Mama. You wanted what you thought was best for me.”

  “Yes. I always want what is best for everyone I care about. But sometimes I fear I don’t know what that is. I feel I know nothing at all anymore.”

  Eliza feared she knew nothing, either. She leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, letting out a shuddering sigh as Katherine drew her close. She no longer understood anything at all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eliza closed her eyes very tightly, forcing her hands to unclench and smooth over the sheet, making her tense shoulders relax back onto the feather mattress. It did not work—she still could not fall asleep, despite her tiredness. Despite the late hour, deep into the darkest part of the night.

  The house was too quiet. Every squeak of the floors, every click of the shutters in the wind, echoed too loudly. They sounded too much like running footsteps, frantic moans.

  She rolled onto her side, opening her eyes to stare out over her girlhood chamber. Her windows looked onto the back gardens, those manicured expanses of terraces and flower beds that were her mother’s pride. Bathed in the summer moonlight, they looked so peaceful, so wondrously ethereal. But the gardens, the house, and all who lived in its walls were so very vulnerable.