Sixteen

The following morning, Evan descended from his customary guest bedchamber—another spot in Whelan House that had changed not at all—to find the servants in a bustle.

Declan and Nora, it seemed, had been absent from the nursery since their governess rose, and they had not returned in time for the morning’s lessons. The house had been searched from attic to cellar—but quietly, so as not to disturb Lady Whelan. The countess had been in the study since dawn, sorting through the accumulated papers of her absence, and doubtless would not take kindly to the news that her children had been misplaced the day after her return.

“The rogue housekeeper has returned,” Evan murmured. In a normal tone, he asked the actual housekeeper, “Do the children run away from their lessons often?”

“They didn’t used to.” Mrs. Teagan, plump and black-clad like every housekeeper Evan had ever seen, clasped her hands in worry. “But these last few months they have, and it’s a fuss every time.”

Maybe the fuss is what they like. But Evan kept this thought to himself, only asking, “Have any of the grounds been searched? Or have the servants combed only the house?”

“Only the house as yet, Mr. Rhys. Why—have you an idea?”

“I have,” he said.

Where else would the children of a Chandler and an Irish earl go when distressed, but the stables?

He left the house, crossing the grounds, and soon reached his destination. The stables of Whelan House were of solid old stone construction, like the manor house. Also like the house, they had been maintained well, and much had been done to make them comfortable. The windows were large, the floors slightly sloping for drainage. The walls were thick, hushing the space within, and the earthy scents of horse and manure and grass-sweet straw were as comforting as a fire on a cold night.

In short, it was a good place to hide from one’s lessons. A good place to come even if one had nothing to hide from. Although what that might be like, Evan couldn’t say.

He walked from stall to stall, peering in, catching grooms at work, noting a few empty stalls where animals had been sold. But horses kept for everyday work or for the steeplechase were less expensive and finicky than Thoroughbreds, and Evan was relieved to note that most of the empty stalls were being mucked out—indicating that their inhabitants were at pasture or being exercised.

And then he spotted them: two dark-haired children, not even trying to hide as they curried Lady Alix. They had put her on a lead and taken her from her stall. Declan had shrugged off his jacket, and Nora had strewn her shoes and stockings on the floor.

Lady Alix turned her head toward Evan and fixed him with a tolerant gaze. Children. What can one do?

When Declan and Nora didn’t look up, he knocked on the swinging door of the cob’s vacated stall. “Oy, you two. Have you become stable hands?”

“Hullo, Uncle Evan.” Nora passed a currycomb over the mare’s barrel in a gentle, practiced pattern. “When I took off my shoes, she tried to eat them. Can you believe it?”

“I can, actually.”

“I want to be a stable hand.” Declan was combing out the mare’s long tail, standing in just the right place to avoid a kick.

“And what are you two doing out here?”

“We had to meet the new horse,” Nora said innocently. “Watch this.” She picked up a fallen stocking and draped it over the cob’s head. Lady Alix rolled her eyes upward, curious, then shook her head until the stocking fell to the ground again. “She didn’t try to eat it that time, but sometimes she does.”

“She likes tossing things to the floor,” Evan said. “You’ve found her favorite game. Congratulations.” He swung open the stall door. “But it’s not the right time to play destroy-the-stockings with my horse, you know.”

Declan frowned. “You’re here because we ran away from lessons.”

“Smart lad, not to pose that as a question,” Evan said. “Yes. To be specific, I’m here because the servants were worried that they couldn’t find you.”

“I’m glad they couldn’t find us,” Nora replied. “We didn’t want to be found.”

Evan stepped onto the bottom of the z-shaped frame at the stall door’s back. He kicked off from the floor, riding the arc of the door as it swung fully open, then began to shut. “You know,” he said idly, “your governess might lose her post if you don’t learn.”

“I don’t want a governess,” said Nora.

“I don’t want to learn,” Declan replied.

“Fair enough. I was the same way at your ages.”

Declan waved at him with the comb. “And you grew up right enough.”

Lady Alix tossed her head. Smart girl.

“Did I?” For the most part, he supposed he had. He had not lacked for comforts, and he had been safe and content. But the broad arc of his life—hopeless love from the age of twenty-one, life lived under a cloud of grayness—he would not wish on anyone.

“I didn’t say I was allowed to have what I wanted, you might note. Only that I wanted it.” The hinges of the stable door creaked, and Evan stepped to the floor, easing the door back into its open position. “You’ve got to decide for yourselves what sort of people you want to be. But I can tell you, I’ve never been sorry to learn something. Only not to learn something. And I never had to administer an earldom or entice a gentleman into falling at my feet.”

“Disgusting,” said Declan.

Nora giggled. “It sounds awful.”

Maybe, just maybe, they had listened to him—so before he could be tempted to use the serious-lecturer voice again, he turned the subject. “How did you like your gifts from England?”

“I liked Nan’s.” Nora curried a spot she had surely curried twice already, while Lady Alix bent her head to nibble loose straw on the stable floor. “Mama gave her a prayer book, did you know? I liked the face Nan made when she opened it.”

“It looked like she ate moldy cheese!” Declan crowed.

“I got ribbons. And cloth.” Nora spoke these words with such scorn she might as well have been talking of moldy cheese herself. “She wants me to grow up and be a lady.”

“Oh, the horror of it.” Evan leaned against a latched stall door. “Are you sure that’s what she meant, Nora?”

“I’m twelve. I’ll have to leave the schoolroom soon and wear long dresses and never take off my stockings to put them on a horse’s head.”

Well, shite. He hadn’t a clue what to say to this sort of youthful feminine distress. “I think,” he ventured, “your mother wants you to have what she hasn’t. New things, made the way you like them. And remember what I said about being a lady? You already are one, because you have worth.”

Nora opened her mouth to protest.

“No, sorry,” Evan said. “No protests. I’m right. You’re a lady, and your mother loves you and wants good things for you. It’s a heavy burden, but it’s yours.”

Nora closed her mouth and tried not to smile.

“What about me?” Declan asked. “Why did Mama bring me toy soldiers?”

This, Evan had to think about. “Maybe because she’s good at shooting.”

“That’s for damn sure,” said Declan.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Nora said. “He says that word all the time.”

“I’ll try to bear up.” Evan folded his arms. “How was it staying with your Nan?”

“Fine,” Nora said. “I’d rather be home.”

Declan pulled a face. “We still had to have lessons.”

“To be expected,” Evan said. “If the ten plagues of Egypt cover the land, lessons will still remain.”

“Is that in Nan’s prayer book?” Declan asked.

Nora cuffed her brother with the currycomb. “She didn’t see us much. Mostly, she was in her chamber. When I saw her through the open door.”

“You opened the door! Spy!” the boy hooted.

“It swung open,” Nora said hotly. “I bumped it by accident.”

“On the handle.”

Evan held up a quelling hand, and Nora continued. “She was looking out the window a lot. I think she’s sad.”

“Why, was she looking at Whelan House?” Evan could not recall the arrangement of the dower house.

“No, the other way. North, toward the woods.”

“Maybe she was watching the riders,” Declan suggested. “People are always riding through the woods to practice for the chase.”

“I wish I could ride in the chase,” Nora said. “Mama rode in it every year except for the years Declan and I were born.”

“I remember that. I saw her ride, time and again.” Evan was delighted by the memory that came to mind. Kate, flushed and whooping, guiding her cob over jumps and hedges with grace and glee.

“Da did too, every year. And now chase season is beginning, and everyone in Thurles will be utterly boring about it.” Declan said this with the desperate scorn of a boy who wanted very much to take part in the forbidden activity.

From past years, Evan remembered this season. The chase was a point-to-point race, held every November when the ground was soft and spongy. Formal chases for purses were held on the Thurles racecourse, but a steeplechase could be any good pounding race across terrain, held for any wager at any time.

“Maybe someday you’ll be a part of it,” Evan said. “Now, tell me what you think of Lady Alix. You’ve buffed her till she’s gleaming.”

“She’s funny.” Nora set aside the currycomb. “But she did ruin my stockings.”

“I think her name should be Spider.” Declan regarded the neat tail with pride, then tossed the comb to Nora for her to place alongside the currycomb.

“Why is that?” Evan had to ask.

“Because Declan always wants to name the horses something horrible,” Nora grumbled.

Evan covered a laugh. “Spiders make fine webs. Lady Alix can step a beautiful pattern, so the name wouldn’t fit her ill. But she’d miss her honorific, I think. Would you like to ride her sometime?”

“We don’t ride.” Nora walked to the nearest stall, tested the latch, then walked to the next and did the same. And on and on. “We used to. But we don’t ride anymore.”

A deep vein of capped emotion ran through those words: worried, discouraged, resigned. We don’t ride anymore. The children of Con and Kate, who had been seated on horses practically the moment they could walk.

Well. Damnation.

“Ah,” Evan said. “I—all right, look. I’ve always been frank with you two, haven’t I?”

Declan unfastened Lady Alix’s lead. “Except for the time I asked you what would happen if I rode a horse indoors, and you said it wasn’t possible.”

“I think I said horses don’t like it,” Evan said. “Though what I meant was that mothers don’t like it.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Declan walked alongside Lady Alix’s head, guiding the cob back into her stall. The mare knocked Nora’s discarded shoes with her hooves as she walked by, snorting her satisfaction.

“They also don’t like it when you say damn,” said Nora.

“You said it,” Declan pointed out.

“Only when Mama didn’t hear it.”

“She didn’t hear me either!”

Evan rolled his eyes. “We could go on like this all day, and it would be a great joy to me.” Both children blew him raspberries. “But here is something I want to know. Why do you not ride anymore?”

Nora shook another stall door, testing the latch. “You’re going to tell us we ought to, aren’t you?”

“God, no.” Evan helped Declan close the stall door on Lady Alix, then reached over it to remove the pony’s halter. “I’d tell you that you ought to be respectful and polite, and not say damn around your mother. And I’d tell you that you ought to give her a cracking great hug when you return to the house this morning. But I’d never tell you that you ought to ride.”

When he turned around, halter in hand, two suspicious faces peered at him. “Why not?”

Because I hate it when people say “ought to” to me. “What business is it of mine?”

“But you just asked us,” Nora pointed out.

“You are remarkably intelligent. You take after your godfather. As a matter of fact, I did ask why you do not ride, but only because I want to help you and your mother if I can. Mothers love their children, you see, and they want the best for their children.”

This was sincere, though in his experience best meant what I think you ought to be.

“If you are worried,” Evan concluded, “and it is something that she can help with, then she would want to.”

Declan kicked at a scatter of straw. “What if she can’t?”

“Then she’d probably like to know that. So she’d know she was doing everything she could.”

“I don’t want her to do anything else.” Nora gave a stall door a fierce rattle, making Lady Alix snort her dismay. “I want her to stay with us and not go away again, and I don’t want anything to change.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Evan mumbled.

“We don’t ride anymore,” said Declan, “because she doesn’t. It makes her worried.”

Evan nodded, slowly. “So you want your mother to be with you more. And you don’t want her to be worried.”

“Yes, and not have to pretend like we’re not worried. Da died in a fall, and that was horrid.” Declan took the halter from Evan, then found a cleaning cloth. “But we also don’t want to have to be worried, because sometimes we just want to…to be.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Evan muttered.

This was an instantly popular thing to say. “You said damn again. You shouldn’t say damn. Mama wouldn’t like it if she heard you say damn.”

“Declan. Stop.”

“I like being with the horses,” said Nora, “and I think I would like to ride again. But the tack room is all locked up, and Mama sold the carriages, all except two.”

“She sold all the best ones,” complained the boy. “The shiny fast ones.”

“Who was going to drive them? You?” Nora marched back down the row of stalls, then hung up the lead line.

“Mama could,” said Declan. “She’s a ripping driver. And I could learn someday. So could you.”

Nora wheeled, all excitement. “Maybe you could teach us, Uncle Evan. Now that you’re here, we could learn how to drive four-in-hand.”

Wouldn’t Kate love that? “Ah—no, I don’t think that would be a good idea. And that’s not why I came back.”

“Why did you come back right now?” asked Nora.

“And how long are you staying?” Declan’s tone had gone wary.

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “That’s in answer to you, Declan. Nora, it was time.”

“It was time a long time ago,” said the girl.

“I wish you’d never left,” said the boy.

“Yes, I know.” Their honesty shamed him. How clear it seemed, the right thing to do. “I wanted to be here.” He had never wanted to leave, but in the face of Con’s betrayal, he had not been able to stay.

He forced brightness into his tone. “As a matter of fact, I am here to complete a task, and I could use your help.”

Declan looked up from the halter he was cleaning. “Is it driving?”

“It is definitely not driving. It is related to antiquities.”

“Like the flint Mama sent to Uncle Jonah?” he asked.

“Like the slides you showed us in your magic lantern?” asked Nora.

“Exactly. Someone is making new carvings to look like old, and using them to smuggle. And because of the stone many of the pieces are made of, I think they must be made near here.”

“So you have to search every stone. That sounds rotten.” Declan tossed the cleaning cloth to Nora, who put it away with a persecuted sigh.

“That would be rotten indeed, not to mention tedious,” Evan agreed. “But the situation isn’t that dire. Some of the false pieces I saw in England had real wear on them, as though the stone were truly ancient. So I think the fake pieces are made from real pieces.” Ugh. Every fiber of his researcher’s mind rebelled at the idea.

“Oh, so we only have to search for ancient stone.” With a hop and a reach, Declan hung the halter in its place. “That still sounds rotten. All stone is ancient.”

“He doesn’t mean stone dug out of the ground,” Nora explained. “He means stone that was already dug up and carved a long time ago. Like for an old wall or a ruined castle. Like Loughmoe or Killahara.”

“Exactly,” Evan said. “Like the—huh. Right. Exactly like Loughmoe or Killahara.”

How could he not have thought of those places at once? The ancient castles, long crumbling, would provide a plentiful source of stone for carvings—if it were the right sort. Evan couldn’t recall the last time he’d visited a ruined castle. To the Irish, such a structure was rather like the Parliament building to Londoners. Yes, it was old, and yes, they were proud of it. And no, no one else had better offer any criticism, but they didn’t want to go there. What would one do?

“We’re not allowed to go to ruined castles,” said Declan. “Just like we’re not allowed to say damn.”

“Why not?” Evan asked.

“Mama is convinced a rock will fall on us and our heads will be crushed like Da’s.”

“His head wasn’t crushed,” Nora pointed out. “It was kicked in. That’s what old Driscoll said at the inquest.” Her tone was dry. Wrung with scorn for the magistrate, maybe, or for the whole notion of an inquest.

God. Evan could imagine this conversation beginning like this, many times before—then being lopped off by Kate’s shadowed eyes or Good Old Gwyn’s crocodile tears.

“Sit here.” In a row—Declan, Evan, Nora—they sat on the stable floor and leaned against the door of Lady Alix’s stall. The mare gave a welcoming whicker, then pulled at her measure of hay. “I didn’t know there was an inquest. There was really an inquest?”

“Sure there was,” Declan said. “We didn’t go. But Mama did. And we overheard her talking about it with the vicar.”

“He said it was God’s will that Da fell from his horse and died.” Nora folded her legs, wrapping her arms around them tightly. “Mama doesn’t go to church anymore, even though there’s a new vicar now.”

The gorge rose in Evan’s throat. Con, falling. Kate, left alone, finding no succor at home or at church. “It doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head. “Your father was an excellent rider. He knew how to take a fall and get right back up.” All Evan had known—fourth-hand, third-hand at best—was that Con had died in a riding accident.

“He took a hoof to the head.” Declan set his small jaw, testing himself. “That’s what the inquest found. It was a bad kick in a bad place.”

God’s will, the vicar had said to a shocked young widow. A comment no more helpful than: You have nothing to be sad about.

“That’s awful,” Evan said.

That was all there was to say.

“It was,” said Nora. “One of the servants said at the inquest that Da was upset, so a groom saddled the horse for the chase. That was awful too, because old Driscoll tried to blame the groom.”

“Mama said it was no one’s fault,” Declan added. “She said that in the inquest.”

Numbness crept over Evan, more ice than grayness. “But it was someone’s fault. It was mine. We had argued—that’s why he was upset.”

Not that he had caused the fall or dealt the deathblow. But it was fresh and new, the awareness of how deeply Con had been affected by their argument. Maybe enough to forgive Evan for confronting him? Maybe even enough to change his ways?

If he’d had the chance…if he’d lived.

Nora released her knees, shooting her legs out straight with a thunk on the stone floor. “What did you argue about?”

Her tone was curious. Not angry, not even hurt.

“It was about something to do with—a lot of things.”

Time and again, Evan had cursed Con’s infidelities to Kate. Con laughed it off, always. You worry too much. It’s just a bit of fun. But the money troubles? Those were no joke. When Con asked Evan for a loan to cover a debt to a moneylender so Kate wouldn’t find out about it—well, then matters had come to a head.

You have so much, but you’re throwing it away. I’d give anything to have what you regard so lightly.

You worry too much, Con said again.

No, Con. It’s not worry. It’s anger. And it’s not too much.

On a series of elegant nothings and meaningless affairs, Con was beggaring his estate and ruining his marriage. Only Evan’s accusation of the former had injured Con’s sense of honor. For the only time in their years of friendship, he had seen the blithe earl angry. Furious. The sort of furious from which goodwill never returned.

“What were the things you fought about?” Nora asked now.

Ugh. How to explain debauchery and ruin to a child? “I wanted everything to be fine.” He hesitated. “Are you sure—he fell because he was upset?”

“No. He fell because he was riding in the chase.” Nora looked at Evan oddly. “His cinch split.”

“And he died because he was kicked,” said Declan, “and that’s why Mama is worried and why we don’t ride anymore.” He reached up, but could not touch the muzzle of the mare from his seated position. Instead, he folded his arms behind his head and looked at Evan expectantly. “Are you well? You look strange.”

“I am strange.” Evan managed a flippant reply. “All the best people are.”

With those few words, he managed to collect himself, and some of the icy feeling melted away.

The kick had killed Con. Not his distraction from his argument with Evan. Not even his fall during the race. It was horrible, but it wasn’t—hadn’t been—anyone’s fault.

In the freshness of new grief, that might have seemed worse than if there were a villain to blame. But after two years of missing his friend, two years of vague, unsettled guilt…it was a relief. And dwelling on maybe was a sure way to mire oneself.

Footsteps on the stone floor announced the presence of another, even before black skirts came into view. As a trio, Evan and the children looked up. “Kate.”

“I’m so glad I found you all.” Without hesitation, she crouched before them.

Wariness dropped over Nora like a veil. “Are you here to make us go to our lessons?”

Kate looked taken aback. “I don’t give a damn about lessons. I heard you’d gone missing, and I wanted to find you.”

“She said damn,” Declan whispered loudly.

“That doesn’t mean you ought to say it,” Kate replied. “Forget that. Pretend I was a lady.”

“How many times do I have to explain what a lady is?” Evan grumbled.

“Where did you look for us?” Nora wiggled her bare toes.

“I came here first,” Kate said. “When my mother died, I always went to the stables.”

They looked surprised—as surprised as Evan felt—to hear her say this so openly. “How old were you?” Nora asked.

“I was fourteen.”

“Did she fall?” The question was faint.

“No, she didn’t fall.” Kate held out her hands, drawing her daughter, then her son, to their feet. “She was ill. Very ill for a long time.”

She gathered her children into an embrace. As Evan watched, the trio settled: a heave, like a sigh, and then they knit into one another. Mother and daughter and son, brother and sister, all interlaced their arms and crushed one another as though they’d been separated far too long.

“I wish nothing would ever change,” Nora cried.

“I know,” Kate said. “I know. I have often wished that too.”

Which would mean she had never taken him to her bed, and they had never traveled together—that he’d never met her family, nor she his, like a courting couple.

“I missed you.” Kate’s voice was muffled in their hair. She was not much taller than her children. “I missed you so much.”

“While you were gone?”

“And this morning, and every time I don’t see you for a while. Sometimes when you are only across a room.”

And there sat Evan like a lump on the floor of the stable. Seeing them need each other, wanting them to need each other. He wished he’d been embraced in that way as a child.

Hell—he wished he were part of that embrace now. What was there to want in life more than someone who said I miss you when you’re across a room?

The sentiment was sharp and sweet, a candy stick licked to a spearpoint. It made him smile, even as he felt he had become part of the stone floor, heavy and unmovable.

“I missed you too.” Nora was the first to break away, folding her arms with trembling dignity. “I think—I am not ready to go back to lessons yet.”

“Damn lessons,” Declan tried.

“I shouldn’t have said that. And you need to stop saying it.” Kate gave him a final squeeze, then turned him loose. “Lessons are wonderful. We love lessons. Hurrah, lessons!”

“I hate lessons.” Declan looked at Evan—the first to do so almost since Kate had turned down this row of stalls. “But I’m an earl now, and I ought to…learn things?”

“I think that sounds wise,” Kate said. She turned to Nora. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

Nora cut dark eyes toward Evan.

Unmistakable cue. “I’ll see that the earl gets back to the house. Declan, grab your jacket.”

* * *

When Evan and Declan had passed from sight, Kate sank to the floor and patted the stone at her side. “Sit, sit. What’s troubling you?”

Before sitting, Nora kicked at her shoes with bare toes. Expensive shoes, sturdy but pretty. Kate had a similar pair herself.

With a great sigh, Nora puddled to the floor at Kate’s side. “You gave me all these grown-up gifts from England.”

“Yes.” Kate waited for the rest of the thought.

“But I’m twelve.”

“Yes.”

“I’m a child.”

“Yes.” Kate tipped her head. “And?”

“It’s too soon, Mama.” She leaned her head on Kate’s shoulder, long plait swinging behind them. “I don’t want to grow up. Being grown up looks awful. You are so worried all the time, and so sad. You miss Da.”

Not exactly, Kate was about to say. But a child’s admiration for her departed father must not be tampered with. “I miss the hope of a happy life with your father,” she settled for saying.

More than Con, she grieved the loss of what she had hoped her marriage would be. With him gone, there was no chance they could ever repair matters. There was no time to beg him to make everything right.

“I miss him.” Nora sniffled. “He was happy all the time.”

“He was carefree,” Kate ventured. “Always confident.” She slid an arm around Nora’s narrow shoulders. Squeezed, a half-hug that held a whole measure of feeling. “Nora, I’m glad you told me what was bothering you. But you must know that being a woman isn’t always like being me. There are as many ways to be a woman as there are women in the world.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The girl lifted her head from Kate’s shoulder. Mother to daughter, they faced each other. Kate could tell the precise moment Nora set aside anxiety for an idea.

“Mama. Will you teach me to shoot like you?”