Free The Woman from Kerry by Anne Doughty

the groom from the O’Shea coach. Quite suddenly, the place, the known figures, the coming evening task, had all become part of a wearying round which no longer offered the comfort and support of routine and familiarity, but only the weariness of an endlessly repeating pattern.
    As soon as supper was over she made her way to Lady Anne’s bedroom. This was often the worst point of the whole day. She hadn’t rung, for she could not expect Rose to do without her evening meal, but Rose knew she would be waiting impatiently. Although there was more than an hour to get her ready for dinner at eight o’clock, she would fussand fret as if there were no more than a mere fifteen minutes before the gong sounded.
    ‘What shall I wear, Rose?’ she asked, the moment she entered the room.
    The breathlessness of her voice was a warning that she was excited or overwrought. She’d thrown her hat and riding jacket so carelessly on the bed, they’d slipped on the silk coverlet and lay in a tumbled heap on the floor. Beyond that, she’d not bothered to undress further, even though her dressing gown was laid out waiting for her.
    Rose put aside her own thoughts and prepared herself for whatever difficulties might lie ahead.
    ‘What about the green velvet?’ she suggested lightly.
    ‘You say that every time I ask, Rose,’ she began irritably. ‘Why do you always say the same thing? Don’t you like any of my other dresses, or is it just the green velvet is easier to clean?’
    ‘No, it’s harder to clean,’ said Rose patiently, ‘velvets always are. Specially if it’s water or wine you’ve spilt.’
    Lady Anne had a habit of being unpleasant, even insulting, that Rose had long ago learnt to ignore, but to her surprise, this evening, she threw her a contrite glance and said, ‘You wouldn’t ever leave me, would you, Rose?’
    ‘What
do
you mean?’ Rose asked, so completely taken aback by the question that she spoke with a quite inappropriate sharpness.
    ‘Oh, go and work for someone else,’ she began hastily. ‘Go and join your brother in Nova Scotia, or the one in Scotland. Get married.’ She paused. ‘Leave me to manage by myself.’
    With her shoulders drooping and her face crumpled almost to tears, she looked such a picture of misery it was all Rose could do not to smile.
    ‘But you wouldn’t be by yourself,’ she protested. ‘Your mother would find someone else to help you.’
    She dropped onto the couch at the foot of the large, draped four poster. Mr Smithers would be apoplectic if he knew she’d sat down uninvited, but if Lady Anne was going to talk rather than get undressed there was no use waiting. You could stand all evening and she’d never notice, unless you stopped paying attention to her.
    ‘But that’s not what I mean,’ she said, shaking her head violently. ‘Any decent servant can do my hair and help me into my clothes. But …’
    She paused awkwardly, looked around the room as if she had lost something.
    ‘Sometimes
you
can tell me what I ought to do,’ she burst out. ‘Like ignore that silly Captain O’Shea. Did you know he was married, Rose?’ she asked crossly.
    ‘No, I didn’t, not until I met his wife this afternoon.’
    ‘He’s horrible. Really horrible. He never even bothered to go and see her when he knew her coachhad arrived. And he’s so rude to Lord Harrington. I couldn’t bear to be married to a man like that,’ she ended, her voice rising ominously.
    ‘But why should you marry someone you didn’t like?’
    ‘I might not know until it was too late and then there’d be all the babies and I might die.’
    ‘You might die anyway,’ said Rose crisply.
    Lady Anne sat speechless, staring at her as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.
    Rose knew she probably shouldn’t have said that, but now it
was
said it couldn’t be unsaid. This was not an occasion to humour her or to scold her. She wasn’t quite sure what sort of an occasion it was, but the signs were