Free Green Girl by Sara Seale Page B

in his life, unless it was the discovery of his dead wife ’ s lover, which would hardly account for a second marriage so long after. That left only the child, a worthy motive, no doubt, but scarcely a matter for such haste. It still seemed foolish to Harriet that marriage should be made a condition for care in such circumstances, but no less foolish, she supposed, than her own willingness to oblige.
    She fell asleep wondering where she would lay her head tomorrow night and whether her new husband would expect to share her bed, despite his assurance of a business arrangement. Rooms had been prepared, she knew, in another wing, but she had not seen them; they were, she had understood, the rooms always allotted to the presiding master and mistress of Clooney, so presumably Duff and his Kitty had already shared them. It was, she thought prosaically, on the last drowsy awareness of consciousness, a good thing that her affections were not at all engaged with the undemonstrative master of Clooney.
    S he awoke very early as darkness was just merging into the grey of dawn with an over-riding impulse to wash her hair. She was drying it, huddled by the fire which sh e had managed to get alight again, when Molly brought in her breakfast, and not only the milk but the whole contents of the tray nearly slid to the floor as the girl stood staring at her, open-mouthed.
    “ For the love of God! You ’ ll not be ready in time, and himself fit to throw a great passion an ’ he waitin ’ at the church door! ” she exclaimed. “ Kept waitin ’ he ’ ll not be if his mind ’ s set on a thing. Aren ’ t you alarmed, miss? ”
    “ Alarmed? ”
    “ Nervous—your insides heavin ’ at the thought—sure, I thought all brides was needing a drop of the craythur to see him through, an ’ they swoonin ’ away with apprehension. ”
    “ I ’ m sorry to disappoint you, Molly, but I feel just as usual, ” Harriet replied, reflecting that Molly, like herself, had obviously supped on too many romantic novels.
    “ Faith, you ’ re the quarest bride I ever see! ” the girl observed in disappointed tones, and Harriet, knowing that whatever she might have said, she scarcely felt just as usual, asked if Molly would like to stay and help her get ready. It would at least, she thought, take her own mind off the unfamiliar events of the day.
    As she made ready with the only bridal garments at her disposal, she could not altogether avoid a passing regret for the traditional glory of a white wedding. Molly ’ s presence was helpful after all, for to her country eyes there was nothing wrong with the cheap new underclothes and badly made dress, though she, too, regretted the splendour of a white wedding.
    “ Still an ’ all, ‘ tis not the same, as Agnes says, an ’ he a widower with his heart buried in the grave, ” she said cheerfully.
    Harriet gave a little shiver and started brushing out her hair, glad that she had woken early enough to wash it, for it was the only detail of her appearance that gave her satisfaction. Straight it might be, but it was thick and silky and could be coaxed into two shining crescents along the jaw-line, helping to hide the impoverished bones of her face, if not the freckles which powdered her cheeks and nose.
    “ Sure, it ’ s paid for washin ’ . I wonder you don ’ t take one of thim permanent waves to give it style, ” observed Molly.
    “ It wouldn ’ t suit me. I haven ’ t the face for style, ” Harriet said, going to the window to see what omen the day had brought her. There had been a frost, for rime still sparkled on the terrace and the bare branches of thorn and rowan; Cuchulain ’ s Island looked like a ripe purple plum in the still waters and the foothills on the far shore echoed the colour.
    “ How beautiful it is, ” she murmured.
    “ Ah, sure the skies is smilin ’ on you this day, and that ’ s a promise of good luck, ” said Molly. “ See, miss—I ’ ve remembered the charrms for