O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Read online

  She laid the little purse on the dressing table and threw open the doors to her clothes press. For some reason she refused to identify, what she wore to dinner was suddenly of utmost concern. Though more vivid colors were perfectly unexceptionable at a country house party, she chose an evening gown as white as swan’s down. It boasted a deep flounce embroidered with fern fronds, and was bordered on each side with two rows of white satin ribbon: one for each of the four children of the mythical Lir.

  The bodice was also done up in a great deal of similar embroidery, which served as an appealing echo to her paisley shawl that had been dyed to match the color of her eyes. Her favorite feature, however, was the little, fluted collar that protruded from the neckline like wings poised for flight.

  She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of neighing horses. Quickly, she went to the window and looked out at the park. Some of the guests, all men, were returning from their shoot. She supposed the ladies were waiting in the parlor, but the thought of joining them until it came time to dress for dinner held little attraction. Suppressing another sigh, she removed her gown and hung it in the clothes press. Arrayed in only her chemise and stays, she laid herself down on the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Some time later, she awoke with a start, certain she heard an errant noise originating from the edge of the park. She sat up and studied the room through deepening shadows. Nothing stirred. Then the uncanny sound came again, quite clearly from the woods behind the park. Wrapping herself in a shawl, she went again to the window.

  The sun was beginning to set and the trees that bordered the lawn were black against a crimson sky. There was nothing but darkness, from the top of the enormous ash trees to the fringe of the rain-washed lawn, each blade of grass sparkling in the last rays of day. All was perfectly still from the roof of the stables to that of the gatehouse in the distance. Shivering, she wrapped the shawl tighter about her and drew the curtains.

  All at once, she could not quit the room fast enough. She pulled the white gown from the clothes press and stepped into it. Donning a pair of blue velvet slippers, she plucked her hair ornaments, gloves, and reticule from the dressing table, replaced the shawl to cover the open back of her gown, and slipped out through the doorway.

  Hoping to move along the passageway undetected during this state of semi-undress, she was pleased to find herself alone. She had only taken a few steps, however, before she heard the strains of music coming from the floor above. It was a tune she did not recognize, sung by a girl or a very young boy. She moved towards the staircase and met the music as it drifted down through the air. When the solitary voice was joined by a much deeper one, she knew it to be the work of Mr. Doherty.

  Almost unintentionally, she moved up the staircase so as to better hear the tutor’s voice. It spoke of love and loss in both word and inflection, and it stirred her to the soul. Especially touching was the stanza that referred to a journey of thousands of miles in order to return to the object of one’s devotion.

  The music ceased, and Mr. Doherty began to speak.

  “Very well, Master Charles; I shall go to the kitchens and request some warm milk of Mrs. Walsh.” His words were immediately followed by the unmistakable sounds of determined footsteps across the floor.

  Caroline fairly flew back down the stairs and along the passage to Fiona’s chamber door. Trying the latch and finding it unlocked, she let herself in without rapping. Fiona was just stepping into her gown, but it was the wide-eyed look of alarm on her face that prompted a spate of laughter from Caroline.

  “What is it?” Fiona asked. “Is the house afire, or do I sport a second head?”

  “Neither,” Caroline said, still giggling. “But should either occur, I shall be certain to leave you to open your own door.”

  “As well you should,” Fiona said with a mock frown. “In the meantime, your stays shall need tightening, and all the better to show off that splendid gown.”

  Once they were properly arrayed, they set to work on dressing one another’s hair.

  “This is far more pleasant than sitting in silence whilst my girl works,” Fiona insisted.

  “And to think that Bess and I can’t refrain from jabbering! But, ’tis true that I would much rather gossip with you.” Caroline surveyed her work in the mirror as she pinned up another lock of Fiona’s glossy red hair. “What’s more, I needn’t hide my most private thoughts from you, which brings me to the subject of Mr. Doherty. When did you learn that he is the tutor?”

  “At dinner last night.” Fiona did not meet Caroline’s eyes in the mirror. “He admitted it quite freely. I must say, I was much taken with his candor.”

  “Why should he not admit to being the lads’ tutor?” Caroline asked. “I feel a simpleton for not having realized it myself.”

  The lock of hair she held slipped through her fingers as Fiona turned to stare at her friend. “How should you have known? He dresses like a gentleman, speaks like a gentleman, and his comportment, when in company, is superior to that of even the baron.”

  “That may all be true, but that can be said of most tutors, I suspect,” Caroline mused. “It is something more than that, I think. He doesn’t quite fit in. And it isn’t that he was schooled at Cambridge; I should wish my sons tutored by one who attended Trinity College, at the very least. Many younger sons with no inheritance become tutors, do they not?”

  Fiona laughed. “There are not many younger sons of that stamp back home with whom to compare, though I suppose you are most likely right. Why do you ask?”

  Caroline noted that, as before, Fiona busied herself with something on the dressing table to avoid having her expression read, or so Caroline assumed. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I like him.”

  “So do I, but you mustn’t allow your feelings to grow into anything more,” Fiona said firmly.

  “Why not?” Caroline heard the petulance in her voice and bit her lip in vexation. “Was it not yourself who left us to become better acquainted only this afternoon?”

  “Yes. I know how much you like him, and I thought it would be lovely for you to spend an hour or two in his company. However, I have since come to regret it. Mr. Doherty is not what your father wants for you. He has money, and with it intends to buy you a title.”

  “’Tis true.” Caroline sighed heavily and began again to dress Fiona’s hair. “Perhaps you should like to marry Mr. Doherty, yourself.”

  “I?” Fiona asked, her eyes wide in the mirror. “Was it not just yesterday that you called my dowry doleful? True, my father shan’t require a title for me. However, he shall expect my suitors to each have, at the very least, a pillow of his own on which to lay his head.”

  “Whisht, now!” Caroline laughed and gave Fiona’s hair a tug. “You’ll set me to laughing over much, and I shall be invited to depart for The Hollows on account of my lack of decorum.”

  Fiona gave a tsk. “For that or for inciting unfavorable attentions from the servants?”

  Caroline gasped. “What a ruinous untruth, Miss Fiona O’Sullivan!”

  “Ruinous, perhaps, but in no way untrue. I have seen how he looks at you, Caroline, and it shall lead to no good.”

  Caroline placed Fiona’s brush on the table and turned away. “How is it, then, that he looks at me?”

  “Oh, no, I shall not tell you that,” Fiona vowed. “But, mark my words, Caro; if you allow yourself to like the tutor well, you shall eventually be needing to choose between him and your father.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?” Caroline kept her face turned away from her friend and her voice free of her keenly-felt apprehension.

  “Yes, as do you,” Fiona insisted.

  “I should not like that,” Caroline admitted. “I am all that Papa has. And yet, he insists on marrying me to an Englishman. Such a husband shall wish to spend a great deal of time in London. Doubtless most have a country estate in the countryside, as well. How will Papa get along without me?”

  “I suppose that is w
hy he has chosen Lord Bissell: he shall very likely leave you to amuse yourself in Ireland, just as his father doubtless left Lady Bissell. At any rate,” Fiona said kindly, “you can’t fail to take up residence here at Oak View less often than once a year.”

  “Indeed.” Caroline turned and looked over Fiona’s shoulder to survey her hair in the mirror. “I do believe there is naught anyone who could better such a brilliant arrangement!”

  “Brilliant, indeed!” Fiona stood and pressed Caroline into the seat. “It is now my turn to play maidservant.”

  “I expect results nothing short of uncommonly fine,” Caroline playfully said as she studied her reflection in the mirror. “Tonight, I must look every inch a baroness.”

  Fiona removed the fastenings from Caroline’s hair and began to brush the long, gold locks. “Ah, so you have resigned yourself to the idea of being mistress of Oak View?”

  “Not exactly, though I should not like to leave Papa all alone. Oak View is not as near to The Hollows as I should wish, but the distance does allow for regular visits. And should you marry a man and set up housekeeping anywhere between here and there, I ought to be most content.”

  “The only unmarried man in residence seems to be the baron, himself, more’s the pity,” Fiona mused.

  “And Papa!” Caroline said with a laugh. “And, of course, Mr. Doherty,” she said more soberly.

  Fiona laughed, as well, though her reply was somewhat terse. “Perhaps I ought to like Mr. Doherty more than I have done. If it prevents you from considering him an unexceptionable suitor, perhaps I shall.”

  Caroline knew that Fiona was merely making fun, but the thought of her married to Mr. Doherty filled Caroline with such disquiet that she said not another word until it was time to go down to dinner.

  “Was that the gong?” Fiona asked as she smoothed a long, kid glove up to her elbow.

  Caroline picked up the feathered fan created to match her headdress. “I do believe it was.”

  “Are you quite ready, then, to charm the baron?”

  “It is why we are come.” Caroline favored her friend with a merry smile in spite of the twinge of dread that had again invaded her stomach. Together they went down the grand staircase, past the first-floor landing with its ornately plastered walls, and to the ground floor.

  They entered the drawing room just as they had before, and yet everything was different. Caroline had now met the baron, whereupon her visions of a young and vibrant suitor had been dashed. She had also met Mr. Doherty, a man who seemed to be everything Caroline wished for in a husband that Lord Bissell was not. If only she were allowed to choose her fate, like Queen Maeve of old.

  At the dinner table, as he had the night before, Caroline’s papa took the seat that should have been hers; the one next to Mr. Doherty. Her father could not prevent her from staring at the tutor, however, who spent most of the meal conversing with Fiona. This left Caroline free to make of him a mental study. He might not be a proper suitor, but his would prove a splendid portrait.

  She could not help but notice that his face was paler than usual, and the sweep of his sooty lashes darker against his skin. When he looked up from his plate to find her openly staring, his face lit with a brief smile before he turned away. His clear blue-gray eyes looked deeper without the light of the sun, and unduly shadowed. She wondered if perhaps he had not slept well. It was then that she realized the baron was addressing her from his place at the head of the table.

  “I do beg your pardon, Lord Bissell. I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”

  “I merely asked if you had a pleasant day. I believe you were meant to sally forth with your paints sometime after breakfast.”

  “Yes, indeed, it was a beautiful morning. Oak View is so lovely and holds true to its name. I had no trouble at all in finding half a dozen prospects to paint. The only difficulty we experienced was in deciding on which to settle, is that not so Miss O’Sullivan?”

  “Indeed, I was positively charmed,” Fiona replied, exuberant. “Perhaps some of the other ladies would enjoy accompanying us when next the gentlemen are otherwise occupied.”

  “Such audacity!” Lady Anne said with a trill of laughter. “As if we should allow her to lead us round by the nose, she who has not even been properly invited.”

  Caroline looked swiftly to Fiona, whose face had turned scarlet. “Papa,” she whispered into her father’s ear. “How could you have put Miss O’Sullivan in such a delicate position?”

  Her father merely grunted in response and swallowed it down with a spoonful of blancmange a la vanilla.

  “Miss O’Sullivan is very welcome,” Lady Bissell firmly said in Fiona’s defense. “I should not wish her to feel otherwise.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Bissell,” Lady Anne said demurely, her eyes downcast. “If we were to assign blame to the person most answerable, it should most likely fall on Miss Fulton.”

  It was a comment too unwarranted for a polite response. The room fell into a silence that was broken by Caroline’s father, who trumpeted a large “Harrumph!” To her disappointment, he added nothing that should serve to prove his daughter’s utter lack of culpability in the matter.

  She took in the expressions on the faces that surrounded the table. The baron, Lady Bissell, and their guests were all quite shocked. As for Caroline’s end of the table, her father would not meet her eye, and Fiona looked as if she wished to sink under the table. It was the barely perceptible wink from Mr. Doherty that prompted the right words.

  “Lady Bissell, I should dearly love to have a story or two from Mr. Doherty directly after dinner. I daresay a repeat of last night’s entertainment would be welcome to more than I.”

  “Yes, I believe yours to be a splendid suggestion,” Lady Bissell said kindly. “Mr. Doherty, we should all be delighted if you would once again regale us with your stories.”

  Caroline felt it wisest to refrain from turning to see the tutor’s reaction, but she heard the smile in his rich, deep voice when he replied.

  “There is nothing that should please me more.”

  The reaction of the ladies, however, was plain for her to see. Even those women long-married struggled to hold back expressions of delight. When it came time for the ladies and Mr. Doherty to make their way to the drawing room, Caroline was certain to claim the same seat as the night prior. The view it afforded of his expressive face as it glowed in the light of the fire was superior to any other.

  It seemed as if each lady in the room held her breath as he readied himself to begin. When he sat, he did not settle into his chair. Rather he chose to perch near the edge and lean towards his audience. He took a moment to meet the attentive gazes of each of his listeners, Caroline last. She told herself it was only her fancy that made it seem as if his gaze stopped at hers and lingered.

  “I should now tell you the story known as ‘The Children of Lir.’” He looked into Caroline’s eyes, and spoke as if to her alone. Perhaps she had not fancied his favor, after all.

  Smiling, she waited in anticipation of what she knew must come next. She could not help but admire his skill as a storyteller. He did so with his voice as well as with every line of his body. The flex of his long fingers, the rise and fall of his thick, black brows, the curve of his mouth... all were every bit as mesmerizing as the musical lilt of his voice.

  “A year and a day ago lived Lir, one of the tribe of the Tuatha de Danaan, the Shining Ones, who dwelt among the green of Eire before there was Man. Now, this Lir had thought himself to be made King, but to his profound displeasure, the honor went to Bodb. It was not long after that Lir was to know yet more sorrow, for his wife died and he was left alone and childless. To his credit, Bodb felt Lir’s melancholy keenly and offered him one of his young foster-daughters to wife. And so it was that Lir took Aobh, the eldest, and they were married forthwith.

  “Soon Lir was a husband most content, and in due time, the father of four beautiful children: three sons, and a daughter. Not long after their daughter w
as born, however, Aobh died, and Lir was alone once more. Again, Bodb offered one of his foster-daughters and Lir soon married Aoife.

  “Aoife was not a happy wife, as Lir’s children were rivals for his affection. He was fond of his three handsome sons, but even more so of his daughter whose virtues he was continually vaunting about. Finally, Aoife felt she could endure no more. She had her chariot yoked, and she took the four children far from their home so as to be rid of them. However, when she had drawn her sword, she found that she was not one who could do murder. Instead, she drove them out to the Lake of the Oaks and bade the children go into the water to bathe.

  “With their backs turned to her, she struck them with a Druid rod and cast them into the shape of swans. As she returned from the water, however, she saw that the young daughter had somehow passed her notice. Waiting on the shore, she had seen and heard all.

  “Aoife was struck with equal parts fear and remorse upon seeing the child, who stood with the tears running down her face like two streams down a hill. So, Aoife put a geis upon her: the girl was not to speak for seven years. In that time, she must make each of her brothers a skin that was knitted from yarn made of nettles. These new skins would return them to their proper form. However, if she did not complete them in time, her brothers would remain forever swans. If she were to speak even a single word during all of those long, weary years, the spell on her brothers would never be broken.

  “The girl returned to the home of her father with her treacherous stepmother. When her father asked what had become of her brothers, his daughter gave no answer. Aoife had words a’plenty, however, and claimed that the girl had done away with her brothers.

  “Lir could hardly believe what he had been told, but he dared not go against the word of his wife, who suggested that he lock the girl in her room for seven years. If the brothers had not returned by then, she should be put to death.