Scarlett (105 page)

Scarlett, Charlotte, and Evans, Charlotte’s maid, rode in Scarlett’s elegant brougham to the train station in Trim. The house party was in County Monaghan, too far to go by road.

Scarlett was more excited than nervous. Going to John Morland’s first had been a good idea. Charlotte was nervous enough for both of them, although it didn’t show; Scarlett’s future in the fashionable world would be decided by the way she impressed people this week. Charlotte’s future, also. She glanced at Scarlett to reassure herself. Yes, she looked lovely in her green merino travelling costume. Those eyes of hers were a gift from God, so distinctive and memorable. And her slim uncorseted body was sure to set tongues wagging and the pulses of men racing. She looked precisely like what Charlotte had insinuated to chosen friends: a beautiful, not-too-young American widow with fresh Colonial looks and charm; somewhat gauche, but refreshing as a result; romantically Irish, as only a foreigner could be; substantially, perhaps even phenomenally wealthy, so much so that she could afford to be a free spirit; well bred, with an aristocratic French bloodline, but vigorous and exuberant from her American background; unpredictable but well-mannered, naive yet experienced; all in all an intriguing and amusing addition to the circles of people who knew too much about one another and were avid for someone new to talk about.

“Perhaps I should tell you again who is likely to be at the party,” Charlotte suggested.

“Please don’t, Charlotte, I’ll forget again anyhow. Besides, I know the important part. A duke is more important than a marquess, then comes an earl, and after that viscount, baron, and baronet. I may call all the men ‘sir’ just like in the South, so I needn’t worry about that ‘milord’ and ‘your grace’ business, but I must never call the ladies ‘ma’am’ the way we do in America, because that’s reserved for Queen Victoria, and she’s definitely not going to be there. So, unless I’m asked to use the Christian name, I just smile and avoid using anything. A plain old ‘mister’ or ‘miss’ is hardly worth bothering with at all unless they’re ‘honourable.’ I do think that’s funny. Why not ‘respectable’ or something else like that?”

Charlotte shuddered inside. Scarlett was too confident, too breezy. “You haven’t paid attention, Scarlett. There are some names with no title at all, not even ‘honourable,’ that are equally as important as any non-royal dukes. The Herberts, Burkes, Clarkes, Lefroys, Blennerhassetts—”

Scarlett giggled. Charlotte stopped. What would be, would be.

The house was an immense Gothic-style structure with turrets and towers, stained-glass windows as tall as a cathedral’s, corridors that extended for more than a hundred yards. Scarlett’s confidence ebbed when she saw it. “You’re The O’Hara,” she reminded herself and she marched up the stone entrance steps with her chin at an angle that dared anyone to challenge her.

By the end of dinner that night she was smiling at everyone, even the footman behind her tall-backed chair. The food was excellent, copious, exquisitely presented, but Scarlett barely tasted it. She was feasting on admiration. There were forty-six guests in the house party, and they all wanted to know her.

“… and on New Year’s Day, I have to knock on every single door in the town, go in, go out, go in again and drink a cup of tea. I declare, I don’t know why I don’t turn yellow as a Chinaman, drinking half the tea in China the way I do,” she said gaily to the man on her left. He was fascinated by the duties of The O’Hara.

When the hostess “turned” the table, Scarlett enchanted the retired general on her right with a day-by-day account of the siege of Atlanta. Her Southern accent was not at all what one expected an American to sound like, they reported later to anyone who’d listen, and she’s a damn’d intelligent woman.

She was also a “damn’d attractive woman.” The excessively big diamond-and-emerald engagement ring she’d received from Rhett sparkled impressively on her bare-but-not-too-bare bosom. Charlotte had ordered it remade into a pendant that hung from a white gold chain so fine that it was nearly invisible.

After dinner Scarlett played whist with her customary skill. Her partner won enough money to cover her losses at three previous house parties, and Scarlett became a sought-after companion among ladies as well as gentlemen.

The following morning, and for five mornings after, there was a hunt. Even on a mount from her host’s stables Scarlett was adept and fearless. Her success was assured. The Anglo-Irish gentry as a whole admired nothing quite as much as they did a fine rider.

Charlotte Montague had to be vigilant, or she’d be caught looking like a cat who’d just finished a bowl of thick cream.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked Scarlett on the way back to Ballyhara.

“Every minute, Charlotte! Bless you for getting me invited. Everything was perfect. It’s so thoughtful having those sandwiches in the bedroom. I always get hungry late at night, I guess everybody does.”

Charlotte laughed until her eyes were streaming with tears. It made Scarlett huffy. “I don’t see what’s so funny about a healthy appetite. With the card game lasting until all hours, it’s a long time after dinner when you go to bed.”

When Charlotte could speak, she explained. At the more sophisticated houses the ladies’ bedrooms were supplied with a plate of sandwiches that could be used as a signal to admirers. Set on the floor of the corridor outside a lady’s room, the sandwiches were an invitation for a man to come in.

Scarlett blushed crimson. “My grief, Charlotte, I ate every crumb. What must the maids think?”

“Not just the maids, Scarlett. Everyone in the house party must be wondering who the fortunate man was. Or men. Naturally no gentleman would claim the title, or he wouldn’t be a gentleman.”

“I’ll never be able to look anyone in the face again. That’s the most scandalous thing I ever heard. It’s disgusting! And I thought they were all such nice people.”

“But my dear child, it’s precisely the nice people who devise these discretions. Everyone knows the rules, and no one refers to them. People’s amusements are their own secrets, unless they choose to tell.”

Scarlett was about to say that where she came from people were honest and decent. Then she remembered Sally Brewton in Charleston. Sally had talked the same way, all about “discretion” and “amusements” as if infidelity and promiscuity were a normal, accepted thing.

Charlotte Montague smiled complacently. If any one thing had been needed to create a legend for Scarlett O’Hara, the mistake about the sandwiches had accomplished it. Now she’d be known as refreshingly Colonial, but satisfactorily sophisticated.

Charlotte began to make preliminary schedules in her mind for her retirement. Only a few more months to go, and she’d never again suffer through boredom at a fashionable party of any kind.

“I shall arrange for delivery of the
Irish Times
every day,” she said to Scarlett, “and you must study every word in it. Everyone you will meet in Dublin will expect you to be familiar with the news it reports.”

“Dublin? You didn’t tell me we were going to Dublin.”

“Didn’t I? I thought surely I had. I do apologize, Scarlett. Dublin is the center of everything, you will love it. It’s a real city, not an overgrown country town like Drogheda or Galway. And the Castle is the most thrilling thing you will ever experience in your entire life.”

“A Castle? Not a ruin? I didn’t know there was such a thing. Does the Queen live there?”

“No, thank heaven. The Queen is a fine ruler but an extremely dull woman. No, the Castle in Dublin is ruled by Her Majesty’s representative, the Viceroy. You will be presented to him and to the Vicereine in the Throne Room…” Mrs. Montague painted a word picture for Scarlett of pomp and splendor beyond anything she’d ever heard of. It made Charleston’s Saint Cecilia sound like nothing at all. And it made Scarlett want success in Dublin society with all her heart. That would put Rhett Butler in his place. He wouldn’t be important to her at all.

It was safe to tell her now, Charlotte thought. After this week’s success the invitation will surely come. There’s no longer a chance that I’ll lose the deposit on the suite at the Shelbourne that I booked for the Season when I got Scarlett’s note last year.

“Where’s my precious Cat?” Scarlett called when she ran into the house. “Momma’s home, sweetheart.” She found Cat, after a half hour’s search, in the stables sitting atop Half Moon. She looked frighteningly small on the big horse. Scarlett muted her voice, so that she wouldn’t spook Half Moon. “Come to Momma, darling, and give me a hug.” Her heart thumped out of rhythm while she watched her child jump down into the straw near the powerful, metal-shod hooves. Cat was out of Scarlett’s sight until her small dark face popped up over the half door to the stall. She was climbing it, not opening it. Scarlett knelt to catch her in an embrace. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you, angel. I missed you a lot. Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” Cat wriggled out of her arms. Well, at least she missed me, she’s never said that before. Scarlett stood up when the warm surge of love for Cat subsided into the total devotion that was her habitual emotion.

“I didn’t know you liked horses, Kitty Cat.”

“I do. I like animals.”

Scarlett forced herself to sound cheerful. “Would you like to have a pony of your own? The right size for a little girl?” I won’t let myself think of Bonnie, I won’t. I promised that I wouldn’t hobble Cat or wrap her in cottonwool because I lost Bonnie in the accident. I promised Cat when she was fresh born that I’d let her be whoever she turned out to be, that I’d give her all the freedom a free spirit needs to have. I didn’t know it would be so hard, that I’d want to protect her every single minute. But I’ve got to keep my promise. I know it was right. She’ll have a pony if she wants one, and she’ll learn to jump, and I’ll make myself watch if it kills me. I love Cat too much to hem her in.

Scarlett had no way of knowing that Cat had walked down to Ballyhara town while she was away. Three now, Cat was becoming interested in other children and games. She went looking for some of the playmates who’d been at her birthday party. A group of four or five little boys were playing in the wide street. When she walked toward them, they ran away. Two stopped long enough to scoop up rocks and throw them at her. “
Cailleach! Cailleach
!” they screamed in terror. They’d learned the word from their mothers, the Gaelic for witch.

Cat looked up at her mother. “Yes, I’d like a pony,” she said. Ponies didn’t throw things. She considered telling her mother about the boys, asking her about the word. Cat liked to learn new words. But she didn’t like that word. She wouldn’t ask. “I’d like a pony today.”

“I can’t find a pony today, baby. I’ll start looking tomorrow. I promise. Let’s go home now and have tea.”

“With cakes?”

“Definitely with cakes.”

Up in their rooms Scarlett got out of her beautiful travelling suit as quickly as she could. She felt an undefined need to wear her shirt and skirt and bright peasant stockings.

By mid-December Scarlett was pacing the long hallways of the Big House like a caged animal. She had forgotten how much she hated the dark, short, wet days of winter. She thought about going down to Kennedy’s several times, but ever since her unfortunate party for all the townspeople, she no longer felt as easy with them as once she had. She rode a little bit. It wasn’t necessary, the grooms kept all the horses exercised. But she needed to be out, even in the ice-filled rain. When there were a few hours of sun she watched while Cat rode her Shetland pony in great joyful loops across the frozen meadow. Scarlett knew it was bad for next summer’s grass, but Cat was as restless as she was. It was all Scarlett could do to persuade her to stay indoors, even in the kitchen or the stables.

On Christmas Eve Cat lit the Christ Child candle and then all the candles she could reach on the Christmas tree. Colum held her up to reach the higher ones. “Outlandish English custom,” he said. “You’ll probably burn your house to the ground.”

Scarlett looked at the bright decorations and glowing candles on the tree. “I think it’s very pretty even if the Queen of England did start the fashion,” she said. “Besides, I’ve got holly over all the windows and doors, too, Colum, so it’s Irish everywhere in Ballyhara except this room. Don’t be such a grumpy.”

Colum laughed. “Cat O’Hara, did you know your godfather was a grumpy?”

“Today yes,” said Cat.

This time Colum’s laugh wasn’t forced. “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said. “It’s my fault for asking.”

He helped Scarlett bring out Cat’s present after she fell asleep. It was a full-size stuffed toy pony on rockers.

On Christmas morning Cat looked at it with scorn. “It’s not real.”

“It’s a toy, darling, for indoors in this nasty weather.”

Cat climbed on it and rocked. She conceded that for a pony that wasn’t real it was not a bad toy.

Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t feel quite so guilty now when she went to Dublin. She was to meet Charlotte at the Gresham Hotel there the day after New Year’s barm brack and tea.

S
carlett had no idea Dublin was so near. It seemed she was barely settled in the train at Trim before Dublin was announced. Evans, Charlotte Montague’s maid, met her and directed a porter to take her cases. Then, “Follow me, if you please, Mrs. O’Hara,” Evans said, and walked off. Scarlett had trouble keeping up with her because of the hurrying crowds in the station. It was the biggest building Scarlett had ever seen, and the busiest.