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 oward 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 harm brack and tea.

77

Scarlett 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.

But nothing like as busy as Dublin’s streets. Scarlett pressed her nose to the window of the hackney in her excitement. Charlotte was right, she was going to love Dublin.

All too soon the hackney stopped. Scarlett stepped down, helped by a lavishly uniformed attendant. She was staring at a passing horse-drawn tram when Evans touched her arm. “This way, please.”

Charlotte was waiting for her behind a tea table in the sitting room of their suite of rooms. “Charlotte!” Scarlett exclaimed, “I saw a streetcar with an upstairs and a downstairs, and both of them packed full.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Scarlett. I’m pleased that Dublin pleases you. Give Evans your wraps and come and have tea. We have a great deal to do.”

That evening Mrs. Sims arrived with three assistants carrying muslin-wrapped gowns and dresses. Scarlett stood and moved as ordered while Mrs. Sims and Mrs. Montague discussed every detail of every garment. Each evening gown was more elegant than the one that preceded it. Scarlett preened before the pier glass when she wasn’t being prodded and pinched by Mrs. Sims.

When the dressmaker and her woman left Scarlett discovered suddenly that she was exhausted. She was happy to agree when Charlotte suggested they dine in the suite, and she ate ravenously.

“Do not gain so much as a millimeter around the middle, Scarlett, or you’ll have to be fitted all over again,” Charlotte warned.

“I’ll run it all off shopping,” Scarlett said. She buttered another piece of bread. “I saw at least eight shop windows that looked wonderful on the drive from the station.”

Charlotte smiled indulgently. She’d receive a very welcome commission from every shop Scarlett patronized. “You’ll have all the shopping your heart desires, I can promise you that. But only in the afternoons. In the mornings, you’ll be sitting for your portrait.”

“That’s nonsense, Charlotte. What do I want with a portrait of myself? I had one done once, and I hated it. I looked mean as a snake.”

“You will not look mean in this one, take my word. Monsieur Hervé is an expert at ladies. And the portrait is important. It must be done.”

“I’ll do it, because I do everything you say, but I won’t like it, take my word.”

The next morning Scarlett was awakened by the sound of traffic. It was still dark, but street lamps showed her four lines of wagons and drays and carriages of every description moving along the street below her bedroom window. No wonder Dublin has such wide streets, she thought happily, almost everything in Ireland with wheels on it is here. She sniffed, sniffed again. I must be going crazy. I could swear I smell coffee.

Fingers tapped gently on her door. “Breakfast is in the sitting room when you’re ready,” said Charlotte. “I’ve sent the waiter away, all you need is a wrapper.”

Scarlett nearly knocked Mrs. Montague down opening the door. “Coffee! If you knew how much I’ve missed coffee. Oh, Charlotte, why didn’t you tell me they drink coffee in Dublin? I’d have taken e train every morning just for breakfast.”

The coffee tasted even better than it smelled. Luckily Charlotte preferred tea, because Scarlett drank the entire pot.

Then she obediently put on the silk stockings and combinations Charlotte unpacked from a box. She felt quite wicked. The light slippery undergarments were altogether different from the batiste or muslin she’d worn all her life. She tied her wool dressing gown tightly around her when Evans came in with a woman she’d never seen before. “This is Serafina,” said Charlotte. “She’s Italian, so don’t be concerned if you don’t understand a word she says. She’s going to do your hair. All you have to do is sit still and let her talk to herself.”

She’s having a one-way conversation with every hair on my head, thought Scarlett after nearly an hour. Her neck was getting stiff, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what the woman was doing to her. Charlotte had seated her near the window in the sitting room where the morning light was strongest.