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Authors: Sara Seale

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She hurried across the room, a small, thin old woman with sparse, neat grey hair and snapping eyes in a face lined and seamed before its time, like so many of her Irish peasant stock. She took Brian

s hands in hers and started chafing them.


Cold as ice,

she scolded, and ordered Clancy to mend the fire.

Himself

s returned, and you

re to go to him in the library.


Both of us?

asked Brian dubiously.


Yes,
alannah,
the both of you, but

tis only to talk of your schooling.
Kilmallin
has it all thought out and he wishes to tell you himself.


He can

t have got another governess already,

said Clancy,
skilfully
building the turfs together and blowing the almost dead ashes into a flame.

Is he going to send us to school at last?


School is it!

Agnes

s voice was shrill with contempt.

You know very well he

d never send Brian from home—do you want to kill the poor boy entirely? Use your sense, child.
Himself
has it all fixed. G

wan with you now.


If it

s another governess it will be the thirteenth,

said Brian as they went down the shallow staircase which curved with such unexpected grace to the cold, stone-flagged hall below.


Unlucky entirely,

Clancy commented in the accents of Michael John, the garden boy.

The poor crayture is doomed from the start.


Women!

said Brian, with sudden disgust,

I

m sick of the sight of them.

The library at
Kilmallin
was so called because its walls were lined with shelves, but apart from calf-bound editions of the usual classics and a large and varied assortment of works on fishing, agriculture, and sporting biographies, there were few books to justify the room

s title. It was not a beautiful room, but it was here that the family mostly congregated except when Kevin shut himself up to do accounts, the whisky decanter at his elbow.

He stood now with his back to the fire, his fine shoulders flung back, the raindrops still clinging to his old leather patched coat of Donegal tweed. His thick grey hair stood up in a wind-tossed crest and his tanned cheeks glowed. Clancy saw at a glance that Kilmallin was in a good mood.


Where were you, Kilmallin, when poor Miss Dillon left? She had only me to tell her God-speed,

said Clancy severe
l
y. Kevin

s children had never called him father, but always addressed him with the country people

s habit of referring to a man by the name of his property.


I forgot the poor creature was going this morning,

he said, and added heartily:

Thanks be to God!

Brian stood looking out of the window in silence and shivered a little.


Are you cold, boy?

Kevin said at once.

Come nearer the fire, I want to talk to you both. How many of these unfortunate females have tried to put a little learning into you, Clancy?


Twelve,

she replied, perching on her father

s desk and swinging her legs.

They come and go so fast. I t
hink
they get lonely. We have so few neighbours.


Women!

Kevin exclaimed, much as Brian had done on the stairs.

Always wanting neighbours, always wanting to twitter and gossip. I

ll have no more women in
this
house.

He looked at his two children regarding
him
with suddenly expectant faces, and sighed suddenly. What did he know of either of them?


I

m getting a tutor for you,

he said at last, and frowned at Brian.


A tutor? You mean a male governess?

asked Brian, looking bewildered.

Kevin frowned still more.


If he turns out to be a male governess he

ll soon shake the dust of Kilmallin off his feet. I

ve had enough of them,

he said, and reached for the decanter.

Clancy nodded her head without speaking, her frown a good imitation of her father

s. A tutor might be good for Brian, she thought, if he wasn

t too old and dry-as-dust.


That

s the one sensible remark that woman made before she left,

Kevin said, pouring his whisky into a heavy tumbler of Waterford glass.

A boy of thirteen is too old for governesses, she said. If Brian can

t go to school, then he should have a tutor, she said, and, for the only time in my life I agreed with her.


Yes,

said Clancy, shaking her wet hair out of her eyes.

That

s a very good plan for Brian, Kilmallin.


I

m glad you approve, miss,

said her father sarcastically.

And a very good plan for you, too. You

re the stumbling-block with all these confounded women, let me
tell you. You need discipline, and you need education.


Me?

said Clancy.

But I

m too old now, Kilmallin. It

s time I came out of the schoolroom.


Oh, so it

s time you came out of the schoolroom, is it? And why, pray, should you imagine that?


I

m seventeen. I should be done with schooling.

The whisky was giving Kevin its first accustomed glow of well-being. He laughed with sudden good humour.


Done with schooling!

he exclaimed.

You

re as ignorant as Michael John, the pair of you. You

ll stay in the schoolroom, me fine lady, where you

ll keep out of mischief. What would you be doing mooning about on your own with no occupation?


I could go about with you, Kilmallin—run the place with you. We could fish, go trips, ride together.

Clancy

s voice was eager, pleading.


Och! Stop this foolish blather,

he replied impatiently.

You should be helping your aunt about the house if you think you

re grown up. You

ll go on with your schooling, and we

ll see if a man can improve your mind and manners better than one of your own sex.

Clancy sighed.


All right,
Kilmallin,
but it seems an awful waste of time,

she said meekly.

Where do we get a tutor from?

Kevin finished his whisky, and poured himself out another before replying.


I have it arranged,

he said then.

I

m waiting for a letter from England.


England? Why England?

asked Clancy, looking puzzled.


Because, my girl,

said Kevin with firmness,

I

m getting an English tutor for you.

Her eyes widened in horrified disbelief.


Kilmallin
!
You
can

t
!
But why? Why not an Irishman?

Kevin looked at her impatiently.


Why, why? All these questions! But I

ll tell you why. Because the English stand no nonsense, and have a certain idea of the fitness of things. I

ve had enough of these poor ignorant Irishwomen. We

ll try a complete change.

Clancy sprang off the desk, the colour staining her cheeks.


Kilmallin, I will not work for an Englishman, or take orders from him, or give him civility,

she cried.


Ah, Clancy!

he said irritably.

Haven

t you got over these childish notions yet, and you trying to tell me you

d no more to learn? It

s time you got rid of all this outdated nonsense Conn taught you as a child.


How can Ireland

s wrongs be out-dated?

she demanded passionately.


They
are
out-dated. Ireland rules herself, as you very well know, and you only show your ignorance by this wild talk. What do you know of the English? You

ve never been out of Ireland. You

ve hardly been out of Galway if it comes to that.


That

s not my fault, Kilmallin,

she protested hotly.

You never take me anywhere.


There

s gratitude for you! Didn

t I send you for a fortnight to your Aunt Kate only this year, and she going out of her way to make trouble for me, and didn

t you come tearing home before a week was out, vowing you

d not leave Kilmallin again!


I will not work
—”
she began again, but he waved
her away, suddenly tired of the whole thing.


You

ll work for your new tutor, whatever his nationality,

he said coldly,

and you

ll take orders from him, and you

ll give him civility, or I

ll put a stop to you hanging round Conn Driscoll and learning all this rebel rubbish. Now, I don

t want to hear any more of this talk, understand? Brian, you understand?


Yes, Kilmallin,

said Brian, wanting only to get away.

Then get along with the pair of you, and leave me in peace.

Clancy said nothing at all, but turned and ran out of the room.

In the hall she picked up the nearest object to hand, which happened to be a brass tray for visiting-cards, and sent it hurtling across the flags. Brian covered his ears against the clatter it made.

BOOK: The English Tutor
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