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Authors: Sara Seale

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She lifted up her own small voice and joined him in a rendering of
The Wearing of the Green.

It
was the be
ginning
, but it was also the end. The next day Kevin was morose, already a little a
shamed
of his foolish pretence. He looked broodingly at his boy, so reluctant to share his company. Here was his son, his true son, on whom his hopes had rested for so many years. Nature had cheated him and given a girl

s sickly body to the boy. What matter if the girl had been frail? Ailing women were a nuisance to be sure, but it was to be expected and they had no need of that strength and vitality that were so cruelly Clancy

s. He felt resentful of her health and her misplaced eagerness for
his
company. It should have been Brian receiving kindness from his friends, Brian beside him, happy and singing, after the day

s small pleasures.

As the days passed, he seemed to ignore her more than before, and at first she thought she must have failed him by some thoughtless offence. But, watching him with Brian, she understood. She had failed him, but only by reason of her sex.

There was much activity going on in the tower room, where Aunt. Bea was supervising the cleaning and rearrangement of furniture. They had none of them been in it for years, and Clancy and Brian spent much time exploring its treasures. It was still as it had been in their Grandfather

s time, and many of its contents were the best pieces in the whole house. Aunt Bea, looking with disapproval at a solid Victorian writing-desk, said she had never seen any one room so mixed in periods.


But the desk will have to stay. He

ll be needing that,

she said.


To correct our exercises at,

said Brian complacently.

Will we do lessons up here, Aunt Bea?


Of course not,

she replied.

You

ll do them in the schoolroom where you always have. This is the man

s own private sanctum and you

re not to come here disturbing him at all hours.


Who on earth would want to?

asked Clancy, with deep disgust at so much fuss and upheaval for a stranger.

I hope he stops up here all the time, except when he

s on duty. We never had this set out for any of the others, Aunt Bea.

Her aunt straightened one of the fine Persian rugs and peered closely at it for signs of moth.


No, well, that was different,

she said vaguely.


Why?

demanded Clancy truculently.

Just because he

s a man?


I expect so,

sa
i
d Aunt Bea mildly. She was quite used to a world fashioned to accommodate the male. So was Clancy in her brief experience, but she was not prepared to truckle to a Sassenach.


What

s his name, Aunt Bea?

asked Brian, exploring the inside of a Buhl cabinet.

And why wouldn

t Kilmallin tell us?


I don

t know, dear. Some private joke of his own, I expect.

Clancy was gazing out of one of the long narrow windows, thinking how high up they seemed in the tower room, and how plainly you could see Conn

s little farm on the other side of the loch.


He

s probably got some frightful name like Ramsbottom or Featherstonehaugh, or perhaps it

s just something like Smelly or Wiffen,

she said.

Brian went into shrieks of laughter and they began to invent names until Aunt Bea told them both to go away and find something to do and let her get on with the cleaning.


You might find Michael John, Clancy, and tell
h
im we shall want some easy chairs carried up here,

she called after them.

They went out into the garden to look for the garden boy, and Clancy kicked the turf disconsolately.


He comes the day after tomorrow,

she said,

Kilmallin had a telegram this morning. If I

d only caught Micky-the
-
post, I could have found out what his name is.


More fun not to know, then when he

s introduced we

ll just double up laughing.

Brian, who was excited at all the fuss, regarded their tutor

s advent with no sense of dismay.


There

s one thing,

Clancy said, suddenly thoughtful,

if he

s very old, those stairs to the tower room will finish
him.
I wonder if they

ve thought of that? There

s Michael John!

Michael John, although just on sixty, was still called the garden boy, having worked at Kilmallin since he was twelve. He was quite bald and had been so ever since Clancy could remember.


Aunt Bea wants some chairs taken up to the tower room,

she said, and looked at him speculatively.

Michael John, if you had to go up and down those stairs five or six times a day, wouldn

t you drop dead?


Me?

He scratched his head, then spat over his shoulder.

Well now, I wouldn

t like to say. I

m not as old as I look, you know.

He was devoted to the young O

Shanes, but Clancy was his favourite. A broth of a girl and worth ten of the boy.


But if you were over sixty, or even seventy—wouldn

t it be too much for you?


Ah, well, in that case, I

d like as not turn up me toes.


Ramsbottom or Smelly is hardly likely to be seventy, is he?

objected Brian.

I mean he wouldn

t be much use if he was as old as that.


The English schoolmaster, is it?

said Michael John, and screwed up his face in serious thought.

No, that would be a little old, maybe. About fifty would be my guess.


Fifty,

said Clancy dubiously.

That

s old of course, but not
very
old. I

m afraid he might manage the stairs at fifty, wouldn

t you, Michael John?


Ah, well, there

s no tellin

,

Michael John said comfortably.

Thim English are a puny race. The poor felly will likely have a heart attack when he

s run up and down enough times.


Oh, I wouldn

t want him to do that,

said Clancy hastily.

Just perhaps weaken him a little so he

d go back to England.

Michael John spat on his hands and went back to the digging which they had interrupted.


They

ll weaken him,

he said, and began to cackle with mirth.

An

if the stairs don

t do it, Miss Clancy, you will for sure.

They wandered home by the south pasture, where they found Conn inspecting his young stock.


They

re looking better, aren

t they?

Clancy said, stroking the neck of the horse he was riding with loving fingers.


A little.

He sounded depressed.

Those two fillies haven

t picked up as I

d hoped. The grass is poor this spring.


Ah, well, it

s early yet. They

ve all the summer before them,

she replied, and remembered the dealer in Duneen who had said that if Conn wanted to make money he should move his stable.


Conn, you wouldn

t ever leave Slievaun, would you?

she asked anxiously.

He glanced down at her curiously.


Why do you ask that?


Oh, something that man Daley said to me in Duneen the other day. He said the land your side was unsuited for horsebreeding, and if you wanted to make money you should move.

He shifted a little impatiently in the saddle.


So he

s always telling me. Well, so I might, one day.


Oh, Conn, no!


Don

t you want me to make money?


I

d rather have you across the water at Slievaun. If you went—oh, Conn, what would become of me?

He laughed and put a careless hand on her head.


You

ll be married and away from Kilmallin by that time, I shouldn

t be surprised,

he answered with amusement.


Clancy married!

Brian exclaimed in disbelief.

Conn surveyed her slight body and tangled hair.


Well, some time in the next ten years,

he amended
laughingly.

Clancy took her hand from the horse

s neck and smoothed
her hair.


In ten year

s time I shall be twenty-seven,

she said severely,

and that

s getting on for a woman.


So you will,

Conn said with surprise.

I keep forgetting how old you are.


Yes, you do,

she replied sedately.

Everyone does. Let me have a ride, Conn. Just once round the field. Kilmallin

s
away to Castledrum.

He dismounted and she swung herself up in his place. He watched her approvingly as she cantered round the field, straight and firm in the saddle as he had taught her, her skirt hitched high above her bare knees.


It

s a pity
Kilmallin
won

t allow you a horse,

he remarked, as she handed the reins over to him again.

You

d make a good horsewoman. Micky-the-post tells me the new tutor arrives the day after tomorrow. Are you getting all your slings and arrows polished up, Clancy?

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