Songs of Love and War Read Online Free PDF Page B

and holes, until it reached the castle, its passengers quite shaken up. The footman opened the door and offered
his hand to Mrs Deverill, who accepted it and put out one uncertain foot, feeling in the dark for the top step. She descended at last and took her husband’s arm. Bertie was flaxen-haired and
handsome with a wide, well-proportioned face and grey eyes as pale as duck’s eggs. He had a dry sense of humour and a penchant for pretty women. Indeed, he was celebrated across Co. Cork for
his quiet charm and gentle geniality and was every lady’s favourite gentleman, except for Maud’s, of course, who resented the fact that he had never really belonged exclusively to
her.
    Flares had been lit on either side of the castle door to light the way. Bertie and Maud Deverill were the closest neighbours but always the last to arrive on account of Maud’s
procrastination. She subconsciously hoped that if she dithered and dallied and took her time her husband might go without her.
    ‘If I’m sitting next to the Rector again I shall shoot myself,’ she hissed, her scarlet lips black in the darkness.
    ‘My dear, you always sit next to the Rector and you never shoot yourself,’ Bertie replied patiently.
    ‘Your mother does it on purpose to spite me.’
    ‘Now why would she do that?’
    ‘Because she despises me.’
    ‘Nonsense. Mama despises no one. The two of you are simply very different. I don’t see why you can’t get along.’
    ‘I have a headache. I should not have come at all.’
    ‘Since you are here, you might as well enjoy yourself.’
    ‘It’s all right for you, Bertie. You’re always the life and soul of the party. Everyone loves
you.
I’m just here to facilitate your pleasure.’
    ‘Don’t be absurd, Maud. Come along, you’ll catch your death out here. I need a drink.’ They stepped into the hall and Maud reluctantly peeled off her fur coat and gloves
and handed them to O’Flynn.
    Maud was a beautiful, if severe-looking, woman. She was blessed with high cheekbones, a symmetrical heart-shaped face, large pale-blue eyes and a pretty, straight nose. Her mouth was full-lipped
and her blonde hair thick and lustrous, pinned up in the typical Edwardian style with curls and waves in all the right places. Her skin was milky white, her hands and feet dainty. In fact, she was
like a lovely marble statue, carved by a benevolent creator, yet cold and hard and lacking in all sensuality. The only quality that gave her an ounce of character was her inability to see beyond
herself.
    Tonight she wore a pale blue dress that reached the floor and showed off her slender figure, a pearl choker about her neck with a diamond clasp glittering at her throat. When she entered the
drawing room there was a collective gasp of admiration, which cheered her up enormously. She glided in, feeling much better about the evening, and found herself accosted at once by Adeline’s
eccentric spinster sisters Hazel and Laurel.
    ‘My dear Maud, you look lovely,’ gushed Hazel. ‘Don’t you think, Laurel? Maud looks lovely.’
    Laurel, who was rarely far from her sister’s side, smiled into her chubby crimson cheeks. ‘She does, Hazel. She truly does. Simply lovely.’ Maud looked down her nose at the two
round faces grinning eagerly up at her and smiled politely, before extricating herself as quickly as possible with the excuse of going to greet the Rector. ‘Poor Mrs Daunt has taken a
turn,’ said Hazel of the Rector’s wife.
    ‘We shall ask Mary to bake a cake tomorrow and take it round,’ suggested Laurel, referring to their maid.
    ‘Splendid idea, Hazel. A little brandy in it should restore her to health, don’t you think?’
    ‘Oh, it will indeed!’ exclaimed the ever-exuberant Laurel, clapping her small hands excitedly.
    The Rector was a portly, self-important man with a long prickly moustache and bloated, ruddy cheeks, who enjoyed life’s pleasures as if the obligation to do so was one of God’s