Green Girl by Sara Seale Page A

scraps of embroidery, ivories and silver trinkets were heaped carelessly together under the glass tops of little spindly tables. She longed to take them out and hold them in her eager hands, but although the cases were unlocked, Ogilvy ’ s rigid ruling never to touch what did not belong to you forbade a closer inspection. She even found herself jumping guiltily when Jimsy caught her lifting the edge of a piece of cloth which hung over an easel to discover what it might hide.
    “ I was bringing a lamp to the snug where himself toult me you would be restin ’ , ” he said with obvious disapproval. “ Why would you be puttin ’ a strain on your ailin ’ leg pokin ’ about with this trash? These rooms are niver used. ”
    “ Is it only trash? ” she asked, aware that the light falling on all these mute objects revealed dust and the long neglect of years, and wondered whether the old man thought she had been criticising his household duties.
    “ Well now ... as to that I can ’ t tell you, for the stuff ’ s laid about here gatherin ’ dust ever since I first come as pantry boy, but in thim days there was servants and to spare for polishin ’ up gew-gaws, and the mistress, as she was then, buyin ’ annything that took her fancy from the tinkers at the door. She had a magpie ’ s taste for gew-gaws, that wan. ”
    “ Mr. Lonnegan ’ s wife? Is that her portrait? ” asked Harriet, wa rm ing instantly to a woman who found fascination in a collection of colourful miscellany without regard to its worth.
    “ His mammy, not his wife, young miss, an ’ the pixture ’ s not of her, ” Jimsy replied with a suggestion of reproof. “ The late young mistress cared nothing for the castle, poor soul, an ’ she with her heart left in Dublin where she should have stayed. ”
    Harriet felt a chill of foreboding as she stared at the old servant.
    “ What was she like? How did she die? ”
    “ Miss Kitty, as she was? She was like a child that ’ s taken too soon from its mammy, an ’ she pined for the lights an ’ the gaiety they took from her. She died when the babby came, God rest her soul! ”
    Jimsy stood there holding the lamp and seemed to have forgotten her, remembering too vividly, perhaps, the melancholy little story, and Harriet said softly:
    “ Oh, how terribly sad ... sad enough not to be happy in such a place as this, but sadder still to die when a child would have changed everything. ”
    “ She niver wanted the child. Mr. Duff, too, thought a babby would divert her from her miscontent, and the paintin ’ she was always at, shuttin ’ herself up in this very room, for it was the wan she tuk for herself, but the waitin ’ an ’ the slow change in her body soured her on him an ’ she turned agin him. ”
    “ Oh, poor man ... he would have blamed himself, I suppose. ”
    “ He did so, though ‘ twas not his fault he niver onder-stood Miss Kitty, for dancin ’ an ’ dressin ’ up was nary a Lonnegan ’ s notion of the gaiety, but he took it hard, blamin ’ himself for wishin ’ the child on her and mislidn’ the poor toad on account of it. ”
    “ That ’ s sadder still, ” she said. “ I should have thought the little girl would be a comfort. ”
    “ Ah, well ... himself wished for a son, which was only natural, with Clooney in mind, an ’ how would a man find comfort in a pukin ’ wean, an ’ he with no patience with wailin ’ females annyways? ” Jimsy said with a sudden return to his more usual manner.
    “ Where ’ s the little girl now? ” Harriet asked curiously, for there seemed to be no signs of a child about the house.
    “ Away to her convent skule in Knockferry. There ’ s not much companionship here for a child, so that way was best. ”
    “ The holidays must be lonely here for her. ”
    “ She ’ s used to it, the cra y thur, havin ’ known nothin ’ else. Himself was mistaken shutting up the castle, I ’ m thinkin ’ , but he couldn ’ t abide the place at