Daughters of Castle Deverill Read Free

affectionately at her cousin’s fondness of the dramatic. ‘You’re so right, Celia. It will be wonderful to see the castle brought back to life and by a Deverill no
less. It’s the way it should be. I only wish it were me.’
    Celia put a gloved hand on her stomach. ‘I’m going to have a baby, Kitty,’ she announced, smiling.
    ‘Goodness, Celia, how many more surprises have you in store for me?’
    ‘Just that and the castle. How about you? Do hurry up. I pray we are both blessed with girls so that they can grow up here at Castle Deverill just like we did.’ And Kitty realized
then that Celia had rewritten her past, placing herself here within these castle walls for more than merely the annual month of August. She was one of those shallow people who rewrote their own
history and believed in the absolute truth of their own version. ‘Come on,’ Celia continued, taking Kitty’s hand and pulling her through the doorframe into the space where once
the great hall had been. ‘Let’s explore. I have grand plans, you know. I want it to be just the same as it was when we were girls, but better. Do you remember the last Summer Ball?
Wasn’t it marvellous?’
    Kitty and Celia waded through the weeds that grew up to their knees, marvelling at the small trees that had seeded themselves among the thistles and thorns and stretched their spindly branches
towards the light. The ground was soft against their boots as they moved from room to room, disturbing the odd rook and magpie that flew indignantly into the air. Celia chattered on, reliving the
past in colourful anecdotes and fond reminiscences, while Kitty was unable to stop the desolation of her ruined home falling upon her like a heavy black veil. With a leaden heart she remembered her
grandfather Hubert, killed in the fire, and her grandmother Adeline who had died alone in the western tower only a month ago. She thought of Bridie’s brother, Michael Doyle, who had set the
castle ablaze, and her own foolish thirst for recrimination, which had only led to her shame in his farmhouse where no one had heard her cries. Her thoughts drifted to her lover Jack O’Leary
and their meeting at the wall where he had held her tightly and begged her to flee with him to America, then later, on the station platform, when he had been arrested and dragged away. Her head
began to spin. Her heart contracted with fear as the monsters of the past were roused from sleep. She left Celia in the remains of the dining room and fled into the library to seek refuge among the
more gentle memories of bridge and whist and porter cake.
    Kitty leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. She realized she was ambivalent about this canary, chattering away about a house whose past she barely understood.
Celia’s chatter receded, overwhelmed by the autumn wind that moaned about the castle walls. But as Kitty shut off her sight, her sixth sense at once became sensitive to the ghosts now
gathering around her. The air, already chilly, grew colder still. There was no surer feeling than this to drag her back to her childhood. Gingerly, she opened her eyes. There, standing before her,
was her grandmother, as real as if she were made of flesh and blood, only younger than she had been when she had died and dazzlingly bright as if she were standing in a spotlight. Behind her stood
Kitty’s grandfather, Hubert, Barton Deverill, the first Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly, and other unfortunate Deverill heirs who were bound by Maggie O’Leary’s curse to an eternity
in limbo, shifting in and out of vision like faces in the prism of a precious stone.
    Kitty blinked as Adeline smiled on her tenderly. ‘You know I’m never far away, my dear,’ she said and Kitty was so moved by her presence that she barely noticed the hot tears
spilling down her cheeks.
    ‘I miss you, Grandma,’ she whispered.
    ‘Come now, Kitty. You know better than anyone that we are only separated by the