Songs of Love and War Read Free

Barton Deverill is still here?’ Bridie asked.
    Kitty’s eyes widened. ‘He’s still here and he’s not very happy about it.’
    ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’
    ‘I
know
it,’ said Kitty emphatically. ‘I can
see
him.’ She bit her lip, aware that she might have given too much away.
    Now Bridie was more interested. She knew her friend wasn’t a liar. ‘How can you see him if he’s a ghost?’
    Kitty leaned forward and whispered, ‘Because I see dead people.’ The candle flame flickered eerily as if to corroborate her claim and Bridie shivered.
    ‘You can see dead people?’
    ‘I can and I do. All the time.’
    ‘You’ve never told me before.’
    ‘That’s because I didn’t know if I could trust you.’
    ‘What are they like, dead people?’
    ‘Transparent. Some are light, some are dark. Some are loving and some aren’t.’ Kitty shrugged. ‘Barton Deverill is quite dark. I don’t think he was a very nice man
when he was alive.’
    ‘Doesn’t it scare you?’
    ‘It used to, until Grandma taught me not to be afraid. She sees them too. It’s a gift, she says. But I’m not allowed to tell anyone.’ She unconsciously rubbed the palm of
her hand with her thumb.
    ‘They’ll lock you away,’ Bridie said and her voice quivered. ‘They do that, don’t you know. They lock people away in the red-brick in Cork City for less and they
never come out. Never.’
    ‘Then you’d better not tell on me.’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t.’
    Kitty brightened. ‘Do you want to see one?’
    ‘A ghost?’
    ‘Barton Deverill.’
    The blood drained from Bridie’s cheeks. ‘I don’t know . . .’
    ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you.’ Kitty blew out the candle and pushed open the door.
    The two girls hurried along the passageway. Regardless of the disparity of their colouring, they could have been sisters as they skipped off together for they were similar in height and build.
However, there was a marked difference in their clothes and countenance. While Kitty’s dress was white, embellished with fine lace and silk, tied at the waist with a pale blue bow,
Bridie’s was brown and shapeless and made from a coarse, scratchy frieze. Kitty wore black lace-up boots that reached mid-calf, and thick black stockings, while Bridie’s feet were bare
and dirty. Kitty’s governess brushed her hair and pinned it off her face with ribbons; Bridie received no such attention and her hair was tangled and unwashed, almost reaching as far as her
waist. The difference was not only marked in their attire but in the way they looked out onto the world. Kitty had the steady, lofty gaze of a child born to privilege and entitlement, while Bridie
had the feral stare of a waif who was always hungry, and yet there was an underlying need in Kitty that bridged the gap between them. Were it not for the loving company of her grandparents and the
sporadic attention lavished on her by her father when he wasn’t out hunting, shooting game or at the races, Kitty would have been starved of love. It was this longing that gave balance to
their friendship, for Kitty needed Bridie just as much as Bridie needed her.
    While Kitty was unaware of these differences, Bridie, who heard her parents and brothers complaining endlessly about their lot, was very conscious of them. However, she liked Kitty too much to
give way to jealousy, and she was too flattered by her friendship to risk losing it. She accepted her position with the passive compliance of a sheep.
    The two girls heard Mrs Doyle grumbling to one of the maids in the kitchen but they scurried on up the back staircase as quiet as kittens, aware that if they were caught their playtime would be
over and Bridie summoned to wash up at the sink.
    No one ever went up to the western tower. It was chilly and damp at the top of the castle and the spiral staircase was in need of repair. Two of the wooden steps had collapsed and Kitty and
Bridie had to jump over the gaps. Bridie breathed