Death at Balfefield Abbey

Chapter 4, Cashelroe, 1903

Mrs. O'Brien was busy rolling pastry on a pasteboard while Kate sat at the kitchen table, absorbed in a periodical—no doubt one of those filled with the romantic stories young women wasted their time on these days.

She had read a couple at Kate's insistence but found them to be utter nonsense, filled with girls whose beauty and piety won them the heart of a rich, handsome lord or duke. Kate would be better off starting her chores rather than skiving off again with her head buried in such drivel.

"Katie, aren't you supposed to be helping Albert polish the silver in the dining room?"

"It's too hot and stuffy to be in that place on a day like this. I prefer to be here with you, Mrs. O'Brien," said Kate without looking up.

"I'll be turning up the range shortly. You'll know all about hot and stuffy then."

"Well, at least we can keep the doors and windows open here."

"Go on, get along, dear. You don't want to get into trouble again. Besides, I'm expecting a delivery and you'll only be in the way if you stay here."

"Aha! So that's why you want rid of me." Kate said, pouncing like a playful cat on a ball of yarn. "When Pat McCarty comes with the produce, you want to have him all to yourself. And there was me thinking you're a respectable widow-woman, but the truth is you want me out of the way, so you can do a little courting."

"Oh! You're the cheekiest little thing I've ever come across," said Mrs. O'Brien waving her rolling pin at the young girl, but she couldn't prevent herself from laughing. "You're being wicked just for the sake of it, you know very well that I'm old enough to be his mother."

"You say that, and yet I've seen the way you look at him. You're always insisting he comes in and has a slice of one of your cakes or pies and a cup of tea."

"Now, that's enough. Pat's a nice, hardworking lad with good manners, you could do worse than try to be like him. He wouldn't slander his elders. Besides, it's the laundry I'm expecting, not Pat, so there!"

They both heard footfalls on the stairs and stopped their banter immediately. Mrs. O'Brien began rolling the pastry again while Kate returned to her reading.

Albert came into the kitchen.

"I knew I'd find you here." he said moving to stand over Kate. "I told you not to be long, but I should've known you'd try to while away the time down here instead of attending to your duties. Mrs. O'Brien, you shouldn't be encouraging her."

"She gets no encouragement from me." said the cook flatly.

"I'm a chambermaid," said Kate calmly and without giving Albert even the satisfaction of looking up from her reading. You're a footman. Cleaning the silverware is your responsibility, not mine."

"Why you jumped up little bogtrotter!"

"Now, now, Albert." interrupted Mrs. O'Brien. "There's no need for name-calling. Come and sit down, the kettle's almost boiled. I'm sure you'd like some tea before you go back upstairs."

Albert straightened up his thin frame, stretched his chin upwards, and pulled down the bottom of his waistcoat with both hands to emphasize his rectitude before setting forth complaints the two women had heard many times before. "This house is worse than Bedlam. Where I come from, they wouldn't stand for it. Let me tell you when I worked in London, chambermaids knew their place, all domestics did. You can't have a properly functioning house when everyone thinks they can just do what they want."

"You're beginning to sound just like old Thompson." said Kate.

"Come on, sit down here, Albert," said Mrs. O'Brien soothingly as she poured tea into a cup and then placed some biscuits from a Huntley and Palmer tin on a small plate.

"It's useless." moaned the footman, "bloody useless."

"Now, that's enough. I'll have none of that language in my kitchen." said the cook, now suddenly stern.

"I'll have a cup, if there's one to spare, Mrs. O'Brien." said Kate with the hint of a grin, then turning to the footman, "Go on Albert, what's so bloody useless, as if you hadn't already told us a hundred times before?"

"Trying to do a good job around here, that's what. I ask myself, why should I give a tinker's damn when this whole place is falling asunder? They expect me to do the work of a footman and a butler while I get no thanks for it. And I certainly don't get the respect I'm due, down here or up there." He looked up meaningfully at the ceiling.

"Shush, Albert, you know very well they've other things on their mind," said Mrs. O'Brien. "The mistress is barely cold in her grave; God bless her soul." The cook quickly made the sign of the cross. "And they still haven't found the monster responsible. It's frightening to think he's still roaming around out there, somewhere. Hell's too good for an evil blackguard like him. I tell you; I make sure to keep my windows locked every night, despite the heat. I hope you two do the same."

"Yeah, but this place was going to pot long before that happened," said Albert. The anger had gone out of his voice, it was now simply plaintive. "I blame the captain. He should have put his foot down, asserted his authority on the household, set an example from the start. He just acted like he didn't care. Now he's drunk all the time. Do you know that he was so bad last night I had to help him to bed and undress him? The things he said, or I should say the gibberish he muttered."

Jane stamped on his foot beneath the table.

"Ouch! What are you playing at you little...?"

Mrs. Bennett, the housekeeper, had entered the kitchen. Always light on her feet, nobody heard her come down the stairs or was sure how long she had stood there.

"A cup of tea?" offered Mrs. O'Brien. Kate often joked it was her one and only answer to every situation.

"Yes, please, Mrs. O'Brien." The housekeeper moved with a quiet grace the older woman admired. She thought of it as ladylike. Mrs. Bennett took a chair next to Albert whose cheeks had only slowly begun to return to their natural colour.

"Mrs. Bennet, I'm sorry if you heard me speak out of turn." said the footman. He couldn't have known how much she had heard of his diatribe, but he had enough sense to know none of it showed him in a good light.

"That's quite alright, Albert, she said in that soft, calm voice of hers and gently patted the back of his hand. "We have all been under a terrible strain of late. But rest assured, the captain is aware of how difficult things are at the moment and he greatly appreciates your hard work and loyalty. That goes for all of you."

"How is he today?" asked Mrs. O'Brien.

"His state of mind hasn't improved, I'm afraid. Grief has hit him badly. It's only to be expected, he loved her so very much."

"He's in my prayers."

"That's so good of you, Mrs. O'Brien."

They sat in silence for a while until Jane piped up and addressed the housekeeper. "I must ask you a favor. Can I have your permission to go to the village this afternoon to run an errand?"

"Is it a personal matter?"

"Yes. I wouldn't ask, not under the circumstances, but it's important."

"Really, Jane, the timing is most inconvenient, there is so much to do around the house, and you know quite well we are understaffed."

"Like I said, I wouldn't ask but... Well, last Sunday, after Mass, Father Gahan told me he was paying a visit to Kilmallock and would drop in on my mother. She's not very well, as you know. Under the circumstances, I just can't wait for another Sunday to find out how she's bearing up. Can I please go down to the town and call into the parochial house today?"

Miss Bennett gave her a patient, understanding smile. "Well, you have my consent, Kate," then turning to the footman, "but only if Albert will be able to cope without you, just this once."

"I'm sure I'll manage," said Albert and muttered something else that was inaudible.

Well, what choice did he have, really? thought Mrs. O'Brien, that little schemer, Kate, could run circles round him all day long. She suppressed a grin when she saw the footman turn his head away from the housekeeper and roll his eyes at the ceiling.