Page 11 of The Road to Cavan Town
Isaac slipped a finger under his collar, stretching his neck to fit better in his very best shirt. Perhaps it wasn’t the sermons that made sitting in church so deucedly uncomfortable. The staid and formal party he stepped into at the Kilchrests’ was worlds different from the cheerful, laughing gathering he’d spied on the weekend before.
Of course, at this gathering he’d not have to watch Alice smiling at another man. That sight had haunted him all week. Enough, in fact, he’d gone by her grandparents’ house that afternoon, fully intending to ask her... something. He didn’t evenfully know what he would have said to her. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Alice wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be back all day.
If he hadn’t been expected at the Kilchrests’ Christmas celebration, he’d have simply sat himself down at the gate of Alice’s family home and waited. Questions about her and Billy had plagued him all week. He’d struggled to concentrate on his chores. He’d nearly forgotten to put his finest suit and shirt in his bundle, despite bringing it along every weekend for church. He’d walked the entire road from Killeshandra without noticing whether winter had stripped the trees bare, nor the color of the water. He’d thought only of Alice.
“Isaac.” Miss Kilchrest greeted him when he reached her side. The smile she always wore rubbed him wrong in that moment. ’Twas nothing like the brilliant smile Alice had give herdear friend.Miss Kilchrest’s smiles had never been like Alice’s.
“Good evening. Thank ye for the invitation.”
“Of course.”
Her tone never changed, now that he thought on it. She always sounded as if she only half-listened to what he said and as if his compliments were her due. Either he’d never noticed that about her before, or he was simply in a sour mood and attributing motives to her she didn’t deserve. Either way, ’twould be best for everyone if he simply went about his business for the night.
“Isaac, have you met Mr. Byrne?” Miss Kilchrest indicated a man obviously very near Isaac’s age. The similarities ended there, though. Mr. Byrne’s clothes were not made of homespun nor did his shoes show signs of heavy use.
There were not many, in fact, in attendance who looked quite as humble as Isaac did. And not one of those from his walk of life, he further noted, were introduced as MisterAnything. ’Twas first names for the farmers and the tradesmen and the less affluent. Did they feel as out of place as he did?
He searched his mind for a quick and tidy means of excusing himself for the evening. As he’d been particularly invited, he wasn’t certain such a thing could be accomplished without giving offense.
“What business are you in, Isaac?” Mr. Byrne asked, sounding at least a little genuine in his curiosity.
“I’ve a farm up near Killeshandra.” Isaac pulled himself up. He was proud of all he’d accomplished. “I’ve two-hundred acres of decent soil, good crops, a few animals to my name.”
Mr. Byrne nodded, seemingly impressed. Isaac would not have guessed that. “And how many tenants do you have on that two-hundred acres?” He looked over at Miss Kilchrest. “A man can make a very good living if he divides his land up amongst enough families.” He held his lapels, chest thrust out. “Rents can make a man wealthy.”
“I’ve no tenants,” Isaac said firmly, eying the man’s signs of wealth with growing dislike. “I’ll not be the reason dozens of poor souls are forced onto plots of land too small to support them. I’ll be responsible for their deaths if we’ve another potato blight.”
Mr. Byrne looked him up and down dismissively. “Is that old tired tune still being played?”
Isaac set his shoulders. “Not by the dead, it’s not. But those of us lucky enough to have survived the famine don’t intend to forget it soon. Nor will we forget those who grew wealthy on the backs of the dying.”
To her credit, Miss Kilchrest looked a little uncomfortable, though whether she found Mr. Byrne’s insensitivity or Isaac’s proud determination more upsetting, he didn’t know.
“Now, if ye’ll—”
His words stopped on the instant. Across the room, Alice stood at the sideboard setting out plates of teacakes, wearing the frill-edged aprons all the other maids wore.
She doesn’t work here.
Then again, he felt certain there were a great many more servants there that night than on his previous visit. The Kilchrests had taken on temporary help.
Had Alice taken the position out of necessity? What could have happened to put her in such financial hardship?
Without a parting word to his hostess or her infuriating friend, Isaac took a step in Alice’s direction. He got no further than that. A footman, tall and broad, stepped directly in front of him, holding a salver of champagne glasses. Isaac had never been one for anything but a strong mug of ale from the local pub or perhaps a pint of home brew. Yet, he found his eyes drifting back to the bubbling drink. The glasses were shaking enough to be worrisome.
He looked up at the footman and recognized him right off. Twas Alice’s Billy. Was he trying to keep Isaac away from her? He’d have a fight on his hands if that were the case.
Isaac stood as tall as he could stretch, still not coming close to the man’s height, and set his shoulders. But a closer look stopped any challenging words he might have tossed at Billy.
The man stood, watching his tray of glasses, biting at his lip, brow deeply creased. His gaze flicked briefly at Isaac. “I can’t make ’em stop shaking ’round,” he whispered.
Something was odd in the way he spoke, even the way he stood and held himself. Isaac couldn’t put his finger on just what was unusual in it, but the combination deflated his temper on the instant.
The glasses trembled all the more. Billy looked more than nervous as he eyed his tray of drinks; he seemed actually fearful.
“Do ya need to set those down?” Isaac asked quietly but urgently.
Even Billy’s head shake was a touch clumsy, almost like a child who still hadn’t mastered the moving of his own body. “Thehousekeeper said I was to carry it ’til all the drinks was gone. They’re not gone.”
