Trisha Telep: The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Beaumont bowed in return. «Delighted to meet you, Miss O’Fallon. Welcome to England.» He placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. «This is my son, Peter. He’s without a governess right now and I was hoping you might see to his education, at least temporarily. Not as a governess, you understand. I consider you one of the family.»

«That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ll be happy to help any way I can.»

«Very good then,» Beaumont answered. Evleen noted he had yet to smile. She caught an air of unhappiness about him, a certain remoteness. Perhaps he was still grieving over the death of his first wife, Millicent. But still, she noted, he wasn’t grieving so much that he wasn’t planning to marry again.

Bettina arose from her chair and went to greet him, thrusting her arm possessively through his. «Richard, darling, so lovely to have you back.» She cast a quick, unfriendly glance at Evleen, as if she resented his wasting even one moment of time on his poor cousin-by-marriage from Ireland. «Your dear mother and sister have been helping with our wedding plans.»

«How very nice,» Beaumont answered absent-mindedly. Evleen caught a certain indifference in his voice. He ignored Bettina and continued, «We must get you settled in, Miss O’Fallon. There’s a bedchamber on the third floor next to my sister’s. I thought it might please you.»

Lady Beaumont uttered an audible gasp. «Are you sure, Richard? I had thought» —

«Thought what, Mama?»

«A room on the fourth floor would be much more suitable.» Lady Beaumont’s lips had pursed into a tight, disapproving line.

«The servants’ floor? I think not,» Beaumont answered firmly. «Evleen is Millicent’s cousin’s child. As such, she’s a member of the family and will be treated accordingly.»

«But of course,» his mother answered with ill-concealed irritation. She cast stone-cold eyes at Evleen. «We’re so happy to have you, Miss O’Fallon. I trust you’ll be happy here. Dinner is at eight.»

Evleen nodded a thank you and sent a small smile in return. Except for Lord Beaumont himself, she felt as welcome as the plague.

What a beautiful room, Evleen thought when she stepped into her bedchamber. Never had she seen such luxury. With its fine furnishings and lovely view of the rear gardens it was a far cry from the tiny room off the kitchen she had shared with two sisters. Ordinarily, she’d be thrilled, but the chilly reception she’d received in the drawing room made for a heavy heart. She sank to a chair by the window and gazed at the sculptured gardens that lay behind Chatfield Court. Ah, what wouldn’t she give to be home right now! She closed her eyes and pictured her family’s cottage. Built of stone, with lime-washed walls, it nestled in one of County Tipperary’s lush green valleys. The forested slopes of the Galtees, Ireland’s highest mountain range, lay not far beyond.

Next to the cottage were the scattered ruins of Tualetha, an ancient monastery, spread over several acres. As a child, Evleen often visited the ruins. She and her brothers and sisters liked to play hide-and-seek amidst the crumbled remains of stone buildings and huge tombstones, decorated with faded Celtic carvings, which towered over their heads.

Adrift in her memories, Evleen reached to touch the blue pebble that still hung around her neck. Despite her mother’s advice, she could not bear to part with it, although now she always hid it beneath her clothing and had vowed never to use it. As they had countless times before, her thoughts drifted to the day, when she was just eight years old, that she visited the ruins alone. She had brought a book along and was sitting on a flat rock next to an ancient cairn when the persistent cawing of a bird caught her attention. Looking up from her book, she was surprised to see a huge black raven sitting on the low branch of an oak tree. It seemed to be staring at her. Suddenly the bird spread its wings and flew away. As it did so, a small black feather fell from its wing to the ground.

Evleen shut her book, slid off the rock, and went to retrieve the feather. As she bent to pick it up, she saw it had fallen next to a curious looking pebble of bright azure blue. How odd. Never had she seen a pebble of such a colour. While she examined it, she heard the cawing of the raven again. It had flown a short distance away and was now perched on another tree limb, staring at her and flapping its wings. Did it want her to follow him? It would certainly seem so.

Holding the feather and the pebble, Evleen followed the raven to where it sat in the tree. Just as she arrived, it again flew away, heading towards the dense woods close by. When again the bird alighted on a branch and stared at her, she knew for certain it wanted her to follow.

Her curiosity aroused, Evleen followed the raven on a path that led deep into the woods. The bird continued to lead, then stop to wait for her, until she realized she had gone into the woods deeper than she ever had before. She felt no fear, though, and followed the path up the side of a gently sloping mountain to the entrance of a cave with a yawning mouth. Still unafraid, she entered the cave. Finding herself in near-total darkness, she felt her way along the walls of a short, narrow chamber until she emerged into a room with smooth stone walls that shone like crystal. In the centre of the room, an old man with a long white beard, wearing a white robe, stood behind a steaming cauldron. The room was lit, the light seeming to come from everywhere. Finally she realized it emanated from the crystalline walls. At last a shiver of fear ran through her. She turned to run, but before she could, the old man spoke. «I have been waiting for you.»

Astounded, she asked, «Who are you?»

He ignored her and instead waved his hands over the cauldron and intoned, «I call today on the strength of Heaven, Light of the Sun, Radiance of the Moon, Splendour of Fire, Speed of Lightning, Depth of the Sea.»

She stood frozen during his incantation. When he finished, he addressed her again. «I am Merlin the Magician. Surely you have heard of me, Evleen.»

«But how did you know my name?»

The old man smiled. «I have followed your progress since the day you were born.»

«But why?» she asked, her voice trembling.

«You are a direct descendant of Queen Maeve, who reigned as Queen of Ireland back in the days of the Druids. She was a warrior whom I admired tremendously. Maeve was one of the great female figures of Ireland, a most splendid woman. Originally she was a goddess and only later became the queen of mortal men, although she always kept her magical powers.» Merlin sighed. «I would tell you more, but you’re a little girl and can only understand so much. But it’s time you knew that you, too, have been endowed with magical powers.»

Evleen gasped in astonishment. «Me? I cannot believe it!»

«Rub the blue pebble and make a wish.»

She thought for a moment, searching her mind for something simple to request. Where had the raven gone? Rubbing the blue pebble, she said, «I wish to see the raven again.»

In a twinkling, Merlin vanished and the black raven appeared, sitting on a nearby perch glaring at her with its beady bright eyes. «It can’t be!» she cried in alarm.

In another instant, the bird had disappeared and Merlin stood before her again. «Over the years you will find I take many forms and shapes. The raven is only one.»

«Over the years?» she asked

«This is only the beginning. My child, it is time you became aware of your magic powers. You must learn to use them wisely.»

«But how will I always know what is wise?»

«I shall always be there to help.» In another instant, Merlin had disappeared again, replaced by the raven that, in a great show of cawing and flapping of its wings, left her standing there and flew from the cave.