Trisha Telep: The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Evleen found her way from the cave and ran home. When she reached her cottage, she burst through the door, crying, «Mama, Mama, wait ’til you hear!» When she finished relating her story about the raven, the cave and Merlin, her mother seemed not the least surprised.

«I have always known there was something special about you, Evleen. Now I know what it is. Bear in mind, you must always use your powers wisely.»

«Just what Merlin said.»

«Then you have been warned. You must never take your powers lightly.»

And Evleen never did. While she grew up, Merlin paid her many visits. Sometimes he taught her such things as the Druidic Symbols of Mastery, or a lesson from the Druid’s Book of the Pherylit. Other times, he let her try out her magic powers. She used them judiciously, casting a spell to heal an animal that was sick, or for a lost item that was soon found.

Only once did Merlin refuse her request. When her mother lay dying, Evleen pleaded, «Please, can’t we heal her?»

In reply, Merlin drew a perfect circle on the ground before her. «Within the perfect symmetry of a circle is held the essential nature of the universe. Strive to learn from it. to reflect that order.»

She understood immediately. She could not interrupt life’s cycle. Even Merlin’s magic had its limits.

Now, in her new bedchamber, Evleen put thoughts of home behind her, turning them instead to her pitiful wardrobe. How she wished she could use her magic powers to replace every shabby piece of clothing she owned. Lady Beaumont had told her dinner was at eight. She must appear suitably dressed, but what could she wear? Nothing she had brought could begin to match the gorgeous gowns she knew the ladies would be wearing.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Evleen opened it to find a middle-aged, prim-faced woman dressed in a maid’s uniform, with a white satin gown draped over one arm. In a French accent, she announced, «I am Yvette, Lady Beaumont’s lady’s maid. Lord Beaumont sent me. He thought I could be of assistance in dressing you for dinner tonight.» She held up the gown. «This was his wife’s, poor thing. She hardly wore it before the typhoid struck her down. You seem about the same size.»

Yvette proved to be a godsend and, when eight o’clock arrived, Evleen took one final, incredulous look at herself in the mirror. The high-waisted gown fitted perfectly over her slender figure. But it was so low cut! Never in Ireland had so much of her bosom been exposed. «Think nothing of it, miss,» Yvette assured her. «You will find it is quite modest by today’s standards.»

Evleen regarded her thick, dark auburn hair, which Yvette had piled atop her head in a becoming style with soft curls and fastened with a set of pearl combs. Pearl earrings dangled from her ears, matched by a luminous pearl necklace. The result? Never in her life had Evleen looked so. so. the word was beautiful , but modesty prevented her from saying so, or even thinking it to herself. Instead, she exclaimed, «Yvette, you have a wonderful way with both clothes and hair.»

«And here is your fan, miss.» Yvette produced a delicate ivory and white lace fan, which Evleen took reluctantly. Never had she owned such an accessory. A fan was not necessary in Ireland, she thought amusedly, especially when she was scrubbing clothes or cutting peat from the bogs and dragging it home.

«So what do I do with the fan, Yvette?»

«You flutter it, miss, and you flirt with it. The fan has a language all its own. You’ll soon learn it if you’re here long enough.»

When Evleen hurried down the stairs to dinner, she was grateful she looked her best, yet dreaded another confrontation with the hostile ladies who no doubt would have preferred she eat with the servants. She found Lord Beaumont already seated at the head of the table, unsmiling as usual. His eyes opened wide when she sailed, head held high, into the dining room in her lovely gown, daintily holding her fan. «Good evening, Miss O’Fallon,» he said, surprise in his voice. «You look quite lovely this evening.»

«Isn’t that one of Millicent’s old gowns?» Lady Beaumont asked, none too kindly.

Beaumont replied, «There’s no reason why Miss O’Fallon can’t make use of it.»

In a voice edged with sarcasm, his sister, Lydia, said, «How charitable of you, Richard, always lending the poor a helping hand.»

Beaumont replied, «As a matter of fact, I’m sending for a seamstress to refresh Miss O’Fallon’s wardrobe.» Then he nodded towards a balding, thick-lipped man sitting to his right before addressing Evleen. «I don’t believe you have met our cousin, Mr Algernon Kent, who’s just come up from London to stay with us a while.»

A feeling of dislike overtook Evleen but she nodded politely at Beaumont’s cousin. Something about him was repulsive. Maybe it was the lecherous look in his near-lashless eyes when he gazed pointedly at her exposed bosom. She resisted the impulse to tug up the bodice of her gown.

Lord Beaumont spent much of the dinner discussing his son. «You will find he’s extremely bright and never stops asking questions. By the way, Miss O’Fallon, the nursery and classroom are a bit cramped. While the weather is warm, you might find the gazebo at the bottom of the garden more accommodating for the teaching of lessons.»

Evleen gladly thanked him, always happy for the opportunity to be outdoors. Later, after dinner, she became acquainted with a quaint English custom she’d never heard of in Ireland: the women adjourned to the drawing room while the men stayed at the dining table drinking brandy and smoking their cigars.

«Do you play cards, Miss O’Fallon?» Lady Beaumont asked as the ladies settled in the drawing room. Evleen shook her head. Beaumont’s mother feigned a disappointed sigh. «What a pity. Well, I suppose you could stay here and read while we play, but of course if you’re tired you might wish to retire for the night.»

Lady Beaumont so obviously wanted rid of her, Evleen instantly said she was tired and left for her bedchamber. On her way out, she overheard Bettina and Lydia discussing Cousin Algernon.

«I cannot stand that loathsome man,» said Bettina. «He’s such a toad.»

Lydia laughed. «Perhaps we could match him up with our little peasant from Ireland.»

«If we could get rid of her, I’m all for it,» Bettina replied with a giggle.

Evleen quickened her step. She did not want to hear the rest. She’d had quite enough of hurtful remarks for one day. Not that tomorrow would be any better, she sadly realized.

«Tell me about Ireland,» said Peter. «I want to hear.»

Evleen and Peter, both early risers, had eaten an early breakfast before the rest of the house was awake, then found their way to the gazebo at the bottom of the rear gardens. They were accompanied by Peter’s beloved dog, Cromwell, a lively brown and white Border collie who followed Peter wherever he went.

What a lovely spot, Evleen reflected as she gazed at lush green lawns, clipped hedges and bright flowers. She was grateful the friendly little boy had taken to her instantly. She would start his lessons tomorrow, but today they would talk and get acquainted. Cromwell lay down next to his master and went to sleep while she began. «Let’s start at the beginning. Ireland’s earliest dwellers were the Celts, who lived many thousands of years ago. They had many gods and the Druids were their priests.»

Peter listened intently while she went on to tell more of Ireland’s history. Finally the child pointed to the blue pebble that hung from her neck. «What is that?» he asked.

Somehow the pebble had slipped from beneath her jacket. She hastened to conceal it. «It’s a magic pebble,» she replied, knowing one could be perfectly honest with a child of seven who would take such information in his stride. «But you mustn’t tell anyone.»