Page 18 of The Granddaughter's Irish Secret
‘No, we’re not,’ Rose protested. ‘I’m not in a pod with you.’
‘Really? I could have sworn you liked me. You’re very dusty,’ he added, running a finger across her shoulder. ‘And there are cobwebs in your hair.’
‘I know.’ She stepped back, still clutching the albums. ‘Nobody has been in that room for ages. So it’s not exactly the Ritz in there. I saw your draft for the main website,’ she said in an attempt to change the subject. ‘Quite good, I thought. But it needs some work before it goes live. I’ll email you a few suggestions.’
‘Maybe we can discuss it over dinner?’ he suggested.
‘I’m very busy right now,’ Rose said. ‘So emailing works better for me. See you around, Henri. Have a good weekend.’ Then she walked around him and down the main staircase without waiting for an answer. She lugged the heavy albums through the front door, loaded them into her car and drove off, trying to clear her mind of any thoughts of Henri. But the look in his eyes, and the little smile on his lips, lingered in her mind all the way back to the gatehouse. Was he hiding something? She didn’t trust him, even though she knew she was overdoing the hostility.
As it was Saturday, Rose was looking forward to getting stuck into the albums. She made herself a cup of tea and settled on the sofa. As there was no way to know what year any of the albums were from, she decided to start with the one that looked like the oldest and most worn. Wiping the dust off the cover, which was decorated with leaves and flowers etched into the leather, sheopened it and studied the first photos. She had often looked at old family photos in their silver frames in the library, study and the old drawing room, but the albums had been put away a long time ago and never been accessible to her or her sisters. But now she could look into the bygone days of life at the manor from over a hundred years ago. She had been right. This album dated from the last decade of the nineteenth century, so it had to be one of the oldest.
Fascinated, Rose stared at photos of family groups, of rows of servants in full livery standing in front of the manor, portraits of men and women sitting stiffly in their best clothes looking solemnly at the camera, as if they were afraid to move. Which they probably were. In those old days, it took a long time for the exposure to take, and if the subject moved, the photo would fail, or at least be blurred.
It was the portraits that interested her most, especially the young women, some of them in ball gowns, wearing the family jewels, mostly the pearl necklace with the diamond clasp that was now owned by Lily, as was the right of the eldest daughter. Rose hadn’t spotted her own necklace yet, but as she came to the last pages of the album, there it was – worn by a lovely young woman with blonde hair and huge eyes that gazed at Rose across a century of time.Iseult on her 18th birthday, April 1904, it said in beautiful handwriting under the photo.
Rose studied the face of the young woman, trying to see if there was any family likeness with either her or her sisters, but found none apart from the blonde hair and what she guessed were blue eyes. Iseult had a heart-shaped face, a long nose, a tiny pouty mouth and slim eyebrows, unlike Rose, who always had a struggle plucking her thick, dark brows. Rose’s mouth was full and wide, and her nose quite small, so there was nothing she could recognise in Iseult’s features. Except maybe the rebellious look in those eyes and the way she stuck her chin out, whichmade Rose smile, feeling she was looking at someone who could have been a kindred spirit. She turned the last page of the album and discovered more photos of Iseult. She was sitting on a horse, riding side saddle, and then, in another photo, standing on the jetty wearing a strange bathing costume, this time grinning as if she was about to jump into the water and looked forward to the thrill.
Rose closed the album, smiling to herself at the images she had seen. What a fun girl Iseult must have been. But was she the one who had had the necklace copied? Rose had never heard of Iseult, but she knew that Maria Fleury and her husband John had had a son – her great-grandfather Cornelius – and a daughter whose name she hadn’t known. But here she was. This must be Cornelius’s sister, the youngest in the family. The rest of the albums were of a later time, fun to look at as the photos were more alive; the stiff backs and unsmiling faces were no more. Here were the 1930s and 1940s, with ski trips to the alps and sailing and picnics on the beaches all around the Dingle Peninsula.
The photos of her father and grandfather as children and young men brought tears to her eyes, as did Sylvia and Liam’s wedding pictures, and subsequent photos of them as newlyweds in their sailing boat, which was to be the vessel that many years later would bring Liam and his son Fred to their early deaths. How sad that their passion for the sea and sailing would end like that. Rose closed the last album on the table and wiped her eyes with a tissue. A trip down memory lane was not always a happy one. She felt she needed a break from her search and would start again a little later. Tomorrow was Sunday – she would go for a hike up the mountain and see if she could get Lily to come if she wasn’t too tired. That idea cheered her up.
As an afterthought, Rose took the first album out of the pile and opened it, gazing at the photos of Iseult, wondering whatkind of life she had had as an adult. That was the one thing Rose felt she had to find out. When she looked at Iseult it was as if she saw a tiny glimmer in those lovely eyes – a glimmer of hope, and a strange connection.
She suddenly felt dizzy thinking about it and she knew it would take a lot of searching before she found out the truth. In the meantime, she could ask her grandmother if she knew anything about Iseult. Deciding not to waste any time, Rose picked up her phone and called Sylvia’s number.
‘Hello, Rose,’ Sylvia said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Hi, Granny. Nothing really, just a question,’ Rose replied. ‘As you know, I’m going through all the stuff in the storeroom. I started with the photo albums, which were fun to look at, especially the old photos from over a hundred years ago.’
‘Yes. I know the ones you mean,’ Sylvia said. ‘They all looked as if they had swallowed a poker. Must have been such torture to sit still for so long just for a photo. No wonder they looked so grim.’
Rose laughed. ‘Yes, exactly what I thought. But they didn’t all look so serious. There was one girl that seemed so alive in the photos. Her name was Iseult. Do you know anything about her?’
‘Hmm.’ Sylvia paused. ‘I know who you mean, I remember those photos. I also thought she looked interesting. I don’t know much about her, just that she was Maria Fleury’s youngest daughter and Cornelius’s sister. When I asked Liam, he said she had been quite wild.’
‘In what way?’ Rose asked, intrigued.
‘She was involved in women’s rights and I think she went to London to join the suffragettes there. You know how they fought for the right to vote.’
‘Of course. I always thought they were so brave. What did Iseult do with them?’
‘Well, it is said she came back here in nineteen sixteen and joined the women who fought in the Easter Rising. Countess Markievicz and the like.’
‘Oh, wow,’ Rose exclaimed. ‘She is now officially my hero. Imagine, we had a real heroine in the family.’
‘Exactly. Quite amazing. But then…’
‘Then?’ Rose asked, feeling quite breathless.
‘She disappeared. Nobody seems to know what happened to her after that. Cornelius never talked about her. It was as if she never existed.’
‘Maybe she was killed,’ Rose suggested.
‘No, I don’t think so. I have a feeling she ran away with someone and didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She might have left the country.’
‘That’s possible, of course.’ Rose felt a pang of disappointment. ‘I would love to find out more. She’s wearing some amazing garments, and I want to see if we can find them and do some repairs. The vintage shop might be interested in them.’
‘Good idea,’ Sylvia agreed. ‘You should keep looking through the stuff in the storeroom. Some of it hasn’t been looked at since it was put there years and years ago. Hard work of course, but you have all the time in the world now that you’re here permanently.’
