The sheets of her bed were cold. She pulled a shawl about her shoulders. Was it because of all that, her only child taken from her, that she had shared so acutely Brigid’s distress years later, and Kathleen Quigley’s distress also? She sighed, not answering her question, only knowing that three men had died unnecessarily, all of them connected with Carriglas. Best not to dwell too long on it; these were not thoughts for night-time. The Camiers of Unionhall had been invited to the wedding, and Lady Rossboyne and the Bishop of Killaloe. She’d been a Camier herself, though not of Unionhall. Tattie Rossboyne had been a Camier too; the woman who’d married the clergyman an Ennis. Villiers Hadnett had been invited from Athlone, her side of the family also. All these people would have to stay in the house. Heaven alone knew why Villana was bothering with Villiers Hadnett, or the Camiers of Unionhall if it came to that. No Rolleston was coming because none was left. Sarah and Hugh were the only connected Pollexfens, apart from Hugh’s children. Naturally Hugh wouldn’t come.

She dozed, and then fell into a deeper sleep. She dreamed that Villana came into the room to play with the scent bottles on the dressing-table, lifting from them their glass stoppers, her sharply blue eyes lost in concentration when, one by one, she smelt the perfumes. Then Villana was dusting ornaments in Finnamore Balt’s house and the ash from her cigarette kept falling on to them and Villana kept laughing, saying it didn’t matter. ‘This poor dear man,’ she said. ‘I’m ruining his peace of mind.’