Chapters (15)
‘Oh, dear heavens above, the Misses Goodbody! The good Miss Goodbodys! I knew them well.’
The Bishop in his enthusiasm permitted the sternness that is evident in all the features of his face to slip from most of them at once. It was joyful news, he insisted, that I was not only my father’s daughter but also brought memories of two dear ladies. Then the mask deemed suitable for the Bishop of Killaloe returned.
‘Sarah, I would not raise this subject with you if we had not come to know one another well in the last few minutes, as indeed I believe we have. Sarah, since I have arrived at Carriglas I have felt troubled. Do you comprehend me?’
I replied cautiously, and the Bishop explained that Mrs Rolleston had passed on to him her doubt, which he believed he may even have sensed before she spoke.
‘Sarah, it would be a most terrible outcome if Villana turned back in church.’
I was saved from the obligation of giving an opinion by Villiers Hadnett catching us up. He launched into speech immediately, informing us that one should endeavour to keep the temperature of one’s body constant. Villiers Hadnett is not aware of my dependent position in the household, perhaps even assuming I am another temporary visitor. On the other hand, it is because she does know who I am that Mrs Camier has not addressed me. It is likely that she and I are distantly related: observing me in a role akin to a servant’s, she would prefer vagueness on that score to remain. So would her husband, who has not yet spoken to me, either. ‘I’m thinking of taking a companion-help,’ Lady Rossboyne let fall this morning. ‘Buttevant’s comfier than Carriglas, if ever you thought of it.’ I smiled and murmured gratefully.
I wear an overcoat for that reason,’ Villiers Hadnett explained. I never travel any distance without an overcoat.’
John James halted and with a gesture of his arm displayed the half-completed bridge. Steel pillars rose strangely from the water, the criss-cross of girders beginning at last to form a pattern. Lady Rossboyne’s shrill ejaculation was heard, deploring the spoiling of the landscape. The Bishop pontificated for a moment, discovering God’s will in what had come about. The others listened.
John James did not say: ‘This will be the bridge of Cornelius Dowley.’ Well, naturally he did not. Turning his back upon the workmen and again playfully suggesting that they will not complete their chore, he led the way as we returned to Carriglas, and little puffs of dust again rose from each footfall.