I opened the door and went in. He stood in front of the fireplace, his face red. I hesitated. “M-Mrs. Donahue asked me to bring in your drinks. W-where shall I put them?”

“Anywhere. Just pour them and leave!”

I could see his temples pulsating with anger. Quickly, I set down the tray on the nearest table and poured the drinks, my shaking hands causing some of the whiskey to spill.

“Another servant?” James Sullivan’s voice boomed from behind me. “I would have thought you had enough staff. And this one doesn’t seem very bright!”

I stiffened. All I wanted to do was escape. I picked up the first drink and brought it over to him. He took it without comment, but held me with such a piercing stare that, instead of feeling invisible, I felt exposed and naked. He had a big, powerful frame, and his face had the florid look of a man who drank too much, but his blue eyes were keen. The odor of power radiated from him.

“I must admit she’s good-looking, though!”

Aidan’s eyes blazed. “Miss Sweeney is none of your business!”

At last I was able to back away from Sullivan’s scrutiny. Red-faced, I picked up the second glass and handed it to Aidan. My hand grazed his, and I felt as if I’d had an electric shock. Whether he felt it or not, I didn’t know. Then again, I thought, it might just have been my ragged nerves. The room had grown silent except for the heavy breathing of both men. A sudden storm had come up, and fierce wind and rain rattled the windows. I took the opportunity to back out of the room.

“Them two will be the death of me.” Mrs. Donahue sat at the kitchen table. “When they’re together there’s not a civil word spoken.”

I lifted the teapot and poured us both a cup. As I sipped, I looked around the kitchen, with its gleaming pots and spotless white counters. It was much larger and grander than our kitchen in Donegal, and it might have been a bit sterile had it not been for Mrs. Donahue’s warm spirit, which seemed to fill the place. I looked back at her and thought how fond I had become of this woman. Over the past months she had been a kind, reassuring presence in my life, and I was suddenly very grateful to her. I reached over and patted her arm.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

If she heard me, she didn’t let on. She was obviously still upset with the men arguing in the library.

“It goes back a long time,” she said, as if I had not spoken. “James Sullivan never wanted Mary to marry Mr. Aidan. He had in mind for her a banker or solicitor, not some restless feller with big dreams but not a penny to his name.”