The Irishman's Daughter by V. S. Alexander

Author:V. S. Alexander [Alexander, V. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-12-13T00:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

AMERICA AND BEYOND

CHAPTER 13

Late July 1846

Briana and Lucinda stood at the end of the lane leading to Lear House. Rain pelted Lucinda’s umbrella, sheltering them both from the rivulets of water that poured down its curved top. Briana could hardly look at the manor, which would soon be a shell of its former self, the doors bolted and locked, the windows closed and shuttered.

Lucinda, more stoic, took in the events with the analytic mind of a governess. Briana wondered what her sister was thinking under her thick veneer of inscrutability.

The manor would be surrendered to the insects and rats that, as of late, had made it a nesting ground in their search for food. Briana remembered the once grand splendor of Lear House, now perched on the hill like a gray tomb. Even the few clear, beautiful days could not dispel the gloom that had drenched the house in a summer filled with rain.

Sir Thomas had made good on his threat to close the manor by the end of June, but the process took longer than expected because the books had to be audited, a census taken, and certain valuables secured for shipment to Manchester. The owner’s wound, though superficial, had suppressed his enthusiasm for Lear House and Ireland. Although he told Briana and her father that he wanted to be back on English soil as soon as he could book passage, he was often hampered by fits of depression, which slowed his work. Briana noted he would take to his bed and remain sequestered until the evening meal was called. She supposed these bouts were related to his injury and the loss of Lear House, but she wondered whether other mental forces were at play.

As they stood, sister to sister, Briana imagined what was going on in Lear House with her father, Rory, and Sir Thomas enclosed inside. Rory was probably stone faced, seething, as he muttered about the worsening disaster of the famine. He could do nothing to fight Sir Thomas’s orders, or the weather, or the political forces that had conspired against them. He was also holding a secret that she shared—the almost overwhelming proof that Rory’s pistol had wounded the landowner. In much the same manner as her husband, Brian would cast a melancholy gaze as he went over the books, seeing his life’s work and the fortunes of his tenants wiped out on the page.

Lucinda gripped Briana’s fingers. The rare displays of warmth between them had become more frequent as Sir Thomas’s behavior had turned reclusive. Her sister needed someone to lean on now that the heated fantasy of a romance with the landlord had cooled.

Briana dodged the pelting rain from a sudden gust of wind. “We should probably see what we can prepare for dinner.” Food consumption had slowed after the shooting because the invited guests had vacated Lear House; still, supplies were nearly gone. Only a half bag of oats and one bag of meal remained—fish were hard to come by because of the continuing torrents, wild winds, and perilous currents.

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