Ashton Park by Murray Pura Read Free Book Online Page B

concern. I too have every hope that my prayers will be answered.” He shook the colonel’s hand.
    After the officer had left, escorted by Tavy, Sir William remained standing, hands in his pockets. “He knows about my speeches in favor of Home Rule. Likely doesn’t approve. No more than I approve of His Majesty’s forces shelling Dublin. Well, if we had treated Ireland fairly years ago none of this would be happening right now and Robbie wouldn’t be in a fix. A lighter hand was what was needed. A lighter hand and a good dose of Christian charity.”
    He walked to the window and looked out over the lawn to the oak trees and the Castle they ringed with green. Lady Elizabeth glanced up and followed him with her eyes.
    “Home Rule ought to have been in place for Ireland under Gladstone. Under Queen Victoria. Why, it ought to have been in place as far back as Pitt or Wellington. But none of them did it. So now this.”
    He turned to look at his wife, his face set in strong lines about his jaw and eyes. “We’ll have him home again, mother. Through a maelstrom of botched politics and ill-tempered guns, by God’s grace, we’ll get him back.”
    That evening after dinner a cable was brought to the house from a telegraph station in the nearby town. Sir William opened it at the door while Tavy looked on. Sir William clenched a fist and shouted.
    I AM SAFE. AM RETURNED TO MY REGIMENT. NOT A SCRATCH. LETTER TO COME. LOVE. ROBBIE.
    Candles and lamps were lit throughout the manor. Tavy scurried about gathering family and servants in the Great Hall with its massive stone fireplace that could manage eight-foot logs. Sir William waved the telegram in the air as people came together, Lady Elizabeth beaming beside him, and offered a prayer of thanks for Robbie’s safe release. People began to clap. Sir William asked Mrs. Longstaff to bring up tubs of ice cream from the cellar and dish it all out in celebration.
    Victoria noticed that Ben Whitecross was not present. While maids were handing out bowls and spoons she slipped out the door, cloak over her shoulders, and headed to the stables. They were dark and no lantern was lit, though she could see the horses that had been worked that day had been rubbed down and now stood quietly in their stalls. She lit a lantern she found dangling from a nail and went to Ben’s room.
    It was attached to the stables and contained a washstand, desk, wardrobe, a hearth for a turf fire, and a bed. All of his belongings were gone. The room was bare of pictures and clothing and boots. Mementoes she had given him were not on his desk.
    “What is going on, Ben?” she whispered.
    An envelope that bore her name lay on a chair at the foot of the bed. It was Ben’s almost indecipherable handwriting. She opened it. A short note was inside. It did not take her long to read it. She sank down on the bed, lantern in one hand and the letter in the other.
    “Enlisted!” she cried out. “France! It’s hell, Ben! Hell on earth! Why? Why, Ben Whitecross?”

4
    May and June 1916
    “Thinking of home, sir? Or your girl?”
    The tall officer with the dark red hair grunted. “None of your business, McGrail. But since the fleet’s weighed anchor and we’re bound to come to blows with the Germans, I’ll tell you. I was thinking of my father’s dogs. I miss them.”
    The two men were leaning against a guardrail as their battle cruiser sheared through water that looked like black glass. It was almost midnight and both had night watch. Over their heads, now and then, sharp, bright stars emerged from the cloud cover before disappearing a few minutes later. Neither of them noticed. Both had their eyes on the sea.
    McGrail guffawed. “Dogs? You’re joking, Commander Danforth.”
    “Never joke about an Englishman’s dogs, McGrail. What part of Ireland are you from?”
    “Carlow, sir. The Garden of Ireland.”
    “Is it? What did you think about that little muck-up back in April?”
    McGrail snorted. “Dublin? The