Songs of Love and War by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online

were coming with you. Instead I’m going
to be all alone with no one to talk to but Mama. It’s going to be frightfully dull without you.’
    ‘You had better get used to it, Elspeth,’ said her sister sharply. ‘I fully intend to find a husband.’
    ‘That’s what it’s all for, I suppose.’
    ‘Mama told me that if one doesn’t find a husband it is because one is ugly, dull or both.’
    ‘You are neither ugly nor dull,’ said Elspeth. ‘Fortunately neither of us inherited Grandma’s ginger hair.’
    ‘It’s not ginger,’ interrupted Kitty from beneath her bonnet. ‘It’s Titian red.’
    Her sisters giggled. ‘Mama says it’s ginger,’ said Victoria meanly.
    ‘It’s very unlucky to have red hair,’ Elspeth added. ‘Fishermen will head for home if they see a red-haired woman on the way to their boats. Clodagh told me,’ she
said, referring to one of the maids.
    ‘You’d better keep it under that bonnet of yours then,’ said Victoria. She looked down at her youngest sister and Kitty lifted her grey eyes and stared at her boldly. Victoria
stopped laughing and grew suddenly afraid. There was something scary in her sister’s gaze, as if she could cast a spell just by looking at someone. ‘Let’s not be unkind,’
she said uneasily, not wanting to incite Kitty’s wrath in case she somehow jinxed her first London season. ‘Red hair is all right if it’s combined with a pretty face, isn’t
that so, Elspeth?’ She dug her elbow into her sister’s ribs.
    ‘Yes, it is,’ Elspeth agreed dutifully. But Kitty was no longer listening. She was watching the local Catholic children walking back from Mass, looking for Bridie and Jack
O’Leary.

Chapter 4
    Ballinakelly was a quaint town of pretty white houses that clustered on the hillside like mussels on a rock, all the way down to the sea. There was a small harbour, three
churches (St Patrick’s, Church of Ireland, the Methodist church and the Catholic church of All Saints), a high street of little shops and four public houses, which were always full. The local
children attended the school, which was run by the Catholic church, and gathered at the shrine to the Virgin Mary most evenings to witness the statue swaying, which it very often did, apparently
all on its own. Built into the hillside in 1828 to commemorate a young girl’s vision, it had become something of a tourist attraction in the summer months as pilgrims travelled from far and
wide to see it, falling to their knees in the mud and crossing themselves devoutly when it duly rattled. The children were greatly amused by the spectacle, running off in their pack of scruffy
scamps, hiding their fear beneath peals of nervous laughter. It was whispered that horses sometimes baulked when passing it, foretelling a tragedy.
    The pony and trap made its way slowly through the town. Kitty eagerly searched the rabble of Catholic children walking towards her. They were pale with hunger, having fasted from the evening
before, and dazed with boredom from the service. At last she saw Bridie, treading heavily up the street with her family. Her face, half-hidden behind a tangle of knotted hair, was grim. Kitty knew
she didn’t like going to Mass. Father Quinn was a severe and unforgiving priest, prone to outbursts of indignation in the pulpit and quite often reproachful finger-wagging as he picked on
members of the congregation whom he felt had, in some way, transgressed. The poorest among them received the worst of his tongue-lashing.
    Kitty focused hard on her friend until Bridie raised her eyes and saw her, just as the pony and trap clip-clopped past. Bridie’s face lit up and she smiled. Kitty smiled back. A little
behind Bridie, Liam O’Leary, the vet, walked beside his twelve-year-old son, Jack. Kitty smiled at him, too. Jack was more discreet. His blue eyes twinkled beneath his thick brown fringe and
the corners of his mouth gave a tiny twitch. The pony walked on. When Kitty looked