Songs of Love and War by Santa Montefiore Page B

small posy, which she tied with
string from one of the greenhouses. When she had finished she went to the stables to find Mr Mills.
    ‘Mr Mills, Mr Mills!’ she shouted across the stable yard.
    Mr Mills appeared beneath the stone arch of the stable block, carrying a rag in one hand and leather polish in the other. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Kitty?’
    She ran over the cobbles and held out her posy. ‘I want you to give this to Bridie. Mrs Doyle and Sean aren’t here and she
must
get it today.’
    Mr Mills shook his head gravely. ‘A terrible business. Poor little Bridie, losing her father so young.’ He went back inside and Kitty followed him. The stables smelt of horses, hay
and manure. A couple of lads were sitting on stools, polishing tack, their sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms as they vigorously rubbed the leather. They stopped working a moment to watch. If
Kitty had been Lady Deverill, or any of the other women of the family, they would have jumped to their feet, but Kitty was a child and usually running about the grounds with Bridie Doyle so they
remained on their stools.
    Mr Mills put down his rag and polish and found a dusty jar in the tack room. He plunged it into a barrel of water and took the flowers from Kitty. ‘I’ll pass by their house and pay
my respects later this afternoon. They’ll keep like this. I’m sure she’ll be grateful for your thoughtfulness, Miss Kitty.’
    ‘It’s the least I can do. She’s my friend, Mr Mills,’ said Kitty boldly, affronted that he should be surprised by her gift. ‘My
best
friend.’
    Since her afternoon riding with her father, Kitty had been released from the nursery and included in the family meals. Maud watched her suspiciously from the end of the table. There was
something troubling about the audacious look in the child’s eyes that made Maud feel guilty. They were much too large, an unusual shade of grey, like a wolfs or some other wild animal’s
that Maud couldn’t think of, and somehow terribly impertinent. It was as if Kitty, like Adeline, could see into the hidden recesses of her soul and knew all her secrets. Maud felt defensive
even though Kitty was too young to understand her mother’s coldness. She tried to talk to her youngest daughter as she would talk to Victoria and Elspeth, but those eyes seemed to mock her
attempts at conversation, as if Kitty was amused by how hard her mother struggled to find a meeting of minds when there clearly wasn’t even a scrap of understanding between them.
    ‘Miss Grieve, I would like you to teach Kitty a little humility,’ Maud instructed the governess after one particularly uncomfortable luncheon. ‘She has a very brazen way of
staring at people. Frankly, it’s rude. A girl of her age should learn to lower her eyes and not look at one so directly.’
    ‘I will see to it, Mrs Deverill,’ said Miss Grieve.
    ‘Please see that you do or Kitty will have to have her meals in the nursery again.’ It was a relief for Maud when Kitty sat through the following luncheon with her eyes on her food.
Kitty, much too wily to allow herself to be cowed, soon learned that she could look at anyone else directly; it was only her mother who flinched when she caught her daughter’s eye. Wily she
might be, and resilient too, but Kitty wasn’t so hardy as to be unaffected by her mother’s hostility. It cut her deeply.
    Mr Mills leaned his bicycle against the whitewashed wall of the Doyles’ cottage and pushed open the door. Old Mrs Nagle was sitting in her usual chair, keeping the
bastible hot with burning twigs while fish hung in the chimney to smoke. Mrs Doyle was in her rocking chair, sewing a black diamond to denote mourning into the elbow of Michael’s jacket. The
cottage was dimly lit but warm and the smell of cooking made Mr Mills’s stomach groan.
    ‘Good day to you, Mrs Nagle and Mrs Doyle,’ he said, taking off his cap and nodding formally.
    ‘Would you like some tea?’ Mrs Doyle