The Woman from Kerry by Anne Doughty

road and stood by a gap in the low wall that bounded the lake. Across the perfectly calm water two swans were sailing slowly by, a cluster of grubby-looking cygnets following behind, the ripples of their passage spreading out like a long train behind them.
    The light was fading faster now, the sky a pale gold. Where the rays of the setting sun still caught the high, wispy evening cloud, the flimsy scraps where touched with orange and red.
    ‘I think we’ll get another good day, the morra,’ he said gazing out over the lake. ‘This is a lovely place. Everywhere ye look is water or sky. I’m not used to that at all. C’oud we rest here a wee while?’
    They sat down side by side on the tumbled stones and watched the swans dip their long necks deep into the water. From the bushes nearby came the scuffle of small birds settling to roost. A deep silence settled around them.
    ‘Whereabouts in Armagh do you live? Near the city itself?’ she asked.
    ‘About two or three miles outside, a wee townland called Annacramp.’
    ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t notice,’ she said, grinning.
    ‘What d’ye mean?’ he asked, a look of complete bafflement on his face.
    ‘You must know what Annacramp means,’ she said, suddenly aware the more he said the more he seemed to live in a different world.
    ‘Means? It’s just a name, isn’t it?’ he added doubtfully.
    ‘In Irish, it means
the place of the wild garlic
.’
    ‘Oh.’
    John dropped his head and looked at the grass growing up through the fragments of stone at his feet. He seemed dismayed and Rose wondered how such a light remark could have so dampened his good spirits.
    ‘An’ what does Salter’s Grange mean?’
    ‘That one’s not Irish. Grange is French. It means barn. It must have belonged to a man called Salter,’ she replied, still puzzled by the look on his face.
    ‘Ye mean ye can understan’ Irish and French, forby English?’
    She nodded and watched the look of loss and sadness deepen.
    ‘Sure ye cou’d pass for a lady yerself,’ he said dejectedly.
    ‘Thank you very much for the compliment,’ said Rose laughing heartily.
    ‘Ach no, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said flustered. ‘Ye are a lady. I meant, you could marry gentry if you’d a mind to.’
    ‘An’ then I’d have servants to run after me and dress me for dinner and drive me round in my coach to see the sights,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You could come and be in charge of all my coaches and horses. I’d pay you very well.’
    ‘No. There’d be no payin’ me. Not all the gold in Ireland would do.’ He paused deliberately. ‘I’d want ye for meself.’
    Rose looked away. In all her thoughts of men and marriage, it had never occurred to her it might be like this. A man she’d only met hours before. A man from a different world. A man who was so direct that there’d be no way of dealing with him other than honestly.
    ‘I’m not entirely sure it would suit me,’ she said lightly. ‘And I still haven’t found a young Sir or Lord that I like. I’ll maybe wait a bit longer.’
    He smiled slowly, the sadness fading from his face as he drew her to her feet and put his arms round her.
    ‘How long d’ye think this visit might be, Rose? Would it be long enough for ye to make up yer mind? For my mind’s made up.’

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Rose was silent at breakfast next morning, her mind full of thoughts and images from the day just past. She could hardly believe it was only yesterday she’d slipped away to enjoy her free afternoon and made her way up the rocky slopes of her favourite hillside. It felt now as if the lark sang his song weeks ago and she’d known John Hamilton for most of her life.
    Hannah too was silent, weary from the continuous demands of the previous day. Only when the last guest was settled for the night, all the requests for extra pillows, early morning tea, or breakfast in their rooms, duly answered, had she been able to lock up her housekeeper’s room and the