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When the coach stopped at Reading she realized she could not swagger into the taproom for an ale and a smoke, and it was brought home to her once more that it was a man’s world.
With every mile they traveled from London, her fear and apprehension about Bernard Lamb diminished. By the time they arrived in Bath her cousin had been banished from her thoughts, and she vowed not to think of him again until she returned to London. His dark shadow had fallen across too many of her days and she was determined to enjoy the respite.
Bristol was a busy seaport, teaming with sailors and ships from foreign lands. Vessels of the British Navy were anchored beside Spanish galleons and India merchantmen, while smaller fishing trawlers vied for space along the docks to unload their catches.
At a dockside inn Antonia changed into Anthony’s clothes and, traveling as two men, she and Mr. Burke had no trouble booking their passage to Dungarvan, a large harbor on the coast of County Waterford. Although spring was definitely in the air, the Celtic Sea was unbelievably choppy. It didn’t affect Tony, but when Mr. Burke started to look green about the gills, she was able to repay his previous solicitude of her. She firmly held the bucket and gently sponged his brow while he spewed up his heart. Tony didn’t return to her own cabin until Mr. Burke had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
When they came out on deck the next morning they were just sailing into Dungarvan Harbor. The sun was shining its welcome and Tony could see that in contrast with the English port of Bristol, this small Irish sea town was inhabited only by locals. On shore with their luggage piled beside them, they drew every eye.
When they made inquiries about Blackwater Castle they were told it overlooked the Blackwater Valley less than a dozen miles inland. They could not rent horses, so in the end they hired a pony cart. Mr. Burke looked most apprehensive, but Tony laughed and assured him she would do the driving. He looked at her askance when she related the story of the phaeton race to Richmond that she had won. When she recalled how Bernard Lamb had deliberately run her off the road, she seethed inside with impotent fury. Then as she remembered the look on Adam Savage’s face when he saw his brand-new phaeton, the corners of her mouth lifted wryly and she understood why he doubted it was her cousin’s fault rather than hers.
The valley was greener than anything they had ever seen in England. The teasel trees and thornbushes were alive with songbirds. The air was filled with the fragrance of spring flowers mixed with mint and musk and mallow as the path snaked along between open meadows and the River Blackwater. In the distance they saw the battlemented parapets and thrusting turrets of a castle above the treetops, then as they drove closer they saw the castle itself rising from a tree-covered cliff above the river.
Tony drove the pony cart beneath a Celtic arch, past ivy-covered walls to a twin-towered gatehouse, then through the medieval gate into the courtyard. The caretakers gathered slowly, curiously. A stableman, a gardener, and a housekeeper, all with friendly-enough faces, came forward to see who was visiting their ancient castellum.
Tony handed the reins of the pony cart to the stableman. “Good afternoon, I’m Lord Lamb. I’m come to look over the castle for the new Marquess of Blackwater.” The words came without much conscious thought, because she knew in her heart there was no question of choosing between this castle and anywhere else on earth.
Her words had a magical effect upon the caretakers. The housekeeper curtsied and the men touched their caps in deference.
“This is Mr. Burke, my butler of many years.” The Irish name produced smiles of relief. The doorway of the main entrance was arched with solid plank doors that had scrolled iron strap hinges. Mr. Burke took up the trunk and Tony picked up one of the bags while the housekeeper took the other. They entered a baronial front hall with a log fire crackling in the hearth.
Then the housekeeper, who said her name was Mrs. Kenny, led them through to what she called the banqueting hall, where another fireplace stood with a carved mantel readingCEAD MILLE FAILTE, a hundred thousand welcomes. All the furniture was medieval oak.
“Sure an’ ye’ll be wantin’ to see yer chambers now,” Mrs. Kenny divined. “In this wing there’s seven double bedrooms an’ of course the tower room.”
“Oh, I’ll take the tower room,” Tony said quickly, and Mrs. Kenny led the way up two sweeping flights of stairs, then down a long corridor. Tony smiled sympathetically as Mr. Burke tried to keep up with her trunk on his shoulder.
When they arrived Mrs. Kenny rolled her eyes at Mr. Burke as if to say, “Isn’t that just like the gentry to pick the farthest and most inconvenient chamber without a thought to the poor sod who has to lug and carry!”
“When would ye like to dine, my lord?”
“Whatever hour is convenient to the cook, Mrs. Kenny,” Tony assured her.
“Well, since I’m the cook, ye can dine at six, an it please ye.”
“That will please me very well, thank you.”
The moment Mrs. Kenny departed, Tony ran to the window. “The view is breathtaking. I can see straight down into the valley and across the water meadows on the far side of the river. From up here the water is black-green, and, look, Mr. Burke, straight across are mountains!”
“Those will be the Knockmealdown Mountains.”
When Antonia turned from the window, Mr. Burke thought she had never looked so radiant. “Blackwater is utterly perfect,” she said with reverence.
During the next few days Tony explored every nook of the castle and its gardens. There was a morning room, a sitting room, even a billiard room, as well as a small library and a chapel in sad disrepair. Outside there was an upper and lower garden as well as an orchard of pear, crab-apple, and fig trees. Tony took great delight in using a secret staircase that led from the twin-towered gatehouse down to the flowered walks of the Jacobean garden, overhung with creeper and early rose.
In a small, walled garden outside the morning room Tony discovered a treasure. It was a hammock slung between two shade trees, but the tiny spring leaves allowed the sunshine to filter through and warm the enclosure as if it were midsummer.
After lunch one day she took some papers pertaining to the castle’s history that she had found in the library and stretched out in the hammock to read them. Blackwater’s history was fascinating. She began to daydream, then slowly drifted off to sleep as the hammock swung gently to and fro.
At the end of the week Adam Savage sailed for Cork. He’d made two voyages to France already that week and it seemed he was forever walking the deck of a ship. When he arrived at Kinsale he was impressed with the vast acreage that went with its castle. The coast was wild and rugged and he stood on the picturesque headlands with the spring breezes ruffling his black hair. It was most pleasant, but he realized in winter it would be bleak and storm tossed. Before he left he knew he could be quite satisfied with this castle and its holdings.
He tested the title on his tongue. Marquess of Kinsale. It had a certain ring to it. He purchased a horse and decided to ride to Blackwater in the next county, which was forty miles distance, give or take a mile.
As Savage rode inland he noticed that the climate was softer than on the coast. Spring had already arrived and wildflowers filled every hedgerow and early wild roses climbed every stone wall.
Savage traveled the same path to Blackwater that the pony cart had taken. He saw the battlemented parapets and thrusting turrets rise from a tree-covered cliff above the river. He rode beneath the Celtic arch, past the medieval gatehouse, into the courtyard.
A stableman came immediately to take his horse, knowing by the man’s powerful figure and air of authority that here was the new Marquess himself. As Savage entered the baronial hall he felt as if he had come home. Mrs. Kenny bustled forward to curtsy, but Savage raised her immediately and told her he would like to look about the place on his own. He liked what he saw. Kinsale faded from his memory.
