was falling in love with Lochlainn Roche.
I have to leave the past behind. This is my future now. I have to
succeed on my own, she vowed as she folded the rugs up into a
bundle, and stepped out of the carriage decisively.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Muireann and Lochlainn unloaded the carriage together, and walked to
the west end of the town in the hope of getting a lift on a cart
bound for Donegal, which would at least take them part of the way to
Barnakilla.
They left Paddy with the coach driver to make the trip back to
Dublin. Muireann gave him permission to stay away for as long as he
was needed.
"And make sure they pay you good wages," she advised as she waved
goodbye to him.
"I will. Thank you!"
The sky was darkening rapidly. Muireann began to shiver, but she
refused to let Lochlainn see she was suffering. So she simply
wrapped her cloak more tightly around her and said, "Come on, let's
walk."
"But it's freezing!" he exclaimed, shouldering his own bag.
"It will be worse if we stand around doing nothing," Muireann said
as she began to trudge up the road.
Fortunately, most of the snow had melted, so the road was
slushy but not too dangerously slippery. After about a mile, a cart
coming along the road shone its beams on them, and for a few pennies
the man agreed to take them straight to Barnakilla.
Since it was a bright moonlit night, Muireann was able to see
Barnakilla from the bottom of the long avenue as the cart neared her
new home. The trees were completely bare, giving her an unimpeded
view of the mansion.
At first it didn't look too bad. Quite grand, in fact. The front
entrance was large, with a portico held up by four stout pillars.
Muireann could see it had once been a traditional early Georgian
house, square, with tall, elegant windows, which had been added to
over the years.
There was a small terrace running down one side of Barnakilla,
accessible by a pair of French windows, and a long wing at the back.
A second terrace led down to what no doubt had once been a
magnificent lawn, now wildly overgrown, which was evident despite
the winter weather blighting most of the Irish vegetation at that
time of year.
As she drew closer, however, she could see moss and lichens
clambering up the dingy walls. In some places she wasn't even
certain the roof was still on. The stable and outbuildings were also
dilapidated. The whole house and its surrounds gave Muireann the
impression of something from a Gothic horror novel: grim, deserted,
isolated.
"You'll have to stay with us at our cottage for the night. It will
be freezing inside the house, and I must say I've not had much time
to look through it since I got back a few weeks ago. I've done
nothing to the estate except battle with creditors because Augustine
didn't leave me any instructions before he left for Scotland."
"There's no need to apologize, Lochlainn. I'm sure you've done your
best," Muireann replied in an even tone, trying to conceal the fact
that her heart had sunk into her boots. "Do we at least have lots of
firewood?" she asked with a shiver.
"I got plenty chopped when the weather was fine last week, so we
should be in good shape for a while. There's also lots of turf."
"And where are the estate papers?"
"In the study, and in the estate office. But it is too late to start
working on that now! You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine, really. Can you show me where the office is?"
"This way," he indicated, lifting the bags, and leading her around
to the back of the house.
The rusty old key turned in the equally rusty lock, and he ushered
Muireann in. She looked at the mountain of papers and said, "I think
I see what you mean."
Lochlainn put his arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you just come
home with me now and meet Ciara?"
"I'll just take some
I have to leave the past behind. This is my future now. I have to
succeed on my own, she vowed as she folded the rugs up into a
bundle, and stepped out of the carriage decisively.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Muireann and Lochlainn unloaded the carriage together, and walked to
the west end of the town in the hope of getting a lift on a cart
bound for Donegal, which would at least take them part of the way to
Barnakilla.
They left Paddy with the coach driver to make the trip back to
Dublin. Muireann gave him permission to stay away for as long as he
was needed.
"And make sure they pay you good wages," she advised as she waved
goodbye to him.
"I will. Thank you!"
The sky was darkening rapidly. Muireann began to shiver, but she
refused to let Lochlainn see she was suffering. So she simply
wrapped her cloak more tightly around her and said, "Come on, let's
walk."
"But it's freezing!" he exclaimed, shouldering his own bag.
"It will be worse if we stand around doing nothing," Muireann said
as she began to trudge up the road.
Fortunately, most of the snow had melted, so the road was
slushy but not too dangerously slippery. After about a mile, a cart
coming along the road shone its beams on them, and for a few pennies
the man agreed to take them straight to Barnakilla.
Since it was a bright moonlit night, Muireann was able to see
Barnakilla from the bottom of the long avenue as the cart neared her
new home. The trees were completely bare, giving her an unimpeded
view of the mansion.
At first it didn't look too bad. Quite grand, in fact. The front
entrance was large, with a portico held up by four stout pillars.
Muireann could see it had once been a traditional early Georgian
house, square, with tall, elegant windows, which had been added to
over the years.
There was a small terrace running down one side of Barnakilla,
accessible by a pair of French windows, and a long wing at the back.
A second terrace led down to what no doubt had once been a
magnificent lawn, now wildly overgrown, which was evident despite
the winter weather blighting most of the Irish vegetation at that
time of year.
As she drew closer, however, she could see moss and lichens
clambering up the dingy walls. In some places she wasn't even
certain the roof was still on. The stable and outbuildings were also
dilapidated. The whole house and its surrounds gave Muireann the
impression of something from a Gothic horror novel: grim, deserted,
isolated.
"You'll have to stay with us at our cottage for the night. It will
be freezing inside the house, and I must say I've not had much time
to look through it since I got back a few weeks ago. I've done
nothing to the estate except battle with creditors because Augustine
didn't leave me any instructions before he left for Scotland."
"There's no need to apologize, Lochlainn. I'm sure you've done your
best," Muireann replied in an even tone, trying to conceal the fact
that her heart had sunk into her boots. "Do we at least have lots of
firewood?" she asked with a shiver.
"I got plenty chopped when the weather was fine last week, so we
should be in good shape for a while. There's also lots of turf."
"And where are the estate papers?"
"In the study, and in the estate office. But it is too late to start
working on that now! You must be exhausted."
"I'm fine, really. Can you show me where the office is?"
"This way," he indicated, lifting the bags, and leading her around
to the back of the house.
The rusty old key turned in the equally rusty lock, and he ushered
Muireann in. She looked at the mountain of papers and said, "I think
I see what you mean."
Lochlainn put his arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you just come
home with me now and meet Ciara?"
"I'll just take some
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