Read Online Daughters of Castle Deverill by Santa Montefiore - Free Book Online Page B

process.
    Now she watched the swirling mist engulf the island she had loved and lost, and knew from the pain in her heart that the wrench was just as severe now as it had been the first time. For in that
green land rested the body of her daughter and upon those verdant fields her son would thrive, without a thought for his mother and her longing, without realizing where he really came from. Indeed,
he would grow up on the Deverill estate never knowing the simple farmhouse, barely a few miles over the hills, where his roots lay deep and silent.
    Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. There was a strange pleasure to be found in grief; a certain satisfaction in the aching chest and dull, throbbing
head; a sense of triumph in her will to go on living despite the sea below that swelled against the barrel of the boat, inviting her to taste the deadening flavour of oblivion in its wet embrace.
She stared now at the black sea and found the rhythm of the waves hypnotic. They called to her in whispers and it would have been so easy to heed their summons and allow them to take away her pain.
And yet she didn’t. She let grief rattle through her like an old familiar friend, searching the wreckage of her soul for the last remains of sorrow. She knew that, once it had consumed all
that she was, there would be nothing left and it would move on. It had done it before and it would do so again.
    She closed her eyes and inhaled the damp sea air. She might be leaving her son behind but her daughter, her sweet little girl whom she had not even blessed with a kiss, was with her, for
hadn’t Kitty taught her that the dead never leave us? That was the only thing of value left of their friendship and she held it close, against her heart.

Chapter 4
    Hazel and Laurel, Adeline Deverill’s spinster sisters, known as the Shrubs, stood by Adeline’s grave and admired the crimson berries they had placed there. They
might have been twins, being of the same height, with round, rosy faces, anxious, twitching mouths and greying hair pinned onto the top of their heads. But on closer inspection, Hazel, who was
older than her sister by two years, had bright, sky-blue eyes whereas Laurel’s were the colour of the mist that gathers over the Irish Sea in winter. They had not been beauties in their day,
unlike Adeline with her fiery red hair and disarming gaze, but they both possessed a sweetness of nature that showed in the soft contours of their features and in the surprising charm of their
smiles. Their need for each other was particularly endearing in two elderly women who seemed to have sacrificed marriage and children to remain together.
    ‘She always loved the colour red,’ said Hazel with a sigh.
    ‘She loved colour,’ Laurel agreed. ‘
Any
colour.’
    ‘Except black,’ Hazel added.
    ‘Black isn’t a colour, Hazel. It’s the
lack
of colour.’
    ‘Adeline used to say that “darkness is simply the absence of light”. That it doesn’t exist in itself. Do you remember, Laurel?’
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    ‘She was so wise. I do miss her.’ Hazel pressed a crumpled cotton handkerchief to her eye. ‘She was a reassuring presence during the Troubles.’
    ‘Oh, indeed she was,’ agreed Laurel. ‘We’ve lived through turbulent times, but I do feel that peace has descended over Ballinakelly and those beasts who wanted us English
out have put away their claws. Don’t you think, Hazel?’
    ‘Oh, I do. But how I wish that things hadn’t changed. I do so hate change. Nothing was—’
    ‘The same after the fire. I know,’ said Laurel, finishing the sentence for her sister. ‘No more games of whist in the library or parties – oh, how I loved the
parties.’
    ‘No one threw parties like Adeline. No one,’ said Hazel. ‘All that’s left are the memories. Wonderful, wonderful memories.’ She sighed sadly at the thought of what
had once been. ‘It won’t be the same now Celia’s bought the