Caroline Singleton, nineteen years old and going out into the unknown to Ireland, to work as a governess in what might be a futile attempt to gain some independence for myself—but
glowing with health and exuberance,
“You say either too much or too little,” Ralph had told me. “Either you don’t give them enough to go on, and they think you aloof, or you embarrass them with detail.”
I blamed the government.
I must be brave now, I thought, but I must not just accept mindlessly the soothing words handed down by the politicians.
Kingstown, a fishing village south of Dublin.
the car purred down the road.
I had the strangest sense of familiarity, as if I knew her from somewhere long ago.
There was a coziness about the room for which I was grateful, and I sat down on the bed without thinking.
A sense of rebelliousness that occasionally welled up inside me prevented me from apologizing.
an edge to her voice.
tempted to tell her that I no longer went to church, but I did not dare.
She was an imposing woman. I was not.
The smell of beeswax had never seemed so sweet.
her golden locks framing her stolid little face.
If I’d had a strong and loving maternal figure, if my father had not died, I would not be here in a strange house, taking care of someone else’s child.
my heart contracted,
had no doubt
Our boots crunched firmly into the gravel.
deep in the countryside.”
I’m going to show you my favorite spot.”
Yet I knew that, impossible as it seemed, I was falling in love with Grace. And I knew that I could not prevent myself. It was too late.
Lady Wilcox was holding her annual garden party.
Dublin Castle, the center for British administrative rule in Ireland,
Thornley was like a rest cure in comparison to the deadening hours spent caring for her in Camden Town.