Both The General and Giles had approved her looks, clear skin, and sparkling personality. Neither of them had ever seen her in a mood that matched her hair, for Bridget’s black moods came upon her like a violent summer storm – all crash and lightning. The blackness was upon her now, as she sat at her old bedroom window, watching the mist gather closer, sweeping in over the valley. She prayed that even at this late date, Malcolm might change his mind. But Malcolm had done it. One hundred and fifty acres and a Georgian house, bought and paid for. Glen Devil Farm. They were to move in within the month – and everybody knew it. It was always the same in the country of her birth. She often felt that Ireland was more of a village than a country, for all its national pride. Within a day, the ‘interested’ people would know that the Englishman, Malcolm Railton – himself who wed Bridget Kinread of Ballycullen House – had paid a fair sum for Glen Devil Farm. If only Malcolm could have bought in England.
