The bells of the Angelus, the midday cycle of prayers to the Blessed Virgin Mary, reached their conclusion. As the final notes faded away, all over Ireland, people paused, blessed themselves and daily life resumed. Conversations restarted, shopkeepers returned to wrapping purchases and farmers replaced their tweed caps and pushed their spades back into the rich Irish soil. Blessing himself and sighing as he offered up a prayer for Bella and his family over in England, Edward turned to face the men gathered around him.

"Yerra, we're taking an awful risk meeting here in the broad daylight!" offered James.

"Not at all!" answered Emmett calmly. "We have it on good authority that the army is busy for these few days checking under the turf stacks in Cahersiveen." Sergeant Riley had been particularly helpful in sharing information about the army's plans. The false information left for the Colonel to find was reaping dividends and the men from Dublin had been on a wild goose chase around the countryside ever since their arrival.

"Cahersiveen?" asked James, bemused "sure there'd nothing going on down there! The highest excitement they've seen in years is when the goat fell in the Holy Well. Sure if they ever get the electricity, the whole town will stop to watch the light bulb."

A laugh went through the company; nothing was better than poking gentle fun at other small towns. In truth, Cahersiveen was a prosperous little town and the people now different to those currently sitting around Edward's polished dining table but such is rural life.

"Now, lads" said Edward, "we've done well so far but now is the time to consolidate. We have a fine cache of weapons thanks be to God but we've precious little discipline. I've see you marching and ye are as bad as a group of altar boys out on a day trip!"

"Musha worse I'd say!" Liam interjected "sure Father Moran would have had us polishing the brass for weeks if we'd straggled around like at Mass! Or worse… You'll remember now Edward Og.."

The men laughed. Father Moran was a holy terror. Edward remembered vividly the beating he'd received for setting off bangers during the consecration.

"I do by God and can't I feel it now and then when the weather's cold!" he smiled, rubbing the affected parts to the glee of the men.

"So here's the plan, Jasper'll take drill every day God willing. We'll meet up beyond the old fairy fort. We need to be better than the British. We won't be dealing with our Royal Irish Constabulary men who'd sooner throw us the keys than let us down. When we go to Tralee, we'll be up against trained soldiers."

"Ah sure didn't we fight side by side with their trained soldiers over in France? And weren't they better men in every way than these young pups? I'd say I could teach those lads a few lessons I learned in the trenches!" said Seamus hotly. Like many Irish men, he'd spent four years as a volunteer in the British Army, fighting for a cause which he believed was right. The call to volunteer in the Great War had been well and truly answered in Ireland and the British had lost many allies by trying to force conscription on the Irish. Seamus had lost friends and comrades and had returned to Dingle quiet and contemplative but prone to bursts of sadness and, like Edward, with a scathing view of the idiocies and cruelties of the British military command.

Turning to look at Seamus, Edward's face softened. He had huge respect for the old soldier who, although he couldn't have been more than forty years old, had the weathered brown face of a fisherman who spent his life being baked by the sun, whipped by the winds which came racing in from the Atlantic and watered by the salt spray rising from the beating of the oars.

"My soul from the devil, Seamus, sure couldn't you lead the whole sorry lot of them? But you're one man and would you look at the young lads you have around you? We need them trained or they'll go off half cock with guns in hand and God forbid that happen."

The group nodded sagely.

"Go on then boy. Carry on with the coffin for the corpse won't walk!" answered Sean, appeased.

"We'll meet daily at five. There's no one around there to go sticking in their beaks where they shouldn't be and we'll be grand for an hour or so and the lads'll be back for milking if need be. Mary Joseph, God grant her a long life, will keep an eye on the road and send one of the children up if anyone comes close." Jasper explained. The men nodded again. Mary Joseph was a good woman alright.

In a country where calling: "Mary! Brigid! or Kathleen!" during a busy market day would make three quarters of the women's heads turn, attaching a husband's name to the wife's identified exactly which Mary was being discussed. Other, less charming forms of identification also abounded. The man who helped out on the milk cart rejoiced in the moniker "Humpeen Mike" because of his hunched back. There was no malice in the name and been known as "little hump" hadn't stopped Mike from finding himself a decent wife.

The men were in agreement and the conversation turned to general matters. Christmas was fast approaching and the peddlers had arrived in the town, selling their ribbons and nick-knacks around the far flung hamlets. There was a sense of anticipation and the first Advent candle had been lit on Sunday. Every home had an Advent wreath and the candle would be lit every night before prayers were offered to the Saviour. Women were busy making puddings and polishing up the cottages and the men were deputized to make sure that the houses were in perfect order to greet the Christ child.

"Musha hasn't Brigid had me whitewashing the auld cottage? And me with a thousand things to do?" complained Liam.

"Ah sure the rebellion can cope without your hands for a week now lad!" called Seamus as Liam glowered down at the table.

"Well lads, let's get on with the day for God had given us sun and we know what a precious gift that is!" called Edward amidst the general chatter which had broken out.

The men rose, collected their caps and hats from the hat stand hunching themselves back into their battered tweed jackets and, one by one, left through the back door. Edward could hear the sounds of hobnails, tapping sharply on the cobbles, fading as the men disappeared down the side alley.

A thousand odd miles and a world away, Kitty and Bella sat in front of a table laden with delicate bone china tea cups, plates of daintily iced cakes and wafer thin bread and butter and various bowls of jam, all watched over by a silver teapot sitting on a small gas burner. A string quartet dressed in white tie and tails played softly in the corner and the genteel murmur of society gossip rose from every table. The room was filled with women of all ages all dressed for an afternoon in one of London's finest hotels. Coats had been surrendered and Bella's eyes were drawn to the sumptuous velvets, rich furs and hats gorgeously decorated with plumes and feathers. Snatches of conversation rose up like fish above the muted roar of the conversation sea:

"And imagine my dear, she can't find staff and has to survive with only two parlour maids!"

"My chauffeur told me as calm as you please that he was leaving to work in the new car factory! The cheek of the man!"

"Crushed velvet… but very short!"

"All those new money City people moving in. The area's going into decline. There isn't one house left in Surrey that I would be willing to be invited to!"

"Clarissa came home from London with her hair cut off! She looks like a man! Well I thought that her Father would have apoplexy…"

Bella looked around at the sharp, painted faces and yearned for the mountains of Dingle, the honest openness of her neighbours and, above all, the gentle love of her Edward.

"Well now, far from this we were raised!" whispered Kitty, winking at her cousin.

"Thanks be to God!" returned Bella, fervently. "Sure look at them, it's like putting lipstick on a pig! There's no kindness in them."

"There is not. I'd say that there are many decent people in England but none of them saw fit to come to Claridge's Hotel today! There's spite here which I never thought I'd live to see. Too long in power I'd say!"

The cousins sat in silence, a growing sense of revulsion for the shallow, society women around them whose lives centred on seeking their own comfort at the expense of others was building within them. Both had been brought up to think of others as equals, to consider how they could help and, most importantly, to see themselves as God's children, humble and willing. An especially shrill voice broke into their reveries:

"Look over there at all those parcels! Wretched Americans! All their tainted money buying up our heritage! You know that Lady Mercan had been forced to sell her Park Lane house? And to whom you may ask? Car people, my dear, from Detroit! Industrialists! Probably still covered in oil and sitting in that wonderful house. Oh the shame of it!"

"No, I recognise them. They're worse than Americans... Irish!" sneered the second woman in a tone which indicated deep distain.

"Bogtrotters!" sniggered her charming companion. "I had an Irish maid. She claimed that she could speak English but my dear, the noises that came out of her mouth! Hideous. I had to tell her to remain absolutely silent until after twelve, I simply couldn't cope. And her hands, coarse as you like. She had the nerve to tell me that she was saving her wages and couldn't afford handcream! Imagine. As her name! Bridget! Well I changed that straight away. Parlour maids should be called decent names like Mabel."

Glancing over Kitty's shoulder, Bella saw the two women incline their over-decorated hats to each other in agreement.

"Well, my dear," the shrill voice started up again, "the woman with all the parcels. She's the Marchioness of Kerry. Lives in some shiftless place in the back of beyond. She was the Honorable Esme Fitzgerald. We did the season together. Quite hopeless, one just can't civilise them. Catholic of course and the manners, my dear, of a country bumpkin. They shouldn't be allowed to come here and be part of our Season. They're just savages!"

"Quite right my dear, one can't trust them. The sooner they are brought to heel the better! Hanging's too good for them!"

Shocked and willing to listen to any more of this stream of vitriol, Bella and Kitty rose and made their way towards where Esme was standing, surrounded by a sea of delivery boys, all holding piles of boxes from every major store in London. Looking anxiously at Bella's pale face, Esme drew her close with a gloved hand.

"Bella mo chroi, what is it? Sure you're as pale as milk."

Seeing that her cousin was beyond words, Kitty stepped in: "we've been hearing some view on the Irish in general and you in particular from the auld cat with the hat that looks as though a hen has died on it!"

Turning to see who Kitty was describing, Esme smiled and patter Bella's arm.

"Ah Victoria Miller! She's a terrible scald! I've known her since I was a girl. Word drop like worms from her mouth and everyone is an enemy. Sure if you set your face to world looking for trouble, won't you find that there's plenty of it?" Leaning closer to the cousins and a look of pure mischief on her face, Esme whispered: "And for all her views on the Irish, didn't she set her cap for my Carlisle? Sure she chased him like an auld dog after the butcher's cart!"

Doubled up with laughter, Esme linked her arms around the cousins and led them towards the lift.

"Don't worry girls, there are plenty of people in the world like Victoria, God protect us and grant us strength against their bitter words, but plenty more who are dacent and God fearing. Victoria's spleen will only poison herself and won't she be the one to be suffering at the end of it? Stay true to your values girls and you'll never go wrong. She's a pitiful craythur and we should rise above her foolishness!"

"I can't wait to go home!" said Bella softly.

"And so we shall my loves" answered Esme. "I changed the tickets and we'll travel tomorrow. But for now, we're in London and we shall go out ourselves and have a good dinner and then go and see a show. We'll make the most of the day that God has given us and let the English look after themselves!"

Bella didn't hear the rest of Esme's plans. Once their imminent departure had been announced, all she could think of was home and Edward. In her mind, the two were synonymous. Edward truly was a part of her and she felt a desperate yearning to be close to his side. In Ireland.

London was an artificial mirage. She wanted to be where the wind blew fresh off the Atlantic, away from these smoggy streets; where people smiled at you and looked you clear in the eye, not sizing you up and down and judging your standing or what they could get out of you; where strong arms were waiting for her and would hold her close and a deep, Irish voice would whisper the profession of love "gra mo chroi thu" in her ear. Edward. Home.

Thank you all for your WONDERFUL thoughts and reviews. I love that you are so engaged in our story. Your reviews are like the sound of love in Irish in my ear!