Keena Karmody

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich.

Keena Karmody

by

Eliza Kerr

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published c1888

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2018

e-Book ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Keena Karmody is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Introduction

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

About White Tree Publishing

More Books from White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

Introduction

There were many prolific Christian writers in the last part of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth. The majority of these books were fairly heavy-handed moral tales and warnings to young people, rather than romances. Two writers spring to mind who wrote romantic fiction for adults -- Mrs. O. F. Walton and Margaret S. Haycraft, whose works are still popular today. Our White Tree Publishing editions from these authors have been sensitively abridged and edited to make them much more acceptable to today's general readers, rather than publishing them unedited for students of Victorian prose. The characters and storyline are always left intact.

Eliza Kerr is less well known than Mrs. Walton and Margaret Haycraft, but she wrote similar books, but with perhaps less emphasis on romance, but in a similar style to the books of Walton and Haycraft, and we welcome Keena Karmody to our catalogue. We will be publishing more books from this author in 2018. The titles and release dates will be announced on our website.

Victorian and early twentieth century books by Christian and secular writers can be over-sentimental, referring throughout, for example, to a mother as the dear, sweet mother, and a child as the darling little child. In our abridged editions overindulgent descriptions of people have been shortened to make a more robust story, but the characters and storylines are always unchanged.

A problem of Victorian writers is the tendency to insert intrusive comments concerning what is going to happen later in the story. Today we call them spoilers. They are usually along the lines of: Little did he/she know that.... I have removed these when appropriate.

£2,000 in the late 1800s may not sound much, but in income value it is worth about £240,000 pounds today (about US $300,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 12 chapters in this book. In the second half are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

Chapter 1

LISTEN to this, Marie, Keena said enthusiastically. "Have you heard about a flower that holds a tiny bird inside it? This book says, 'The Espiritu Santo, or flower of the Holy Spirit, is indigenous to the Isthmus of Panama. Part of the flower, folded back, exposes a little cup-shaped nest in which lies a tiny dove with outstretched neck and extended wings, as if about to fly.'"

The reader, a young girl of sixteen, paused and half closed her book with a little regretful sigh. Don't you wish it grew in this country, Marie? It is an orchid really, and we have orchids at home in Ireland, but of course they are different from the flowers of Panama.

Well, I should think so, somewhat scornfully replied Marie Delorme, as she folded up dress after dress and placed each one carefully in a large black travelling trunk. There is a slight difference, Keena, between the climate of Ireland and that of South America. I believe it is a fact that you never have any sun in your Ireland, and that the only articles of dress necessary from one year's end to the other are a raincoat, a pair of strong boots, a felt hat, and an umbrella.

Keena laughed. If you believe that to be true, why do you bring so many dresses with you?

Of course, we should not believe all that we hear, responded Marie, with a half smile, so I go prepared for glimpses of sunshine.

Wise Marie! In our beautiful Slieve Bloom region rain is the exception, and sunshine the rule. Ah, wait till you see my home. You will change your opinion of Ireland very rapidly then. It is true there is much rain there, but the western and southern coasts have the most of it. The Slieve Bloom Mountains are on the eastern side, you know.

Marie dropped the dress she held, and threw her arms around the speaker. "Nay, Keena, whether it be a land of sunshine or of rain, I will love it because it is your land; because you are bringing me away from my lonely, sorrowful life to share your home joys; and because ... because I owe all the pleasure I have had to you."

Hush, Marie, you owe me nothing. You know I don't like you to talk so.

But I must, just this once. You found me a miserable, cross-tempered, narrow-minded teacher here, with no gentleness, no charity, no good quality in me at all; and you taught me that life can be a happy thing. Now, to crown all, you are taking me home with you for a long visit as your tutor, and I am never to return to this cold school life again.

My dear old teacher, don't I owe you anything? Who made the little schoolgirl comfortable when she first came to the great house? And who explained lessons and music so that the tasks grew pleasant and interesting? You were an orphan, I was an orphan, but I had grandfather and my beautiful home, and you were a stranger in a strange land. Why should I not love you, and try to serve you?

A hot flush rose to the brow of the young French woman and she answered hastily, You required very little help in your studies. I am the debtor, yes, even money I owe you.

Really, Marie, I shall be angry with you if you don't change the subject. Just think of the grief into which Madame is plunged by the coming loss of her most untiring young teacher. I do like Madame de Veaux very much. How pleased she was that grandpapa did not take me away before the concert!

Yes, smiled Marie, returning to her work of packing the great black trunk; and how well you sang and recited. Now, little Irish girl, let me have a look at your things to see if all is right before I lock the trunks. Meanwhile, you can finish your description of the flower of the Holy Spirit, which I so ruthlessly interrupted.

There is not much more, Marie. But it is all true. The Rector at home has one in his hothouse. Listen. 'The dove is of the same creamy white as the rest of the flower, with the exception of the upper extremities of the wings, which are beautifully speckled. The perfection and lifelike appearance of the dove are incredible to persons who have not seen the flower.'

I can easily believe that last, murmured Miss Delorme, as she finally strapped down the travelling trunks and sat upon one of them to glance round the room. I don't think I have forgotten anything, Keena.

No, I am sure you have not, returned Keena, with conviction. It was like your usual good nature to pack all my clothes as well as your own.

Very good natured indeed! Now don't let us renew that subject. Come along and have a look round for the last time, before the cab takes us away to Euston Station.

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Keena Karmody was an orphan whose life until the age of twelve had been passed with her grandfather in her beautiful home on the Irish hillside. Those who knew her said she was a dreamy, fanciful child, and she grew into a dreamy, fanciful girl. The country was full of joys to her that she never reasoned about, but which filled her with delight.

The great bold curves of the oak bough overhead, the mountains that were sometimes quite lost in the white mists, and then suddenly lifted themselves in all their glory, with black shadows where the woods were, and hazy breadths of colour where the river shone beneath the sun. All these things, so various, great and small, were sources of delight to Keena who, as she went, lost sight of nothing from the little gemmed insect in the dust she trod to the last glow left on the faintest, farthest peak of the great hills that rose between her and the sea.

Her grandfather had sent her to school in London, in order that she might be the better fitted for her position as mistress of the broad acres that stretched away over hill and valley for many a mile. She had murmured tearfully against the enforced exile, but as the months passed she grew reconciled to school life.

She was sixteen years old now, and her school life was ended. They had been monotonous, work-filled years which had, after all, been pleasant enough, and to which she owed the friendship of Marie Delorme, the studious young teacher from France. Although Marie had lived twenty-six years, and Keena but sixteen, the younger girl's enthusiastic admiration of her friend made the ten years between them seem as so many months.

However, there were days when Marie's tongue gave utterance to sharp, bitter remarks, and when she unwittingly displayed a knowledge of life, and