There was a small study off the room with a writing desk and a large chair. Books on jewellery-making and goldsmithing were scattered around. An inkwell that once contained what looked like black ink sat on the desk with some dip pens beside it
It all looked authentic as if you had stepped back in time. In fact, to a time long before 1950. It also looked like whoever had lived there had just left.
There were photos on the marble mantelpiece. A stunning black-and-white photo of a woman with large expressive eyes who looked strikingly like Vivien Leigh. There was another of the same woman with a tall handsome man in a wide-legged suit and a small child with curls holding her hand. The child’s other hand was clutching a doll. They were standing beside a Morris Minor car. All smiling.
Why would someone leave such beautiful photographs behind? Emily wondered. A dusty polished oak phonograph sat in the corner with some old classical records. There was also a more modern record-player with a stack of records featuring singers such as Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby and John McCormack. Two wing-backed fireside chairs in chocolate brown were placed beside the marble fireplace with throws that looked of Indian origin trailing on the backs of them. The material was faded and frayed. Books lined a complete wall. There were gaps with dust lodged where books had been removed at some stage.
Emily took a book down, a draught of dust catching in the half-light by the window. A butterfly flew out and took her by surprise. A beautiful golden butterfly with purple-and-pink wings. Luckily the window was open, and the butterfly escaped into the garden. The book was the complete works of Yeats. Under the window was a dark wooden bureau with a Queen Anne chair. There was an inkwell of pewter filled with dark-blue ink that had dried up completely, some dip pens and a fountain pen beside it, and what looked like a very old typewriter that had now gone to rust. At the other side of the room was a chaise longue in a dark-red velvet. It was faded and stained but Emily could see how beautiful it must have looked. A pale-blue floral wallpaper had started to peel away in places. Yet the room somehow looked lived-in, as if you could light the fire, sit and read. A glass cabinet held lots of Waterford crystal glasses and a sherry decanter that was stained and looked as if the sherry had simply evaporated but had left a dark burgundy stain behind. There was also a silver tray with glasses and goblets of all shapes and sizes.
In the next room, there was a chesterfield and a coffee table, an old radio and a table and chairs, a china cabinet with some gold-embossed china and another fireplace, this time with a large painting of the same lady. Emily could not take her eyes off the painting. Its colours were vivid. The woman really was stunning, her skin fair against dark hair and ruby lips. But whoever had painted it had caught a poignancy about her. She had a faraway look and her dark hair was loose about her face, falling in curls like those of the little girl in the photo on the mantelpiece. Her delicate neck was adorned with pearls. She looked like a movie star of the golden era of Hollywood.
Up the stairs were framed posters of plays and recitals. All performances from London in the forties.
Emily stepped into the first bedroom. It was grand, beautiful and haunting all at once. A large boudoir-style bedroom with a four-poster bed and gold-embossed wallpaper as a backdrop. The paper was peeling badly. There was a Queen Anne dressing table and mirror with ornate bottles of perfume and bottles of potions. A lady’s vanity table and a large lady’s and gentleman’s wardrobe was at the other side of the room.
Emily had worked in a local antiques shop in Waterford City for the summer before she got pregnant, so she had some idea of the era of the furniture and items. It was there she had fallen in love with all the things of the past, seeing how each item almost held the memory of those who had owned it, each item telling its own unique story, of the different lives it had lived. It had been a discovery of sorts.
It had said in the advertisement that some of the more valuable items had already been bought by two auction houses and that all the remaining contents were being sold as one lot with the house. Emily could see that items had been removed, like the paintings in the hall. Rugs from the floor she reckoned had also been removed. Parts of the pitch-pine floors in the drawing room looked darker or less dusty. But there were still so many wonderful things remaining.
People were picking up the items and examining them. Emily felt protective of the objects. She wanted to tell the people to stop picking them up. They really did seem like they belonged to someone – someone who had just stepped out. The wardrobe lay open and she could see an array of beautiful dresses – it seemed strange that they had not been removed. They seemed so personal and were certainly designer vintage.
One was a jade-green silk dress with appliqued pink roses along the neckline and tiny little gems that she realised were all handstitched on. It was stunning. A pale-pink taffeta dress hung beside it. Blouses of silk and fitted skirts that Emily thought must have only ever fitted someone with the tiniest waist. Fur stoles that had unfortunately got eaten by moths. A cashmere wrap in the palest of pink. There were hatboxes with a selection of hats. Some with little jewels and crystals pinned on.
One woman who was unashamedly taking photos of everything on her phone remarked that whoever bought it would possibly then have an auction of the items.
Emily stepped into another bedroom with pink rose wallpaper that had turned mottled and faded. In places it looked scraped away. Her eyes were drawn to the four-poster bed with a faded cream pink canopy and a pink faded satin bedspread. It looked dusty and moths had certainly made a bed there. But what stopped her in her tracks was an array of dolls that were lying on the bed with their heads on the pillows. They looked almost ghostly as if they could come alive. She counted nine dolls, each with beautiful clothes and hair that had become a nest for cobwebs. There was a beautiful doll wearing a silken cream coat with pearl buttons, but her face looked like it had been broken and glued back together.
On the floor was a doll’s house that looked faded and tired and a sad-looking rocking horse whose hair looked like it had got the mange. There were faded children’s books on a little locker.
The man in the fancy suit who had allowed them in came over to her.
He pointed to the dolls which were drawing great attention from the onlookers. ‘A bit eerie, I thought when I saw them – it’s exactly as I found them. I am sure some collectors would pay something for them.’
‘Yes, it seems strange to be selling everything as one.’
‘Those are the instructions from the banks.’
‘It’s all so strange – as if its owners had just walked out.’
‘This house somehow got forgotten through the years.’
‘I am very interested,’ Emily heard herself say.
‘Well, it’s a good solid house. We have had a surveyor have a look. There is a reserve. But it’s at a knockdown price for a quick sale. There is some interest but the fact that it is to be auctioned might set a lower market. Put in an offer or see you at the auction. It should be interesting.’
‘Why does it have to be so quick?’ Emily asked.
‘Time is money, I expect. It has sat here for decades with the deeds gone missing. They turned up lately and, as the house had a mortgage that was not repaid, it is now the bank’s to do with what they want. The bank doesn’t have any interest in any items unless they are of significant value. They just want rid of the lot. It’s not worth the hassle for them.’
‘I see. Well, hopefully I will see you at the auction.’
‘Come early to get a seat – I have a feeling we will have lots of onlookers.’
She nodded in agreement. It felt more like a day out for the local ladies of Draheen. There was also a group from a local historical society taking photos and making lots of notes.
Emily walked around the rest of the house, her belly full of butterflies. There were three other bedrooms and one looked like it had been used for painting. There were some beautiful pictures on the walls – watercolours of wo
odland animals, flowers and woods. Possibly done by a child but certainly a talented one. The old paints and brushes were left there as if just waiting for the child to come back.
There was a large bathroom upstairs with a standalone bath. A shelf that had lots of potions and lotions all either rancid or empty. Emily picked one up. It was a vanishing cream of some sort and had a stamp from Harrods of London. There was a tiled mosaic on the walls of the bathroom in gold and green.
The two large drawing rooms downstairs could easily be turned into a studio and a workshop. Back in the hall she went through another door that led to the kitchen and a pantry. Her eyes fell on a faded green dresser filled with now-vintage treasures of delph, china and odds and ends. All sorts of old-fashioned crockery and pots and pans, some gone to rust. But some looked very much untouched. It was remarkable how intact it all was. It could easily be turned into a kitchen and living space.
There was a smaller bathroom with baby-blue cream floral tiles downstairs. The floors of pitch pine were so beautiful she could only imagine what they would look like when they were brought back to life. A thick carpet runner in green and gold lined the carved staircase and had luckily not been removed for the sale.
The advertisement had said the house needed new wiring and plumbing and a heating system put in. But the structure and roof were sound. Emily felt protective of the house. She could see how it could work. The first drawing room as a studio to display and try on the designs and a workshop in the other drawing room or parlour. The kitchen was big enough for her to make into a living area. Upstairs three of the rooms could be bedrooms – one for her, one for Sebastian and a guest room – and the other two could be used as maybe an office or a storeroom. It all needed work. But it was perfect.
Then she stepped into the rear garden. It was completely wild but was surrounded by a stone wall with a wild white rose rambling across it. The garden had a clear view of the Wicklow Mountains. A pink rhododendron was in full bloom and wisteria wrapped itself around the back of the house. The smell of violets filled the air. She was sold in that moment. If the house went for anything near the reserve, she would have enough but if it went for more it might be too much for her and she knew she would be gutted. Her instinct was that this was the house. She knew she had utterly fallen in love with Eveline House.
CHAPTER 22
After eventually leaving the house she realised she had the whole day with no immediate plans. There was loads of work waiting for her, but it could wait. She decided to drive down to Dunmore East to visit her mother Peggy and Jack her brother who was living there with her. She had not seen her mother since her last visit when they had argued about Sebastian going to Barcelona. Her mother did not approve of Emily giving her blessing to Sebastian and made her feelings known.
‘You should put your foot down and let him stay in Dublin where you can keep a good eye on him.’
‘But it’s his life, Mam, he is a grown man. I can’t stop him, and I would not want to.’
‘Well, I suppose that is what comes of all this in the end. If his father was at least Irish, this would not be happening.’
Emily had to restrain herself from storming out. Her mother never lost a chance to give her a dig. Yet, despite her mother’s misgiving about how he was conceived, she knew she adored him and would miss him deeply.
Sebastian used to travel down to see Peggy every second weekend before he moved. In truth he had a much better relationship with her than Emily did. He played cards with her for hours, devoured the soaps with her as they drank huge amounts of tea together.
Emily stopped for a coffee along the way and had to fight to resist the tempting pastries. She bought some fruit to eat instead.
Her mind was in overdrive thinking of Eveline House. It was as if it had cast a spell over her. She would make an appointment with the bank and one with an auctioneer that she knew. See what could be done. Philip Doyle was an auctioneer and his son was friends with Sebastian. He had told her that he could have a buyer for her house if she ever decided to sell. Stoneybatter was home but something in her yearned for a different type of life and she knew it began with moving. The idea of being near to Dublin but in a town really appealed to her. Draheen had looked like the ideal town to begin her new chapter.
She took a detour and stopped at a Sunday market to buy a few things for her mother. Some freshly made brown bread, a jar of local honey, some free-range eggs and a coffee cake with walnuts and pecans that smelt divine. Some fresh strawberries and new potatoes.
As she drove into Dunmore East, she never failed to love how familiar it felt. The smell of the sea air, the scent of the saltiness and the glimpses of the waves. It really was so quaint. But it was the coves that she really loved about her home village. How many summers had she spent gallivanting with her friends off through the rocks to Stony Cove and Badgers Cove with big bags of salty chips and the odd can of beer? Only coming home when the moon was beginning to shine on the water. Stealing her first kiss. Sharing her secrets and her woes.
She had many happy memories. It was a haven. She had thought of moving there but the truth was she knew she would find it hard to live so close to her mother. She was never able to talk to her. She was well in her eighties now and Emily felt guilty for not wanting to spend more time with her. Perhaps it was the age gap as her mother was quite set in her ways. She felt bad for Jack. Her mother could not be easy to live with. Knowing he was there took the burden off her but she knew that wasn’t fair. It was just the way it was. Her mother was in good health for her age. She’d had a slight stroke a few years earlier but had recovered mostly. It would be easier if they were close. She knew her mother loved her in her own way, but it was as if her melancholy affected everything. It was not depression. It was more of a feeling of disappointment with life that emanated from her.
Peggy lived near to the village in a little cottage.
Emily parked on the road and walked around to the back door. A large black-and-white cat lay in the sunshine and five kittens scrambled away into the garden shed when they saw her.
She could hear the radio as she went into the little hall and then into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the small round kitchen table listening to the one o’clock news where a man was rather dramatically reporting that a local councillor had opened a new supermarket in Waterford City. Her mother looked up in shock when she saw Emily come through the back door.
‘Emily!’
‘Hi, Mam. Thought I would surprise you.’ Emily smiled as she came in and dropped her bits and bobs on the table.
‘My goodness, Emily, you never called to say you were coming!’
‘It was just an impulse thing. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘But I have nothing ready and it’s lunchtime,’ her mother said worriedly.
‘I’m not even hungry, Mam. Don’t be fussing. I was on the road earlier and I decided to take a trip down. Sebastian left last night so I just thought it would be good to call down.’
‘Jack and I had a rasher sandwich earlier and we were leaving the dinner till a bit later.’
Her mother was not letting up about the food.
Emily noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was paler than usual. Her grey hair was cut in a sensible short style. She had never been a good sleeper. Emily remembered often hearing her awake, praying in the middle of the night.
Peggy had changed into her customary grey skirt with a cream blouse, her Sunday clothes back in the wardrobe for next Sunday. She went to morning Mass every day but she had separate clothes for that. Sunday clothes were different.
She was forever worrying about having food ready and having plenty to eat in the house. Emily reckoned that it came from the times when she struggled to feed them as children after their father died. The fear of her children being hungry never left her. Also, Emily knew that as a child her mother had been left hungry at times.
‘I brought you a few things and don’t be worrying about dinner. I
told you I’m not hungry, but I would murder a cuppa. I’ll put the kettle on. I have a coffee cake here and it is dying to be eaten.’
Her mother got up and Emily noticed that she had become a little feebler than before. Her arthritis was beginning to worsen. Although it was June her mother had an electric Duplex heater plugged in.
The kitchen had not changed much since Emily was a child. The holy pictures had become more plentiful and were dotted literally everywhere. All the statues were arranged on the dresser with some good cups and plates. The countertop was clear except for the toaster and the microwave. The rusty-orange tiles had holy pictures stuck to them with bits of sticky tape. The Formica presses were painted magnolia every year. The walls then got a coat of magnolia at the same time. A small round table, with four chairs and an oilcloth with green flowers and a faded yellow background, was in the centre. There were about six geraniums trailing at the windowsills.
She filled the kettle while her mother took out some mugs, the milk jug, the sugar bowl and some small plates with the willow pattern on them from the press.
Emily looked over at her as she began to cut the cake. ‘Were you at Mass?’
‘The priest is away in Lourdes. We have some stand-in called Father Tim if you don’t mind. There is not an ounce of religion in this one. Not an ounce. Trying to finish it as quick as he can so he can go off with Mary Caldwell and Vicky Henderson to the golf club. He should never have been allowed to be a priest. He nearly fired the Holy Communion at us he was in such a hurry. No sermon whatsoever except to say that there would be a field day next Sunday and a golf tournament for the parish. I tell you I have no idea what is going to be the end of it all.’
The priest she was referring to was young and not her mother’s cup of tea. Peggy did not approve of priests not wearing their priestly clothes outside of the chapel and had told Emily that she thought it shocking to see them dressed in denims and T-shirts and they had no right at all to be going around in shorts.
The Secret of Eveline House Page 16