Sister Perpetua was sure in her own mind that the Reverend Mother had employed a pair of thieves and it was her duty to point this out. When she did so, maybe then she would be relieved of the job that she hated so much. Dealing day after day with ungrateful children and digging graves.
The Reverend Mother knew she could trust Sister Perpetua. Only two nuns were allowed to dig graves and Sister Perpetua was one of them. She was also the only nun entrusted with the paperwork, when children died. It was she who decided whether or not to obtain a death certificate and at what point to report the death to the authorities.
‘We have no idea who will come asking questions or when,’ Sister Theresa had said. ‘We must keep everything as obscure as possible and, sure, if no one wanted these children in life, I am quite sure there will be no interest when they are dead, but you never know. Better to be safe than sorry. We must protect ourselves from any charge that could be brought to our door. There are people who indulge children and fail to discipline them. Sentimental, they are, and just the type to think they could do a better job than we have. No traces, Sister Perpetua. Always be vigilant. Nothing recorded that anyone at any time in the future could behold.’
Sister Perpetua had done her work well. There was at least one death a week at the orphanage. She knew this was high.
‘We could blame a disease, Reverend Mother,’ Sister Perpetua had commented. Sister Theresa was always anxious about the children sent to the orphanage by the authorities.
‘Really, Sister Perpetua?’ the Reverend Mother snapped. ‘Then they would all have died in the same week, not at the rate of four or five a month. Just do as I say.
‘There must be nothing that can be traced. No mass at the graveside. Most of those children were born out of wedlock. They are steeped in a sin that no mass could erase. No headstones. We don’t ever want to encourage mourners.’
Sister Perpetua had created an environment of obedience and orderliness in which penitents could seek forgiveness, exactly as she had been asked. However, after four years of disciplining children and burying them, she was heartily sick of the orphanage. She knew it was difficult to ask for a transfer to the retreat. That was solely in the gift of the Reverend Mother. A reward for loyalty and discretion.
She bent over the journal in the orphanage office and continued with her record-keeping.
The cook and the gardener deserved to be in prison, and Sister Perpetua knew that she was the only nun in the convent sharp enough to make sure it happened. Her reward would be guaranteed and soon, God willing, she might have thrown the last lice-ridden, sin-soaked child into the pit.
16
‘THAT HARRIET HAS ants in her pants, she cannot keep flamin’ still,’ said Kathleen as she dried her hands on her apron and took the leaflet out of Nellie’s hands to read it for herself.
‘But, Nana, it sounds so exciting, a Rose Queen of the docks and eight people in her retinue, and we can all enter the competition. There is going to be a big fair with a street party on the green and afternoon tea. I’ve never known the like. It is too exciting for words. I’m off to tell Angela.’
Nellie jumped up from the kitchen table and already had her hand on the back doorknob when Kathleen stopped her.
‘Nellie, stop. Come here a minute while I tell ye something.’
Nellie knew what that meant. It was a summons to sit down and wait for a lecture. She knew from experience that she wouldn’t be going anywhere until it was over. With a sigh, she walked back to the table and sat down.
‘Now, child, listen to me. The Rose Queen, that’s a fantastic idea and I’m not surprised that Harriet has dreamt it up, an’ all. She has transformed these streets in the months she has been here. Jesus, she’s even trying to make me run the Mothers’ Union and the committee for the new nursery because she reckons that, if I do, it will be easier to get Maura to help. And she’s right, it will be good for Maura. I won’t have to do nothing, so I won’t, I will just act stupid. We have to pray to God that Maura’s famous spirit for organizing and bossing everyone will return, but that’s not what’s worrying me.’
Nellie could tell this was going to be a long one so she helped herself to a biscuit from the tin on the press. Nana Kathleen had made syrup oaties that morning, using a nice deposit from a load en route from the docks to the Lyons factory.
‘I’m listening, Nana Kathleen,’ she said, munching. ‘Go on, don’t stop, keep talking.’
‘Cheeky madam,’ said Kathleen, whacking Nellie’s bottom with the tea towel. ‘Look, Nellie, I’m just saying, have ye seen the date on that leaflet, the date of the Rose Queen competition?’
Nellie looked down at the leaflet. She hadn’t noticed the date at all, so caught up had she been with the long list of events Harriet planned: a fancy-dress competition, a tombola, a beat-the-rat stall, a best-cake competition, a cake stall and a jumble sale too. There was so much, how did Harriet think they could fit it all in on one day?
Nellie picked up the leaflet and read it again.
‘Oh God,’ she said, placing her hand over her mouth. ‘I feel terrible. Oh God, I am so stupid and she was like my sister too.’
Nellie began to cry. The shock of Kitty’s death had numbed her, crushing her free spirit for what had seemed like a very long time. Not until recently had she started to seem like her old self. Kathleen and Jerry were only just beginning to notice the true signs of their old Nellie returning.
‘Hush now, ye were so caught up with the news, I’m sure ye didn’t even notice that the date was Kitty’s birthday. I just wanted to point it out because when ye go over to Maura and Tommy’s, they will notice it straight away, and Angela too, I’ve no doubt, so just be a little bit careful, eh?’
‘Shall I not go over then?’ said Nellie.
‘Tell ye what, give me five minutes to finish these dishes and we will go together, shall we?’
Nellie dried her eyes and took the tea towel from Nana Kathleen. As she did so, Kathleen drew Nellie to her, burying the child’s head in her chest for a brief moment, and then kissed the top of it, noting that in no time at all she would have to reach up, not bend down, to give their Nellie a kiss.
Meanwhile, Declan Doherty had taken the leaflet into the kitchen and read out the list of events with a similar degree of enthusiasm. Harry lay on the mat in front of the fire, reading his book.
He looked up on hearing the events that interested him the most: races for the children on the green, a street party and a kestrel-flying display.
‘Well,’ said Maura, in the subdued voice that had become the norm of late, ‘that all sounds fantastic now. Angela, I think we should enter the cake competition and start practising with some recipes. What do you think?’
‘When is it?’ asked Harry after Declan finished.
As Declan read out the date, only Harry and Maura exchanged glances. Harry had realized immediately what day it was. None of the others had. Harry knew he couldn’t say anything. Kitty’s name had barely been mentioned since the day of the funeral. It was as if by pretending she had never existed, it would become easier for everyone to bear her absence.
It didn’t work like that for Harry. Right now he wanted to yell out loud, ‘That’s our Kitty’s birthday!’ But he knew that if he did, his mother would cry and the others would cast their eyes downwards and behave as if he had never spoken.
Through the kitchen window Maura spotted Nellie and Kathleen, walking up the back path towards her door.
‘Well now, there’s a bit of news we have,’ said Kathleen as she let herself into the kitchen.
‘Cuppa tea, Kathleen?’ said Maura.
Kathleen didn’t stop to draw breath or to answer, saying, ‘Would ye credit that Harriet and Miss Alison?’ So Maura poured her one anyway, on the basis that never once had she known her to refuse. Kathleen even had her own cup and saucer in the Doherty kitchen.
‘She’s Mrs Davies now,’ said Maura. ‘Seems funny calling her Alison, as if it’s disrespec
tful for someone in her position, her being a teacher.’
‘Well, I’ll never get used to that in a month of Sundays,’ said Kathleen. ‘It’s not even an Irish name, so it’s not. Maura, those women are on a mission to exhaust us, what with the nursery an’ all. I hope Mrs Davies gets caught quick now that she’s married and has her hands too full with a baby to be finding things for the rest of us to do.’
Kathleen sat herself down on the chair beside the fire and ruffled Harry’s hair by way of a greeting. He looked up at Kathleen and smiled.
‘You all right, lad?’ she asked him with a wink. Her words went unnoticed by anyone else, below the noise of Nellie and Angela re-reading aloud to Maura from Harriet’s proposed list of events.
‘Yeah, ta, Nana Kathleen,’ said Harry. He turned to look at Nellie and Angela and then back to Kathleen. ‘It’s on our Kitty’s birthday,’ he whispered earnestly, so that no one would hear him mention Kitty’s name.
‘I know, lad,’ said Kathleen quietly, smoothing down errant wisps on the crown of his head. ‘No one will forget such an important day, Harry. We will all go to the church and put our mass cards in and light a penny candle for her. She won’t be forgotten, Harry. Kitty was like you, lad, very special. No one will ever forget her.’ Whilst she spoke she continued to stroke Harry’s hair, licking her fingertips and then pushing his fringe to the side, over and over. Harry pulled his head away.
‘Get away with ye,’ she laughed. ‘Ye love it when I mess yer hair up now. Where’s yer mate then? Little Paddy?’
‘He’s coming over now. His mammy has sent him with the pram to fetch a bag of coke. He will be back in a minute.’
Sometimes Kathleen wondered if Maura and Tommy were handling things the best way. Since Kitty’s death, Harry always seemed to be hiding in a book.
When the girls had finished babbling, Maura sat next to Kathleen with her own cup of tea.
‘Well, sure, that’s got them two going and our Angela laughing and, God knows, that isn’t easy. She works miracles, that Harriet.’
‘Tell ye what, Maura.’ Kathleen’s face lit up as she carefully placed her cup back on the saucer. ‘Why don’t ye take the mop out and let’s get the others in. This Rose Queen is big news. We had better start planning. Where are we going to find the frocks for this lot for a start? It’s time for a pow wow.’
For a moment, Maura didn’t respond. Over the past six months she hadn’t banged on the wall once for her neighbours to meet in her kitchen for a natter. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for rapid chatter and street gossip.
What did any of it matter? Their Kitty was dead, drowned. Who cared a fig about gossip? She looked sideways at Kathleen.
‘Go on, love,’ Kathleen urged her gently. ‘Knock on for Peggy. They have all been patiently waiting and, sure, aren’t the best days any of us have ever had been spent in this kitchen? We have solved more problems and had more laughs than most people do in their whole lives, sitting round your table. Everyone has been worried sick about you, Maura. Knocking on would be a sign to them and I think they deserve that.’
‘Go on, Maura.’ Kathleen put her hand on Maura’s arm. ‘Time to take the next step and this Rose Queen, ’tis a God-sent opportunity now.’
Maura sighed, knowing Kathleen was right. She walked over to the back door, picked up the mop and, as had always been the tradition, banged the handle against the wall that adjoined Peggy’s kitchen, with three loud thumps.
The children fell silent. After a moment that seemed to last forever, they all heard it, Peggy knocking on her wall three times for Sheila. Moments later, Maura’s neighbours began trotting down her path, chatting to each other, their heads full of bobbing curlers, balancing babies on hips, with cigarettes half smoked in one hand and their babies’ bottles in the other. Each one walked over to Maura and hugged her.
They had been waiting patiently for Maura to let them know when she was ready. Now, they couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces. Maura had turned a corner and they were turning it with her. Every single one of them breathed a sigh of relief when the Nelson Street mops once more began knocking.
‘Enough of that,’ shouted Nana Kathleen from the sink where she was in the process of filling the kettle. ‘There’s tea to be drunk and who has brought the biscuits?’
‘I have, Kathleen,’ said Deirdre above the chatter. ‘I have a bag of broken which I got from the tin, in Keenan’s.’
‘And I’ve brought a brack, I made one extra today,’ said Sheila, taking her plate to the press. ‘Shall I run and fetch Annie?’
‘Do you know, that’s not a bad idea, Sheila. Aye, ’tis is a grand idea. The more the merrier.’
And with that, Sheila was back out of the door and across the entry to fetch Annie, back to where the beating heart of the four streets traditionally rested. In Maura’s kitchen.
As they settled round the table, the chatter was so loud, Kathleen would have to shout to be heard. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. It felt as though she had been holding her breath for months and, for the first time, she could relax.
Suddenly there was an unfamiliar, tinkling sound. Little Harry looked up from his book and, catching Nana Kathleen’s eye, he smiled. It was the sound of Maura laughing. A sound they had all forgotten.
17
AFTER HER MEETING with Sister Evangelista, Daisy walked down the convent steps with a confidence and self-assurance that had been wholly absent during the time she had worked as the dead priest’s housekeeper. Sister Evangelista had insisted that Daisy stay with them in the convent guest room, until her brother arrived to collect her. As she reached the bottom step, Daisy spotted Harriet rushing down the Priory driveway.
‘Morning, Daisy, love, isn’t it a glorious day?’ Harriet shouted across to her as she turned and almost ran down Nelson Street in the direction of Maura Doherty’s house.
Daisy waved across the road and smiled. Although it was early, the river already shimmered in the bright sunlight. From years of observing how the river responded to the weather, Daisy could tell that today would be a scorcher. She liked Harriet. It was a very strange feeling seeing her run out of the house that had been Daisy’s prison. She had arrived at the Priory as a young girl not knowing that it was the place where her childhood would be stolen.
Daisy had been nervous about her meeting with Sister Evangelista. Once she had finished her breakfast with Alison and the nuns, she had taken out Maggie’s note and read it again. It told her exactly what she had to say and to whom she had to say it. This morning, it had been Sister Evangelista’s turn.
Although the school was empty, with the children at home for the holidays, Sister Evangelista had been working in the school office.
‘Morning, Daisy, come on in,’ she said as she pulled out a chair next to her desk. ‘I’m just preparing the lessons for next term as I want to visit Ireland myself. It is time I had a little break.’
Sister Evangelista had been alarmed to discover that whilst they had thought she was lost, Daisy had been held like a prisoner at the new convent near Galway. Sister Evangelista knew the Reverend Mother well, as Sister Theresa was related by blood to the bishop. Like the police, Sister Evangelista had plans to pay a visit to the convent personally and discover just what had been occurring.
She wanted to find out for herself who had told the police officer to take Daisy to St Vincent’s and why. There were many hidden secrets still to be uncovered and she should know; she was probably hiding the very worst.
‘Sister, I have something to say.’ Daisy sounded very serious.
Sister Evangelista looked at Daisy, slightly amazed. This was the girl who would never say boo to a goose. Who would ever have thought it? Such a transformation.
Daisy continued, ‘Sister, you and I, we found photographs in the priest’s desk that were very bad.’
‘Aye, we did, Daisy, but they are burnt now and that is all over.’
‘Well, they weren’t all burnt, Sister. There are s
ome in the safe in the cellar and I don’t think it is all over. If it was, I wouldn’t have been taken to the convent, would I? There was a reason I was taken there—’
‘What safe?’ Sister Evangelista interrupted Daisy.
Sister Evangelista felt the return of a familiar feeling of panic that she was sure she would never shake off. Every night before she went to sleep, she often wondered: was this the effect of shock? Would she spend her remaining years looking over her shoulder, jumping each time a telephone rang or a door slammed? Her life until recently had been one of serenity and devotion. The most serious problem she ever had to tackle was a severe outbreak of nits at the school.
Since she had opened the desk drawer of the dead Father James and found it stuffed full of those disgusting photographs, nothing had been the same. As she closed her eyes at night, the images of schoolchildren once entrusted to her care swam before her eyes. It took prayers and tears to wash them away.
‘The safe in the wall in the cellar,’ Daisy said. ‘Father James asked me to put a cardboard box of photographs in it. He kept them in there for a man called Arthur. He didn’t like the dark, did Father James. At night he always liked the landing light to be left on. Down in the cellar, it is very dark, so he always sent me instead. I had the notion he was scared.
‘There were some big flat round tins as well, with films in. Sometimes Arthur used to come to the Priory to collect them and sometimes he brought them to the father. Quite often, the two men who worked at the hospital came. You remember them, Sister, they came to the convent one night when the bishop sent them to collect me. ‘But you know, Sister, it wasn’t only Father James who was a bad man, it was the bishop too. I have to tell the police about that now. But I also have to tell them about the photographs in the desk drawer, the ones which you burnt.’
Sister Evangelista felt as though she were falling.
The Four Streets Saga Page 83