“Moving on to bigger and better ‘ting’s Oorna.” She kept her eyes on her work at hand.
Oorna hopped out of bed in a flash. “Ye’re leaving home? Are ye goin’ to California?”
Bridget gave a small laugh. “Nooo… just over to the better part of town! I’ve got a live-in position with the Crawley family!”
Oorna’s eyes opened wide. “The war hero major? The family ye’ve been doin’ the wash for?”
“Aye.” She finished filling the first basket and went to the wardrobe where her coat and two dresses were hanging. “The missus is having another bairn, an’ wants me to look after her two girls and the house.”
Tipping her nose into the air, she strutted across the room in her best La-Di-Da fashion . “It would seem that her delicate and ladylike constitution is not conducive to the act of childbearing.” She turned and faced Oorna, fists on her waist. “So the weakling English crumpet needs me help and is paying me a good penny and room and board!” She clapped her hands. “I’ll be able to save almost all of me pay!”
“But…”
She spoke in a torrent of words to hold back the water flooding her sister’s eyes. “And then I’ll be able to afford to go to California after the babe’s born! I’ll become a big star in the moving pictures and send for ye, and we’ll live by a swimming pool in the wintertime! Isn’t it grand, Oorna?”
“But ye’ll be leavin’ us, Bridey? Ye’ll be goin’ away?” Oorna burst into tears and was swept up in her sister’s arms.
“Shhh…. Shhh… craitha’… I’ll be only a short ways away…” She placed her hands on Oorna’s shoulders and looked in her eyes. “‘Tis only over on Harvest Street!”
Oorna’s eyes brightened, but just for a moment, looking down to the floor she said, “And then it’s off to California…”
“Not for some time, darlin’!”
Hugging Bridget, Oorna’s said in a soft voice, “Maybe ‘ting’s will change for the better and ye’ll never leave.”
Chapter 3
Kevin Crawley closed the textbook on his lectern. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Opening them he looked out over the thirty uniformed cadets in the lecture hall. He despised this part of his guest lectures. “And now, I’ll take any questions.” Thirty hands flew up. With a sigh he pointed to a student in the front row.
The boy snapped out of his seat at full attention. “Major sir! This cadet is grateful for your instruction today and hopes that you can share with us some of your personal experiences in battle. While the textbook is a worthy source of information as to troop dispersals, objectives and resources applied, it lacks any sense of the human experience in such circumstances.”
With a slow nod, Kevin bade the student to be seated. Another request for war stories. These boys were so eager to hear of the glory and fighting. They’ve gotten their tales from story books as far as he was concerned. No report, not any account, neither his nor any other man’s could ever prepare one for the roiling hell of battle when the first shot is fired and the trench commander blows his whistle.
He took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, it is my fervent prayer that not one of you ever has need to rise from a trench to attack the enemy.” He folded his arms. “But should that be your duty, show no mercy, grant no quarter until told to do so by a superior.”
“Keep killing until told to stop, like you did in the trenches, sir?”
Kevin nodded. “Killing a man face-to-face with a mounted bayonet is different than shooting at him from a hundred feet away, cadet.”
“You would know that, sir. They called you Terror of The Trenches, didn’t they?” The rest of the class sucked in their breath.
“Where did you hear that term, cadet?”
“It was in the newspaper, sir, after the battle of The Somme.” The lad shook his head slowly. “I never forgot the story.”
Kevin’s voice became low as he looked past the students to the rear wall of the classroom. His memory’s gaze continued across the Atlantic to the fields of France on that bloody, vicious day. “There is no time to think, nor reload your rifle. And the more of the enemy you kill, the fewer of your own lads would die…” he refocused his gaze on his class. “And the sooner peace will come.” He sighed. “At the end of that day, the mud in the trenches had thickened from all the spilled blood.”
“But not yours, sir.”
He shook his head. “By the grace of God not mine, no.” He wondered when God would call in that debt.
***
The best part of giving the guest lecture that day was he was able to go home early. He left the lecture hall and walked to the field where automobiles were parked. The chilly March winds whipped across his clean-shaven face as he crossed the field. He rubbed his chin ruefully. He had tried to grow a beard after he returned home to Canada, but sad to say, it came in thin and scraggly. Perhaps in eight years when he turned forty, he would try again.
When he got to his automobile, Colonel George Larsen was waiting for him, leaning against the passenger side door, one foot up on the running board, and a cigarette between his fingers.
He snapped off a sharp salute to the man when he got within arm’s length.
The colonel lazily returned the salute. “Enough of the decorum, Kevin—let’s get a move on, I’m dying of thirst!”
“Parched, eh, George? It’s only March and you’re acting like it’s the dog days of August.” He got behind the steering wheel and started the car as George got in the other seat.
“It’s a Friday afternoon, and we’re done till Monday. That’s good enough for me. Onward major! The Prince George Hotel forthwith, before they run out of beer!”
“Yes, sir!” Kevin put the car in gear and began navigating toward the highway which would take them across the bridge and to the colonel’s favorite watering hole on Ontario Street. It had been their Friday afternoon tradition. Kevin would drive his friend to the bar dropping him off there and continue home to Melanie.
George twirled his mustache as he looked over to his friend and protégé. “Heard some interesting scuttlebutt at lunchtime mess today, Kevin.”
“Oh? You’re going to take a wife?”
“Perish the thought!” He arched an eyebrow. “Even so, my scuttlebutt may improve your bride’s disposition.”
“Oh really? My Melanie’s a happy enough woman as it is.” He looked over. “You do have me curious though. What’s the news?”
“Your wife’s dream may soon come true. There’s talk of transferring you to Ottawa for a bit, and then shipping you and your family back over to London next year.”
Kevin slammed on the brakes in surprise. “You’re joking!”
“Now don’t breathe a word of it to your lovely wife, Kevin. It’s not set in stone. But… the conversation was that your presence in London would be an asset in England supporting them for giving Ireland its independence. There’s a lot of squalling from the other side, and to have an Irish hero decorated by the king himself could calm frayed nerves. A gentle push to our cousins across the sea toward peace.”
“I’d be part of the diplomatic staff?”
George nodded. “Their parliament was open to the idea of Irish independence considering how awful it went for the Russians since the Great War. If they let the Irish make their own way, there’d be no risk of a civil war, you see.” He gave a rueful smile. “But there’s second thoughts a brewing and the thinking is someone like you can nip that in the bud.” He sighed. “Everyone’s tired of war.”
Kevin shook his head. Melanie’s dream was to leave Kingston for Ottawa, the nation’s capitol. She missed terribly a large city since emigrating as his bride. But to be able to go home to London! She’d be in seventh heaven!
Kevin eyed his friend and mentor sideways. “Who introduced this possibility at the meeting?”
With a snort, George replied, “You even have to ask?”
His voice like a schoolboy’s Kevin replied, “But Colonel, sir! Were I to go to London,
who would be your protégé?” He said it with a smile at the end, but was in fact more than a little curious.
“I’m going to be retiring, Kevin.” George flicked his cigarette butt out the window. “I was informed that I won’t be rising any further in rank.” He gave his head a shake. “In fact, were I to stay on after my thirtieth year, I’d be transferred to the most remote command they can find for me.” He gave a small smile. “I’ve gotten a little too long in the tooth for this young man’s job.” He held his hands apart. “Thusly and therefore old boy, I called in every favor, every connection and every smidge of goodwill to begin this next chapter in your life simmering.” Turning to his side, he clapped Kevin’s shoulder. “God could never give me a better son than you, old boy.”
Kevin gave a slight nod. In a low voice he said, “I’ll ensure your trust isn’t misplaced, George.”
“When you’re over there, just don’t kill any more Germans, all right?”
Kevin’s head twisted to look at his friend and he took his foot from the accelerator. George was staring at him silently. “For the love of God, George, it’s been done with for years!”
“Ten years, Kevin.” He held a hand up. “Let’s not forget though, how much you enjoyed the killing. You were first over the trenches on our side so you could be first into their trench line.” He leaned in, gently resting a hand on the man’s upper arm. “I’ve never told a soul about those ears you took.”
“I was young and full of bloodlust, George. Those days are long past.” The automobile had come to a stop on the roadway again as Kevin stared into George’s eyes. He turned his head and the car started moving again. “Trust me, any Hun I meet in England will be safe.”
“Good!” In spite of his satisfied tone, George still looked at Kevin as they continued on their way.
“Oh, and one more thing, old boy. You’d be kicked up a rank as well. Couldn’t have a lowly major hobnobbing in embassies and so forth, wot?” George had a sly smile.
“George you should change your name to Nicholas! Saint Nicholas! This is like Christmas!”
The bridge traffic was quite light that afternoon and he pulled to a stop in front of the Prince George Hotel.
Opening his door, George said, “Now mum’s the word to the missus, Kevin. You know how these things can get bollixed up at the drop of a hat, all right? Wait until the orders come through. It won’t be until the end of the year at the earliest anyway.” He raised a finger. “You best make sure to come to the May twenty-fourth garden party this year though, my friend. The governor general is coming from Ottawa and would care to look you and your family over.”
Kevin grimaced. “Oh? Sort of like an audition?”
George smiled. “I think he wants to ogle your beautiful wife if you want the truth. She’s a smasher and you know it.” He shrugged and held up his hands. “The court of St. James’ is about as high class as you can get, you know. So for the love of God, don’t be picking your nose or farting, all right?”
With a smile, Kevin shook his fist at his friend. “I’ll just make sure I’m at your side through the entire affair. Next to you, a gorilla would look like a lord!”
George stepped out of the car. Just before he closed the door, he said, “The party’s not for another two months, and by that time we should have a good idea if this is still a live plan. If it is, you’ll be able to give Melanie fair warning.”
“Fair enough George. Thanks for the news!”
“Remember, mum’s the word for now, Kevin.” With a small wave, George turned and went in the side door to the men’s tavern at the St. George Hotel.
***
The front door to his home opened when he reached for the doorknob. Kevin’s eyes widened in surprise to see Bridey Walsh holding the door for him. She was wearing a black dress, long white apron and maid’s cap along with a bright smile.
“Welcome home, Major!” she said.
“Bridey… what…?”
“Mrs. Crawley would be seeing you right away in the parlor, sir. Let me take your coat.”
He slipped his uniform coat off, handed it to the girl and went to the parlor.
Melanie was on the settee waiting for him. Tea for two was laid out on the table before her. She was wearing a quite-smart, orange dress trimmed in a blue which matched her eyes.
“Come in, darling and have a cup of tea. The girls are up for a nap.” She gave a nod to Bridey, who pulled the sliding doors to close them.
“Melanie, you look lovely.” He took a seat beside her as she poured. He shot a look toward the parlor door. “Bridey’s in a maid’s uniform?”
“Yes, dear. I’ve taken the liberty yesterday to hire her on, full time.”
“Oh? Without consulting me?” He ducked his head and looked at her. “You must have a good reason for this I assume.”
Melanie’s lips formed a perfect Cupid’s bow in a smile and she nodded. She turned to him. “I do, indeed. I’ll need her help full time, you see.”
He inhaled sharply. “Why is that? Are you ill, darling?” Oh God, please no!
“No… well, only in the morning. And that will pass in a short while.” The bafflement on his face must have been too much for her to take. She burst out laughing. “I’m expecting another baby, Kevin!”
“What!”
She nodded. “The doctor confirmed it this week.”
“Oh my love…” he scooted over, took her in his arms and kissed her gently. “That’s wonderful news!”
“And yes, Kevin, you get to choose the name of this new baby as we agreed!” She rubbed his hair.
“Then it will be Eamon if it’s a boy, and Sarah if it’s a girl!”
“What? Sarah? Not Agatha or Annabelle?”She gave a small laugh.
“No. Sarah… for my baby sister back home who died of the consumption.” He had a wistful look. I loved that child with all me heart.”
“I know, Kevin, so you told me.” She rubbed his arm. “And so you’ll love Sarah as strongly then!”
He nodded, smiling. Then a shadow crossed his face. “Wait. You had a terrible time delivering the twins! What has the doctor said?”
“That’s why I hired Bridget. I’m to rest in the afternoons, so she will look after the girls. I’ve given her the bedroom at the front of the house. She’ll be here full time with Saturdays off and evenings free when the girls are down for the night.”
“But I thought you were going to have an English girl, dear. I thought you wanted to have a proper nanny.”
She nodded. “This came up so quickly that I needed to secure someone right away.” Her hand rose in a small, dismissive wave. “Besides, Bridget will probably be moving on in a year or so—then I can engage a proper nanny.”
“A proper English nanny, you mean.”
“Of course, dear.” She arched an eyebrow at him and in an affected brogue said, “Or would ye be havin’ ye’re bairns soundin’ like ‘da washerwoman, laddie?”
They both burst out laughing and Kevin raised his hands in mock surrender.
***
On the other side of the parlor door, Bridget’s face flamed scarlet with embarrassment. She turned and walked softly to the kitchen where Mrs. Dowd was preparing the evening meal.
“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Dowd?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could manage.
The Haunting of Crawley House (The Hauntings Of Kingston Book 1) Page 3