Anger surged through Victoria. A strong compulsion to defend herself and Brendan fuelled her and she stood up.
‘How dare you accuse me of such behaviour? Brendan Lynch and I are friends, nothing more.’
Lady Ennis put her hand to her throat. ‘Friends? With a footman?’
Victoria ignored her.
‘Who told you these lies?’
‘Your mother’s maid Fox has seen you together on numerous occasions,’ said Lord Ennis.
‘Immelda Fox? You can’t believe her. She hates me!’
‘Mr Burke has confirmed it. In fact, he confronted the man in question this afternoon and he admitted it. He has been sent away.’
‘You can’t sack him, Papa,’ cried Victoria. ‘He did nothing wrong. Neither of us did anything wrong.’ Tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘Can’t you see how it has been here for me? I feel like a prisoner. I have no one to talk to. You are all so wrapped up in your own lives you have no time for me. I have no money of my own or I would have run away long ago.’
Lord Ennis moved closer to his daughter and his voice grew softer.
‘If you were that unhappy, Victoria, you should have come to me.’
‘You’re never here, Papa. You can’t wait to get away from this gloomy place, and I don’t blame you. I would think you’d understand.’
In contrast to her husband, Lady Ennis’s tone was cold.
‘Mere unhappiness and boredom do not give you licence to disgrace yourself and your family. What would society think if they heard of this behaviour?’
‘That’s all you care about, Mama. What will society think? Well I don’t care what society thinks. Brendan is a good man. But you do not see him as a person. None of the servants are people to you. They do not count as equal – they do not count as living, breathing souls with feelings and hopes and disappointments and joy, just like the rest of humanity. You hardly acknowledge their existence at all. The only time you notice them is if they fail to serve you in some way. You are the ones whose behaviour is disgraceful, not me.’
Lady Ennis turned to her husband.
‘This all started with that peasant girl, Edward. You see now what evil she sowed in this girl’s head, and in our lives?’
‘This isn’t Rosie’s fault,’ said Victoria. ‘Don’t blame it on her. I was as caught up in this life as all the other girls my age, going to balls, travelling on the continent, having servants. It took my witnessing how you treated her in Dublin to see how cruel you are – we all are – to people like her. And I don’t want to be part of that any more.’
Lady Ennis’s expression hardened. She waved her hands in agitation.
‘What matters now, Victoria, is saving your reputation, or what is left of it. You may not realize, but if this “dalliance” were known you would be an outcast in society.’
‘Spoiled goods,’ said Lady Louisa.
‘When you come to your senses, and you will,’ her mother continued, ‘you will see that I am right. Your father and I have discussed it, and we feel the best course of action is to send you away from here for a while.’
‘Good. I’ll leave tonight.’
‘Don’t be impetuous, Victoria,’ said Lord Ennis. ‘We have thought about this and what is best for you. Many young ladies of quality are now entering the profession of nursing, so I’m told. They are doing this as part of preparation for the war which appears inevitable. They are training to nurse soldiers when they come home from the front. Therefore, such pursuits are looked upon as appropriate while the war persists.’
Victoria waited. A faint hope rose in her heart.
‘I have a good friend in Dublin, Dr Cullen, who is a fine physician. He runs a small but elite clinic. I spoke with him by telephone today and he has agreed to take you on and give you training. My sister, Lady Marianne, has agreed to let you stay with her.’
Lady Ennis began to protest but her husband put up his hand.
‘It has been settled, Thea. It will attract less attention if Victoria is staying with her aunt. You know how these society matrons can be if they sniff a scandal. This matter must be kept within the family.’ He turned to Victoria. ‘You will travel to Dublin with me next Sunday. I shall see you safely settled with Lady Marianne and Dr Cullen before I leave for London and Parliament.’
Victoria nodded. ‘Very well. May I be excused now?’
‘Well, that’s the young miss gone as well. Ennismore will be a lonely place with just themselves left. If it wasn’t for the gossoon, Julian, there’d be no life here at all!’
Mrs O’Leary sat down on a kitchen chair. An unexpectedly violent late spring storm had made her legs swell and thrown her into a foul mood. She chastised young Thelma so often that the maid had threatened to leave and join the convent. The rest of the servants were glum as well. Sadie was particularly upset.
‘Now that Brendan’s gone, I don’t suppose they’ll be taking on a new footman. After all, his lordship was too tight-fisted to replace poor Sean after he drowned, God rest his soul. Now, it looks like I’ll have to do two footmen’s jobs as well as my own, and not a penny extra will I get for it.’
Mr Burke appeared behind her.
‘You should be honoured to do your bit for King and country, Miss Canavan. As you are well aware, there will be no suitable young men to be found when the war comes. All of the great houses will have to make do with fewer staff.’
Sadie glowered at Mr Burke, while Mrs O’Leary laughed aloud. ‘Do ye hear that now? We’ve been slaving in a great house all these years and none of us knew it.’
Mr Burke pulled himself up straight and frowned. ‘Ennismore may not be as grand as Westport House and the like, Mrs O’Leary, but the Bell Family are as fine as any aristocrats in Great Britain.’
‘You’re forgetting we’re in Ireland, not Great Britain,’ put in Anthony Walshe, who had just come in to the kitchen.
Suddenly, Mr Burke pounded his fist on the table. His face turned crimson and his eyes blazed like a man finally pushed beyond his limits.
‘I will not have this constant defiance from all of you,’ he shouted. ‘God knows you were always inclined to unruliness. I have managed to maintain order only by wielding a strong hand. But lately . . . lately your attitudes border on insubordination. I will have no rebellion in this house!’
The staff stared at him in shocked silence. Not even Anthony could manage his usual witty response. They watched as the air seemed to seep out of the butler, as if the effort at control had been too much for him. Mrs Murphy, who was watching from the doorway, went over and took his arm.
‘Come on now, Mr Burke,’ she said. ‘I have household matters that need your attention.’
With that, she led him away towards his study.
Sadie let out a sigh. ‘Would ye believe the likes of that if ye hadn’t seen it with your own eyes?’
Anthony sat down near the stove and lit his pipe. ‘Ah, sure isn’t everybody out of sorts over this bloody war. We’re all anxious over what’s going to happen to us – even the gentry. His lordship and her ladyship have lost one son to drowning and may stand to lose another one to the war. And the rumours of an uprising here at home are all around us.’
Immelda, who had remained silent and expressionless up until now, suddenly spoke up.
‘Well, I for one have no pity for the gentry. Look at what they’re after doing to poor Brendan, turning him out without a penny on account of the lies that young one told about him. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Ah, you’re wrong there Immelda,’ said Sadie. ‘I’d say there was fault on both sides. Brendan had no business taking up with her, and she had no business allowing it.’
‘Aye,’ said Immelda, ‘but who’s the one who got the punishment? Brendan, not herself. She’ll be away now to live a fancy life in Dublin, and he’ll be out on the road like a beggar. He’ll never get another job in service.’
Anthony tamped down the tobacco in his pipe. ‘Sur
e he was never a great man for service anyway. He hated the gentry.’
‘Except for Miss Victoria,’ put in Sadie.
‘Aye, well, be that as it may,’ continued Anthony, ‘I’d say Brendan is well on his way to joining up with the Irish Volunteers. Revolution was all he ever talked about. And now he has even more reason to want it.’
Mrs O’Leary shook her head. ‘I admit I had no love lost for Brendan, but I have to agree with Immelda. ’Twas him got the short end of the stick this time. The same thing could happen any of us. Themselves will always stick together when trouble comes – we’re the ones they’ll take it out on. We should never forget our place.’
Silence fell upon the kitchen as the servants became lost in their own thoughts. The rest of the house was often silent but the kitchen and servants’ hall always pulsed with life. Now, on this late spring evening of 1914, it seemed that the very heart of Ennismore had stopped beating.
CHAPTER 18
The Dublin strikes ended and Micko returned to his job at Boland’s Bakery. Rosie was sacked. She had never disclosed to Micko where she was working for fear of his wrath. Because she worked nights he assumed she had taken his advice and become a prostitute on Sackville Street. She let him think it, enduring his lewd remarks for the sake of peace. While she had grown thin because she ate little so there would be more food for Bridie and Kate, her bearing of gentrification had become so much a part of her she could not shed it. The other workers took her for an outsider and looked on her with suspicion. She did her best to ignore their taunts. It was worth putting up with them for Bridie’s sake. For all this, the months of work had been good for her, giving her a sense of purpose.
Dublin was filled with talk of war. Many young men looked forward to signing up with the British Army, and not all for patriotic reasons. A stint in the army offered steady pay and the possibility of adventure in foreign lands. Micko dismissed the idea.
‘I’ll not sign up to take the King’s shilling,’ he declared, ‘and I curse them that does.’
Rosie wondered if Valentine would sign up when the time came. He had always talked about the obligation of duty. But he had a wife and son now, and he was the only surviving son of the Bells. She dismissed the thought. Anyway, she had herself to worry about since she was out of work again. She tried to imagine her options, but realized she had none. She had ignored invitations from Lady Marianne to come and see her. The lady had said she wanted to help her, but after the last humiliation, how could Rosie ever trust her?
One late April evening, after a long day of searching for work, Rosie dragged herself back to Foley Court and wearily climbed the stairs. She opened the door and froze where she stood. There, in the middle of the room, stood Victoria and Lady Marianne’s maid, Celine. She saw that the shock on Victoria’s face equalled her own. Whether it was from exhaustion, embarrassment or Victoria’s striking likeness to Valentine, Rosie didn’t know, but a hot anger blazed through her at the sight of her old friend.
‘What is it you want?’ she said
Rosie was aware of her shabby dress, thin, drawn face and aura of desperation, but in spite of all of it she thrust her chin out stubbornly and stared at Victoria.
‘I asked what you want,’ she said again.
Victoria fidgeted with her reticule. ‘I came to see you, Rosie,’ she said, and then, looking around the room, ‘Is there somewhere we can go?’
Rosie’s stubbornness grew. ‘Whatever you want to say you can say it here in front of Bridie.’
Bridie had picked up Kate and moved to a corner of the room. Micko was not at home, for which Rosie was grateful. She took a shiver of pleasure at Victoria’s obvious discomfort. Celine was expressionless, but then Celine had been to Foley Court before. Victoria looked around for somewhere to sit and Bridie hurriedly wiped off the only chair. Victoria sat down gingerly. Rosie closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
‘If you’ve come with more word from your aunt that she wants to help me, you’ve wasted your time. I already told her no.’
Victoria’s face paled. ‘I-I came to tell you good news, Rosie. I have come to Dublin for good. I shall be taking up nursing.’ She paused and looked down at her knees. ‘I was hoping you’d be pleased to see me.’
Some of Rosie’s anger diminished as she looked at Victoria’s earnest face.
‘Why have you come to Dublin?’ she asked. ‘Was it of your own accord?’
A faint flush spread across Victoria’s face and throat. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But I was glad of the excuse.’ She hesitated for a moment then drew a deep breath. ‘Do you remember Brendan Lynch?’
‘The footman? Yes.’
‘Well, he and I became friends. And Papa and Mama found out about it and they insisted on my being sent away. They arranged that I should come to Dublin.’
Rosie sensed there was more. ‘What do you mean by “friends”?’
Victoria flushed again. ‘It was more than that. I grew very fond of him. And he of me. And then that troublemaker Immelda Fox saw us kissing in the garden and . . .’
‘What happened to Brendan?’
‘They sacked him,’ Victoria said in a whisper.
There was silence for a moment and then Rosie’s wrath burst like a thunderclap over the room. ‘For the love of God what is wrong with you and your kind? Do you not see that the likes of Brendan and myself are real people – not your playthings to toss aside when you have done with us? Get out now! I want nothing more to do with the Bell family. I will never trust any of you again.’
Rosie trembled as she opened the door wide.
‘Please, Rosie,’ Victoria said, ‘please don’t reject me. I have done nothing wrong. I loved him.’
‘Just as Valentine loved me?’
Victoria looked around in desperation. ‘Please, Rosie,’ she said again, ‘I need your friendship. I even risked coming to this place to find you.’
It was the worst thing Victoria could have said. Even Bridie sensed the danger as she reached out to restrain her sister.
‘She doesn’t mean anything by it, Rosie. Let her go.’
Rosie looked from her sister to Victoria and around the room, observing the scene through her old friend’s eyes. Of course Victoria was disgusted by what she saw. Hadn’t she herself been when she first entered Foley Court? But all Victoria’s words had done was reinforce how different their two worlds were, and how the two could never be reconciled. She bit back the angry words she was about to hurl Victoria’s way. What good would it do to scold her for her honesty?
She opened the door wider and put out her arm, pointing to the hallway. ‘You’d better go now,’ she said, ‘both of you.’
Rosie had expected Victoria to slink away full of apologies, as she always did after an exchange like this. But this time she was wrong. Victoria stood up but did not move. Her face bore an expression of defiance Rosie had never seen before.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Victoria began, ‘can you not let bygones be bygones? Stop blaming me for what my family and society has done to you. I am not my mother, or my brother, or my aunt, all of whom you rightly claim have treated you badly. I am Victoria and I am your one friend. And I am tired of apologizing to you.’
Rosie opened her mouth to protest but Victoria held up her hand. ‘We are not children any more and we need to accept our lives as they are. Yes, you have suffered, but so have I in ways you can never understand. We have both been prisoners of our class. But what good is dwelling on the past? We have it within our power to change our futures. If you insist in wallowing in the wrongs that have been done to you, you will only succeed in destroying any chance our friendship may have to survive. It’s your decision, Rosie.’
With that, Victoria marched out of the room, Celine behind her, leaving Rosie and Bridie to stare after her.
After Victoria and Celine left, Rosie slumped down on the chair. Bridie watched her in silence. An hour passed and Rosie felt the room closing in on her. She began t
o sweat and fought back nausea that rose in her throat. She had to get out. Abruptly, without saying a word, she jumped up and ran for the door. She took the filthy stairs two at a time and, ignoring the shouts of the women on the front steps, ran up Foley Court and around the corner. She ran until she reached Sackville Street and, without any thought of where she was going, kept on until she came to the River Liffey.
It was only when she reached the O’Connell Bridge that she let herself relax. She bent over, struggling to regain her breath which came in jagged waves. She reached for a nearby bench and sank down on it. She felt her essence – the Rosie she had been – ebb out of her, her emotions flattened like bread dough pounded under her mother’s hand – all the air gone out of them.
Passers-by glared at her as if she were one of the shawlie women who lined the bridge, begging. She sat motionless, head down, unaware of time passing, lost in images of her past – the classroom at Ennismore, waving farewell to Victoria as she rode off to Dublin for the first time, Valentine’s last kiss on New Year’s Eve. Then more recent memories surfaced – her disgrace at the Metropole Ball, her last meeting with Valentine and today’s confrontation with Victoria. She sighed. Her final connection with the Bells was broken. She no longer hung suspended between two worlds. It was as if all those memories were now erased and she had landed squarely back in the world she had left when she was eight years old.
The smell of cheap perfume began to choke her and she lifted her head. Two women leaned over her, their painted faces so close she could smell their putrid breaths. One grabbed her arm, fingernails piercing her sleeve and digging into her flesh.
‘G’wan outta that,’ she hissed, ‘ye fuckin’ hooer. Who said you could sit there?’
Rosie looked at the woman and then at her companion who stood, hands on her hips, glowering down at her. She realized at once that they were Dublin prostitutes and that she sat on the bench they had claimed for themselves. She knew from her many walks through the city that prostitutes marked out their territories and fiercely defended them from newcomers. In the past she might have refused to move, but tonight she was weary. She began to stand up but not before the two women set upon her and began pummelling her, their curses heating up the cold air.
The Girls of Ennismore Page 18