Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars

by Jean Grainger

  ‘She is very tired. And she is so devoted to the cause of Irish independence. She didn’t mean anything against poor Jeremy. Her opinions… She is not a supporter of the Allies. But of course, she doesn’t support the other side either. I’m afraid I have to leave you a moment to call Dr Bateman. Can you take a seat here, until Mrs Canty returns? She will see you to your room and feed you to within an inch of your life, and hopefully, you’ll start to feel normal again.’ Then he backtracked, as if worrying that he had sounded as crass as his wife. ‘I mean obviously not normal, not after everything, but maybe you can feel just a little better. Welcome to Dunderrig.’

  While Solange waited for the housekeeper’s re-emergence, she studied her new surroundings. The entrance hall was warm and welcoming, in stark contrast to its mistress. It was as generously proportioned as any reception room and carpeted with a rich red-and-gold rug. The furniture – a hall stand, a writing table and chair, a loudly ticking grandfather clock, and the upholstered chaise longue on which she had seated herself – were all highly polished. Oil paintings – landscapes and horses, mainly – adorned the silk-covered walls. The cantilevered staircase had a deep pile runner at its centre. A passageway led from the hall towards the back of the house. It was down this that Mrs Canty had disappeared and, based on the aromas of baking, it was connected to the kitchen. To her left and right were four large oak doors, also richly polished and all closed. Richard had gone through one of them into what was clearly a doctor’s surgery. Why had Edith insisted Richard call her a different doctor? If she, Solange, had been pregnant with Jeremy’s child, her husband would have been the only doctor she would have trusted to attend her.

  She glanced up to the second floor. The mahogany banister became a small but ornate balcony for the rooms above, all the doors of which opened out onto the landing. The effect meant the entranceway felt like a stage and the upper gallery the viewing point. Solange felt exposed and wished that Mrs Canty would re-appear. She dreaded the possibility of Edith’s return.

  ‘Ah Lord, did he leave you here all on your own? Where’s he gone to, in the name of God? I don’t know what’s happening to everyone in this house, honest to God, I don’t. God knows, in the mistress’s time, Mrs Buckley now, I mean old Mrs Buckley, Dr Richard’s mother, no visitor would have been left alone in the hall, but I don’t know, things are very different around here these days. Poor Dr Richard, home after that terrible war, and you’d think his wife would be happy to see him anyway.’

  The housekeeper’s voice dropped to a whisper as she pointed theatrically upwards while ushering Solange down the passageway into the kitchen.

  ‘She’s a bit of a handful, and she can be very cutting when she wants to be. Poor old Dr Buckley and the mistress, God be good to them, nearly drove themselves cracked trying to please her, but the day young Dr Richard left her here in Dunderrig while he went off to the war was a sad day for this house. At first he’d taken work in Dublin to please her, but he couldn’t rest easy when he heard from your husband about all the terrible goings-on at the front, and in the end nothing would satisfy him but to follow Jeremy to France. He thought his wife would understand how she would be better off waiting for him in Dunderrig, and maybe, look after his parents for him. But she stayed above in her room with a face that’d turn milk sour. Sure, even when the poor doctor got the flu earlier this year, and we lost him, and the mistress less than a week later, not a budge out of herself above! And there were never two kinder people, God rest them. They were lovely, lovely people. I know she’s from Dublin and not used to life in the country, but she’s stuck in something to do with the rising and all that nonsense. Her father was some kind of a bigwig professor in the college up there, and he knew them all, Pearse and Yeats and all of them. We’re not fancy enough at all for her, to my way of thinking. Sure, she just writes letters all day and gets letters back, too. I don’t know whom they’re from, but ’tisn’t right for a married woman to be going on with that kind of thing. Though I keep my own counsel because of course Dr Richard won’t hear a word against her. He was forever writing to us to make sure she was all right, and what have you, and Mrs Buckley decided he had enough to worry about over there so she told him ’twas all grand, but I’d say he got a bit of a land when he met her above in Dublin. Though she came back expecting, so I suppose they must have worked it out some kind of a way.’ She softened, and chuckled.

  Solange found herself standing in the middle of a warm, cosy kitchen that looked out onto a cobbled courtyard. The stones shone in the wet twilight of a winter’s day.

  ‘Now you poor misfortune, you must be perished alive after sitting in that car for so long. My husband Eddie – he does the gardens, you see, and a bit of fetching and carrying around the house – he drove it down to the boat yesterday and got the train and bus back, so ’twould be there for ye when ye got off the boat, and he said it was cosier on the train by far. Sit down there, let you, and I’ll get you a bowl of soup to warm your bones. Were you ever here in Ireland before?’

  Mrs Canty’s patter was so like a babbling brook – comforting and restful, whatever its content – it took Solange a second to realise she had been asked a question.

  ‘In Ireland? Jamais…I mean, No, never. Jeremy always said he would bring me here when the war was over but… Well, that was not meant to be.’ Solange tried to recover, but Mrs Canty noticed the break in her voice. Turning from the large range, she crossed the floor and took Solange by surprise by enveloping her in a warm hug.

  ‘Your husband was a grand lad entirely, and I’m sure you brought him great joy in his short life. ’Tis better you had him, even for a short time, and had the happiness of a good marriage than years stretching out without it.’ And she nodded knowingly again in the direction of upstairs.

  Anxious not to take sides, Solange said, ‘Perhaps things will be better after the arrival of the new baby? Madame Buckley is probably just tired. I do not know myself as I have no children, but I imagine the last weeks can be exhausting. So perhaps once the baby is born safe and well, Madame Buckley will feel better?’

  ‘Hmm. I don’t know about that. I was never blessed with children either, but I know plenty of mothers, and none of them are like herself above, I can tell you that.’

  Mrs Canty placed a steaming hot bowl of creamy vegetable soup and a slice of brown soda bread thickly spread with butter on the table in front of Solange. After the deprivation in France, the richness of the food was glorious. Realising that she was very hungry, she ate greedily while Mrs Canty continued in the same vein.

  ‘I don’t know what to make of her. She arrived here with all her grand notions, but then she didn’t change one thing about the place. I mean, even before she was expecting, you’d think a young bride coming into a place, especially a place like Dunderrig, would want to put her own stamp on the house. But ’twas as if she was a guest, and one that mightn’t be staying at that. Very vexed she was with Dr Richard, over him joining up, I suppose, but ’twasn’t as if she was heartbroken without him. Sure, she has no meas on him at all, she treats him no better than an auld stray dog. His parents now, the old doctor and Mrs Buckley, they idolised young Richard. He was their only one, you see. They nearly went out of their minds with worry when he went over there to France, and who could blame them? Sure what has France to do with us here?’

  Suddenly remembering that Solange was French, Mrs Canty corrected herself hastily, ‘Not that we thought the other side should win or anything… But it’s just they were so worried, and him the only son of the house and all, but when they heard he was going to be with Jeremy, well that made them feel a bit easier in their minds. They were mad about Jeremy. We all were.’

  ‘My husband loved you all, too. And he never wanted Richard to leave his parents. In truth, he was angry when Richard followed him. He didn’t want his friend to be in danger, even though when Richard came, Jeremy was so happy to see him and so glad to have the help of such a good doctor.’<
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  Remembering her young husband’s concern for his friend, Solange felt very far from home, and from him. Jeremy had been the essential link between her and Richard; in Amiens, she had only ever met the Irish doctor in Jeremy’s company. Richard had never called on her separately or even chatted to her apart from a polite enquiry after her health. Yet here she was in Richard Buckley’s house, in this foreign country so far from anything she’d ever known, and without Jeremy. Perhaps this had been a terrible mistake. Yet there was nothing left to which to return. Maman and Papa both gone, Pierre and Jean-Paul too, and the city in ruins. You can’t ever go back, only forward. She had no choice. Richard had saved her from a life inhabited only by ghosts. At least here in this strange place she could be of use – help with the new baby, and begin again. Richard had thrown her a lifeline, and though at the moment drowning seemed like a more appealing option, she knew that she could and would survive.

  ‘NOW PETEEN, WE BETTER get you to bed,’ announced Mrs Canty as she ushered Solange upstairs and into a pretty room overlooking the garden. The walls were covered in exotic bird of paradise wallpaper, in royal blue and gold, and on the teak double bed lay a beautifully embroidered cream bedspread. There was a large matching armoire and chest of drawers and a full-length mirror stood on a stand. The room was pleasantly warm and scented by a bunch of snowdrops arranged in a cut-glass bowl on the dresser. Her bags had been delivered to the room, presumably by the reticent Eddie, whom she still hadn’t met.

  ‘Les fleurs…the flowers. They are beautiful.’

  ‘Oh that’s himself, my Eddie, he grows them. Winter and summer he has flowers growing. He has Latin names for everything; you’d be demented trying to remember them all. There’s nothing he can’t grow, that husband of mine.’ Her voice glowed with pride. ‘Now so, let you have a good sleep, and we’ll see you tomorrow sometime. Don’t be in any rush to get up now, do you hear me?’

  Solange slept fitfully, despite the comfortable bed. She tossed and turned and dreamed of France, and of her parents – though never of Jeremy. That often struck her as strange, how his loss was like a large gaping hole of pain in her every waking moment, yet once she slept, he never entered her dreams. The countryside was so quiet; only the crowing of a rooster in the early hours disturbed the peace. Lying awake, she decided to make the best of this situation. She would do her utmost to be a good friend to Richard’s wife. Though Mrs Canty seemed a kind person, there was probably not a woman on earth whom the housekeeper would have thought good enough for her precious young master. And although Edith had seemed very cold and even rude to her at first, Solange acknowledged that if Jeremy had brought a young widow into their home, she too would have been cautious at first, however much she trusted her husband.

  As dawn crept across the sky, she dozed off into a light sleep. She was disturbed by a piercing shriek from across the hall. Dashing out of bed, she threw on her dressing gown and ran in the direction of the sound. She found herself at the door of Edith’s bedroom and hesitated, unsure if Edith was in there alone or if Richard had already joined her. A second later, another loud scream rent the air. This time, tentatively, Solange opened the door. The room was in complete darkness; she moved in the direction of the bed.

  ‘Madame Buckley? Are you well?’ The words sounded foolish to her ears, but she didn’t know what else to say. Moving toward the curtains she pulled them half open, allowing in sufficient dawn light to see Richard’s wife alone in bed, a terrified expression on her face.

  ‘Something…something is happening,’ Edith gasped.

  Solange ran to the bed and, gently moving back the covers, discovered Edith’s waters had broken. Her nightgown was soaking as was the sheet and presumably the mattress beneath. Despite the pain, Edith was clearly mortified by the mess and was trying to cover it with her hands.

  ‘Please, do not worry, Madame,’ Solange said soothingly. ‘This is normal. Your baby is now coming. Please stay calm and I will send for your husband…’

  ‘No!’ Edith screamed.

  Solange was unsure if the woman’s cry related to Richard or to the pain, but Edith was holding her hand so tightly it would have been impossible for her to move away from the bed anyway.

  ‘No,’ repeated Edith, this time as a hiss. ‘Not Richard. I don’t want him seeing me like this. Not Canty either. Get Dr Bateman back.’

  ‘But Madame, I think there may be no time to send for him. I’m sure your husband will be here any moment.’

  Where was he? No one could sleep through these screams. Solange took a deep breath; she must stay calm.

  ‘If you will permit me to examine you, I think we will find that the baby is almost here. Please do not worry, everything is going to be fine.’ Solange was trying to measure the time in between the waves of pain that seemed to grip Edith with such savagery. She’d been present at many deliveries and could tell that this labour was very advanced. Had Edith been having contractions for hours and said nothing until she could bear the pain no longer? Was she that resistant to her husband’s presence?

  ‘Please Madame, please try to relax. I know it is difficult but please trust me, it will hurt less if you…’ frustratingly the English would not come to her… ‘breathe slow and deeply,’ she finished, relieved to have recalled the words. ‘If you can try to relax, you are doing so well and then the baby will be here very soon, and all of this will be over, I promise.’

  Edith’s response was another high-pitched scream. Mrs Canty appeared at the door in her night robe and bonnet. ‘Oh Lord above! It’s time, is it? Dr Richard’s gone out on a sick call, tonight of all nights, and he only in the door. I don’t even know where he is. What should we do?’ Mrs Canty’s voice was rising to a crescendo of panic.

  ‘Please, don’t worry, everything is perfectly normal. I have delivered many babies before.’ A white lie – she’d only ever played a supporting role, and that was when she was still in training – but she had to calm the old housekeeper down. ‘So Mrs Canty, if you can just help me by… No, there is no point now trying to get towels under her. I think the baby is coming soon. Please, go and wash your hands and sterilise some scissors in boiling water and bring them back to me. Now, Madame, please just breathe, oui, yes, very good, you are doing everything beautifully, and very soon you will hold your baby in your arms.’

  Edith’s breathing became deeper and more even as she locked eyes with Solange. Then she screamed again.

  ‘Now, Madame.’ Solange attempted to infuse her voice with both kindness and authority. ‘The next time you feel the pain you must push down very hard. Your baby is almost here. Just a few more minutes and all this will be over, everything will be well. Just keep your energy for delivering your baby. You are doing very well.’

  It seemed that Edith was coming to trust her. As the next contraction came, she gripped Solange’s hand tightly and pushed with every ounce of strength she had.

  ‘Now Madame, the next one will be the one to deliver your baby. Try to pant, like this…’ Solange demonstrated and Edith followed her instructions. The next contraction began to build. Solange moved to the foot of the bed. Between Edith’s legs, the head of the baby was crowning.

  ‘Now, just push very hard, and the little one will be here.’ The infant came slipping from Edith’s body into Solange’s arms. ‘Oh Madame, a little girl, a beautiful little girl!’

  She cut the umbilical cord with the scissors and handed the wailing child to a tearful Mrs Canty, who wrapped the tiny body in freshly warmed blankets. Minutes passed as Solange waited for the placenta to follow. Surprisingly, Edith’s contractions continued without abating. The pain should have ceased with the delivery of the child, but she seemed to be still in full labour.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Edith gasped, terror in her eyes. ‘Why is it not over? You said it would be over once it was born!’

  Solange fought the urge to panic. She looked again between Edith’s legs and was astonished to see another
head crowning. ‘Madame, please do not worry, but there is… Yes, there is another baby. Please, you must push once more.’

  With a loud cry from Edith, the second infant slipped out quickly and easily and was also deposited into the waiting arms of Mrs Canty.

  ‘A little boy! Oh, Madame, how wonderful for you!’

  The two placentas followed and finally Edith lay back on the pillows, exhausted. Solange helped her into a more comfortable position, murmuring soft, soothing words in French. Then she changed the sodden sheets and replaced Edith’s nightgown with a fresh one. Throughout this process the new mother avoided her eyes as if acutely embarrassed by what had just happened. She appeared very self-conscious of her body, even in front of the woman who had just witnessed her giving birth.

  Mrs Canty was busy wrapping up the babies and cooing over them. ‘Oh holy Mother of God. Oh Missus, ye have a pair of beauties here and no mistake.’ She was wiping away tears as the lusty wails of the newborns filled the air. Solange took them from her, wrapped in their warm blankets, and brought them to the head of the bed, preparing to place them in their mother’s arms.

  ‘Félicitations, congratulations, Madame, they are beautiful. I am sure you and your husband will be very proud of them.’

  Edith looked down at her two babies, and to Solange’s dismay, turned with difficulty onto her side, away from them.

  ‘Please take them away, I need to sleep now.’

  ‘Oui, Madame, of course, but perhaps you should feed them first? Then I can take them and bathe them?’ Solange suggested.

  ‘No, I shan’t be feeding them. Please attend to them and do not disturb me.’

  ‘But Madame, how will I…’

  ‘Canty knows where everything is.’ And Edith settled down to sleep.

  ‘I wasn’t sure she’d go through with it,’ Mrs Canty whispered as she and Solange were wrapping up the infants once more, having put napkins on them. ‘But by God, it seems she is. She had some bottles and tins sent over from England a few weeks ago. Nestlé, it says on the labels. She told me that’s what the baby – well, I suppose it’s the babies now – anyway that’s what we’re to feed them. Not nursing her own babies, did you ever hear the like…’