Esty's Gold

by Mary Arrigan

  ‘Oh, Mr Maher,’ said Mrs Reilly, rising up to clutch Papa’s arm. ‘They’re coming. They’ve told us they’re coming. We begged and begged, but…’ she broke off and wrung her hands.

  At that point, Mama sent me from the kitchen. I hung around outside the door for a while to try to make sense of the muffled voices. Then I decided that I didn’t want to hear because I knew from the urgent tone that it was just more trouble. You never grow accustomed to the sound of trouble, it just grinds its way deeper into your mind each time, and you wonder how far it must grind before you have no mind left.

  I ran through the yard, past the stables. I bit back tears of frustration as I kept on running, beyond the bridge end which marked the boundary of Lord Craythorn’s estate. I stopped at the place where a cluster of small cottages had once stood. I often passed this way with Papa when we went to town to order supplies before one of His Lordship’s infrequent visits to the estate. It used to make me laugh when the children from the cottages ran after the pony and trap. It made me feel like a real lady, looking down at the laughing, barefoot youngsters.

  There was no laughing now. The cottages were either deserted or reduced to heaps of stone and thatch after the bailiffs’ wrecking. It was as if everyone had been suddenly swallowed up. I was startled when a man shuffled out from behind one of the cottages. He was holding a cross made from two sticks. The skin on his face was yellowed and saggy, yet he seemed no older than Papa. We looked at one another for a moment. Then he pointed to a small mound of earth beside the cabin.

  ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘My wife.’ He bent down and pushed the cross into the mound.

  ‘Is she dead?’ I asked, then bit my knuckles for asking such a stupid question.

  The man nodded, as he stood upright again and looked at his handiwork. I didn’t know what to do. If I ran away, it would seem rude. So I stood silently too.

  ‘It’s come to this,’ he said eventually. ‘We bury our dead where they die.’ He gestured to the barren fields. ‘All around us, the graves of good people scattered in a dead land. Starved men, women and babes, buried where they fall.’

  Then he stared at me. ‘Where are you going, child?’ he asked, as if he was suddenly aware of my presence. ‘Why are you not with your people? Have they died? You can’t stay here alone. You must find help. You must go to the workhouse.’

  I didn’t know what to say. As he looked at me, I was conscious of my shoes and my warm clothes.

  ‘Are you from the estate?’ he asked.

  I swallowed. I no longer wished to be seen as a privileged lady. I belonged nowhere, and I was feeling guilty just for being alive.

  ‘Are you from the estate?’ he asked again.

  I nodded, and tried to say I was from the Craythorn estate where my Papa was trying to prevent evictions. But the words wouldn’t come, because of the anger in his voice.

  He shook his head slowly and spat on the road, just as Grandpa did when he was angered by people’s words or actions.

  I watched him for a moment, shuffling down the road, his ragged coat flapping. The cross he’d put on his wife’s grave fell over, and I knew it was because he hadn’t had the strength to push it down far enough into the hard ground.

  I didn’t touch it, but turned for home.

  Chapter Three

  I was glad to see that the Reillys had left. I didn’t want to see their troubled faces, knowing I couldn’t help.

  Mama was in the kitchen. It was warm and comforting and I wished we could just close the door and shut out all the misery – Papa, Mama, Grandpa and me.

  I could hear Grandpa coughing in his room at the back. That meant he was reading. He always smoked his pipe when he was reading. Grandpa had once been a teacher. His small school had closed when families moved away to bigger towns in search of work.

  I shared his love of books. ‘Knowledge is the greatest weapon against life’s kicks and barbs,’ he often said. But all the knowledge in the world couldn’t deal with what was happening to us in Ireland.

  ‘Where’s Papa?’ I asked.

  Mama looked up from the turnip she was peeling. Grandpa had buried the turnip crop under rushes and straw to preserve them, but they were starting to rot, just like everything else around here.

  ‘He’s gone to the Big House,’ Mama sighed, paring away some black turnip peel.

  ‘With those men?’

  She nodded, her lips pressed together in that line that always made me fearful.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ I asked. ‘I wish they’d go away, Mama. They scare me.’

  Mama put the clean part of the turnip into a basin of cold water, then dried her hands in her apron.

  ‘They scare all of us, Esty,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing we can do. Papa is trying to make them see reason. He’s taken them to see for themselves the state of the small farms around, to make them understand why the tenants can’t pay their rent.’

  Lucky that I didn’t meet them on the road, I thought. Papa would not have been pleased.

  ‘Will we have to go to the workhouse?’ I asked Mama, as I gathered up the peelings and dumped them into a bucket.

  Mama looked up sharply. ‘What are you talking about, Esty?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I heard that it’s a place where people go who have no homes. Will we have to go there if Papa doesn’t get the rents? You said we’d be beggars if…’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ Mama scolded. ‘I don’t want to hear that sort of talk.’

  ‘Is it a bad place, the workhouse?’ I persisted.

  Mama shook her head. ‘They say the rules are terrible and people lose all their dignity. They have nothing left when they get that far, Esty. No homes, no money, families divided up. It’s bad to have to depend on the charity of others for your very existence.’

  I wished I could tell her about the man I’d met. Tell her about his dead wife in a hole in the ground outside his cottage, and the cross that fell down when he went away. But I could see that Mama was tired.

  When Papa came home later, he was troubled. He sat silently gazing into the flames that flickered between the bars of the range. Mama didn’t ask any questions, and we ate in silence.

  I didn’t sleep that night. I could hear subdued murmurings from the kitchen and I knew that whatever had happened between Papa and those men was being discussed. When you have only hints, denials and half-knowledge, your imagination wraps them into a gigantic trouble that fevers your sleepless mind. Not knowing is far more frightening than knowing.

  So I was wide awake when I heard voices early next morning, just before daybreak. Papa? I ran downstairs in my nightdress.

  Mama, white-faced and pleading, was trying to prevent Papa from leaving.

  ‘What can you do?’ she cried. ‘You can’t stand up to their might...’ She broke off when she saw me on the stairs. ‘Go back to bed, Esty,’ she said.

  ‘Papa?’ I ran to my father. ‘Where are you going, Papa?’

  He smiled, and lifted me up. ‘I’ll be back for breakfast,’ he said. ‘You be a good girl.’ Then he whispered in my ear, ‘You’re my strong sweetheart, Esty. You look after Mama for me – all right?’

  I smiled. He was treating me like a grown-up, even if it was with words that had no meaning. Mama was Mama; she didn’t need looking after. I hugged him. His beard tickled my face and his tweed coat felt rough as he let me down.

  Those are the last memories I have of Papa.

  Chapter Four

  A loud knocking on the door came later in the morning. Mama dropped the jug she’d just filled from the bucket of goat’s milk. Grandpa held out his hand to stop her going to the door and opened it himself.

  Mama sank into a chair. What was she afraid of? Her terrified eyes were fixed on the door.

  There were several voices. Then Grandpa came back indoors. His face was ashen. Mama looked at him in silence. I wanted to scream. Something was happening. Something bad.

  ‘Kate,’ he said.
/>
  Mama hid her face in her apron. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘No!’

  I was too frightened to ask what had happened. A cold fear took hold of me. Something had happened that would change our lives – I knew that.

  Some men came in. I recognised them as tenants who used to come and pay their rent to Papa. They stood awkwardly in front of Mama. She looked at them and shook her head.

  ‘I told him,’ she said. ‘I told him he couldn’t take on the might of those…’ Her voice tapered off in a sob.

  ‘He tried, Missus,’ said one of the men, twisting his cap nervously in his hands. ‘He tried talking to them, but they just pushed him away. Then we all tried to stop them.’ He shrugged.

  ‘He fought bravely,’ the other man put in. ‘But Lord Craythorn’s bailiffs were just too strong. Troops, Missus. They had troops with them. They don’t know how things are here. They treated us like criminals. Your husband tried to reason with them, make them understand. But they just got the battering ram and when he stood in their path to stop them, they didn’t stop.’

  Mama suddenly became composed. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Where is he?’ she said evenly. ‘Where is my husband?’

  ‘Outside,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Well, bring him in. We’ll give him a proper wake.’

  Wake?

  ‘No!’ I screamed. ‘No! Papa’s not dead!’

  Grandpa held me while the rest of the men carried in Papa’s body on the door of the very house – the Reillys’ house – that he’d been trying to protect. I bit into my fist. That broken creature laid out on a crude door could not be my Papa!

  But the truth was there. Papa was gone.

  A few weeks later, I was dusting the sideboard. Doing something familiar can help restore sense to life – that’s what Mama said. The mirror had no magic now. All I could see was my own white face and sunken eyes.

  I’d been used to callers coming to weep with Mama, so I was only mildly curious when a carriage drew up outside. The parlour door opened, and a rustle of silk announced a woman whom I recognised as one of the high-born ladies who had shooed me out of the Big House kitchen. She looked at me and gave a slight nod.

  ‘What a beautiful sideboard,’ she said, running her finger over the polished surface. I automatically wiped the place she had touched, as Mama showed her to the best armchair. Mama looked at me and smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile, it was a mouth smile which had no meaning because her eyes were so anxious.

  ‘Esty,’ she said. ‘Mrs Burgess has come to talk. Will you put on the kettle for some tea?’

  I hopped down from the chair, glad to get away from this haughty lady who seemed all wrong in our parlour. Grandpa was sitting by the range, wiping the eggs he’d collected.

  ‘There’s a lady with Mama,’ I said to him. ‘Mrs Burgess – one of the soup ladies.’

  Grandpa sniffed, and continued wiping the eggs.

  ‘Something to do with the soup, maybe?’ I said, and swallowed hard. ‘Or could it be to put us out of our house?’ From half-heard conversations I was aware that, with Papa gone, we were no longer entitled to live in the middleman’s house.

  Grandpa stopped what he was doing and looked at me sharply. ‘No, lass. She can’t do that. The Burgesses own the mill. She’s probably here to sympathise. Best put on that kettle you’re holding. It won’t boil by itself.’

  He put the bowl of eggs down carefully on the dresser – precious eggs – because we only had three laying hens left. Grandpa had given the rest to some of the destitute callers, including the evicted Reillys who’d gone to live with their son. Grandpa said that they’d get a better welcome if they had a couple of hens to take with them.

  When Mama came to make the tea, I helped her set the tray with the best china that my grandma had left her, along with the sideboard. They had been Grandma’s wedding presents from the Earl of Kildare. Mama often told me what a fine person Grandma had been.

  ‘She was educated,’ Mama used to say proudly. ‘When she worked as a nursemaid for the Earl, the children’s governess became her friend and taught her to read and write. She passed that on to me.’

  ‘And you passed it on to me,’ I’d laugh. ‘You and Grandpa.’

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, when the tray was set. ‘Come and talk to Mrs Burgess, Esty.’

  ‘No, Mama,’ I replied. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say to her.’

  ‘Do come,’ Mama said. ‘It’s courteous, Esty, to talk to visitors.’

  ‘Please, Mama. I’d rather not.’

  ‘I insist,’ Mama said sharply.

  Grandpa looked at her, but said nothing.

  I frowned, and muttered, ‘All right. But please don’t make me stay for long, Mama.’

  I followed her reluctantly out of the kitchen, glancing back at Grandpa. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled encouragingly.

  Mrs Burgess looked me up and down when I entered the room. I hoped that my shoes were clean and my stockings were smooth.

  ‘So you’re Esther,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ I said with a curtsy, because Mama said that’s what you did in the presence of high-born people.

  ‘Come over here, child, and let me look at you.’

  I looked at Mama, who nodded, and I went towards the lace-gloved hand that stretched out to me. Even through the lace I could feel the coldness of the hand that took mine. I wished she’d let me go.

  ‘Your mama tells me you can read and write, dear. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ I replied. ‘My mama taught me.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Mrs Burgess chuckled. ‘Aren’t you the lucky one, Esther. Not many children of middlemen have such good fortune, you know.’

  At the mention of my father, I wanted to rip my hand away and run from this haughty woman who was making me nervous just by looking at me. But Mama would be horrified.

  Mama poured tea and handed it to Mrs Burgess.

  Mrs Burgess continued to look at me as she sipped her tea.

  ‘Are you a strong girl, dear?’ she asked. ‘You look rather small for your age.’

  ‘Oh, indeed she is, Madam,’ Mama said eagerly. ‘Esther is a very strong girl. She does all sorts of work, don’t you, Esther?’

  I gave Mama a puzzled look, and nodded.

  ‘Run along, child,’ Mrs Burgess said eventually.

  I gave a great sigh of relief and, with another half-curtsy, left them to talk.

  Grandpa was sitting at the range, deep in the thoughts that had preoccupied him since Papa’s death. Deep, sad thoughts just like Mama’s and mine, except that he kept them locked inside, while Mama and I wept away ours.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ I said, sitting on the arm of his chair. ‘I don’t like that woman, Grandpa. She makes me nervous.’

  ‘Me too, lass,’ he said. ‘Full of nonsense. The type who’d like us all to lick her boots, eh?’

  ‘Not me,’ I laughed.

  ‘Me neither,’ he laughed.

  When we heard the front door close, and the crunch of the carriage wheels on the avenue, Grandpa winked at me. ‘She’s flown back to her lair,’ he said.

  We both looked up expectantly when Mama came back into the kitchen, carrying the tray. She said nothing as she moved the china on to the table. Then she wiped the tray and put it on the dresser.

  ‘Well?’ Grandpa said eventually. ‘What did the grand Mrs Burgess have to say?’

  Mama came over and took my two hands in hers.

  ‘Esty,’ she said, looking into my eyes. ‘Mrs Burgess is taking you on.’

  ‘What!’ Grandpa exclaimed, jumping up from his chair.

  ‘What do you mean, Mama?’ I cried.

  ‘Oh, Kate,’ Grandpa said, putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘Esty’s so young.’

  Mama hung her head for a moment, then looked up at me. ‘It’s for the best, Esty,’ she said. ‘We have to leave this house soon. You’ll have a good home and learn to be a lady’s mai
d. Mrs Burgess has promised that you will be well looked after. A lady’s maid, Esty! Just think: in a few years you could be in London, Paris even, as personal maid to some high-born lady!’

  ‘I don’t want to be a lady’s maid,’ I protested. ‘I want to stay here with you and Grandpa. Don’t send me away, Mama. Please.’

  I ran to Grandpa and he held me close. ‘Listen to your mama,’ he said.

  Mama slowly shook her head. ‘We have no choice, Esty,’ she said tearfully. ‘Very soon we’ll have to find a cottage somewhere. At least I’ll know that you are being looked after, that you’ll be spared all that. Don’t you see, dearest? We have no choice.’

  Grandpa sat down again and hung his head.

  ‘So it’s come to this,’ he murmured.

  Chapter Five

  When Mrs Burgess’s pony and trap came to collect me three days later, Grandpa didn’t come to the door to see me off. I knew he was in his room, and Mama said it was best to leave him be.

  It was just as well. I was trying so hard to be brave. I knew that if Grandpa was there, I’d let go of all the frightened, frustrated screams that were in my chest.

  Mama held me very close as the Burgess’s groom lifted my bag into the trap.

  ‘You’ll be well looked after, Esty,’ she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. ‘Just think’ – her voice took on a forced note of jollity – ‘you’ll be the baby of the staff and everyone will want to mother you.’

  I just want you to mother me, I thought. But that would upset her.

  ‘Don’t look back, Esty,’ she said as she helped me into the trap, ‘It’s easier if you don’t.’

  I nodded, fighting back my tears.

  With a ‘Hup!’ from the groom, and a crack of the whip, the trap moved off. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out.

  I looked at the groom. He was young, about nineteen, and had a strong face. Perhaps he’d be nice to me. I would talk to him on the journey and he might watch out for me at the Burgess estate.

  When we reached the end of the avenue, I looked back. Grandpa had come out and was standing with his arm around Mama. Her head was on his shoulder, her hands over her face, just like the day we’d buried Papa.