by Tara Hyland
But the following day Niamh was just as reticent about her weekend. And over the next week her mood didn’t improve. She seemed, to Cara at least, distant, almost distracted. She stopped eating at mealtimes, leaving the other girls to finish off her food. Even when it was her favourite, honey and lemon carrageen pudding, she had no interest. Cara tried talking to her about it, but she kept insisting that everything was fine.
‘She’s just up herself after being with the Buchanans. She’s got airs and graces now, thinks she’s above us all, isn’t that right?’ Molly teased, prodding Niamh in the ribs.
‘Just leave me alone,’ Niamh said tiredly.
So eventually the other girls did. But Cara couldn’t help being concerned. There seemed to be something seriously wrong with Niamh. She had lost her sparkle, and Cara was sure she could hear her friend crying herself to sleep. There were often tears in the dormitory at night, but Niamh’s seemed to last longer than most. Cara just had no idea what was wrong.
‘I don’t want to go.’
Niamh’s mouth set in a stubborn line. Sister Concepta had come in earlier to say that the Buchanans had offered to have her for the weekend again. It was six weeks since the last outing, and they’d declared it such a success that they wanted her to come back. The nun had said it in a slightly disbelieving tone, as though she couldn’t quite understand why they’d want to spend time with her. But Sister Concepta was a snob; she didn’t want to offend the bigwigs in the area, and she also didn’t want to risk them withdrawing the large donations that they made to the orphanage.
‘Well, they want you, and you’re going,’ she told Niamh firmly. ‘And that’s an end of it.’
Niamh looked so unhappy that Cara felt bad. Things hadn’t really been right between them since that afternoon when her friend had gone off for the first visit. Assuming that Niamh didn’t want to go now because she was afraid of offending her, Cara said, ‘I don’t mind you going, I promise.’
Niamh looked at her blankly. ‘What?’ That confused expression was one she wore a lot these days.
‘I know it’s not your choice,’ Cara tried again. ‘I know that Sister Concepta’s forcing you to go. I honestly don’t hold a grudge if that’s—’
‘For God’s sake!’ Niamh broke in suddenly. ‘You always think everything’s about you, Cara.’ Without another word, she stalked off.
Cara watched her go, open-mouthed. It was so out of character for Niamh to be angry. She wondered what on earth had gone wrong, and why her friend was so reluctant to go back to the Big House.
Chapter Thirty-three
Sister Agnes put a hand on Niamh’s forehead.
‘You don’t seem to have a temperature.’ She studied the girl for a moment. Niamh had been complaining of stomach pains all night, and she looked pale against the white sheets. She hadn’t been right for weeks now, and had grown gaunt and grey. Perhaps it was some long-term ailment – she would have to get the doctor to check the girl out. ‘But you’re clearly too sick to be going anywhere.’
Niamh was meant to be going to the Buchanans’ that afternoon. It was January 1962, and this was the fourth time she’d been invited to the Big House since the visits had begun three months earlier. The nun had already telephoned the family earlier to let them know that the girl might not be able to make it, and they’d suggested she send someone else in her place. Sister Concepta was at a governors’ meeting this afternoon, so that meant the decision rested with Sister Agnes.
‘Cara,’ she smiled kindly at the girl. ‘I think you should take Niamh’s place.’
Cara felt a jolt of excitement at the unexpected news. Finally, she’d be able to get out of here and see what life with the Buchanans was like.
Immediately she set about packing her little bag. She’d nearly finished when she felt a cold hand on her arm, making her jump with fright. It was Niamh. She looked pale, almost ghostly, in her long white nightdress.
‘You frightened the life out of me!’ Cara said, with mock irritation.
But Niamh’s face was serious. ‘Please, Cara,’ she said urgently. ‘Listen to me. Don’t go today.’
Cara frowned, confused. ‘Why ever not?’
Niamh hesitated, and then she shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you.’ Her eyes were pained and pleading. ‘But please, just listen to me. I beg of you: don’t go.’
It was too much for Cara. The gulf between her and Niamh hadn’t healed, and she’d felt sad and frustrated these past few months with the situation. Now, all that anger finally came pouring out. ‘Oh, I get it all right,’ she snapped. ‘You’re probably just worried they’ll prefer me to you.’
She’d been hoping to provoke an argument, so that she could finally find out what was wrong with her friend. But instead, Niamh looked crushed.
‘I’m sorry you think that,’ she said quietly, before turning away.
Cara watched her go back to bed, feeling angry and disappointed that their friendship seemed to be over. Stuffing the last of her belongings in the bag, Cara resolved to forget Niamh and have a good weekend.
To Cara’s surprise, the Buchanans had insisted on coming to pick her up themselves from the orphanage. It was a touching gesture; if it had been her, with all that money and a nice place to live, the last thing Cara would have wanted to do was come out to the dark, depressing convent.
The couple were waiting for her in Sister Agnes’s office. They stood up as she came in, looking if anything even more nervous than her. Both beautifully dressed and holding hands, they were two of the most attractive people she had ever seen – a perfect picture of affluence and good breeding. Virginia Buchanan wore a neat little Chanel suit in candy pink, her expensively coloured blonde hair pulled back into a neat chignon. James Buchanan looked youthful and dapper in a pinstriped three-piece suit. They were like two bright flashes of colour against the grey of the institution.
‘Oh Cara, darling,’ Virginia gushed, as she pulled her into an embrace. ‘It’s so lovely to have you with us. I’ve been absolutely dying to meet you. Niamh won’t shut up about you when she’s with us.’
It was odd to hear that, given how detached Niamh had been acting around her lately. But Cara didn’t have time to dwell on the matter, because Virginia was off talking once more.
‘It’s so perfectly dreadful that she’s ill.’ The English lady’s face dropped for a second, to show how awful this news was, before brightening again. ‘But at least it gives us the chance to meet you.’
Cara listened in stunned silence as Virginia carried on. She’d never met anyone like Mrs Buchanan – someone as bright, decorative and frivolous as a fairy on top of a Christmas tree. At first the girl thought it was simply the excitement of meeting someone new, that Virginia wanted to put her at ease. But she quickly realised that Virginia Buchanan spoke like that all the time, in huge, exaggerated terms: everything was ‘lovely’ and ‘wonderful’. She was someone who clearly loved life, and life loved her right back. It was hard to imagine that anything truly terrible had ever happened to her.
By the time they got out to the car, Cara’s head was spinning. Virginia was listing all the activities they had planned for the weekend. Tennis, riding, walks through the woods . . .
‘And there’s a croquet lawn, of course,’ she twittered on, and then saw the blank look Cara gave her. ‘Oh! Don’t tell me you’ve never played?’
Cara looked between husband and wife. They were all seated in the back of a beautiful cream car – a Jaguar, James had told her. There was a chauffeur up front, and the three of them had piled into the back, Cara happily sandwiched between the two doting adults, like a proper little family.
‘No,’ she said tentatively, in answer to Virginia’s question about whether she played croquet. ‘I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t really know what it—’
‘Oh, well, never mind about that,’ Virginia interrupted. ‘We’ll soon show you, won’t we, darling?’ She turned and smiled up at her husband.
‘Ginny, p
lease,’ James scolded good-naturedly, reaching over to pat his wife on the arm. ‘You’re overwhelming the poor girl.’
Virginia clasped a dainty, gloved hand to her mouth. ‘Oops, silly me. I’m so sorry, Cara, I do run on. Feel free to stop me any time – it’s the only way to get a word in, James always says . . .’
And she was off again. James caught Cara’s eye and shook his head – she’s crazy but I love her, the gesture seemed to say. They made such a perfect couple. She was elegant and beautiful, with a musical voice and an easy laugh. He was handsome and amusing, not stern like a lot of men of his standing, and so clearly doted on his wife. Cara was delighted to feel part of their happiness.
It took twenty minutes to drive to Castle Glen, the Buchanans’ estate. Cara had seen it from a distance before, but close up it was even more impressive. It was typical of all ‘Big Houses’, the country homes of Irish landlords: an elegant white mansion with ornamental gardens, set in hundreds of acres of woodland, where game were reared for shooting, all surrounded by high stone walls to ensure privacy. As they stepped out of the car onto the gravel drive, Cara could hardly believe she was here.
‘It’s amazing!’ she breathed.
James bent down to Cara’s level and asked conspiratorially, ‘Would you like the grand tour?’
‘Of course she would,’ Virginia cried. ‘Come on, darling. Follow me!’
Grabbing Cara’s hand, she dragged her through the house, showing her room after exquisitely decorated room. James followed a little way behind, seemingly content to watch the two females enjoying themselves. The bedrooms were located on the first floor, at the back of the house, overlooking the manicured gardens below. The Buchanans occupied the master suite, which comprised a separate bedroom and bathroom for each of them, linked by an interconnecting door.
‘If you need anything during the night, don’t hesitate to come and wake me,’ Virginia told the girl. ‘Now, let me show you where you’re going to sleep.’
The guest bedroom was located at the far end of the corridor. Cara gasped as Virginia pushed open the door. The room was every girl’s dream: it was all pink, but not in a sickly way. It was pretty and fresh, with its pale pink walls and matching carpet, complemented by curtains and linen in a darker shade of coral.
‘A princess room!’ Virginia declared.
Cara walked around, hardly daring to touch the beautiful things. An exquisitely carved rocking horse stood by the window, made of dark mahogany, its mane and tail possessing the kind of silky quality that suggested they were made of real hair. Then, in the corner, there was a giant dollhouse. When Cara drew closer, she saw that it was a perfect replica of Castle Glen, from the sycamore trees lining the driveway to her pretty, pink bedroom, reproduced right down to the wooden horse.
James came forward and put an arm around his wife’s waist.
‘And we have one more surprise for you, don’t we, darling?’
Smiling, Virginia walked over to the wooden wardrobe and opened it. Cara had no idea what was going on, until the woman turned back holding a dress – again in pink, with white bows at the waist and on the little capped sleeves.
Virginia smiled shyly at her. ‘If you don’t like it, I’ll understand.’
Perhaps it was a little too girly for Cara’s taste, but she was so touched by the gesture that she was happy to wear it. ‘I love it!’
The rest of the day passed in a dream. After tea and fruitcake in the drawing room, Virginia insisted on playing a round of croquet in the warmth of the afternoon. Then they all went inside to change for dinner. Cara found a bath of warm water waiting for her, and afterwards put on the new pink and white dress.
‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’ Virginia trilled when Cara came downstairs.
‘Beautiful,’ James agreed.
Cara couldn’t believe her luck. How could she ever go back to the orphanage after this? But she wouldn’t think about that now – she would wait until Sunday evening, when the reality was upon her; she wouldn’t waste her whole, wonderful weekend worrying about the future. Cara had no idea why Niamh didn’t like coming out here. Perhaps it was simply because it made St Mary’s harder to bear.
After a roast beef dinner, they retired to the library, and James started to teach Cara how to play backgammon until she grew sleepy. At bedtime, Virginia produced a fresh nightdress for her. Styled in the Victorian tradition, it was made of white muslin with lace trimming at the collar and cuffs, and had a row of tiny satin buttons down the front. Cara had never owned something so lovely in her life. She said so to Virginia.
‘You can take it with you on Sunday, if you like,’ Virginia said generously. ‘The dress, too.’
Cara’s gaze dropped. It was a nice idea, but . . .
‘There’s no point. I won’t be allowed to keep it.’
‘Oh,’ Virginia looked lost for a moment. Then she said brightly, ‘Well, that’s no problem. We’ll just have to keep it here for the next time you visit.’ She kissed Cara lightly on the forehead before saying a final goodnight.
Cara couldn’t believe how lovely these people were. As she knelt down to say her prayers that night, she finally felt as though she genuinely had something to be grateful for. Once she’d finished, she made the Sign of the Cross and jumped into bed. It was wonderful and comfy, the mattress so soft that she sank into it, like nothing she’d ever known before. It was the first time in Cara’s fourteen years that she had experienced such comforts: she was clean, warm and had a full belly – it was all anyone could wish for. Burrowing down under the warm eiderdown, she wondered if life could get any better.
She was already half asleep when she heard the click of the door handle. She peeped up over the sheets to see James, closing the door.
Smiling, he walked over to her and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Did I wake you, sweetheart?’
She shook her head, wondering what he was doing here, in her room.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to check how you were and see if you needed anything.’
‘I’m fine,’ she told him, hoping that he would go then. She hadn’t minded that Virginia had been in here earlier, even when she was changing, but this . . . Well, it didn’t feel quite right.
But James didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. Instead, he reached over and stroked her hair away from her face.
‘You look so beautiful tonight,’ he said tenderly.
Cara fought the urge to flinch from his touch. After all, he had been so kind to her today, she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
He then fingered the lace collar of her nightdress. ‘I see you’re wearing the new nightie Virginia bought for you.’ He sounded pleased. ‘You know, it’s so lovely to have a child in the house,’ he continued, seemingly oblivious to how uncomfortable Cara was feeling. ‘It’s been hard for us, me as well as Virginia, not to be blessed with children. Having Niamh here, and now you, means the world to us both. You do know that, Cara, don’t you?’
She nodded, wishing that he’d leave.
‘Seeing you in here,’ he glanced around the room, ‘well, it’s like having a daughter of my own – someone to spoil, someone to shower affection and love on. Because that’s what all little girls want, isn’t it? To be given presents and love and . . .’ He was watching her intently. ‘And kisses and cuddles.’
It seemed to be a question, so even though she didn’t really understand what he was asking, Cara said, ‘I suppose so.’
She watched him wet his lips. ‘Yes, I thought that was right. That’s what you’d like, isn’t it, Cara? For me to give you a cuddle?’
Cara felt confused now. She thought it sounded a little odd, but the way he’d phrased it made it very hard for her to refuse. ‘Er . . . yes, I suppose so.’
He moved closer to her on the bed. Instinctively she inched back against the headboard, drawing her legs up protectively. She couldn’t quite work out what was going on, but something about the way James was behaving didn’t see
m right. Cara had overheard some of the older girls at the orphanage whispering about what men and women did together in the privacy of their bedroom, and somehow she got the feeling that this was what James wanted to do with her.
‘Mr Buchanan—’
‘Why don’t you call me James? Just when we’re in here, when it’s only the two of us. It’ll be our little secret.’
As he moved towards her, Cara knew she had to act now. Without thinking, she elbowed him hard in the nose.
‘Jesus!’
Blood began to spurt from his nostrils, and his hands came up to cover his face. With James temporarily distracted, Cara leaped from the bed. She looked desperately around the room, trying to find some means of escape before he recovered. Her eyes settled on the adjoining bathroom.
‘Damn you!’
Cara’s head whipped round and she saw that James was already getting to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger. With no more time to think, she rushed into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut behind her, she fiddled with the key.
‘Cara!’
She could hear James crossing the room. The key wouldn’t work, and her heart was hammering so hard she could hardly think straight. What would happen to her if she didn’t manage to lock the door? But the key finally clicked, and Cara retreated to the corner, sinking down onto the tiled floor, between the wall and the claw-footed bath. From there, she watched the handle turn down. Nothing happened. The handle twisted up and down, as James frantically tried to get in.
‘Get out here!’ he hissed through the door.
He kept turning the handle. When it was clear he wouldn’t be able to get in, he tried a different tack. ‘Please, darling,’ he wheedled. ‘Come out here and talk to me. This has all just been a misunderstanding. I’m sure we can clear it up.’
But Cara covered her ears, refusing to listen or to speak to him. She wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to coerce her.
She spent all night barricaded inside the bathroom. James continued to rattle at the door for a while, alternately pleading with her and threatening her, but eventually the noise came to a halt. Cara heard footsteps retreating, and what sounded like the bedroom door closing. But, even though it seemed as if James had gone, she wasn’t about to come out of her hiding place, just in case he was lying in wait for her. Instead, she settled down for a night in the bathroom. She tried to get comfortable, lying down on the mat so she wasn’t directly on the cold, marble floor. It wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as the bed she’d been lying in, but she was used to the thin mattresses of the orphanage: she could put up with this for one night.