Comfort Me With Apples
Page 11
‘I’m sorry,’ Anna said, mopping her eyes.
Mrs Deagan said soothingly, ‘Drink your tea and we’ll say no more. I think you’d be better starting with the small things first, then you could try the antimacassars later.’
She seemed so certain that the matter was settled that Anna meekly picked up the half-crowns and put them in her pocket. Mrs Deagan opened her purse again to show Anna the central section, which was closed with a steel clasp. She opened it to show Anna a sovereign.
‘I had five penny pieces in this purse when I was left a widow with six children and for a few years afterwards it was often empty. Our Maggie was ten and Jim eight when their father died but as soon as Jim managed to save enough for a sovereign he put it in my purse. It took him a few years, of course.’
‘“It’s there as a standby, Ma,” he said. “If you spend it I’ll put another in its place. Your purse will never be empty again while I live.” A knife went through me when he said that. If I lost him I wouldn’t care if I never saw another penny. If I starved to death.’
‘It’s not likely,’ Anna comforted her. ‘He’s a fine, healthy man.’
‘And I’m a fool to be talking like that,’ Mrs Deagan said. ‘Now don’t worry about deceiving your da. It’s for his own good. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.’
The dough in the tins had risen and was ready for the oven so Anna left. There were questions about repayment she would have liked to ask but she was afraid to provoke Mrs Deagan.
She confided in Dorrie about the arrangement, which proved a great success. Norah’s shop was in Scotland Road and was very busy. She always said that people from the poorer parts of the city spent most on flowers, as the burial-club money was often the largest sum of cash they ever had and they liked to give their relations a good send-off.
She had carriage trade too, as the shop was on a main road, and there was great competition for Anna’s work. Dorrie was unable to help her as she was not good at sewing but she covered Anna’s long spells in their bedroom by pretending that she was working on her trousseau.
‘When I’ve gone you can tell them you are working on your own,’ she said, giggling, then more seriously, ‘It will probably be true, Anna. I was hoping for a double wedding but Michael says that would be too hasty for Eugene. Perhaps when we’re married he’ll feel it’s time to speak.’
Anna picked up Eugene’s photograph and looked at it. ‘You know how I feel, Dorrie,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You and Michael were lucky. You both felt the same and there were no doubts with either of you but with Eugene – I don’t know.’
‘But to me he behaves like a man in love,’ Dorrie said. ‘Just in a quieter, more reserved way than Michael.’
‘I want to believe that, Dorrie,’ Anna said. ‘I know he’s fond of me and he speaks of love in his letters but it’s as though something holds him back. I wonder sometimes if he’s had an unhappy love affair and is trying to get over it. There’s something missing, Dorrie.’
Dorrie had come to sit beside Anna and now she hugged her. ‘I’m sure you’re worrying for nothing,’ she said. ‘I think it’s just a difference in character between him and Michael. And your own character might have something to do with it. The fact that you are both so reserved. Couldn’t you be a bit warmer, Anna? More encouraging?’
‘I’ll try,’ Anna promised. ‘Oh, Dorrie, I’ll miss you so. I couldn’t talk like this to anybody but you.’ She felt Dorrie’s tears wet on her cheeks as she hugged her and decided that she must put all these fears behind her. This should be such a happy time for Dorrie and she mustn’t spoil it, just take each day as it came and enjoy her last months with her darling sister.
Meanwhile it was a pleasure to Anna to feel that she was earning money and a delight to surprise Dorrie with small gifts. She had repaid the original five shillings to Mrs Deagan but Norah refused to accept any recompense for selling the items.
‘It’s the boot on the other foot,’ she laughed. ‘Your embroidery is bringing me trade. They come for a tray cloth and buy flowers too.’
A date had still not been set for the wedding but Captain Furlong had only signed for a short voyage which would bring him home in the summer of 1903.
Michael and Eugene had both written that the Irish Guards were to visit Dublin for the first time in July. There was to be a Royal Review in Fifteen Acres in Phoenix Park, with ten thousand troops and three field marshals.
When Dr O’Brien heard that his hero, Lord Roberts, was to head the Irish Guards, he was determined to be there. It was arranged that he would stay in Dublin with an old friend, then visit the Farrell family, but Bridie was also in Dublin for the event and she travelled back to Liverpool with her brother.
‘The opportunity for you to meet was too good to miss,’ Dr O’Brien told Captain and Mrs Furlong.
‘And glad I am to meet you,’ Bridie told them. ‘You have two daughters to be proud of. Beautiful, well-behaved girls. My John would say the same if he was with me but he can’t leave the farm at this time of the year.’
She charmed all of them, even Aunt Clara, and the girls were not surprised that before she left the wedding had been fixed for March 1904.
Michael, predictably, had hoped for an earlier date, but Dorrie was quite happy to spend the winter months in preparation. For Anna, the time seemed to be flashing past too quickly and she knew that James Hargreaves felt the same. She saw him in church, gazing hungrily at Dorrie, as though trying to imprint her features on his mind for when she would be gone.
The letters still came regularly from Eugene but the loving messages at the end never became any warmer. In spite of Anna’s constant references to the forthcoming marriage in her letters to Eugene, he never commented on it or spoke of a possible future for himself and Anna. He puzzled her but she tried to crush her doubts.
She thought of the lovely weekend of the picnic and the tea party and recalled every loving glance, every pressure on her fingers and the poetic words of love that Eugene had quoted to her. She looked at the photograph that stood beside her bed, at his wide-set eyes and straight nose and the full lips above his cleft chin, and felt weak with love for him.
She was struck by a sudden thought. When Eugene sent her the photograph he might have expected her to send one in return! Dorrie was always telling her she froze men off. Could she have unwittingly hurt Eugene?
She spoke about it to Dorrie. ‘When Michael brought this photo for me it never occurred to me to send one of myself to Eugene. Do you think he might be hurt that I didn’t?’
‘Has he said anything about it?’ asked Dorrie.
‘No, but if he expected one and I didn’t send it he might be too proud to ask,’ Anna said.
‘I’ll ask Michael about it,’ Dorrie promised.
But the thought that she might have disappointed Eugene in some obscure way comforted Anna. It could be a reason why the courtship seemed to be making little progress.
She looked out the most flattering photograph of herself but Dorrie told her that Michael advised against sending it by post. ‘He said it might fall into the wrong hands but he’ll collect it when he comes here the weekend after next,’ she said.
Anna wondered why Eugene seemed unable to get weekend leave, when Michael could get it so frequently, but she said nothing. Aunt Clara, however, often wondered aloud about it.
‘Michael says it’s because Eugene has a more important job than he has,’ Dorrie said loyally but Clara grumbled, ‘They were both free to go to Dublin, I notice. Dr O’Brien was bragging about them. Everyone’s tired of hearing about that parade from him.’
‘Dear Dr O’Brien,’ Mrs Furlong said sweetly. ‘He enjoyed himself so much. He said the Irish Guards had a wonderful reception. The route was lined by the Royal Irish Constabulary but the crowds were so enthusiastic they broke through to cheer the soldiers. He said the best moment was when Lord Roberts came galloping up to head the Irish Guards, led by the regimental band and the mascot.’
/>
‘It would be for him,’ Clara said sourly, ‘He’s ridiculous about Lord Roberts for a grown man.’
Anna could not resist adding fuel to the fire. ‘Eugene says the mascot is an Irish wolfhound named Brian Boru,’ she said. It was too much for Clara, who jumped to her feet and flounced out.
‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid we’ve annoyed Aunt Clara, Anna,’ Mrs Furlong said with mock regret.
The next day Anna was delighted to receive a letter from Eugene, in which he said that he had obtained some leave and would be staying in Liverpool with his aunt and uncle for the following weekend. Fortunately, she was unaware that this was in response to a letter to Eugene from his mother, in which she complained that he was not making enough effort to secure his rightful position as Dr O’Brien’s heir. Her brother lived so simply, Mrs D’Arcy said, and earned a respectable sum of money from his profession, so his inheritance from his father must be virtually untouched.
‘It is your only hope,’ she wrote. ‘Your father can do nothing for you and you can hope for nothing from his poverty-stricken relations so you must exert yourself. The Farrells are working at it. Michael, it appears, is constantly travelling to Liverpool and Aunt Bridie even met your uncle in Dublin and travelled back to Liverpool with him. We did not receive the courtesy of a visit, which I feel might be because you are so dilatory.’
Dr and Mrs O’Brien were also unaware of the scheming and were pleased to welcome Eugene. ‘It’ll be nice for him to have a weekend without Michael,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘Eugene’s such a quiet lad and I think sometimes he’s very much in Michael’s shadow.’
‘It’ll be nice for Anna, too,’ Dr O’Brien said. ‘I know he writes regularly but they’re both shy people. Perhaps I’ll hurry things along.’
Mrs O’Brien looked alarmed. ‘Don’t, Paddy,’ she exclaimed. ‘Keep out of it. Leave it to the young ones. Dorrie and Anna must have talked things over, because they’re very close, and Michael and Eugene are good friends, so they all know the situation. They’ll sort it out.’
‘But Eugene couldn’t do better for himself and the girls could still be together,’ the doctor said, but his wife said firmly, ‘Eugene might be waiting for a promotion or something before he speaks. You complained that Michael was too hasty and now Eugene isn’t hasty enough. Don’t go clattering in with hobnailed boots.’
‘Me! I’m always the soul of discretion,’ he said, offended, but he was never angry for long.
It was a happy time for Anna. Because the days with Dorrie were passing so quickly she consciously savoured every one and she and Dorrie had never been closer. She enjoyed doing the embroidery and making money by it and now she had the added joy of the prospect of a weekend with Eugene.
Michael, however, was in a dilemma about his best man. He had intended to have his brother but Dermot wrote that he would only agree if Michael was married in civilian clothes. ‘I’d feel ridiculous standing up with you in your fancy dress,’ he wrote.
Dorrie had taken it for granted that Michael would be married in uniform and that Eugene would be his best man. She had said innocently how nice it would be for Anna, who was to be her bridesmaid. But Michael was reluctant to ask Eugene, for several reasons, and in the end he consulted his aunt.
‘Dermot is entitled to his views,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘But it’s your wedding. You must do what suits you and Dorrie. I’m sure Eugene will be pleased to be asked and your mother will understand about Dermot.’
He still hesitated and she said quietly, ‘I know Anna is the bridesmaid but it wouldn’t commit her or Eugene any more than they are now. It would be convenient if they made a match of it but it doesn’t have to follow just because of you and Dorrie.’
‘I wouldn’t like Anna to be hurt,’ he muttered, looking down at his boots, but his aunt said briskly, ‘She won’t be. She likes Eugene but she’s not head over heels like Dorrie with you and she’s a sensible girl.’
Michael hugged her. ‘Thanks, Aunt Maureen,’ he said. ‘I’m glad I thought of asking your advice.’
‘Write to your mother and Dermot right away,’ she advised. ‘Tell Dermot you respect his views but you and Dorrie want you to be married in uniform so you’ll ask Eugene. Then fix it up with Eugene.’
He took her advice but he spoke more frankly to Eugene than he had to his aunt. ‘I don’t want to be any part of whatever game you’re playing,’ he said. ‘But remember, Anna will be my sister and I won’t stand to see her hurt.’
Eugene was angry but his mother’s letter decided him to apply for weekend leave and to agree to be Michael’s best man.
He wrote to Anna twice that week, once about his leave and once to give her the news about the wedding. ‘Apparently, the Fenian won’t be involved if Michael is in uniform so he has asked me,’ he wrote.
So that’s why he never mentioned the wedding, Anna thought. Because Michael hadn’t asked him! Men! They’re like little boys.
She showed the letter to Dorrie, who by now had heard the full story of Dermot’s refusal from Michael. ‘I never even thought of Dermot,’ she confessed. ‘I’d just assumed it would be Eugene, although I hope Dermot will come to the wedding. I like him.’
The weekend with Eugene passed quietly. The weather was now too bad for picnics and Mrs Furlong said nothing about a tea party. Nowadays, she often said that she felt exhausted and spent more and more time on the sofa.
Anna had hoped that this would be an opportunity for her to establish her place in running the house but Clara had quarrelled with many of her new friends and seized the chance to take over once again. Anna was unwilling to spoil Dorrie’s happiness with any discord but she had talked to Isabel about the continuing power struggle.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it now,’ Isabel had advised. ‘There’s plenty for everyone to do before the wedding but as soon as it’s over, Anna, you must be very firm about your place in the house.’ Anna thought it was good advice from her sensible friend.
Eugene was charming and attentive to Anna during the weekend and bought her a copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. He read some of the love poems aloud to her but never spoke actual words of love. On Saturday night he took tickets for the theatre but also invited Dr and Mrs O’Brien. Then during the play he put his hand on Anna’s and cast soulful glances at her throughout the evening. By the time he went on Sunday he had charmed his aunt and uncle but left Anna feeling even more confused and uncertain.
A talk with Mrs O’Brien made her feel better. ‘Poor Eugene,’ Mrs O’Brien sighed. ‘It was so easy for Michael, with that good family behind him, but Eugene has nothing but his army pay. Those stuck-up D’Arcys wanted him to be an officer but they couldn’t even afford the commission, let alone the mess bills.’
‘I thought they were wealthy, with that lovely house and all those servants,’ said Anna, ‘but Dr O’Brien told me it was all his sister’s money.’
‘Yes, and a good lump of money they were all left,’ said Mrs O’Brien. ‘Enough to provide for a family but those D’Arcys have squandered it on empty show. Poor Eugene will have to rely on getting a promotion before he can afford to marry. Still, he tells me he is hoping to be made up to lance corporal shortly so that’s a start. I think he talked to me in confidence but I know you won’t speak about this to anyone, Anna.’
‘Of course not,’ Anna assured her, but she felt light as air as she walked home, thinking that the mystery had been solved for her.
Chapter Eight
The preparations for the wedding were now racing ahead. Captain Furlong had brought home a bolt of white silk and another of pale blue silk and a friend of Kate Deagan’s, who was a cutter in an exclusive dress shop in Bold Street, had cut out the bridal dress from the white silk and Anna’s bridesmaid’s dress from the blue silk. The dresses were now being made up and the girls had already been for fittings.
Mrs Furlong could always summon up enough energy for a shopping trip for Dorrie’s trousseau, someti
mes with Anna, at Dorrie’s insistence, but she preferred to have only Dorrie present.
One day she called both girls into her bedroom. ‘I have so much beautiful underwear, given to me by Lady Dorothy,’ she said. ‘It’s too old-fashioned for you to wear as it is, Dorrie, but I’m sure Anna could make it over for you. The material is so beautiful it’s a shame to waste it.’
She directed them to open the long drawers under her wardrobe and lift out the contents, which had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper. The sisters gasped in amazement at the voluminous chemises in the finest silk, the bust bodices, cruelly boned, and the underskirts in lawn and silk. There was a nightdress in silk so fine that Mrs Furlong said proudly, ‘My lady could draw that through her wedding ring. She always had the very best of everything.’
Anna had lifted out the contents of the next drawer and held up a strange garment. ‘Whatever is this, Mama?’ she asked. It seemed like a pair of drawers made of very fine linen, with a drawstring round the waist and a very large open vent between the legs.
‘Trust you to find those,’ Mrs Furlong snapped. ‘Put them back. They’ll be no use for altering.’
‘But what are they, Mama?’ Dorrie asked. ‘They seem like drawers but why are they made like that?’
‘It was for a purpose,’ her mother said. ‘Ladies were out all day at places like Hurlingham or Ascot and no provision was made for their natural needs.’ The girls looked at her uncomprehendingly and she said crossly, ‘What else could they do? Their stockings were held up by garters and their skirts were very full so they simply – well, watered the grass.’
Anna looked at Dorrie and they both began to laugh but their mother was offended. ‘I don’t see why you think it’s funny,’ she said. ‘It was very difficult for them. At a garden party they might be able to go into the house but public places were difficult.’
There was a magazine in the drawer, with photographs of ladies with S-bend figures leaning forward with their hands clasped over the handles of their parasols and large hats balanced on their heads.