by Comfort Me
‘You mean that ladies like that were, er, “watering the grass”, Mama?’ asked Anna, remaining serious with difficulty.
‘Yes. It was very clever of someone to think of a way round the difficulty,’ Mrs Furlong said.
‘I can see that it would work on grass,’ Dorrie said, ‘but what if they were standing on hard ground or paving stones?’
‘There was always dust if the weather was dry. Their dresses would sweep the dust over where they had been standing as they moved away.’
Their mother seemed to accept it so easily that neither Dorrie not Anna dared to laugh but later, in their own room, they collapsed in giggles as they thought of the stately ladies smiling sweetly as they leaned on their parasols and solved their difficulty.
Anna was able to make some beautiful underwear for Dorrie from the lawn and silk garments and the nightgown which would go through a wedding ring she left untouched.
Michael was dismayed by the amount of linen that Dorrie had collected and told her that only a small amount could be taken to London. ‘We’ll be living in married quarters at Caterham at first,’ he told her. ‘Not much room for storage.’ So it was suggested that the rest should be left in Liverpool until needed.
Dorrie readily agreed and Michael smiled fondly at her, obviously thinking what a complaisant wife she would be. Anna smiled at his smug expression. He had a lot to learn about Dorrie, she thought. Although she was usually so placid, Dorrie’s rare rages were spectacular and when she felt deeply about something nothing could change her mind. Still, love could work wonders, Anna reflected.
Norah Deagan was providing the bridal flowers as her wedding present. There was to be a bouquet of hothouse-raised pink and white roses and carnations for Dorrie and a bouquet of spring flowers for Anna. She was also providing buttonholes for the men, corsages for the mothers and the flowers for the church.
Bridie had made several visits to Liverpool during the winter, inundating them with offers of practical and financial help with the wedding, and on one occasion her husband came with her. ‘He wouldn’t want to come to the wedding as a stranger to you,’ she told them and everyone liked John Farrell. Bridie also told them that Dermot would be present at the wedding but had promised to behave himself and keep his mouth shut. Nuala and two of her daughters would travel to Liverpool with them but Oscar D’Arcy would be unable to leave Dublin.
‘No loss,’ Bridie said frankly to Mrs Furlong. ‘He’d only put a damper on a happy day.’
‘I hope it will be,’ Mrs Furlong said. ‘I have this awful feeling my husband won’t be here for it.’
‘Oh, Mama, that’s only because of Miss Cook!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘Take no notice of her.’ There had been some collisions between ships in the Mersey because of fogs and every time Miss Cook, a friend of Clara’s, called she talked of these and disasters at sea.
Mrs Furlong became convinced her husband would be lost at sea before the wedding but he arrived home safely in the second week of March as planned, a week before the wedding. He seemed bemused by all the activity in the house and either took refuge with Dr O’Brien or in his study.
The wedding morning was bright and sunny, with a boisterous March wind which lifted Dorrie’s long veil in the air as they arrived at the church, but it was securely fastened to her hair. Anna thought she had never looked lovelier as they stood in the church porch with Captain Furlong, in uniform, standing proudly beside Dorrie.
The cleverly cut white silk dress emphasised her figure and fell in soft folds from the tiny waist and her long veil was secured to her fair curls by a headdress of pearls and tiny fresh rosebuds. Her blue eyes were like stars and her cheeks pink with excitement and as Anna kissed her she could only murmur, ‘Oh, Dorrie, Dorrie.’
She rearranged the ribbons hanging from Dorrie’s bouquet as Luke and Gerald Deagan, who were acting as ushers, looked to see if they were ready, then signalled to Jim, who was playing the organ. The music swelled and all the guests rose to their feet.
The guests behind Mrs Furlong and Clara were Mrs Wendell, sitting with Isabel and her mother, who had brought her, Mrs Deagan, Norah, Maggie and Kate Deagan, family friends and the captain’s crew and some seafaring friends. On Michael’s side of the church sat Dr and Mrs O’Brien and the Irish contingent.
Many people had come to see the wedding and were at the back and sides of the church. Anna looked for James Hargreaves but was not surprised that he was unable to bear seeing Dorrie married.
Poor man, she thought briefly, but then, as she saw the tall figure of Eugene standing beside Michael at the altar steps, she forgot James Hargreaves.
The priest who married Dorrie had known her all her life. He spoke affectionately of her and admiringly of Michael who, he said, had fought bravely for his country.
Of Dorrie he said, ‘Another Jesuit said, “Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man.” Dorothea is now three times seven and she is the same good, sweet-natured and happy person she was as a very young child. Her character, formed in infancy and nurtured in a good home, is the best basis for a happy marriage. Her husband will be blessed with her as a wife and let us hope that in God’s good time she will also be a good mother.’
Anna had been wrong about James Hargreaves. He had been unable to resist seeing Dorrie but had slipped in a side door and concealed himself behind a large stone pillar to see her entering the church on her father’s arm. She looked so beautiful that he felt his eyes fill with tears and it was only when the music died away that he realised she had reached the altar.
He stood as though in a dream as the ceremony proceeded but when the priest began to speak of Dorrie he felt that the words pierced him to the heart. ‘Give me the child and I will give you the man,’ he heard and stumbled out of the church, digging his nails into the palms of his clenched fists and gritting his teeth in pain.
Where does that leave me? What kind of monster am I after the childhood I had? he thought. How could I have ever thought of courting any ordinary girl, let alone one as far above me as Dorrie?
Since his mother’s death he had tried to block out all memory of what had happened before that, particularly scenes from his childhood, not always successfully. The episodes when his uncle had visited his bedroom he never thought of, because his mind had refused to accept what was happening at the time, and the shutter he had drawn over it had never lifted.
Now memories of his mother’s physical and emotional cruelty flashed across his mind and he thought of the priest’s words – ‘Give me the child and I will give you the man’ – and of Dorrie’s character – formed in childhood and nurtured in a good home. James groaned aloud and a passing man stared curiously at him so he turned into a public house nearby and ordered a pint of stout.
But he was too restless to stay and, leaving his drink almost untouched, walked rapidly, not knowing or caring where he went, but unable to escape his thoughts. He had seen Frances at the church and was reluctant to go home, lest she should want to tell him about the wedding.
Meanwhile, at the church the wedding ceremony was over and Michael and Dorrie had become man and wife. Eugene had smiled at Anna, but not spoken to her as they performed their duties as best man and bridesmaid, but as they followed Dorrie and Michael into the sacristy to sign the register, he whispered, ‘You look beautiful, Anna.’
Anna received many compliments that day, as the dress of pale blue silk and the wreath of flowers on her dark hair suited her and happiness for her beloved sister melted her usual reserve and made her sparkle, but the one from Eugene meant most to her.
A lavish meal had been prepared at the Furlong house and the wedding party were to visit a photographic studio later but outside the church Gerald Deagan took a photograph of Dorrie and Michael, Anna and Eugene. Eugene seemed to be looking down at Anna almost as fondly as Michael was looking at Dorrie and Anna treasured the photograph for many years.
The photographs taken at the studio were very formal, with the we
dding party stiffly posed and all staring unsmilingly at the camera, but they were fashionable and Mrs Furlong had several framed. Anna kept the one that Gerald had taken hidden away in her room.
Everybody was happy as they gathered for the wedding breakfast but Dr O’Brien was the life and soul of the party. He had been warned by his wife not to make any reference to Anna and Eugene and she stayed close to him as speeches were made after large quantities of food and drink had been consumed.
‘Remember now, Paddy,’ she hissed as he rose to his feet but the nearest he came to indiscretion was when he raised his glass to Anna.
‘To the other beauty in the family. I suppose we’ll soon be losing you, Miss Anna. They say one wedding makes another.’
‘Now you know, doctor, why people say that,’ Mrs Deagan said. ‘It’s wishful thinking. They’re enjoying themselves at one wedding so they think they’d like another.’ Amid the laughter Dr O’Brien sank back into his seat, much to his wife’s relief.
Later, Dorrie and Michael left to spend a week’s honeymoon in Coniston in the Lake District and shortly afterwards Dr O’Brien was called away to a difficult confinement. Anna had been kept busy attending to the guests so she had seen little of Eugene. She had expected him to help her to carry drinks to people and he had done so briefly but after Dr O’Brien left he seemed to spend his time talking to the crewmen of her father’s ship.
Mrs O’Brien was sitting with the relatives from Ireland, and the party was still going well, when Anna saw Eugene go to Mrs O’Brien, then both of them go to her parents and speak to them. All sorts of wild surmises whizzed through her mind. Outwardly calm, she took a tray of sandwiches from Kate Deagan, who was helping her, but her hand trembled as Eugene and Mrs O’Brien approached her.
‘Oh, Anna, isn’t it a shame that Eugene has to go?’ said Mrs O’Brien. ‘We thought he would be here overnight but he has to return to London.’
‘Yes, my pass expires at midnight, unfortunately,’ Eugene said. ‘I had great difficulty getting one at all.’
Kate Deagan had taken the tray back from Anna and moved away and as Eugene took Anna’s hand and bent over it she blurted out, ‘But when did you find out? About the pass, I mean.’
‘I knew about it, of course,’ Eugene said easily. ‘I thought that everyone else understood the position too. I’m sure Michael and I had spoken about it.’
‘Not to me,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘I was thunderstruck when you told me just now and Anna hadn’t realised, had you, my dear?’
‘I’m so sorry. I just took it for granted—’ Eugene began but pride had come to Anna’s aid.
‘Oh, well, if duty calls,’ she said lightly, managing to smile at them. ‘The important thing is that Michael got his leave.’
‘Indeed,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘But I still think it’s a shame you have to go in the middle of the party. Wait until Dr O’Brien hears. He’ll be writing to Lord Roberts.’ Eugene looked so alarmed that she added quickly, ‘Only joking,’ but Anna thought Eugene seemed only slightly less alarmed when his aunt suggested that she and Anna should accompany him to the station to see him off.
‘I’m going back to barracks, Aunt, not to war,’ he said.
Anna cut in quickly, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t leave anyway. Mama needs me here to look after the guests.’
Eugene bent over her hand, squeezing it and looking into her eyes as he murmured, ‘A lovely wedding and a delightful reception. I’ve enjoyed myself so much.’
Several of the other guests, who were very old or had travelled a long way, were also leaving and some of Captain Furlong’s crew. Anna had seen Gerald Deagan speaking angrily to one of them and wondered if that was why, although she thought the men had behaved very correctly under their captain’s eagle eyes.
When everyone had gone, except the family and the Irish relations and the Deagans, who had helped to restore order to the rooms, they all gathered round the piano for a sing-song. Dr O’Brien had returned, happy at the outcome of his emergency call.
‘They wanted a boy,’ he said. ‘But by the time it was all over they were so thankful to have the mother alive and a healthy little girl they thought that was what they’d always wanted.’ He was too happy to care that Eugene had left and his singing and his loud, infectious laugh kept them all in high spirits, even Anna.
When at last she went to bed, to sleep alone for the first time she could remember, her mind was a jumble of memories and emotions but she was too tired to sort them out and fell asleep instantly.
When Dorrie and Michael arrived at the hotel in Coniston Dorrie knew nothing of the facts of life, and had only the vaguest idea of what to expect on her wedding night, but Michael initiated her very gently. She proved a willing pupil, loving and trusting Michael absolutely, then swept along on a tide of passion to respond to him.
When they were returning to Liverpool at the end of the week she said innocently to Michael, ‘It’s been lovely, hasn’t it? I feel quite a different person to when I left Liverpool,’ and she was surprised when Michael crushed her in his arms and said in a muffled voice, ‘Oh, Dorrie, never, never change, will you?’
Anna had been kept too busy during that week to feel the loss of Dorrie. Her father was still at home, which always made more work, and there seemed to be almost as much work to do putting everything back to normal after the wedding as there had been preparing for it.
Everyone agreed that it had been a great success and a very happy occasion. From the wedding ceremony and Nuptial Mass to the reception which followed.
Captain Furlong had gone down to his ship the morning after the celebrations and been annoyed to find that his cabin boy was missing but the boy had turned up later, looking sheepish, and said he’d ‘slept it off’ in an alleyway.
Another of the crew had apparently annoyed Gerald Deagan but that had a happy outcome. Gerald had been courting Winifred Parsons for many years. She was a quiet, shy girl, apparently devoted to happy-go-lucky Gerald, but although they were always invited out as a couple the affair seemed to make no progress. At the wedding one of Captain Furlong’s crew showed an interest in Winnie, which annoyed Gerald and led to a quarrel between them.
A few days later they announced their engagement and their intention to marry in September. There was general approval as both were popular. Winnie lived in Margaret Street with her elder sister and widower father, and worked in a shop in Brunswick Road; Gerald owned a ships’ supply business.
‘It should have happened years ago,’ Aunt Clara said. ‘I don’t know why that girl’s father didn’t do something.’
The Deagan family seemed to agree with her. ‘About time,’ Kate said to Anna. ‘Winnie’s a lovely girl and she’d have married him anytime this last five years but it was him! Dozy article! It’s not that he doesn’t love Winnie, you know, but he’s just so dilatory and Winnie could hardly pop the question, could she?’
‘No, but some hard-faced girls would have done something,’ Anna said. ‘Anyway, it’s a good thing that sailor gave Gerald a fright, isn’t it?’
Kate agreed but she said thoughtfully, ‘I wonder if Ma put him up to it, Anna? I saw her talking to those sailors. I wouldn’t put it past her.’
‘Neither would I,’ said Anna, laughing. ‘Her or Dr O’Brien. He would say the end justifies the means.’
Dorrie and Michael could only stay in Liverpool for one day before travelling to Caterham so Anna had little opportunity to speak to Dorrie alone. She often thought of Eugene’s abrupt departure and wondered why Dorrie had not warned her he would be leaving if she had known. She was sure that Dorrie, like herself, had expected that she and Eugene would have some time alone after the guests had left, no matter how late, but there was no chance to ask her about it.
By the time the wedding and the reception had been discussed in detail, and Dorrie and Michael had told of their honeymoon hotel and the other guests there and the beauty of the scenery, it was time for bed.
The next mornin
g was dominated by Mrs Furlong’s lamentations at losing her favourite daughter. She seemed to resent anyone but herself being upset about Dorrie leaving and her husband could do nothing to console her.
‘Oh, why did it have to be Dorrie!’ she cried. They were all standing in the hall, as only Anna and Captain Furlong were to accompany the young couple to the railway station, and everyone heard her. Dorrie pulled herself from her mother’s grasp and flung her arms round Anna. At the same time, Michael bent over his sister-in-law, smiling and winking.
‘Sure isn’t the grass always greener on the other side?’ he murmured and Dorrie whispered, ‘Mama doesn’t mean that. She’s just hysterical.’ Anna was grateful for their loving concern for her but knew that her mother would make her pay for it after they had gone.
Captain Furlong cut short any further lamentations by taking his watch from his pocket and declaring that they must go or miss the train.
Lime Street Station was full of steam but when it cleared Anna saw a familiar figure in the distance. James Hargreaves, she thought. He must have been unable to resist a last look at Dorrie.
She was feeling so wretched herself at the parting that she almost wished she could talk to him. He would understand, as no one else seemed able to do. Dr O’Brien, who had met them at the train, and her father seemed quite cheerful and Mama, she thought viciously, was enjoying her dramatics.
Porters were banging doors and it was time for a last frantic hug and kiss from Dorrie before she and Michael stepped aboard the train and were borne away to their new life.
Chapter Nine
It had been a mistake to go to Lime Street Station for a last glimpse of Dorrie, James Hargreaves realised as he walked away. The growing feeling that a glass barrier stood between himself and ordinary people had intensified as he watched the farewell group, their brave smiles and loving hugs and kisses.
It comes naturally to them, to know how to behave, he thought. If I was there I’d stand like a log, not knowing how to feel or act because I’m different to other people.