by Comfort Me
After Sunday night’s high tea of cold roast beef and pickles James told Frances that he had enjoyed the meat but would prefer not to see it again the next day. ‘Why don’t you take it to your cousin now?’ he said.
Frances had great pleasure in taking the food to her relations, where it was so badly needed and gratefully received. James had made it clear that any money left from the housekeeping allowance belonged to her to use as she wished so she was able to help her aunt and cousin in many ways.
‘I’ve never been so happy in my life,’ she told James and he said it did him good to see her but he still found it impossible to escape the bouts of depression.
Anna was still very unhappy too. She still corresponded with her friends in Dublin but she felt that her life was so dull in comparison with theirs that her letters must be dull too.
Dorrie still sent letters to Anna, her mother and her aunt by the same post every week but she also wrote extra letters to Anna, which Nelly ensured were hidden from their mother.
In these letters Dorrie spoke more freely about her life in the army quarters. ‘The officers’ wives are very patronising,’ she wrote, ‘but Mrs Rafferty says they mean well. They organise knitting and crocheting classes and social evenings for us to keep us out of mischief! One, Mrs Adair, is mad about anything Irish and she says she wants the social evenings to be like meetings at the crossroads in Ireland! We have singers and violin players and even Irish dances. The husbands are invited to the evenings too, which is causing me a problem.
‘Several men show an interest in me. I don’t encourage them, honestly, but their wives are really nasty to me. As if I would want any of them when I have my darling Michael. Many of them would love to be in my shoes but Michael is not interested.
‘We had a ladies’ excuse me dance, a waltz during which any lady!! can ask a man to dance. I had about one minute with my husband then he must have had a dozen partners. I was furious and so was Michael. He said he’ll never be there for another.
‘A lot of the women don’t like me because of the way I speak. They think I’m stuck up because I don’t speak like the other Liverpool wives but Mrs Rafferty says I’m getting more like them. I don’t know what I’d do without her, Anna.’
The letter worried Anna but at least, she thought, Dorrie had one good friend and Michael seemed as devoted as ever, but Dorrie had never faced hostility before.
When her mother went to the park she slipped in to see Mrs Deagan and after some general talk about the parish Anna told her about Dorrie’s letter.
‘Sounds as if she’s got a sensible friend in that Mrs Rafferty,’ said Mrs Deagan. ‘And one that can stand up for her if there’s any trouble.’
‘I thought that,’ Anna said eagerly. ‘But I hate the thought of anyone being nasty to Dorrie. She doesn’t deserve it. She can’t help being pretty or the way she speaks.’
Mrs Deagan laughed. ‘You’re feeling the drawbacks to that yourself, girlie, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You’d be better able to mix with the girls in the sodality if they didn’t think you were stand-offish because of your posh voice.’
Anna looked bewildered and Mrs Deagan said, ‘Your ma has a lot to answer for. She wanted you to be ladies so she wouldn’t let you play with other children. When Clara came here she’d say to me, “Those poor children are afraid to eat or speak, the way their mother nags them about table manners and their speech.”’
‘I remember being scolded,’ Anna said. ‘But I thought it happened in all families.’
‘No. You were kept apart. Your ma persuaded your father to send you to the select school. Told him she was afraid you’d pick up diseases in the elementary school.’ She laughed. ‘The first thing you done at the select school was come home with measles, the both of you.’
Anna smiled. ‘I feel quite self-conscious about my voice now,’ she said.
‘It isn’t just that. The girls in the sodalities and confraternities, they know each other from school or from playing out in the street, but your ma would never allow that. Are things no better at home? Still not speaking?’
‘No, you could cut it with a knife, Nelly says.’ Anna sighed. ‘It’s better for me, though, now Nelly and I are friends.’
Anna became increasingly glad of her new ally in the Furlong house. Nothing more had been said by Mrs O’Brien about a trip to London and Dorrie could tell her nothing about Eugene. His slim letters continued to arrive and every week Anna tried to nerve herself to write ending the correspondence, or simply not reply and see what happened, but while there was any hope at all she clung to it. She had only to look at Eugene’s photograph or to think of his beloved face to feel weak with love for him.
I’m a fool, she thought, and I’ve no pride, but I can’t help it. I know the wisest thing is to forget him, and admit that he’s not worth loving, but nothing can cure me of loving him.
Because of the way she felt she understood that James’s love for Dorrie was as constant and as hopeless and she told him little titbits of news about her to cheer him.
Anna was particularly lonely at this time because the General Election of 1906 meant she saw little of the Deagans and there were no invitations to concerts.
Jim and Luke were campaigning for the Liberal cause, because they thought the best hope of relief for the poor lay with them, and Kate told Anna that she supported the fledgling Labour Party for the same reason but it would be some time before they were strong enough to make themselves effective.
‘Trouble is, they’re mostly poor themselves. John Wood, from Stoke-on-Trent, has a brilliant mind and could do so much in Parliament to cure poverty but he only earns two pounds, ten shillings a week and has a wife and four children and a mother to support. How can he afford to be an MP? Sooner or later MPs will have to be paid so that men like that will be able to stand.’
Anna longed to be able to campaign with them but hampered as she was by her mother’s moods and demands she could never be sure of being free for anything.
She talked to James about the election and he was surprised to hear that she was interested in politics. ‘I’m not really,’ she said, ‘but I am interested in the awful poverty in Liverpool. I used to go with Kate to help with the free dinners and I couldn’t believe that there could be so many starving children in a rich country like this.’
‘I know, it’s a disgrace,’ he said, ‘but it’s such an enormous problem.’
‘Jim Deagan says all these soup kitchens and refuges help but they only scratch at the surface. The only way is to attack the root cause of poverty through laws.’
‘I’m sure he’s right,’ James said.
When the election results were published he met Anna with a folded newspaper in his hand. ‘Did you see the figures?’ he asked and read out, ‘Liberals three hundred and ninety-nine seats, Irish Nationalists eighty-two, Labour twenty-nine and Tory one hundred and fifty-six.’
‘Labour twenty-nine!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘Kate will be delighted.’
James slipped the newspaper in his pocket and offered Anna his arm. ‘Yes, they were led by Keir Hardie and Ramsay MacDonald and the man you mentioned, John Wood, was mentioned as MP for Stoke-on-Trent.’
Anna’s face was flushed with excitement and he said diffidently, ‘Would you care to walk down to the Pier Head after Benediction? Should be interesting down there among the speakers.’
‘Yes, I would,’ said Anna. ‘It seems a bit tame to just go home, doesn’t it?’ She knew she would be made to suffer for staying out longer but she also realised that it had been an effort for James to make the suggestion and she was unwilling to hurt him by a refusal.
After this first outing, whenever Anna could get away to attend the evening Benediction, she and James would go for a walk before returning home and found that they thought alike on many matters.
Theirs was a very comfortable relationship. Both knew that their hearts lay elsewhere and Anna felt that he was a good friend, who through his own experiences coul
d understand her problems with her mother.
She was still very troubled about Eugene. The weekly letters arrived, containing mostly details of events in the regiment, but in the middle of one letter he had written, ‘Sometimes I wonder if life is worth living. So many worries and decisions.’
The letter had continued normally but Anna sat for a long time with it in her hand. It was as though he suddenly spoke from his heart, she thought, but without realising that he had done so, and it changed her feelings towards him.
Latterly, she had been growing more and more angry with him, although she was still as deeply in love with him. Why was there no mention of leave? If she could only see him, something was bound to change, she felt. But now she was filled with love and compassion for him.
That had been a cry from the heart. If only she could help him or comfort him but was he even aware that he had written it? She read it again. ‘Sometimes I wonder if life is worth living. So many worries and decisions.’ Was it his private life he was talking about or army matters?
Whatever it was, he was deeply troubled and she longed to hold him and comfort him. A dozen times she tried to write to him but she knew so little that it was very difficult. She burned her efforts and went downstairs where her mother sneered, ‘Where have you been? Can’t have taken more than a few minutes to read the letter from your swain.’
Anna knew some reply had to be made, or else her mother would find more and more wounding things to say and she felt too sick at heart to bear them, so she said she had been tidying her room. She wondered if Dorrie would be able to advise her if she told her of the letter but then was it fair to Eugene to do that?
That problem was solved when by the second post letters arrived from Dorrie giving the welcome news that Michael was due for ten days’ leave and they would do as they had done the last time. Spend both weekends in Liverpool and a few days midweek with Michael’s family in Ireland. They would be arriving in a week’s time.
Anna spent a sleepless night wondering why Eugene could not get leave as easily but the following morning a letter arrived from him.
‘I have a weekend pass and will arrive tomorrow, Saturday,’ he wrote. ‘Sorry about the short notice but this came up suddenly.’
Anna tried to be calm but she wondered whether Eugene wanted to say something to her face-to-face.
Could he be going to solve the mystery of his strange courtship and the despairing message in his last letter? Although she tried to crush the feeling, she was unable to stop a tiny seed of hope forming. Had some obstacle been removed and he was coming to speak of love? At least if I see him I will be able to judge better how he feels, she thought.
Her mother had not seen the letter and Anna told her nothing but at the first opportunity she slipped away to see Mrs O’Brien. They had also received a letter and Mrs O’Brien said immediately, ‘A pity it’s such a brief visit and such short notice but it shows how important the work he’s been doing is. Let’s hope it’s rewarded with a good promotion, Anna.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Anna said, too proud to admit what she was really thinking.
‘Perhaps that’s what he’s coming to tell us. It would make such a difference to both your lives, make so much possible,’ said Mrs O’Brien. She smiled meaningfully and Anna felt confused. Even down-to-earth Mrs O’Brien was expecting something wonderful from this weekend, it seemed.
She smiled and was relieved when they were joined by Dr O’Brien. ‘Good news, eh, Anna?’ he said cheerfully.
Anna smiled and nodded. ‘I haven’t said anything to Mama,’ she said.
‘Very wise, until we have something to tell her, eh?’ Dr O’Brien said. ‘Tell you what. I’ll send you a note when Eugene arrives and you come down here. Save a lot of argy-bargy and you won’t have much time together, you and Eugene, otherwise.’
‘Thanks, doctor. I’d better get back now. There’s the usual big clean planned, ready for Dorrie and Michael next week, so I’ll be missed.’
She hastened home, glad to be fully occupied in changing curtains and turning out cupboards for the rest of the day.
Even though she was exhausted, she was unable to sleep, with hopes and plans and surmises rushing through her brain. Should she have confided in the O’Briens about the despairing words in Eugene’s letter? No, better not, she thought. She would be seeing Eugene himself in a few hours and perhaps be able to help him. At the thought she trembled with a mixture of delight and fear.
Anna decided that she would go as soon as she received word of Eugene’s arrival, whether her mother objected or not, but in the event Mrs Furlong retired to bed with a sick headache before the note arrived. When it did Anna was able to dress suitably and hasten to Shaw Street immediately.
She thought both the O’Briens seemed ill at ease and after a brief greeting Mrs O’Brien showed her into the small back parlour where Eugene was waiting. She felt as though her heart would rise and choke her at the sight of his beloved face and he took her hand, bent over it and kissed it.
He stood holding her hand and looking into her eyes, then he turned away with a sound that was almost a sob and stood looking out of the window.
‘What is it, Eugene? What’s wrong?’ Anna asked in alarm. Forgetting her pride and her reserve, she went to him and as he turned to her she put her arms around him.
For a moment he held her, then he gently withdrew and led her to a sofa. He drew her down beside him, still holding her hand.
‘I’ve tried, Anna, I’ve tried so hard,’ he said. ‘If I could have loved anyone properly it would have been you. But I can’t.’
Anna sat up straight and withdrew her hand. She was unable to speak but she was deeply hurt and it showed.
Eugene said quickly, ‘You don’t understand.’
‘No, I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand anything.’
He groaned. ‘And I can’t explain,’ he said. ‘Not to a girl like you. My mind is in turmoil, Anna.’ He put his hands over his face and Anna sat as though turned to stone as he began to mutter, ‘I tried. I tried. God knows I tried, but everything was against me. And then it all turned so sordid. Money, always money or the lack of it.’
He was silent for a while and Anna said timidly, ‘Is that the trouble? Are you in debt?’
He turned away from her and laughed bitterly. ‘If only,’ he said. But he bent his head and murmured, ‘If I’d had money I might have been a good man. Taken the hard road but no – I would have failed, I know, and pulled you down with me.’
Anna was bewildered. None of this made sense but she said bravely, ‘How? How do I come into it?’
He stood up and went again to the window, and with his back to her he said bitterly, ‘My uncle. I thought his mind would be broadened but beneath it all he’s just a mean, grasping, small Irish farmer. The money he hoards is more than his life’s blood to him.’
He swung round. ‘I’m leaving, Anna. I don’t think we’ll ever meet again but thank you for the happy days when I thought I could…’ He swallowed, then took her unresisting hand and kissed it. ‘Goodbye. I wish you every good fortune.’
He went out of the room but Anna sat there, literally unable to move or speak. There were sounds outside but she was too stunned to hear or to interpret them.
Anna was not aware that Mrs O’Brien had come into the room until the older woman sat down and put her arm around her.
‘My dear, I’m so very sorry,’ she said gently. ‘We have all been cruelly deceived but you most of all. I blame myself for the part I’ve played in this.’
She had brought a cup of tea into the room and she urged Anna to try to drink it. ‘You’ve had a bad shock, I know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how much he told you.’
Anna roused herself. ‘Very little,’ she said. ‘He was – incoherent. I just don’t understand any of it.’
She tried to drink the tea but her hand shook too much and Dr O’Brien, who had joined them, told her to leave it. He poured s
ome brandy into a glass. ‘This will do you more good,’ he said and Anna found that it did.
The fiery liquid seemed to clear her head and she said slowly, ‘Do you know why Eugene came today?’
Dr O’Brien snorted. ‘Yes, I know why he came. To sniff out his prospects. To make sure where he stood before he made up his mind about something.’
‘Now, Paddy,’ his wife protested. ‘You don’t know that.’
Anna said thoughtfully, ‘I think he’s a very troubled man.’
The O’Briens looked at each other and asked why she thought that and she told them something of his behaviour before he left, omitting his ranting against his uncle.
She also told them of his outburst in her letter, which she was sure was a cry for help.
‘Maybe he was more sinned against than sinning,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘It sounds as though he was very troubled in his mind, like Anna says.’
Dr O’Brien had been pacing up and down and he said suddenly, ‘I’m going out. Any calls, send Hogan. I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
They heard him shouting for his hat and the next moment the front door slammed.
‘He’s very angry,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘He thinks we’ve all been deceived.’ She put her hand over Anna’s. ‘The only thing that consoles me is the thought that you were not in love with him. I know you were fond of him, but you won’t have the pain of a broken heart to bear, although no thanks to him, the way he courted you. Your own dignity and coolness has kept you from worse harm, Anna.’
Anna sat stiff and silent, feeling that if she moved she would fall apart, attack Mrs O’Brien or scream at the top of her voice. Anything to relieve the searing pain at the thought that she would never see Eugene again.
Mrs O’Brien looked at Anna, at her rigidity and her white face, and realised from long experience and nursing training that she must act swiftly. Anna was quite unfit to face her family, especially her mother, so she rose and said gently, ‘Come with me, Anna. You’ve had a shock and you need to be alone. My guest room is ready and I’ll send a note to your mother.’