Jack, Jack, get off our backs,
The Ludlow ladies can do more than tack,
Davoren, hide in your den,
The Ludlow ladies are going to win!
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jack Davoren.
Kathryn Rodgers,
Chairwoman
24
When Eve and Hetty got a special summons to Ludlow Hall, they rushed, afraid something was wrong.
“Don’t tell me she has decided to sell up now that we have all got used to her,” Hetty said, after picking up Eve.
“No point getting too excited, we will know soon enough,” Eve said, a pang shooting through her that Ludlow might be about to slip away from her again.
The gates were swung back and a big sign advertising the Ludlow Dance School was on the wall beside the stile.
“Oh, lord, the studio must be ready! We must get our dancing shoes on,” Hetty said, her voice high-pitched with excitement.
“Do you think she will make a go of it?”
“If there is any justice, she will, after all she has been through.”
At the front steps, they were not sure if they should use the key to let themselves in.
“We could do both: knock and then use the key,” Hetty said.
Pushing the door open, the music encircled them, loud classical notes travelling through the house, making their ears fizz. Hetty, grabbing Eve’s hand, pulled her towards the big room on the left. The door lay open and they could make out the scrape of dancing shoes on the floorboards.
Connie, her body rising and falling, moved with the camber of the music, her feet skipping across the floor like a butterfly dancing between brightly coloured flowers.
Hetty gripped Eve’s arm and the two of them stood in awe, caught up in the emotion of the display, the music raising up their hearts so that a joy welled up in them both.
Eve felt a great sense of happiness that Ludlow Hall was throbbing with life once again.
They watched for several minutes before Connie noticed them. Letting the music continue, she reached them in a few steps, her hands out, pulling them onto the floor.
“Kick off your shoes, join me,” she laughed, and they could not protest, seeing her eyes twinkling so bright.
In their stockinged feet, they stood self-consciously as she turned down the volume on the music. Eve made to sit down where some chairs were grouped in the corner.
“No, you don’t, Eve. We will just do a few warm-up exercises,” Connie said, catching her by the hand.
“I have two left feet. Nothing will get over that.”
Connie ignored Eve, pulling her along as she did one, two, three simple steps.
Hetty followed them, trying to keep up. One, two, three, Connie stepping smartly in front, Hetty and Eve almost colliding, collapsing into giggles.
“A superb start. Maybe I can entice the Ludlow Ladies’ Society to avail themselves of a free lesson after today’s meeting?”
“They will love it, but it is up to you to persuade them to continue.”
Hetty pirouetted across the room, almost crashing into Arnold’s desk.
“I always wanted to be a dancer. Sign me up for any lessons you like,” she said, slightly out of breath.
Eve straightened her clothes. “You have done a fine job, Connie, but for my part, I just wish there were not so many mirrors. Best get the ladies when they arrive, otherwise they will have too much time to think up an excuse.”
“You won’t notice after a while. Just listen to the music, let your body flow: dancing is food for the soul.”
Eve looked around the room. What would Arnold think? It was as if he had never existed in this room where he had dominated. Mirrors and dance barres where once there were shelves of old books, collected over the years. His desk was the only part of the old room allowed to remain, but was pushed up against the wall and holding a music system.
“Do you approve?” Connie asked.
Eve swung around. “Bar the mirrors, it is fantastic. It is about time there was music and a bit of life around Ludlow Hall. Who would have thought, after all this time, dancing about could breathe life back into the old house?”
Connie reached out and gave Eve a hug, catching her hand and sweeping her along the floor in a type of flowing dance Eve thought was more like a waltz.
“That is what we will do later, just a few simple steps.”
Hetty slipped across the floor, taking long, sweeping steps.
“I always wanted to do line dancing. Remember the craze a few years ago? I really wanted to go to the town hall, but Barry said I would only make a show of myself.” Her voice trailed off.
Connie, grabbing her under the elbow, led her to the door.
“In time, we will do different classes,” Connie said, skipping between the two women as they crossed over to the drawing room. She burst into the centre of the room, swinging around to Eve and Hetty.
“You are probably wondering why I asked you to call in early, but I want Molly’s quilt to be on display at the festival.”
“This is a bit of a sea change. Are you sure?”
“No, not sure, but I think it could be a step forward.”
“What about the quilt’s story? Do you want people to know?”
“It might be better to tell everybody at the same time, rather than repeating it over and over.”
Hetty, shaking the three-quarters-finished quilt on to the carpet, stopped what she was doing. “There is a certain sense in what you are saying.”
“We need not say how it all happened, only that Molly died,” Eve said.
Connie put a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “I know you are only trying to protect me, but to know me now is to know the loss, the loss compounded by the terrible facts. Not to know that is not to know me.”
“If you are sure you can cope.”
A car weaving up the avenue brought the three of them to the window. When Hetty spied Rebecca Fleming, she guffawed into her sleeve.
“I am surprised to see her. I don’t see why she is coming here, and so early,” Eve sniffed, making for the door. She turned back, looking embarrassed. “Look at me, going to answer the door as if I owned the place. I am sorry, Connie.”
“Go ahead, I am sure she is looking for you anyway.”
Rebecca was shaking with excitement when Eve answered the front door.
“Eve, have you heard about the fire?”
“What fire?”
“It is the town hall: they think it was arson. There was a break-in some time in the early hours, somebody poured petrol over the whole place. It went up in a few minutes.”
“Come in,” Connie called out from the drawing room.
“Where does that leave us?” Hetty asked.
“It means the town is without a hall, there is no place now for the country market every Saturday, and the Festival is also up in a heap.”
Tears glinted in Eve’s eyes and she clenched her fists on her lap. “All this work was probably for nothing.”
Rebecca sat primly on the edge of the velvet wingback. “I am on the Festival’s organising committee. I am also secretary to the Town Hall Committee.” She cleared her throat, two fingers nervously tugging at the pointed lapel of her collar. “I am happy I have the authority to ask you, Ms Carter, this question. Is there any chance the Festival could exhibit at Ludlow Hall? In one of the outhouses, perhaps?”
Connie looked taken back. “I am not sure. Is there even any lighting in the outhouses?”
“The barn has electricity,” Eve said quietly.
“Would you mind if the barn was used?” Hetty said, staring pointedly at Eve.
“I am not the owner of Ludlow Hall, and no, I don’t mind if you are referring to what happened there.”
Rebecca stood up, advancing towards Eve. “Eve, in my rush to find a solution I was insensitive. I am awfully sorry.”
“What happened?” Connie asked.
Hetty went puce and looked at Eve.
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“The barn is where my husband hanged himself.”
“Oh . . . Oh.” Connie was not sure how to answer.
Rebecca Fleming straightened her skirt and scuffed her shoes on the carpet.
“I did not mean to dredge up the memories, Eve—”
Connie broke across her. “Why don’t we convert the old stables and yard for the country market, and the exhibition can take place in the drawing room here.”
Eve clapped both her hands together, as if calling everybody to attention.
“Connie, you will never get the stables done! There is too much work involved. The barn is the obvious place for the market.” Her face flushed pink, Eve looked from one woman to the next. “It is about time I got over my irrational fear of the place. It is quite nice to think Ludlow Hall could become the centre of the community yet again. This room is lovely for the Festival exhibition, and the right size, Connie, as long as you are happy to have the whole of the town traipsing through.”
“It seems a way to get to know everybody.”
“Are you sure?” Rebecca asked, rubbing her hands in satisfaction that she had solved the problems for both the Town Hall Committee and the Festival in one go.
“We will give it a go, but I think the barn will need a makeover of sorts.”
“I will get a team to come around this week. A few days should do it. I will tell them to consult with you.”
Eve noticed a new-found confidence in Rebecca, who got up to leave, itching to get back and tell everybody she had saved not only the country market, but had arranged a swish place for the exhibition.
Eve put her hands out to stop her. “Maybe don’t say anything until Connie has had a chance for a proper think, a cooling-off period, as it were.”
Connie laughed. “Trying to protect me again, Eve. I think I can make my own decisions.” Realising she sounded a bit sharp, Connie playfully tapped Eve on the arm. “It is about time I got involved in Rosdaniel: this is a good way to do it.”
Relief washed over Rebecca Fleming’s face as she hastily walked to the door, promising to be in touch later with times for the workmen.
Connie made sure the front door was firmly shut behind Rebecca before she addressed Eve.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
“It is only four walls and a roof, why wouldn’t I? Haven’t I survived this far?”
Eve purposefully picked up her patchwork, Connie and Hetty following her lead, not altogether sure Eve wasn’t masking the reawakening of a great pain.
Happy to escape from Eve’s insistence that everything was normal, Connie went upstairs to change before the first of her dance classes arrived. A calm quietness blanketed the house. Today Connie’s heart was at peace, surrounded by the patchwork colours of Molly. At Ludlow Hall, she felt safe. It was strange that a place she had not even known existed this time last year should now be holding her up, cradling her as she attempted to resurrect a life for herself.
When she heard the first of the mothers come up the avenue, kids chattering, she stood at the top window, watching them. One woman had her three-year-old girl by the hand, and another had let her boy run on ahead. He was fiercely kicking the grass along the centre of the drive. Connie knew he was the one to watch. The group lingered at the rhododendron, waiting for a woman pushing a double buggy to catch up.
Connie pulled on her new tracksuit and rushed downstairs to open the front door, happy that at least a few mums and kids had turned up.
Eve gave her the thumbs-up as they passed into the dance studio, the children running ahead, jumping and shouting.
“Do you think she will make a go of it?” Eve said.
Hetty looked at her friend. “We will make sure she does. We don’t want her to up and leave; she is too good for us for that.”
They sat working, smiling as they heard the children, heavy on their feet, the sound of “Nellie the Elephant” making them tap their toes. When the chatter became higher than the music, they knew the class was finished.
“It is show time,” Hetty said, tidying away her sewing needle and thread.
Eithne Hall’s car pulled up outside, three women squashed into the back and another two sharing the front passenger seat.
Eve walked out to greet them, pulling on Connie’s arm as she came out of the studio.
“I think, Connie, spring the dance on them, no touchy-feely, going easy. A bit like you did to Hetty and myself.”
Embarrassed, Connie did not know what to say. Hetty bustled forward, her hands out in front of her as if to stop the hordes advancing.
“Ladies, the latest thing is to lose weight through dance exercise, and we are going to lead the way.”
“I never said . . .” Connie started to say, but Eve lightly brushed her ankle to indicate to her to shut up.
“We are nearing the end of the quilts. We thought why not take a break? Sure, we are making quilts in our dreams. Let’s learn to dance,” Eve said.
The women stopped in their tracks, bumping up against each other.
“I think we have more than enough work to be getting on with. Maybe another time,” Kathryn said.
“Right now?” Dana asked.
“Of course,” Eve said, making a feeble attempt to swing her hips.
Hetty clicked her fingers and pointed to the dance studio. Kathryn sighed loudly but followed the others as they trooped in.
“Slip off the shoes at the door, ladies,” Hetty said, her voice loud enough to be heard over the gaggle of talk in the hall.
Eithne, a heavy woman around the hips, stood looking from Eve to Hetty to Connie.
“I am not sure anybody wants to see these hips moving.”
“Just imagine what you will look like after a few weeks: you will be transformed,” Hetty said, leading the way into the dance studio.
“Not that my man would notice anything, but I have an occasion coming up in the next few months,” Marcella said, slapping her own hips.
Connie, emboldened by the enthusiasm of the others, slipped ahead and put on jolly, light music.
“Kick off your shoes, ladies. Don’t worry how you are dressed, we will be just enjoying ourselves today, see where we are at.”
Giggling, the women stepped out of their shoes, lining them in a row down one side of the room. Eithne was the last in line, sheepishly pointing to her odd socks.
“I didn’t think the whole world was going to be perusing my toes,” she said, jumping from one foot to another, turning, shaking her bottom and making the others guffaw loudly. “I am afraid the only steps any of us know is the Irish dancing,” Eithne said, flexing her feet in an Irish reel.
Kathryn Rodgers made a big thing of showing off her pirouettes. Dana Marshall, a little overwhelmed, stood to one side. Connie called the group to attention and, taking Dana by the hand, showed her how to warm up. Soon they were concentrating on their exercises, before she allowed them to attempt a few steps. Slowly the giggles disappeared, each woman focusing on her feet.
“One, two, three, head up, looking in the mirror.”
Eve refused to look up. “I know well what I look like, without getting a nasty reminder,” she said.
“Ladies, we have to make a pair of curtains to pull over for when the Ludlow Ladies’ Society are showing their moves,” Hetty said, making everybody chuckle.
“We have to finish our patchwork quilts, that is what we have to do,” Kathryn said, a little too sharply.
“Kathryn is right, we can come back to the dancing another day,” Eve said, and the other women, though they grumbled, made to get their shoes on, and each promised Connie they would return for more dance lessons another time.
Full of chatter, they crossed to the drawing room, Eithne Hall leading the way. She got the Rosdaniel quilt and pushed it out across the carpet like she was putting a fresh sheet on the bed.
The women stood. It was three-quarters done, colours light and dark, squares of fabric identical in size so that the people of the t
own could pick out the piece that meant the most to them. The priest’s scarf, the apron used by the baker at Connor’s Bakery, the green jersey, beside the silks and satins and flowery fabrics the women of the town donated. The schools were represented in plaid; a section of a Garda uniform was beside the lace of a Communion dress. The Town Hall was remembered in detailed embroidery specially done by Rebecca. Ludlow Hall had been given the same treatment.
“We have too much fabric, so we are spoiled for choice for the last quarter,” Kathryn said.
Eve picked up a tiny shirt with the sailor collar, navy with a white petersham trim as a border around the square collar.
“Who gave in this?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.
Dana Marshall fidgeted with the lace chairback on the velvet wingback chair.
“I brought it, Eve. It was your boy’s, wasn’t it? Mammy asked me to bring it, I hope you don’t mind.”
Kathryn picked it up. “But is there a story attached to it?” she asked.
Dana straightened up. “Well, I think there is, and it is a Rosdaniel story, because there were a lot like us at the time. My father had just lost his job in the local mill when my mother had her first baby: a boy, our Tommy. She said that shirt and the little trousers that went with it meant she could dress her child up going to Mass and walking down the town. ‘I could hold my head high I was not letting my baby down,’ were her actual words. She said it also gave her hope that they would get through the hard times, as well as a belief in the kindness of others.”
“I remember your mother, a lovely woman. She baked some scones and brought them here, something I really appreciated,” Eve said quietly.
“She said you invited her in for tea, but she was too scared to go inside Ludlow Hall.” Dana faltered.
“In case she met Arnold, I suppose,” Eve ventured.
Dana, embarrassed, continued. “Mammy is on the verge of dementia now, forgetting lots, but some things in the past she remembers well, like when she got the sailor suit for Tommy.” Dana’s eyes welled up. “We would all be very proud if a sailor-shirt patch was included in the quilt.”
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 21