by Judi Curtin
‘Don’t be jealous,’ she said. ‘I have to share my mother with all of Ireland.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mother wants to do everything and fix everything.’
‘Like what?’
‘She’s in all kinds of organisations – daughters of Ireland, Fianna Eireann – and probably more that we don’t even know about. No one in the family talks about her very much, except for Aunt Eva, and that’s not any good to me, because she’s hardly ever here either.’
‘It sounds as if your mother has a very exciting life,’ I said.
‘It’s exciting but she works hard too. She fights for votes for women, and extra food for the poor. She is an exceedingly brave person.’
‘You must be very proud of her,’ I said, thinking of my own poor mam who was brave too, but never had time for anything except feeding and caring for her children.
‘I am proud,’ said Maeve. ‘Since the Lockout started she’s been helping starving children, you know, and that’s a very good thing, but …’
‘What?’
‘I wouldn’t change Mother, or what she believes in, and I know she thinks it’s best for me to be here with Gaga, as she is so busy in Dublin.’
So that’s why Maeve had to live with her granny – her mother and father were too busy to take care of her. Poor Maeve. I could see how much she missed her mam and dad. I could also see she wasn’t used to talking about this. I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn’t dare to move.
‘I would like to see Mother and Father more often,’ she said. ‘Uncle Joss and Aunt Mary see their little ones at least once a day, when the nurses bring them down for their goodnight kisses. Sometimes Aunt Mary takes Michael and Hugh for riding lessons and spends the whole afternoon watching them from the gallery.’
I had to smile. My mam saw Winnie and Anne almost every second of every day. Winnie spent most of her days clinging to her skirts, and Anne was never more than a shout away.
‘It must be nice when your mother visits you here,’ I said, trying to cheer her up.
‘It is,’ said Maeve. ‘I love seeing her. Mother respects me and talks to me as if I were a grown-up.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said. Now I felt even more sorry for her. I like being treated as a grown-up by everyone else, but I’ll always be my mam’s little girl – that’s the way things are supposed to be.
‘You’ll see Mother soon enough,’ said Maeve. ‘She will be visiting at Christmas – and maybe my father too – though he might have to go to Poland to see his family.’
‘The Countess will be here at Christmas?’
I had heard so much about her, it was almost as if she wasn’t a real person at all. Soon, though, she would really be here, under the same roof as me! I could hardly believe what Maeve was saying, and I was already in a panic.
‘What should I say to her if I meet her? What should I do? Should I bow or curtsey? What should I call her – Your Highness or Countess or Your Majesty, or what?’
Maeve laughed. ‘She’s just a woman – and she won’t care what you call her as long as you are nice to her dog. If you do say something to her she probably won’t even notice – she is always busy and she’ll be running around like a whirlwind. Anyway, enough about Mother. We’ve got work to do.’
For a long time, she concentrated on her painting, and I sat there watching her. I was older than Maeve, but she was much more sophisticated and well-travelled than me – she had been all over Ireland, to places I’d only heard about. In some ways though, Maeve seemed very young. She’d never made a bed, or scrubbed a floor, or done anything to earn a living. She wasn’t even allowed outside the grounds on her own. She was always protected and minded and watched over. It seemed like a very strange life to me.
Finally, Maeve put down her brush with a big sigh. ‘This portrait really isn’t turning out so well,’ she said.
‘Can I….?’
‘No! You can’t see. I’m not proud of this one at all.’
As she said the words, she grabbed the page and tore it into tiny pieces.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I…’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said with a big smile. ‘It’s not your fault. We’ve got lots of time. We can start all over again tomorrow.’
I couldn’t smile with her. Sitting in this fancy room was very nice, but how long before the other servants punished me for doing something I had no choice about at all?
* * *
I was still worried when I went into the servants dining hall for supper. I went towards my usual place, but stopped when I noticed that everyone was staring at me. I checked that my cap was on straight, and that I didn’t have any terrible stains on my apron, but I couldn’t find anything wrong.
‘Look at Miss Fancy,’ said one man, and everyone laughed.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ said another, which made everyone laugh even more.
‘Get out your paintbrushes, lads,’ said another. ‘The model is here.’
The teasing went on and on. Nearly everyone had something clever to say. I put my head down and walked towards my place with tears in my eyes. This was so unfair.
And then Maggie, the laundry maid, stepped towards the laughing men, shaking her fist.
‘Leave her alone, the whole lot of you. None of this is Lily’s fault. She’s only doing what she’s told – like we all have to do. So you can shut your faces.’
‘Or what?’ asked one lad, pretending to look scared. ‘I’m shaking in my boots.’
‘Or I’ll…..’ Maggie was tiny, and even though she had a fierce look in her eyes, I had no idea what she was supposed to do now. It was nice of her to stand up for me, but I didn’t want her to suffer for it.
‘What’s all this noise about? What’s going on?’
It was Mr Kilgallon, and he did not look happy.
‘Nothing, sir,’ said one of the men.
‘Just a joke,’ said another.
Now Mrs Bailey came in. She looked at the men, and then she saw me with my big red face, and the stupid tears, which were now dripping down my cheeks and onto my apron. She knew everything that happened amongst the servants and I’m sure it didn’t take her long to work out what the ‘joke’ was.
‘If there’s any more of this, there’ll be no cakes for a week,’ she said. ‘Do you all understand?’
Now the men looked like little children whose toys had been taken away from them.
The man who had started it all looked at me, and seemed surprised to see my tears. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ he said. ‘We didn’t mean any harm – and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
I could see he meant what he said. I’d noticed that he was a man that the others all listened to, so I nodded to show him that it was all right.
‘Thank you, for standing up for me, Maggie,’ I whispered as we sat down. ‘That was brave of you.’
‘Anything for a friend,’ said Maggie, and then we all had our supper.
Chapter Thirteen
That night I got to our room before Nellie did. I picked up the crumpled letter that was still in the corner of the room – (we didn’t have any servants to clean up after us!) I smoothed it out and read it again. It was a nice letter, and I was sure that if only Nellie would read it, she’d understand what I was trying to say to her.
When she came in a few minutes later, she saw the letter in my hand, and took a step away, almost as if this small sheet of paper frightened her.
‘Just read it, please,’ I said. ‘And then I’ll stop talking about it, I promise.’
But she didn’t take the letter from me. Instead she sat on her bed and started to cry. This was so unexpected, I didn’t have any idea what to do. Nellie always seemed so strong and so tough. What had I done to make her cry like this?
I went and sat beside her, and patted her shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she liked that, but she didn’t pull away. I leaned over to put the letter on her locker, and all of a sudden the t
ruth came to me, and I wondered how I hadn’t seen it before.
‘Oh, Nellie,’ I whispered. ‘Can you read at all?’
She looked up at me for a second, and then she began to cry even more. She hadn’t answered my question, but I knew I was right. I kept on patting her shoulder, and saying ‘Shhh now, don’t cry,’ the way I did with Winnie when she was upset.
And then Nellie was angry. ‘Everything is so easy for you,’ she said pushing me away. ‘With your own mam and your own home, and your lovely school and all your friends. Do you think I had any of that in the workhou––?’
She stopped herself, but she knew it was too late. I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t a surprise to me, that Isabelle had told me about all that ages ago, but I didn’t know if that would make things even worse.
‘I’m so sorry you were in the workhouse, Nellie,’ I said. ‘It must have been terrible, but it’s not your fault. You don’t have to be ashamed.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ she sniffed.
My childhood hadn’t been perfect, but compared to Nellie, I’d had a wonderful life. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t have what I had,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if there was no school in the workhouse.’
Now she stared at me with her huge blue eyes.
‘There was a school,’ she whispered. ‘But … but there were so many children … more than a hundred sometimes … and the Mistress was very cross … she had a big stick … and mostly I was too sick to go to school. When I was well, I couldn’t catch up … I didn’t understand … and she beat me … and …’
Remembering it all made her cry some more. This time I put my arms around her and held her tight.
‘Now you know the truth you will hate me,’ she said, when she pulled away from me. ‘Just like everyone else. No one ever wants to be friends with a workhouse girl.’
I wanted to cry. It was true that Nellie had no friends in Lissadell, but that wasn’t because she’d once been in a workhouse. It was because she scared everyone away with her bad temper and grumpy comments – but because she was so snappy, I couldn’t even tell her that.
‘I don’t hate you, Nellie,’ I said. ‘I want to be your friend. Listen to what I wrote and maybe you’ll understand.’
I picked up the letter and read it aloud. For a long time Nellie didn’t say anything.
‘Don’t you like it?’ I asked.
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘I like it very much – and I’m sorry for crumpling it up after you went to so much trouble … but I don’t deserve it.’
I was disappointed, but then I realised that was stupid of me. Poor Nellie had been sad for so long, I couldn’t expect her to be immediately happy, just because I gave her a letter and said a few nice things to her.
Still, I was glad when she took the letter from me and put it under her pillow again. Then she stood up and took off her apron.
‘Time to get ready for bed,’ she said. I knew she wanted to end the conversation, but for all I knew, Nellie would never talk like this to me again, and there was one more thing I had to know.
‘Your family,’ I said. ‘Are they …?’
‘My mam and dad had the fever, and they died. That’s why my sisters and me had to go to the workhouse.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ I said. ‘But your sisters …?
‘They split us up when we got to the workhouse – they always do. And I was only little and it was a long time ago, so … if my sisters fetched up here, I might not even recognise them any more. Sometimes I dream about them, but I never see their faces properly – all I can see is their long red hair, just like mine.’
I thought about my sisters and brothers. Seeing them once a week never seemed enough. What would I do if I didn’t see them for years and years? What would I do if it was so long, I couldn’t recognise those sweet faces any more?
‘I’m sorry, Nellie.’ It was all I could think of to say. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
When my brothers and sisters were sad, I was usually able to help them. I rubbed Winnie’s tummy when it was sore, and I hugged Anne when she fell and scraped her knees. If the boys were fighting with their friends, I could usually sort things out.
But how could I help Nellie? I couldn’t make her parents come back to life. I couldn’t march into the workhouse, and demand to see her sisters, and bring them back to Lissadell with me. I was only a poor housemaid, and there was nothing I could do.
During the night I woke to hear Nellie crying. I leaned out of bed, found her hand and held it tight. When morning came my fingers were stiff and sore, but I didn’t mind.
Chapter Fourteen
After breakfast, Mrs Bailey gave me the nice easy job of tidying Lady Mary’s dressing table. Lady Mary had so many pots of creams and powders – no wonder she had such soft, perfect skin. My poor mam’s face was always red and sore looking, and she never owned as much as one pot of cream to make it better. Maybe I could buy her some when I got my wages.
Just as I was straightening up Lady Mary’s silver hairbrush and comb, Maeve came and found me. She looked beautiful with a fur-trimmed cloak over her elegant green striped dress.
‘No painting today, I’m afraid, Lily,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ I said, trying not to sound too disappointed. I had been looking forward to sitting in Maeve’s lovely bedroom and chatting – and scrubbing the dining room floor wasn’t going to be much of a consolation.
‘I don’t know when we will be able to paint again. Gaga and I are going to stay with some of her ancient old cousins in Galway. We’ll be gone for ages and ages, and it’s going to be so boring.’
I tried not to smile. I wouldn’t mind being a visitor in some fine house. As far as I could see, being bored had to be better than working all day long.
‘We’ll do more painting when I get back, all right?’
I nodded. Maeve was the one actually doing the painting, while all I had to do was sit still and look like myself, but I realised that the whole thing meant more to me than it did to her. She had a busy life of travel and hobbies, schoolwork and parties, and my life was … well it was nothing like that.
* * *
Next day, Lady Mary came in while I was sweeping the drawing room. I moved to the side and looked down at a rug, as if it were the most beautiful rug ever made.
‘Ah, Lily,’ she said. ‘As you know, Christmas is coming.’
Of course I knew Christmas was coming, but I wasn’t looking forward to it like I used to. At home, Mam always found time to knit a present for each of us. It was usually something useful like new socks, or a warm vest, but she could make it special by adding in some brightly coloured wool or even a scrap of ribbon. No matter how bad things were, Mam always managed to get a chicken for our dinner on Christmas day, and after we’d eaten, we’d go to a neighbour’s house and sing songs and tell stories till well after our usual bedtimes.
Already Maggie had told me about Christmas in Lissadell, and it didn’t sound like much fun for the servants. There were many visitors, some of whom stayed for a week or longer – and more visitors meant more work for us.
Lady Mary hadn’t asked a question, but she seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
‘Yes, Lady Mary,’ I said, with my eyes still fixed on the rug. ‘Christmas will be nice.’
‘This year I plan to buy a little something for all of the servants, so I was wondering what you would like?’
Was I hearing right?
Was she offering to buy me a present?
‘I … I …’
‘Don’t be so shy. I’m sure there is something you would like, so tell me what it is and I will do my best to get it for you.’
Now I could hardly breathe. There were so many things I would like, but how could I pick one?
If I chose something too big, would Lady Mary think me impossibly greedy and end up buying me nothing at all?
If I chose something small, would I feel cheated when I saw the presents the other servants asked f
or? Mam always says I shouldn’t compare myself to other people, but how would I feel if everyone else got something better than me?
And then the words popped out. ‘I’d … if it’s not too much to ask … I’d very much like a doll.’
‘A doll?’
Lady Mary didn’t sound cross, so I continued. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind, I would love a doll of my own. I’ve never had one before, and if I got one, I would love it, and on my days off I could bring it home and let my little sisters play with it, but I would tell them to be very careful, and …’
‘Of course you shall have a doll. Is there any particular type of doll you would like?’
I remembered the beautiful doll I had seen in the nursery. ‘I’d be happy with any kind at all,’ I said. ‘But if I could get a doll with curly hair, and a satin dress with lace on it, I think I might be the happiest girl in all of Sligo.’
Lady Mary laughed. ‘I think that could be arranged,’ she said. Then she took a tiny notebook and pencil from her pocket, and I watched as she wrote Lily, and next to it the beautiful words – doll, curly hair, satin dress.
I felt like jumping up and down for joy, but was afraid that might spoil everything, so I had to be content with a little skip, as I got back to my sweeping.
Chapter Fifteen
On workdays I found it very hard to climb out of my warm bed, but on Saturdays this was never a problem.
Nellie was still sitting on her bed rubbing her eyes, while I was already dressed and ready to go. As always, I was excited, but I had to bottle up my feelings. How could I let Nellie see how happy I was when she had no trips home to look forward to?
How could I talk about my mam, when she had no mam at all?
‘I’ll see you tonight, then,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Nellie. ‘And I hope you have a lovely time with your mam and your brothers and sisters.’
‘Thank you. It’s nice of you to say that, since … well …’