Across a Summer Sea

by Lyn Andrews

  The two women looked at each other mystified as Mary went to get changed. Molly took her sodden shawl and draped it over a chair which she set before the fire.

  ‘Do you have to have the place looking like a laundry?’ Davy snapped irritably.

  ‘And how else am I to get things dry?’ Molly snapped back. He was in a bad humour, no doubt about it, and he’d been drinking.

  Rita raised her eyes to the ceiling but said nothing.

  When Mary was changed and had taken the mug of tea and sat down Molly looked at her with curiosity.

  ‘Well, and what is it ye’ve to tell me?’

  ‘I’m going to apply for a job. A different job.’

  ‘Are ye not happy with the one ye have?’

  ‘Oh, it’s been great but this one sounds so much better. The only thing is it’s not in Dublin.’

  ‘Where is it then?’ Rita asked.

  ‘Tullamore. That’s King’s County.’

  ‘Begod, isn’t that a desperate way away from here!’ Molly was clearly taken aback.

  ‘Exactly how far away is it?’

  ‘Way down the country, in the midlands. Sure, in the name of God why do you want to move that far away?’

  ‘I told you it’s a much better job. It’s as a housekeeper at a place called Ballycowan Castle.’

  ‘A castle! Holy Mother of God, what for do ye want a job in a place like that? Isn’t it a bit too grand for the likes of us?’ Molly exclaimed.

  ‘What do you know about housekeeping in a castle?’ Rita demanded. ‘Won’t they have a rake of servants already?’

  ‘Probably, but I can try for it. I’ve kept my own house, it’s probably just the same only, well, a bit bigger.’

  ‘A bit bigger!’ Davy scoffed. She was mad if she thought she’d get a job like that! But perhaps it was all lies? Just the excuse to leave?

  ‘I don’t know how big it is. It might not be very big at all. It might just be a large house.’

  ‘And pigs might fly!’ Davy muttered, returning to his paper.

  ‘Where did ye see this job? Was it advertised or did someone tell ye about it?’ Molly demanded.

  ‘I saw it advertised in a shop window.’

  ‘Fine sort of a castle it must be to be advertising in a shop window. Why wouldn’t they advertise in a newspaper? I never heard of the gentry doing the like of that.’

  ‘I don’t know but I intend to find out. I’ll go tomorrow morning. Can I get a train?’

  ‘I would think ye could get a train from Kingsbridge Station but ye’d better ask. Are ye sure it’s the right thing, Mary? Ye never said ye were unhappy here.’ Molly sounded aggrieved, and Mary hastened to reassure her.

  ‘Oh, I’m not! Truly I’m not. It’s just that I’d like a better job and it would be nice for the children to live in the country. Plenty of room to run around and play, fresh air and fresh food. You’d like to live in the country, wouldn’t you, Katie?’

  Katie didn’t reply, she just stared at her mother. She had her cousins and all their friends to play with here and she didn’t want to have to move again.

  ‘Of course I won’t be taking you until I know I’ve got it and it’s all settled,’ Mary said confidently, more confidently than she felt.

  Molly shook her head. ‘Don’t ye be getting up your hopes now. It might turn out to be a wild goose chase.’

  ‘I know, but I feel as though I’ve got to try.’

  ‘Do you have the train fare? I’ll lend you something if you need it,’ Rita offered, although she was disappointed that Mary had made this decision without even discussing it with her.

  ‘I might need a couple of shillings, Rita, thanks.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go and see Mr Brannigan upstairs. He has a brother who works on the railways, he might be of some help,’ Molly offered.

  Mary thanked her and began to help Rita to set the table and prepare the meal. Oh, she hoped her aunt and cousin did not mind too much. They were still being so generous, and Mary felt that she was throwing it back in their faces. But she had no choice; nor could she ever explain it to them.

  They learned that Mary could get the Galway train at Kingsbridge Station, which stopped at Tullamore, but it was a long journey and she would need to set off early. There was also no guarantee that she would get there and back in one day. Molly, in yet another display of generosity, agreed to lend her enough money for lodgings for the night should she need them.

  It was dark and cold and very windy when she left early next morning. She wore her best clothes and the borrowed hat and had packed a few things in a small grip bag in case she needed them. Molly had cut her some sandwiches and a couple of slices of barmbrack to ‘keep her going’ on the long journey.

  She walked part of the way to the station and managed to get a ride on a cart for the rest of it. She was very thankful for she would have been worn out before she’d even started, she thought as she made her way into the cavernous station’s dimly lit and rather gloomy interior.

  She purchased her ticket and learned from the ticket-master that the journey would take approximately four hours, providing there were no ‘unforeseen circumstances’ to delay them. That meant it would be late morning before she even got to Tullamore and then she had no idea of how far Ballycowan Castle was from the town or how she would get there.

  ‘You may be in luck. There may well be an outside car that goes there,’ the man answered her query helpfully.

  She made her way to the platform and found a seat in a third-class carriage, which was already occupied by two women, dressed in the less fashionable clothes of country women. They smiled and introduced themselves so readily that Mary felt sure the journey would not be without some diversion. At least she could go and see what the place was like. She hoped she would be successful, and if not . . . well, she wouldn’t think about that until she had to.

  She learned a great deal on the journey from the two women and from two farmers who had joined them in the carriage as they all shared the food they had brought with them. Ballycowan Castle was about three miles from the small town of Tullamore and although there was no outside car she had been assured that she would get a lift from someone if she started to walk the road out there. She also learned that it was not a ‘grand’ house in the sense that it could boast a ‘rake’ of servants; she also gathered from the tone of their voices and their knowing glances that Mr Richard O’Neill was neither very wealthy nor well liked, although they would not be drawn any further on the subject. If she needed lodgings she could find them in any one of the taverns in town: most could provide a decent bed and a good breakfast for a shilling or two.

  She thanked them all and wished them well as she parted company with them outside the small station. She walked up the hill and then turned right. This was the quickest way, they had assured her, out past Charleville Castle and estate. It was cold but at least it was bright, she thought, looking around at the hedgerows and the bare branches of the trees that flanked the road. She hoped it wouldn’t be too long before someone stopped and offered her a lift.

  She had almost reached the huge stone gates of Charleville Castle, which could just be glimpsed between the trees to her right, when a cart pulled to a halt beside her.

  ‘Where are ye off to, girl?’ a middle-aged farmer asked, leaning over the side of the cart while the horse snatched at coarse tufts of grass at the roadside.

  ‘Ballycowan Castle and I’d be very grateful of a ride, no matter how short.’

  ‘I’m going as far as Mucklagh. It’s only a small piece after that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled and took his hand to pull herself up.

  ‘What has ye out there? I’ve not seen ye before.’

  ‘I’ve come from Dublin on the train this morning. I’m hoping to get work there. As a housekeeper.’

  He looked at her speculatively but didn’t comment; he just nodded and flapped the reins and the horse reluctantly abandoned its foraging and moved off.

&n
bsp; Since he continued to be silent (which she found surprising), she concentrated on admiring the scenery. Even though it was winter it looked pretty. Hedgerows still bounded the road which was getting increasingly narrow. Rolling green and brown fields ran for as far as the eye could see and away in the distance she could see the dark outline of a range of mountains. They passed farmhouses and cottages and a few large houses, reached by long driveways. Yes, it would be ideal for the children, she thought, away from the dirt and smoke and crowded streets of Dublin. It was so quiet and peaceful here, the only sounds the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the raucous cries of the rooks circling high above the treetops.

  ‘Well, I’ll let ye down here. I’m after taking the next turning,’ her driver announced, pulling on the reins and bringing the cart to a standstill.

  ‘Thank you. It was very kind of you to bring me so far,’ she said, preparing to climb down.

  ‘Keep walking down that laneway until you get to the canal. It’s the twenty-ninth lock. Walk down the towpath and ye can’t miss it. A great pile of rocks it is with five great chimneys, although it took a bit of a battering from Cromwell and his cannon balls a couple of hundred years ago.’

  ‘Thank you again. I’m very grateful.’ She waved as he drew away and then turned and began to walk down the narrow lane where the hedgerows were so tall that it was impossible to see the fields beyond.

  She began to feel a little apprehensive. Could she convince this Mr O’Neill that she was capable of running the household? Just how big a place was it? How many other servants were there?

  After ten minutes she rounded a bend in the lane and the narrow humpbacked bridge over the Grand Canal came into view. There were two cottages clustered on its banks, one of which she realised must belong to the lock-keeper. She wondered whether she should knock and ask if she had the right place but decided against it. The narrow towpath was flanked by fields on the right-hand side and the waters of the canal on the left. A little further along was what looked like a small farmhouse and then she stopped and stared. Rising high into the sky from the banks of towering fir trees were the sandstone walls of Ballycowan Castle, its five tall chimneys making it look even more imposing. It was a castle, if not a very big one. Its upper storey was crenellated, its walls looked to be at least two feet thick and there appeared to be five floors. Small leaded panes were set into the stone mullioned windows. The glass sparkled in the weak winter sunlight.

  Oh, it was a grand place. How on earth would she cope? ‘Well, standing here just gaping is no use,’ she told herself firmly and began to make her way along the towpath.

  The closer she drew the bigger it looked and she felt her heart sink. There was a cottage at the large stone gateway and a black and white collie came out to investigate the stranger.

  Mary bent and patted it and then looked towards the cottage. She supposed she’d better knock here first. Maybe it was some sort of gatehouse.

  In answer to her knock the door was opened by a young woman with a tangle of dark hair and large brown eyes. A plaid shawl was draped around her shoulders and she eyed Mary with some hostility.

  ‘I’m looking for a Mr Richard O’Neill?’ Mary enquired.

  ‘And who are ye?’ the girl asked suspiciously, taking in Mary’s fashionable outfit and then looking down to her own bare and grubby feet.

  ‘Mrs Mary McGann. I’ve come from Dublin about the position.’ Mary wasn’t impressed by the girl’s sullen manner.

  ‘Have ye so? Then it’s Himself ye’ll be looking for.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that. Does he employ you?’

  ‘Bridie, who’s at the door?’ a thin, quarrelsome voice enquired from within.

  ‘A woman from Dublin to see Himself, Da,’ the girl shouted back.

  ‘I’ll thank you to direct me,’ Mary said coldly. She hadn’t come all this way to be kept on the doorstep of a cabin by a barefoot slip of a girl.

  ‘Go up to the door yonder and ring the bell, but ye’ll have a bit of a wait, mind. Mrs O’Shea packed her bags and left three weeks ago. He’ll answer the door himself, if he’s a mind to,’ she added offhandedly.

  Mary didn’t even thank her as she turned away. If that was the calibre of the servants he employed she had little to worry about.

  She picked her way across the yard between half-frozen puddles and piles of dung. What a mess! she thought to herself. What kind of a man was he to allow such filth outside his front door? Shooing a small flock of foraging hens from under her feet she climbed the broken steps up to the massive oak door set in its arched stone lintel and pulled hard on the rusted iron rod that set a loud bell ringing in the hall beyond. She looked upwards. There was a stone plaque high above the doorway with a coat-of-arms above, which stated that the house was built by Sir Jasper Herbert, Knight, and his wife Dame Mary Finglass in the year 1626. Underneath the plaque were the words ‘By God of Might I hold my Right’.

  So it was very old, but some of her nervousness had dissipated, owing to her initial evaluation of the way this decidedly ungracious Mr O’Neill appeared to live.

  Eventually she heard the sound of footsteps and the door was opened.

  ‘Mr O’Neill? Mr Richard O’Neill?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Who are you?’

  He wasn’t what she had expected. He was quite young, in his thirties she surmised, and handsome in a dark and rather saturnine way. He was tall, six foot she judged, and well made - not fat nor heavy but muscular. His dark brown hair was thick and wavy and sprinkled with grey and his eyes were the most piercing shade of blue she had ever seen. He wore cord trousers and waistcoat over a plain white collarless shirt.

  ‘I’m Mrs Mary McGann. I’ve come from Dublin in answer to your advertisement for a housekeeper,’ she replied primly.

  To her surprise he smiled and his whole face changed. ‘Have you indeed. Then come inside, Mrs McGann.’

  She followed him into the dim high-ceilinged hall. The floor was flagged but she noticed that there were numerous expensive-looking rugs on the floor - in need of a clean and chewed at the edges, but still expensive. She caught a glimpse of large, heavy-framed portraits on the walls and a huge sweeping stone staircase that rose on the right-hand side. The only daylight came from a small barred window by the door.

  ‘Please do go in. You will have to excuse the mess. I’ve been without a housekeeper for a while.’

  ‘So the young girl at the gatehouse informed me,’ she replied, entering a large rectangular room, which had a stone fireplace, a low stone vaulted ceiling and a mullioned window that looked out over the boundary wall. It was comfortably furnished but everything looked worn and dusty and neglected.

  ‘Please, do sit down. You must be tired.’

  She sat gingerly on the edge of a large, deeply buttoned green leather chesterfield.

  ‘Mrs McGann? I assume you are a widow? You are very young, if I may presume to say so.’

  Mary decided that honesty was the best policy. ‘No, Mr O’Neill. I am not a widow. My husband and I did not get on. We decided it would be the best policy to . . . separate. He lives in Liverpool.’

  He raised an eyebrow and looked slightly bemused. She was a very attractive young woman. Not expensively dressed but fashionable. He was curious. ‘Indeed? Have you any children?’

  ‘I have three. Two daughters and one son. They are with relatives in Dublin.’

  ‘Are they young?’ he asked, thinking they couldn’t be very old. She was only in her mid-twenties, he guessed.

  ‘Lizzie is the youngest, she’s six. They are no trouble.’

  ‘And have you any experience?’

  She was determined not to appear timid. ‘I have the experience of running my own home, which I did exceedingly well, if I do say so myself, and on a limited . . . er . . . budget.’

  ‘You have no experience of large households?’

  ‘Oh, indeed yes. I have lived in households of twelve people and more,’ she replied, thinking of her
time with Nellie and Bella and the others.

  His mouth lifted at the corners. ‘That’s not quite what I meant.’

  She was a little disconcerted and decided that the best form of defence was attack.

  ‘How many servants do you employ, Mr O’Neill?’

  He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Only three, Mrs McGann, but this is a big house.’

  ‘I can see that and, if you will excuse me, from the little I’ve seen it’s in desperate need of a good housekeeper.’ She wondered if she’d gone too far as she saw his brows rush together in a frown but she pressed on. ‘I work hard, Mr O’Neill. I’ve worked hard all my life and I’ve never had much in the way of material things. I don’t expect to be paid a fortune. A fair wage and accommodation for myself and my children. I am quiet, thrifty, honest and a good Catholic. There will be no - how should I put this? - unseemly behaviour. I will be fair if strict with the staff you already have. As I have said, I work hard and I expect others to do the same.’

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at her. He liked her honesty but would she suit? Well, all the others hadn’t, although they were more qualified for the role. He shrugged. He had nothing to lose.

  ‘Very well, Mrs McGann, I’m prepared to give you a trial. Shall we say a month?’

  Mary was so startled that at first she couldn’t reply. Then she shook herself. He was actually saying he would employ her! She’d got the job! She relaxed a little, a smile crossing her face. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

  ‘I hope I won’t. Now, shall I show you the rest of the house and we can discuss your salary?’

  ‘Thank you and could I please see the . . . er . . . accommodation? ’

  ‘Of course. It’s at the back of the house, on the ground floor.’ He rose.

  As she followed suit, she decided to satisfy her curiosity about something.

  ‘May I ask you a question, sir?’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Why did you advertise the job in a small newsagent’s shop in Dublin?’

  ‘I wanted no one from these parts.’

  ‘But surely if you had advertised in a Dublin paper you would have been certain to have found someone more . . . experienced than myself?’