by Lyn Andrews
‘Maybe I didn’t want someone more “experienced” than yourself. You are discreet, Mrs McGann? It’s absolutely essential.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I think that is all I need to know and all you need to know. Please follow me.’
She was still puzzled as she followed him out of the room but she pushed her doubt to the back of her mind. She’d got the job and she was determined to make the best of it. At least she would be away from Davy, and that had to be better for herself and the children.
Chapter Twelve
MARY HAD NEVER SEEN so big a house in her entire life. It had taken half an hour to inspect the rooms. All those on the ground floor had stone vaulted ceilings, rather like a church, she thought, except they were much lower. There were five of them. The kitchen itself was almost as big as her whole house in Newsham Street had been and you could have prepared enough food for an army there. It was presided over by Mrs Moran, the cook, a small rotund woman of unfathomable age whose grey hair was snatched back into a bun and covered with a small white cap. Mary had liked her on sight.
‘When you’ve finished doing the tour of inspection, come back here and have a cup of tea. You must be in need of it,’ were her parting words as Richard O’Neill ushered Mary out.
The accommodation provided consisted of three rooms: a small sitting room and two bedrooms. All were adequately furnished but she made a mental note to scrub everything out and air the beds before she brought the children here.
‘Of course, most of the rooms are not in use, nor will be,’ her employer informed her as they moved from a formal dining room into yet another ‘reception’ room, with two large windows that overlooked fields.
‘I presume that’s why there are only three servants,’ she replied.
‘You presume correctly.’
‘The house is very old and it does look like a castle,’ she commented.
‘Most of it was built by the Herberts, although parts of it are older. Dating from the fifteen hundreds, I believe. It is half fortification, half dwelling house. It’s been improved over the years, made more of a house than a castle. Now, if you’ll follow me I’ll show you the upper floors.’
The staircase was totally devoid of any covering and their footsteps echoed loudly around the hall and first landing. She peered upwards at the high, dark, timbered ceiling and shivered. It was cold and smelled damp and musty. The house must be almost impossible to keep warm, she thought.
Here there were six large rooms all with huge stone fireplaces and deeply recessed wide windows. Three were bedrooms, one a dining room and the other two reception rooms. From the upper hall a doorway led into an enormous hall with a high timber ceiling, a fireplace you could stand upright in and two very large windows.
‘The older part of the house,’ he commented.
The stairs to the upper floors were carved out of the thick stone outer wall and up there there were more bedrooms.
‘Are they never used?’ Mary asked, thinking of the terrible overcrowded slums of Dublin and Liverpool.
‘No. Never. My own room is on the third floor. The rooms up there are inclined to be smaller, more manageable to heat.’
‘And are there rooms above them?’ She wondered just how many rooms there were in all.
‘A few. Storerooms mainly. The battlements are up there and they are in parts dangerous, so there is no need for you ever to venture further than the third storey. Also there is some structural damage, inflicted during the seventeenth century.’
‘By Cromwell, so I was told.’
He smiled wryly. ‘There is no love wasted on that particular statesman in this country, Mrs McGann. Nor is there a castle or country house that doesn’t bear the scars of his campaigns in Ireland, as I’m sure you will learn.’
It was a very interesting house, she thought as she followed him back down the staircase, but a very neglected one. Yet he must have money.
When they were once more in the hall he turned to her. ‘So, do you think you will be able to manage it all?’
‘Yes, although it will take some hard work to get it into a decent state. Apart from Mrs Moran, who do you employ?’
‘Seamus, known to all as Sonny. He lives in the gatehouse. He’s a general handyman.’
‘I met someone who I think is his daughter.’
‘Bridie. She occasionally helps out here.’
‘Indeed. At first I think I’ll need some extra help with the heavy work. Are there any other girls or women nearby who would be willing and able to help?’
‘There are plenty but I’ll have none of them. I’ll speak to Bridie,’ he replied curtly and she wondered why he suddenly seemed so hostile. She’d have a hard time getting any work out of that Bridie if her instincts were right about the girl.
‘So, when would you like to start?’ he asked.
‘At the end of the week. Friday, if it suits you. Then the following week I’ll arrange for my children to be brought down.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not a hard man to get along with, Mrs McGann. I have no extravagant tastes. There are seldom any visitors to be catered for. I keep myself to myself and I expect you to do the same. I will have no gossiping.’
‘The children will have to attend school and I presume there is a church nearby?’
‘There is a church at Kilbride a few miles down the canal line and a small school at Ballinamere, about a quarter of a mile away, but I must warn you that I will not have the women and children of the Parish entertained here.’
She nodded. It was as if he wanted to shut himself off from all social contact with his neighbours. He was undoubtedly a strange man, but at least she had a job and a home. What more could she ask? It would be more of a walk to church than it had been to St Anthony’s and a longer one to school for the children, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, she told herself.
‘The salary is four guineas a month,’ he added.
She swallowed hard. It seemed a small fortune to her, considering the fact that no mention had been made of anything being deducted for their board and lodgings. ‘That’s very generous, sir. I’m sure I’ll be quite happy here and I can promise that I will work extremely hard to make sure you are well served and comfortable.’
He extended his hand. ‘Then I will expect you on Friday next, Mrs McGann. Good day to you. Mrs Moran will provide you with refreshments before you leave.’
His handshake was firm and warm and she smiled. ‘Good day to you, sir, and thank you.’
Her heels clattered on the stone floor of the passageway and she frowned. Obviously he was a man set in his ways and she was sure he wouldn’t want to be disturbed by the noise of the children’s feet as they ran along these passageways, but she would sort that out later on.
‘Come on in, child, I’ve the tea wet,’ Mrs Moran called as she knocked on the kitchen door.
‘Thank you, a cup of tea will go down a treat.’ She smiled, sitting down at the large scrubbed table while the cook laid out cups and saucers, a jug of milk and a plate of freshly made soda bread spread with thick yellow butter. ‘It seems hours since I had anything to eat or drink, it’s very kind of you.’
‘So, he’s offered you the job and you’ve accepted?’
Mary nodded. ‘I’ll be perfectly honest, I’ve never done anything like this before. I ran my own house very well, but it was tiny compared to this. I just hope I can manage.’
‘Sure there’s nothing to it. There’s only Himself and myself here. Sonny has Bridie to see to him in the gatehouse, not that she does much!’ She sniffed.
‘I gathered that. I called and she answered the door. I found her a bit . . . offhand.’
‘She’s a lazy strap! Her mammy died ten years ago and all the rest of them are off in America.’
‘I’m starting on Friday. I’ll send for my children the following week. I have three. Katie is nine, Tommy is eight and Lizzie is six. The poor little mite is deaf and dumb. She was born that way.’
‘Ah, the good Lord have mercy on her!’ Mrs Moran said sympathetically.
‘They’re no trouble. Well, Tommy can be a bit of a hooligan at times, that’s why I want to get him away from Dublin. Only last week didn’t he get trampled by the cattle being driven to slaughter? Thank God he wasn’t badly hurt but he’d been warned and warned to stay away from them.’
‘That’s lads for you. Well, he can help Sonny around the place, there’s always plenty to do and he can learn to fish in the river. Himself is partial to a nice trout.’
Mary smiled as she sipped her tea. This was all a far cry from both Newsham Street and the house in the Coombe.
‘Mr O’Neill must be a wealthy man to own all this. Did he inherit it?’ she enquired.
Mrs Moran looked a little startled. ‘He did not! He doesn’t own it.’
‘He doesn’t? I thought . . . Does he just manage it then?’
‘You could call it that, I suppose. He’s the agent. It belongs to the Honourable Augustus Coates.’
‘Why does he not live here?’
‘He prefers his house and estates in England, always has. I can never recall any of the Coateses ever living here. They just take the rents. Absentee landlords is what they are, like all their class!’
She made them sound like criminals, Mary thought. ‘Is that so bad?’
‘It is. Oh, you’ll learn soon enough about them and their agents, but Mr O’Neill is not the worst, believe me, though there’s many around here would tell you different.’
‘He’s not liked then? Is that why he keeps himself to himself? He has asked me to do the same.’
‘He’s not the most popular but he has his reasons. If you’ve any sense or intention of keeping this position you’ll do as he bids.’
‘He said he won’t have the women and children of the Parish coming here.’
‘Nor will he and I don’t blame him for that. Gossips and gapers and begrudgers the lot of them!’
Mrs Moran appeared to be getting heated so Mary decided to change the subject. ‘Will everything be provided? I mean cleaning stuff, bedding, things like that?’
‘It will. I’ll send Sonny with the cart to Tullamore to stock up and I’ll have Bridie look out the sheets and blankets and air them. I see to the food, the buying, preparing and cooking. We have a kitchen garden and there’re hens and geese and ducks. Sonny keeps some pigs and sheep and a few cows, and there’re some beef cattle as well. It’s a great help to have the canal so close; all kinds of cargoes go up and down to Dublin and we can usually bargain for goods with the canal agents, which saves expensive trips up to Dublin. Now, Mrs McGann, are you back up to Dublin this day?’
‘It’s Mary and yes I’m hoping to get back but it will be very late.’
‘Then I’ll have Sonny drive you back into town; we can’t have you walking the roads with darkness falling so early. You’d lose your way and miss your train, so you would. Besides, it’s not fitting. If you send word what train you will be on on Friday he can meet you then too.’
‘I’d be glad of that. I’ll have my belongings with me - not that there’re many of them.’
Mrs Moran rose a little stiffly. ‘You sit there and rest while I fetch him. I think you’ll do very well, Mary. I like you and that’s more than can be said for the procession of women we’ve had through here.’
Mary smiled. ‘Thank you. I like you too, Mrs Moran, you’ve made me very welcome.’
She’d found Sonny very talkative and curious about her and her background and they chatted away happily as the horse and trap moved at a smart pace along the country roads towards the station. She’d been pleased to realise that the reedy voice she’d heard on her arrival belied his friendly nature.
‘I’ll be here waiting on you, Mary, on Friday. Have a safe journey and God be with you!’ had been his departing words.
She’d waved and watched him turn the trap in the station yard before she’d settled herself in the waiting room. She had half an hour before the train was due, so the station master informed her, advising her to warm herself by the turf fire he kept burning these winter days for the comfort of the passengers.
She’d been the only occupant of the carriage and after a while she’d fallen asleep, tired out by the events of the day. She awoke as the train, with clouds of hissing steam and a grinding of brakes, drew into Kingsbridge Station. She was cold and stiff as she gathered up her bag and alighted onto the platform. It was a long walk home and she decided she could now afford the luxury of a tram ride. According to the station clock it was ten past ten and it had been a very long day.
‘I didn’t expect ye back at all today, Mary,’ Molly cried when she at last walked into the room.
‘How did you get on? Did you get it? Is it a huge house?’ Rita asked, full of curiosity.
Mary took off her hat and coat. ‘I got it, I start on Friday and it is a big house but very run down and in need of a good clean. It’s right out in the country, beside the Tullamore River and the Grand Canal, and Mr O’Neill is the agent - whatever that is. Apart from me, there’s just Mrs Moran, the cook, and Sonny, he’s the handyman, and a girl called Bridie who’ll help with the heavy work until I get it spick and span. We’re to have three rooms, would you believe? A sitting room and two bedrooms and you should see the size of the kitchen!’
‘Well, don’t ye seem to have fallen on your feet there. How much is he to pay ye?’ Molly asked. She was still a little upset that Mary would be leaving.
‘Four guineas a month. Isn’t that a fortune?’
‘Sure, it’s only twenty-one shillings a week and ye’ll be breaking your back for it. And what about your keep?’
‘It was never mentioned that it would be deducted from my wages so I presume that it’s all found. For the first time in my life I’ll be able to save some money, have a bit of security for myself and the children.’
‘Will they take to it do ye think, Mary?’ Molly was a little concerned for her young great-nieces and -nephew. This would be a great change for them.
‘I think they will. They’ll go to school and there’s plenty for Tommy to do to keep him out of trouble. He can learn to fish for one thing. There’s trout in the river.’
‘Begod, trout no less for the dinner table!’ Molly was impressed. It seemed Mary was making the right decision.
‘Well, I’m worn out and I’ve plenty to do tomorrow, so I’m off to bed,’ Mary announced.
‘I’m sorry to see you go, Mary, and I’ll miss you but you’ve done well for yourself and I won’t begrudge you that,’ Rita said generously.
Mary smiled at her cousin. ‘Thanks, Rita. I’ll miss you, too. We’ve had some good times together.’
‘Particularly the last night out!’ Rita laughed.
Mary thought of that night and suddenly realised that Davy was not in. ‘Where’s Davy?’
‘Gone to a meeting about the stevedores and their paying out in the pubs. There’ll be trouble over that before long, I tell you. Trouble with the unions,’ Rita replied.
‘And that lad will be in the thick of it and could well end up with no job at all, Rita, ye mark my words!’ Molly said cuttingly.
‘Ah, Mam, will you give over about that!’ Rita said irritably.
Mary didn’t comment. It looked as if she was well out of Dublin, she thought, if there was going to be trouble and strikes.
Chapter Thirteen
SHE HAD BEEN ASLEEP when Davy had come in but he was up and dressed next morning when she awoke.
‘I hear you got the job and that you’ll be leaving on Friday,’ he said curtly.
‘I did and I will. No doubt you will be happy now,’ she answered, glancing in the direction of Molly and the children who were still sleeping.
‘I will so. It’s good riddance but the likes of you always fall on your feet. A grand roof over your head and four guineas a month in your pocket and nothing to spend it on down there in the bogs! And here’s the likes of me breaking my back for
a pittance and I have to stand the stevedore a pint to get that! But by God that’s not going to go on much longer, not if I’ve anything to do with it.’
‘I heard there will be trouble.’
‘Aye, there’ll be that all right.’
‘Davy, shouldn’t you be thinking of Rita and the children? How will you all manage if you’re locked out? I’ve seen it happen in Liverpool.’
‘Why should you care? You’ll be away from here. But I expect you’ll be able to play the Lady Bountiful and take Rita and the kids in if things get too bad here,’ he mocked.
She shook her head. ‘No, I won’t be able to do that. Mr O’Neill made it very clear to me that he’ll have no strangers descending on him.’
‘And who is this great Mr O’Neill? Nothing more than an absentee landlord’s agent! Bloodsuckers draining the country of its wealth. Not caring if we live or die as long as they get their rents so they can live the life of Riley over there in their big houses in England. He’s nothing more than a traitor and a turncoat! Mr O’Neill, me arse! One day we’ll be free of all of them. We’ll send them packing back across the water where they belong. Ireland will be for the Irish! We’ll make our own decisions, we’ll run our own lives and country. We’ll keep the money here for ourselves. We won’t be breaking our backs to have it taken from us to finance their lifestyles and their wars. We’ll spend it on ourselves - for a change!’
She was shocked by his outburst. She’d never known such deep resentment and hatred was harboured by him, or by anyone Irish. ‘And I suppose that includes me?’
‘It does. You’re English. You don’t belong here and you’re like all the rest of them. Greedy, grasping, conniving—’
‘I’m not! And I’m family. Molly is my own mother’s sister!’
‘I’m not interested, Mary! I’ll be glad when you’re gone to live with your Mr O’Neill! You deserve each other.’