Gracelin O'Malley

by Ann Moore

  The day was bright and the water brisk, but not too choppy, and she was pleased to find her sea legs. Bram spent a good deal of the voyage talking to the captain about grain transportation, so Grace was left to enjoy the sights. It was queer looking back on Ireland from the water, but she felt a swell of pride at the beauty of her island, the strong dark hills and lush pasturelands. Spring had just given over to summer, so all the trees were dressed in tender new leaves, their light color fresh among the darker shades of green that covered the hills. Even the sea had more green than blue, capped as it was with white tips.

  They followed the shore, Bram occasionally calling out landmarks: Youghal Bay, Dungarvan Harbor at County Waterford, and finally Wexford Bay, where they docked. The captain wanted to take them all the way to Dublin Bay, but Bram informed him that he had business in County Wicklow and Kildaire.

  From Wexford Bay, they traveled by coach to Blessington where Bram had hired a room for the night. Grace, tired and sleepy from the emotional morning and long day at sea, barely tasted the egg and butter, dish of trout, and wheaten bread set down before her. She held a cup of steaming hot coffee in her hands, blowing at it between drowsy sips. Bram bade her eat up and retire, as he was to meet Captain Hastings from Kildaire at the public house down the road. This was her wedding night, but he took her aside and explained that their honeymoon would begin properly in Dublin, that tonight she would have her own room here at the inn so that she might rest comfortably. She was surprised, but accepted that he knew best.

  The housekeeper, a Mrs. Garrity with tight orange curls escaping from a white muslin cap, showed her to a small, neat chamber on the second floor.

  “Right to bed with you and enjoy the peace, for sure and it’s the last you’ll see in a good while,” the woman admonished, adding a wink for good measure.

  Grace smiled weakly and, when the door was closed, changed into her nightdress, settling down for what she thought would be a long, wakeful night. Instead, she fell instantly and deeply asleep.

  She was awakened at dawn by Bram’s polite knock on the door. When she answered, he put his head in to say that breakfast was waiting below. She dressed quickly, tidied her hair, and joined him, though she had little stomach for more than bread and tea. Her lack of appetite was fine with Bram, who was greatly animated and rubbed his hands in anticipation of the journey ahead, confiding in her quietly, though with great pride, that Captain Hastings had paid a handsome price for a partnership in the Kildaire linen mill.

  “You’re bringing me good luck already,” he said, his face glowing with satisfaction.

  He took her outside into the cool morning air, where she learned that he’d booked two seats on the Bianconi long-car that went to Dublin City, another new adventure for Grace, who was beginning to feel well-traveled. Their luggage, along with that of the other travelers, was stowed in the middle of the open carriage, leaving room all along the outside for the passengers to sit facing out, their feet resting on a board barely higher than the ground. A canvas awning covered everyone from the light rain that fell occasionally along the way. There were six others along, and a coachman in a glazed hat and long coat, reins held tightly in one gloved hand, whips in the other to drive the four great horses at a brisk pace. They made only two stops to let off and pick up, and Grace was charmed by the bustle of the inn yard, where waiters hurried out with trays of drinks to refresh the passengers.

  The silent bogs and quiet woods gave way to more populated, noisy villages, and finally to Dublin itself. Grace sat, stunned, as they drove into the great city, more magnificent than anything she’d ever seen. There were soldiers everywhere, guards in smart uniforms, students in tasseled caps, immaculately dressed ladies and gentlemen, sailors, merchants, barristers in their wigs, and, above all, beggars. Although Grace had lived door to door with poverty, she had never felt poor herself, and had not given it great thought until she witnessed the beggars of Dublin: ratty children screaming like seagulls, women in rags with a babe in each arm, old men without legs or eyes, sick, crippled, exhausted, following anyone who might have a penny, hands out, promising eternal fortune, God’s blessings, a dance, a song, or a curse if no penny came forth. Bram told her to ignore them and passed by as if they were invisible, occasionally nudging one out of the way with his cane. But Grace could not look past them, and they flocked toward her at every opportunity. She clung to Bram’s arm and wished for a purseful of coins to hand out, especially to the thin, dark-haired little girl in bare feet who followed them all the way to their hotel.

  Doormen shooed away the beggars, including the little girl, and swept Grace and Bram inside to another world that was hushed, plush, and fragrant with flowers arranged in huge urns by the staircase that curved grandly up and away from the lobby. Bram went to the desk and registered them, then took her arm and escorted her to the third floor, followed by a bellhop with their luggage.

  It was a magnificent room, and Grace felt her knees go weak as she looked around at the heavy curtains on wooden rings, ornate washstand, dressing table and pier glass, enormous wardrobe, and two comfortable velvet chairs near a writing table by the window. Her eye fell at last on the large double bed and she quickly looked down, pretending to admire the thick Chinese carpet with its intricate pattern of birds and flowers.

  When the bellhop had deposited their trunks, received his tip, and gone out, Bram pulled Grace into his arms and kissed her quite unlike the way he’d kissed her in church. She was caught off guard by the force of it, the roughness of his mustache and his urgency, but she did not resist and her nervousness gave way to the beginnings of pleasure. They smiled at one another, then kissed again, more politely this time.

  “You’ve weathered the trip well,” he said, unpinning her hat with a practiced hand and smoothing her hair. “You’ve a good constitution.” He stood back and admired her, then straightened his own coat. “I’ll leave you to get settled and changed out of your traveling clothes.”

  “And where are you going, then?” Grace was suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone in this great city.

  He smiled at her apprehension. “Downstairs. Gentlemen’s club. I’ll look at the papers for an hour, then return.” He paused, feeling in his pocket for his watch. “We’ll be hungry. I’ll have dinner sent up.”

  Grace swallowed hard and nodded, hoping that was the response he wanted. It seemed to make him happy and he left the room whistling.

  He was gone no more than a minute when there was a rap on the door and a maid arrived, saying her name was Alice and she’d come to help the missus unpack. Not knowing what else to do, Grace let her in and pointed to the small valise and Bram’s trunk.

  While Alice went expertly about her work, Grace sat gingerly on the edge of the nearest velvet chair and shyly admitted that this was her first trip to Dublin. Alice smiled reassuringly and began to tell her about the wonderful sights of the city, then paused to ask about the state of country living down South. Grace’s shyness evaporated as she spoke of her little village and the simple life she’d left behind, the evidence of which she knew Alice could see as she began to unpack Grace’s own small valise, shaking out the embroidered nightdress and laying it on the bed, hanging up the one good dress Grace owned besides what she wore, and putting away the simple underthings in the dresser drawer.

  “Have you another trunk coming, ma’am?” Alice asked as she set out Grace’s brush and comb on the dressing table.

  Grace made herself sit very straight. “I don’t,” she said. “As there’d be nothing to put in it.”

  The maid nodded and said, “Very good, ma’am,” as if this were a perfectly acceptable answer, then closed the valise and stored it in the wardrobe.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” she said, her back to Grace. “But would you be wanting to know where to acquire some things while you’re in the city?”

  “I don’t know,” Grace admitted shyly.

  Alice snapped open the locks on Bram’s trunk. S
eeing the quality of his clothes, her eyebrows went up and she smiled.

  “You’ll be wanting to go up Sackville Street way,” she announced. “Lovely shops there—dressmakers, milliners, and the like. It will take time to make up a full wardrobe, so go right away in the morning. When the things are ready, they’ll be sent on to your home.”

  “Ah, no.” Grace clasped her hands together in her lap and glanced out the window. “Sure and I won’t be needing much if I’m only meant to be living in the country, then?”

  Alice kept busy, going to the window and opening the curtain so Grace could have a better view. “True enough, you country ladies get by with fewer dresses than town ladies, but you’ll need at least three good frocks for entertaining, as you know.” She didn’t look at Grace, but tied back the curtain with a gold sash. “And you’ll be wanting two or three warm dresses for morning work, a wool shawl and riding jacket, a good winter coat—sealskin or oiled wool is what they wear round here—shoes, of course, a pair of boots, an everyday hat and one for each of the fine dresses, gloves, petticoats, slips, corsets …” She ticked them off on her fingers, then glanced at Grace’s figure. “Not that you need any shaping, but it’s how the fine lady dresses.”

  “All that?” Grace asked weakly.

  “Aye.” Alice nodded. “That’s the least of it.”

  Grace sighed, thinking of the cost.

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” she said, reading Grace’s mind. “He can afford to dress you proper … and you should expect him to. You mustn’t let him get by on the cheap. Not that I’m saying he would,” she added quickly. “A lady don’t concern herself over cost, as does, say, a farmer’s daughter.” She ran a duster over the writing table, then, seeing Grade’s face, added kindly, “Sure and you’re not the first to marry up, you know. I’ve seen plenty come in from the country, scared as wee church mice in the beginning. Give it a few days. Some new clothes, a few fine meals, a bit of refinement, and you’ll feel the part. He’ll respect you more for demanding the best, that’s how they are, these gentlemen. You must take a step up and not leave your feet hanging down in country mud.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “Shows as much as that, then?”

  Alice shook her head. “Not a bit. I wasn’t sure at first, though the dress give you away some. You carry yourself well, head up and all, and you’re a beauty, as any can see.”

  Grace let out a long breath, relieved.

  “And I’ve seen your husband as he come down the hall,” she added. “You could’ve done worse. Some marry those old, gout-ridden bachelors with mountainy manners. But he’s a fine, handsome man, yours.”

  Grace rose and put out her hand. “I’m Gracelin O’Malley.” She shook her head. “Grace Donnelly.”

  The maid didn’t take her hand, but curtsied instead. “Missus Donnelly. It’s a pleasure to serve you, ma’am. If you’ll be needing anything else while you’re here, please just ring the desk and ask for me.”

  She left then, and Grace went to the washstand to clean her hands and face. She began to take off her dress, but realized she could not sit in her nightgown for dinner. She brushed her hair and tidied her appearance as much as she could, then sat down to wait.

  The knock at the door startled her, although she’d been listening for it. In came the waiter, pushing a tray on wheels. A collision of different smells—all delicious—filled the room, and Grace’s stomach began to rumble, much to her embarrassment. The waiter paid no attention, but spread a cloth on the writing table, pulled up the velvet chairs, set out the china and covered dishes, then bowed as he went out, nearly bumping into Bram, who was entering. Bram smoothly put a few coins into the waiter’s hand, then dismissed him.

  “You’re still in your traveling clothes!” he exclaimed once the door had closed.

  “I … I’d nothing else to put on,” Grace stammered. “And I wouldn’t shame you by sitting here in my shift like a girl who knows nothing a’tall.” She looked at him frankly, despite the heat in her face.

  “That would have been fine, covered with your dressing gown,” he said.

  “I’ve not one of those. Just my other best dress.”

  “Hmmm.” Bram stroked his chin. “I hadn’t thought. But of course you’ll need a proper wardrobe. We’ll go tomorrow and get you all fitted out. There must be dozens of women’s shops around here.”

  “In Sackville Street!” Grace said confidently.

  He laughed. “Well, I see you’ve got all the information you need. Isn’t that just like a woman?” But he seemed pleased and held out her chair.

  The dinner was as delicious as its promise and he filled her wine-glass with champagne several times before she begged him to stop or she’d drop to the floor. She’d had champagne for the first time at her wedding breakfast, and was unused to the light-headedness that came upon her so quickly. However, it did ease her nervousness and she was relaxed and mirthful by the time the meal ended, at which point he discreetly suggested she attend to her toilette while he had a nightcap in the gentlemen’s bar. When the dishes had been collected and Bram had excused himself, Grace hastily removed her clothes—fumbling with the buttons—then hung them crookedly in the wardrobe. She washed her face and brushed out her hair, slipped on the beautiful nightdress that still smelled of her mother’s trunk, and crawled into the enormous bed to wait for him. Again, she fell instantly asleep and awakened an hour later to find him sliding into bed next to her. He wore silk pajamas that felt so wonderful, she could not resist running her hands across the fabric. Pleased with what he thought to be her initiative, he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. She tasted the brandy he’d drunk and the cigar he’d smoked, shreds of tobacco catching on her tongue, floating in her mouth, all of it so strange.

  Her wedding night was as Granna had said it would be. Bram’s deep voice in the darkness and his sure hands finding such obvious delight in Grace’s young body made up for her discomfort and nervousness. It ended surprisingly soon, and afterward, he fell into a heavy slumber, one arm holding her close to his chest. She lay wide awake, going over in her mind all that had happened to her in the last two days, not the least of which was lying in a real bed for the first time in her life, surrounded by such luxury as she’d never known. She eased herself out of this awkward position and got comfortable on her own pillow; there she lay, arms tucked beneath her head, listening to the strange sounds of the city—the distant whistle of the train, the clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone, the shouts and calls, songs and curses, that went on and on without pause through the night.

  In the morning, her shyness returned and she dressed in the room with the bathtub. All through the breakfast of kippers, fruit, bacon, and scones, she stole glances at him, trying to connect this briskly proper person—more father or teacher than husband—with the passionate man who’d been in her bed the night before. He made no mention of their first night together, other than to suggest they go about the business of organizing a wardrobe this morning, so that she might rest in the afternoon. He seemed to think she should be exhausted, and so she pushed up a few yawns for his sake, but in truth, she felt more alive than ever before, invigorated and charged with excitement.

  Dublin was fascinating; rounding each corner brought further astonishment. Bram took her to the dress shops immediately following breakfast, and had her fitted out as promised. He was more than generous, urging her to buy all she would need, as this would be their last time in Dublin for a year or maybe more. She would have to make due with the shops in Cork City, he said, as if this would be a hardship on her. He had her measured for an evening gown cut so low across the front that Grace could barely look at herself in it, although the feel of the plush velvet against her skin was stirring. On the advice of the formidable woman who ran the shop, he bought for her a pair of French gloves, a scarf of Limerick lace, two plumed hats, and a striking blue bonnet to wear right away. He left the room when the assistant brought out shifts, petticoats, whalebone corsets, silk s
tockings, garter belts, and panteloons. Grace stared at herself in the mirror, a young woman draped in lengths of fabric, wondering if she was the same girl who’d awakened just three days ago on a straw mattress shared with her old gran, the girl who jumped up, splashed water on her face, brushed her hair, and pulled on the same cotton shift she’d worn nearly every day with darned stockings and old boots. This new wardrobe brought about such great change; she breathed differently and held herself more stiffly now, no longer darting and dashing from place to place, but moving more slowly, regally, as if she were balancing eggs on her shoulders. She was beginning to feel like a manor wife.

  That evening, after her rest and long bath—another first, and what a wonderful thing compared to washtubs and summer ponds!—Bram took her to dine at the Black Swan which was lit as much by the jewels ornamenting the other ladies as it was by candlelight. Three waiters attended them throughout each of the nine courses and Grace was dizzy from all the different dishes and wines, when at last Bram ordered the brandy that signaled the end of the meal. When he had finished, she asked to walk instead of ride to the theater where they were to see the famous comedienne actress Peg Woffington. He readily agreed, and the fresh evening air did much to clear her head and ease her stomach; she did not see how men and women in society could eat and drink such great amounts and still keep their wits about them, but she vowed to learn the trick. Once seated in the theater, she could barely contain her excitement and Bram had to tell her quietly—a stiff smile on his face—that she was gawking like a peasant. This shamed her into stillness and she was glad when the houselights fell. Miss Woffington took the stage to great applause which she acknowledged with a grand flourish before beginning her excellent mimicry. Grace again forgot herself and burst out laughing, reminded only by Bram’s firm grip on her arm that this was unseemly. Sobered, she glanced around and saw that the other ladies tittered discreetly into handkerchiefs. When laughter came upon her again, she followed suit and was rewarded with an approving nod from her husband.