by Derry O'Dowd
Thunderous applause greeted him, and ladies around the room were seen dabbing at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs. Catherine was not the only one to have her heart touched by the speech.
When the applause waned, the string quartet nestled by the stairwell tuned up and soon the lively passages from Handel’s ‘Ode for St Cecilia’s Day’ danced through the building.
15
To ease the painful menses
Make a tea by boiling the leaves of raspberry in a pot of fresh water (a goodly handful of these should suffice). Strain the leaves from the water and leave until cool enough to drink. You may add sugar and ginger to sweeten and flavour, and drink as often as is needed.
Quinn Household Recipes and Remedies Book
* * *
James and Catherine moved from the spacious hallway to view the exhibits, both silent at the thought of unloved babies and children treated so.
‘James, this is Captain Coram the great man, an acquaintance of my father, of course.’ Catherine pointed at the painting of the white-haired captain who sat resplendent in his fine clothing and greatcoat surrounded by seafaring images, a globe at his feet.
‘A portrait of a great man,’ said James as he bent forward to read from the sign close by. ‘“A portrait of Captain Thomas Coram donated to the London Foundling Hospital by William Hogarth, 1740.” Your father’s acquaintance also?’ he enquired light-heartedly.
‘Do you remember the portrait of father holding a brace of pheasants in the gaming room? Painted by William and a gift to my father in return for Lord only knows what.’
James nodded, unsurprised, and they wandered on.
‘Oh, James, one of my favourites!’
James admired the painting of three milkmaids dancing to a tune played by a fiddler with a peg leg.
‘It’s so full of music, life and gaiety,’ she breathed contentedly, smiling at the image.
‘Somewhat like your own life, I dare say – I think I could fall for you as simple country lass, just in from the milking parlour.’
‘And I could see you stomping around on a peg leg!’ she retorted.
‘Francis Hayman,’ James read aloud.
‘He decorated the dinner boxes in the New Spring Gardens at Vauxhall. And Francis is friendly with the actress Peg Woffington and her friend the actor David Garrick because he painted stage sets in the Drury Lane Theatre.’
Catherine moved away.
‘Do hurry on please, James, and admire this maid you accompany rather than those wenches in oil paints.’ He was taken aback at her tone, but followed and was rewarded with a grin.
‘Your life laid out for all to see,’ Catherine declared impishly, and motioned to the eight large pictures hanging there.
‘“A Rake’s Progress” by William Hogarth – the set of paintings tells the story of Tom Rakewell, son of a rich merchant who came to live in London. Sadly he fell into a life of debauchery, landing up in prison and eventually Bedlam, home for the insane,’ she said. ‘I will rest a while to allow you to recall your past deeds.’
Catherine looked pale on James’s return but fended off his enquiries with a dismissive wave of her hand and a small, tight smile.
‘Perhaps we should return to our carriage,’ he said, worried for her now, and led Catherine towards the entrance hall.
They stopped at a large sketch depicting the proposed drawings for the new Foundling Hospital building; two wings and a chapel surrounding a central court in its own grounds surrounded by walls with gracious entrance gates, equipped to house four hundred children from the age of three years onwards. The younger foundlings would be received there as infants but then sent to the country, far away from the foul air of the city during their early years.
Beside the sketch was a list of benefactors whose kindness and charity would bring the hospital to completion. James spied a familiar name.
‘Sir Alan Cavendish. I understood your father’s main intent was the accumulation, not the disposal of wealth,’ he quipped.
‘A person is not always as you perceive them,’ she replied a little distantly.
Close to the entrance, a nurse stood beside a cot.
‘A deserted foundling of our fair city,’ read the notice at the infant’s head.
James felt a shooting pain through his heart as he thought of his son. Had he not deserted him? It was just as well he was on his way home soon. He would show Daniel that his father’s heart would be held in his small hands, and that his father’s life was his.
As the carriage trundled along, Catherine became paler still, and her hand fell to her belly.
‘Catherine, you must tell me, have I done something to offend you? Or are you unwell?’
She shook her head, unwilling to answer him.
‘Catherine?’ he asked again, softly.
‘Oh James, it is nothing! A woman’s life, James, it is a woman’s life to be this way,’ she snapped and turned her head away from him.
Ah, now he understood.
‘Your courses have appeared, is that it? Thank God, I was worried about you, and I thought you were cross at me for something I had done.’
‘Hush, James.’
He held her hand for the remainder home, her ashen face unhappy.
‘Could we fetch some vinegar from the kitchen?’ James enquired once they were inside her father’s house.
She looked at him quizzically, eyebrow raised.
‘If we boil a piece of strong sea sponge in vinegar we can lay it on the affected parts to good effect, or so the old wives tales tell us. Or a fumigation of vinegar with the smoke of burnt frogs or mule’s hoof received while sitting on a close stool is most efficacious.’
‘You may close the door quietly on your way out.’ Catherine was not amused.
He sat at the piano and stumbled over some notes as she looked on tearfully.
‘I enjoyed our time together today, James.’
‘As did I,’ he replied, looking up from the piano. He saw her eyes brimming and her determination not to let the tears spill over, her lashes wet. He got up and crossed the room to be with her.
‘It will be a long time until September when we meet again.’ As she looked at him he saw her lower lip tremble a little, and she blinked furiously, annoyed with herself; she would not cry. He took her hands, which were ice cold, and rubbed them within his own to warm them and hopefully return the bloom to her cheeks.
‘I will be waiting at the dock to take you in my arms when your ship is due and we can travel together to your uncle’s estate. You are set to holiday for the month, so maybe you could make a tiny space in your calendar to be with me. And in the meanwhile, write to me and I will reply to every letter, no matter how busy I am.’
As she smiled bravely for him, her tears fell, stronger than her restraint. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the brow, brushing away a stray hair and gently wiping the tears that silvered her cheeks with their descent. He kissed his finger then put it to her lips and took her into his arms.
She watched from the window until his carriage disappeared from view, then sat at the piano and poured her heart out onto the keys.
‘I cannot thank you enough, William. Words can’t express how much I am in your debt,’ James shook his hand, looking him in the eye.
‘Now James, you were of great assistance to me and to Eupham, and you must write and tell me how you are faring in Dublin.’
‘And you must come and visit, should you get the chance.’
‘Here, James, I have made some food for you for your voyage. You must keep your strength up to meet your son again after so long away, little soul.’ Eupham smiled up at him and pressed the neatly wrapped package into his hands. ‘Do not worry about returning the linen, our household sometimes seems to groan under the weight of it!’
He bent down to embrace her.
‘Thank you, Eupham, for everything - you have been like a mother to me, and a very good friend.’
‘Oh, away
with you!’ she replied, but her lace cap bobbed atop her curls and he could tell she was pleased.
‘Let us know how you get on, won’t you James,’ she continued, ‘and you are more than welcome in our home any time, isn’t that so William?’
‘It is indeed, dear. It is indeed. Now James, I have my own parting gift for you, so you may remember us.’
James was dismayed.
‘But I have nothing for you, and surely it is me who should be giving you something after your many kindnesses to me.’
‘Now, James, take this,’ William passed a large parcel to him. ‘Open it on your journey back, and perhaps on your return to Ireland let us know all your news. That will be thanks enough.’
James left his hosts standing at their door, waving him off. He settled back into the carriage that was taking him to the port and his waiting ship. As they sped on, he saw a group of small urchins playing their favourite game, little faces smeared with grime which made their teeth shine whitely.
‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.’
They laughed in delight and the strains of their childish voices followed the carriage for a while before being lost to his ears.
He sat back and thought of Catherine.
On his arrival at the port, James looked on in awe. It was indeed as busy as William had said it would be, and many types of boat pitched and rolled on the swell. He felt the familiar queasiness hit him and sweat stood on his forehead. He hated journeys by sea with a vengeance. The two-masted craft that stood at the quay waiting to carry him home did little to raise his spirits.
In his tiny cabin, the smell of tar and the malodour of the latrine close by were overpowering. Soon he knew he would be like countless London women who puked their guts up during pregnancy.
He made his way out on deck to take some air and, he hoped, ease his roiling stomach. He breathed deeply again and wiped his sweaty forehead with a hand that was starting to tingle. The words of Hippocrates, the physician of ancient Greece, reverberated around his head: ‘A vomit is but a bad hiccup.’
As the sweat started to flow freely, an impending sense of dread came upon him. He ran to the rail and leaned over as the contents of his stomach, Eupham’s fine breakfast of cheese and eggs, hit the Thames with force and swam on the water, greasy and half digested.
He laid his head on the rail, knowing full well that this would be just the first of many episodes over the following days, as the boat wallowed on the high seas. He spat into the heaving water.
James returned and lay in desolation on the mean bunk in his dingy cabin until he felt a rumble in his fundament that arrived without the blessing of a purge. To distract himself from his sickness, he opened William’s gift and gasped. The man-midwife had given him a pannier containing obstetric forceps and other instruments which would be invaluable to him in his work.
James smiled and then moaned, putting his arm over his eyes, swaying with the movement of the boat, Eupham’s food parcel laying discarded on the floor, never to be eaten.
16
To aid the sleep of children
Boil enough fresh water to fill a cup and sprinkle on the top of it a handful of dried chamomile flowers. Leave in the pot for a little and then remove from the fire. Let it stand to cool, strain it into the cup and add some honey to taste. This will bring sleep to the child and is also excellent for troubles and hurts caused by the teeth coming through.
Quinn Household Recipes and Remedies Book
* * *
DUBLIN, 1741-1742
James Quinn waited impatiently for Peg to open the door to him.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she called, and fumbled with the heavy key, lock and latch to let him in.
‘Peg! How good it is to see you!’ he dashed into the hall and took her in his arms, twirling her around, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.
‘Why, James – Doctor James, should I say – it is good to see you too, but now do me the favour of returning me to the ground!’
He laughed at her and put her down, hugging her tight. ‘Peg, it is so good to be home. And now I must go and see Daniel,’ and he bounded away, taking the stairs two at a time.
‘James! He is asleep this long time. Come back down here and be reasonable.’
‘Peg, it has been too long. I have waited so long to see my boy and I have a present for him too.’
‘Even so, come on down and you can look in on him later and meet him properly tomorrow, give him his gift, when he has had his rest. You look like you could do with yours too, I think.’
He made his way down the stairs again, sighing, head down. She laughed out loud.
‘What? What is so funny, Peg?’
‘I see that look on your son’s face often, when he has spied something and set his little heart on it, only for it to be taken away when it is within his grasp. Come, stand by me. Let me look at you,’ and she took him by the hand and led him into the light.
She took his face in her hands and nodded, pleased at what she saw there.
‘You are still as handsome as ever. I bet you set the London ladies’ hearts all aflutter. Your eyes shine, and you look better than I have seen you in this long time. Since Marguerite,’ she stopped.
‘Peg,’ he said tenderly, ‘I am over my dark time, but never my love for Marguerite.’ He took her hands in his, holding them softly, looking into her eyes.
‘And glad I am to see it. But now, I know you are tired and I must lock the door. You should go to bed.’
James smiled at her bossy tone; some things never changed. She locked and latched the door, put the key back in her pocket, and turned to look at him.
‘Well now, you do look all done in. Will you have a hot drink? No? Straight to bed for you then and you can see Daniel in the morning. Your bed is all ready for you.’
‘But Peg, I want to see him now.’
‘Leave him sleep and see him tomorrow.’
‘Peg, it is too long since I have seen him. I have waited long enough.’
‘Well then,’ she laughed, ‘do what you will, but please try not to wake him. All the excitement of your homecoming has tired him out these past few days and he has not been himself,’ she looked pointedly at him.
‘You can meet Carissa tomorrow, she too is asleep. And I will leave some warm milk for you before turning in myself.’
‘I’m fine, Peg, I really don’t want any.’
‘You’ll have some milk, James, and it will make you feel better and sleep soundly. Now goodnight to you.’
James paused in his ascent of the stairs and looked down at her through a gap in the turned wood of the banisters. ‘Peg?’
‘Yes James?’ she replied and turned to look up at him.
‘It is good to see you, even if you will insist on treating me as no older than a child of Daniel’s age.’ He smiled at her retreating back as she went to the kitchen to make his drink.
James Quinn pushed the door open, and tiptoed into the room where his son slept. He stood for a while and gazed down at the boy’s small body, wrapped up in blankets.
He watched as Daniel’s breath pushed his ribcage up and down. The child’s thumb was in his mouth, a small blanket in the same hand, his lashes caressing his cheeks softly.
James sat on the bed and soon his breath was in rhythm with his son’s. He brushed the boy’s hair across his forehead with his hand, and bent down to kiss him, smelling sleep and warmth on him.
He became lost in thought as his eyes roamed around the room, seeing the shapes of toys and books, a small chair and bedside table, before kissing his son once more and making his way to his own slumber.
Sometime in the night James was woken and he sat up in bed, in his tiredness thinking he was still at the Smyley’s home, being called out to a woman in childbirth. As he reached for his shirt he realised where he was and sat back.
He could hear Daniel crying and the soft voice of
a woman as she settled him. Carissa, he thought, as his sleep-fuddled brain slowly offered her name up to him. James lay back down and heard the familiar Irish words of the ‘Connemara Lullaby’ being sung to his son to help him back to sleep. His own mother had sung this often to him, and he was transported back to his childhood bed in Galway, with her sweet voice lulling away whatever had woken him, words luring back sleep, beckoning dreams. He sighed and rolled over.
‘Codladh sámh a leanbh. Go to sleep, my baby, your daddy’s coming home. He caught some silver herring, for you and me alone. Go to sleep my baby, the stars are in the sky. No more he’ll go a-wandering. For he loves us, you and I.’
James watched from the door of the kitchen as the two women sat with the boy, sunlight streaming in, alighting on the plates that sat on the scrubbed table.
‘Now, Daniel,’ Peg was saying, ‘if you are a good boy and eat up all of your food we shall go and wake your daddy, for it is time he was up!’
‘Yes, Peg,’ Daniel nodded sagely, ‘not good to be sleeping. Playing instead!’ and he swung his legs excitedly at the thought of all the things he might do and adventures he might have that day. ‘See a cat?’ he enquired.
‘Good boy, Daniel. We will get Daddy and go for a walk, and maybe we will see a cat, or perhaps a dog or a horse,’ Carissa said.
James grinned, eager to go to his son, but happy for the moment taking in the breakfasting trio.
Peg passed some bread, thickly spread with butter, to Daniel, which he promptly stuffed in his mouth in his eagerness to be off.
‘Now Daniel, where are your manners? We do not put a whole piece of bread in our mouth in this house!’ Peg chided him gently.
‘Auntie Lynch’s house?’ he enquired, tripping over her name, and the women laughed.
‘Later, my lovely, we will go for tea and cake. After our walk.’
‘Cake!’ squealed the boy, clapping his hands in delight.