‘All right, how about this?’ Harp had an idea. ‘We did the best we could with the house, but the grounds are still in a bit of a state. You said your mother was a good gardener and you used to help her, so why don’t you help us to get the outside – the gardens and the sheds and stables – tidied up while you stay here in exchange for bed and board?’
JohnJoe’s eyes lit up. ‘And your mother would be happy with that?’ he asked.
‘I think she’d be very relieved. Are you afraid of rats? We think there’s one in the shed.’
He laughed. ‘If you’d seen where I’ve spent my life, between the farm and the borstal, a lad would have no business being afraid of a rat, I can tell you.’
Harp smiled, glad to see her new friend cheered up. ‘That’s settled then,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Now another thing, how would you feel about me teaching you how to read and write properly?’
‘Could you, Harp?’ He looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think I’m able to do it. The brothers tried over and over, and I just couldn’t get it through my thick head.’
‘I can, I’m sure of it. You were just too frightened of them to learn. We can’t take in anything if we are scared or hungry or tired. But if you’re happy and relaxed, it can be done, trust me.’ She smiled.
‘I do,’ he said sincerely. ‘But don’t you need to check with your mother about me staying and everything?’ he asked doubtfully.
Harp shook her head. ‘No, we discussed it this morning. She’ll be happy, I promise.’
‘You are wonderful at playing that.’ He nodded at the harp.
‘Thank you. Though a girl called Harp who plays the harp is a bit ridiculous, I know.’ She gave a rueful grin.
‘I think your name is perfect, and I don’t know how you can play that – it looks so complicated. I mean, how can you even see which string to pluck?’ He walked around the oak harp, fascinated.
She shrugged. ‘I kind of just feel it. It’s not a mental thing. Mr Devereaux used to say you play straight from the heart to the fingers, don’t involve the head, and he was right.’
‘Can you play me something?’ JohnJoe asked tentatively.
‘I can try,’ she said, settling the harp back on her shoulder again.
‘My mammy loved that song “I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls”. Do you know it?’
Harp nodded. ‘I’ve never tried to play it before but I do know it. It’s from the Balfe opera The Bohemian Girl. Give me a moment.’ She closed her eyes and recalled the tune, humming it quietly, then plucked out the melody slowly on the harp. ‘Yes, I think I can play it.’
‘Don’t you need the music on a sheet or something?’ JohnJoe asked.
‘No. I can do it, but I’m slow at reading music – it’s easier this way. It may take a few goes.’ She laid her hands on the strings and began to pluck. She hit a couple of wrong strings, but within a few moments, she had it.
She began to play, and as she did, JohnJoe opened his mouth and sang, his voice sweet and clear.
‘I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs at my side, and of all who assembled within those walls that I was the hope and the pride. I had riches all too great to count and a high ancestral name. But I also dreamt which pleased me most that you loved me still the same. That you loved me, you loved me still the same. That you loved me, you loved me still the same.
‘I dreamt that suitors sought my hand, that knights upon bended knee, and with vows no maidens heart could withstand, they pledged their faith to me. And I dreamt that one of that noble host came forth my hand to claim. But I also dreamt which charmed me most that you loved me still the same. That you loved me, you loved me still the same. That you loved me, you loved me still the same.’
Harp accompanied him, plucking the strings as his voice soared in a clear tenor, and it wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she realised their music had drawn her mother, Eleanor, Sean and Gwen. Of Molly and her father and fiancée there was no sign. They stood and listened as JohnJoe sang, word-perfect, and Harp played. When they finished, their audience burst into enthusiastic applause. JohnJoe blushed to the roots of his spiky hair and Harp giggled.
They were all ready in their travelling clothes; it was time to go. The guests who were booked in for that night would be picked up that afternoon from the train by Mr Quinn, and Harp and her mother would have to have the rooms serviced for them. The accounts were settled, and the song seemed to round off the experience.
‘My mother loved that song,’ Eleanor said. She choked on the words.
‘So did mine.’ JohnJoe smiled.
‘The hospital telegrammed, JohnJoe,’ Rose said. ‘Danny is feeling much better and is awake and talking.’
JohnJoe’s face lit up. ‘Will he be able to come back soon?’
‘Oh, I would think they’ll need to keep him there to recuperate, but in the meantime would you like to stay here with Harp and me?’ Rose crossed the room to where the boy stood beside Harp.
‘I invited him, Mammy, and he said he would stay but only if he can work, so he’s going to do some gardening and clear out the old stables for us,’ Harp explained.
‘Well, that sounds like a wonderful arrangement. Now, is everyone ready?’ Rose turned to where Sean, Gwen and Eleanor stood.
They nodded.
‘Thank you so much for such a nice last night, Mrs Delaney,’ Sean began. ‘And for letting Gwen stay too – that was very kind of you.’
‘Rose, please. I think we’ve been through too much together to be so formal.’ She smiled and shook his hand. ‘I wish you both all the success in the world.’
‘Rose,’ he said. His handsome face looked so much more relaxed and less forlorn than it had the previous day.
Molly appeared and crossed the room to stand in front of JohnJoe. Seamus and Finbarr lurked behind, seemingly afraid to let her out of their sight. ‘I heard you and Harp upstairs. What a talented pair you make. It was beautiful, thank you.’ She smiled but it wasn’t the radiant smile of yesterday; there was deep sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry for what happened to Danny, I truly am. I’m so relieved to hear he will be all right. I wanted you to have this.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a medal on a gold chain. ‘It’s a St Christopher medal, the patron saint of travellers, to keep you safe. I bought it the day I bought my ticket to go to America because I was so unsure of what the future held and where it would take me. But I now know where I’m going and what I’m doing, so I want you to have it.’
JohnJoe held the medal in his hand and looked at the words inscribed around the edge.
Seeing his panic and not being able to read the words, Harp stepped in and read aloud. ‘St Christopher. May you go in safety.’
In intricate relief was a depiction of a man with a crook.
‘I… Are you sure?’ JohnJoe looked overwhelmed. ‘It looks gold.’
‘It is gold. And yes, I am sure. I won’t need it, but I would like to think it was keeping you safe, JohnJoe.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered, and allowed her to fasten it around his neck. He tucked it inside his pullover.
Molly then turned to face the group. ‘I’m so sorry to you all for the upset caused last night.’ She looked exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She was dressed in a floor-length navy dress and a three-quarter-length black coat, buttoned over her large frame. Her simple hat was unadorned, and only a slight wisp of her red hair was visible beneath it. ‘It was the last thing any of you needed as you were trying to prepare for your adventures. I truly am. I wish you all well in the future. Mrs Delaney and Harp, how kind you’ve been to us all, and I hope everything works out wonderfully for you both. Sean and Gwen, the best of luck. I doubt you’ll need it, though, as you are made for each other.’
Sean smiled, his arm around Gwen’s shoulder as she leaned into him.
‘And Eleanor, I hope you find lots of animals to love in San Francisco. The creatures of the West Coast will be delighted to have som
eone who can care for them as tenderly as you can.’
‘Well, since everyone else is making speeches…’ Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you, Rose and Harp, for your hospitality, and I apologise for any stray hairs you might find in the room I slept in – I had two visitors in the night. I don’t know how they got in or found my room, but I woke up to find those two at my bedside.’ She pointed to the two dogs that had been following her since the previous day, now waiting expectantly on the gravel outside. ‘So everyone, I wish you all the best of luck.’
‘Molly?’ Gwen asked. ‘Since you were so kind and gave me your ticket, would you come to wave us off? We’d love to see a friendly face on the quayside as we pull away.’
‘I… Well, we should really get going.’ Molly glanced at her father.
‘The train is in an hour and a half, but we should go now to be sure,’ he said gruffly.
Finbarr glanced at them both. ‘Look, Mr O’Brien, why don’t I take Molly down to wave her friends off. We might get an ice cream or something before the train home.’ He smiled hopefully at Molly, who managed a weak smile in return.
Seamus O’Brien exhaled. ‘Well, she’ll soon be your wife and your problem, so if you want to do that, then do, but be sure you’re both back in plenty of time for the train.’
‘Come on, Mol, let’s go down and see the sights of Queenstown.’ Finbarr offered Molly his arm, which she took.
Harp had an idea. ‘Could you all write? Once you are settled?’
Rose interrupted. ‘I’m sure everyone will be far too busy…’
‘I will,’ Molly answered instantly.
‘And so will we,’ Sean added.
‘I don’t know what I’ll have to say, but I’ll certainly let you know how I’m getting on if you would like me to, Harp.’ Eleanor smiled.
‘Mr Devereaux, who owned this house, gave me a beautiful pen. I’d like to compile a book, the stories of the people who spent their last night here with us, where they went and what became of them. Also, if you ever needed to keep in touch with each other, we would have addresses for everyone, so if you wanted to hear how the others were getting on…’ Harp coloured as she realised everyone was looking at her. Perhaps it was a silly idea. They were just guests at a hotel – why would they want to do that?
‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Molly exclaimed. ‘For so many, this house will be where they will spend their last ever night on Irish soil. It is a clever idea to keep a record of it all. I think that’s a book people might like to read years from now.’
‘She’s right, Harp.’ Eleanor winked mischievously. ‘Based on just last night alone, it could be a bestseller.’
Harp immediately responded. ‘Of course I wouldn’t say anything about…’ She looked at Molly, who flushed.
Finbarr picked up Molly’s leather travelling bag, and Molly hung her plain black leather handbag over her shoulder. ‘We’ll see you on the platform in an hour, Daddy,’ she said quietly.
Seamus nodded and turned to leave. Sean, Gwen and Eleanor did the same, and with another flurry of goodbyes and promises to write, they were gone out the garden gate, onto the steps and away to the New World.
‘Right, my dears.’ Rose looked at Harp and JohnJoe. ‘Let’s get to work.’
Chapter 23
The bustle on the pavement outside the Cunard ticket office was noisy, with people pushing, babies crying and people embracing and saying goodbye. Sean and Gwen hugged Eleanor and Molly before walking down the gangway to the tender, their tickets clasped in their hands.
The overall mood was more jubilant than Eleanor would have imagined after the tragedy of Titanic only last month. Cunard were at pains to point out that there were enough lifeboats for everyone on the Laconia, something that was notably absent from the allegedly unsinkable Titanic. There was disgusted astonishment at the discovery that Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, had actually got into a lifeboat, leaving women and children to their watery fate. The press on both sides of the Atlantic were scathing in their reporting of how Ismay demanded the number of lifeboats aboard Titanic be reduced from forty-eight to just sixteen because he didn’t like how the boats cluttered up the handsome deck.
There were calls for the white star in the company’s flag to be changed to a yellow liver, and though there were a few people defending him, most saw Ismay for what he was, a cowardly selfish man of privilege saving his own skin at the expense of others.
Eleanor stood and watched Finbarr and Molly gazing up at the ship at anchor at the mouth of the harbour, not a word passing between them.
She knew she should get on board. Edward was right about one thing – she couldn’t manage that farm alone. It was too big and the land was being neglected as it was. She had no problem with that – it was returning to nature, providing a habitat for so many species of wildlife and birds – but her neighbour didn’t like it. The seeds from the weeds blew onto his land, foxes took his chickens, badgers brought disease – or so he thought. She’d tried to explain that badgers are wonderful creatures and that he should watch them going about their business at night, building their long setts and clearing the farm of rats and mice, but he was not keen on her laissez-faire attitude to land management. She sighed, thinking of Sherrard, her neighbour. He’d be delighted when he saw it up for sale. She had put off selling until she left, telling Ignatius O’Hare, the local auctioneer, to hold off. He was practically salivating at the prospect of ninety acres of goodish land, but she could not bring herself to say the words, ‘Sell it.’ Her father had worked that land and his father before that.
Foolish, she supposed. Now it was going to be more drawn out what with her being in America, and what did she want with the money anyway?
Poor Edward was most anxious for her to know that the money from the farm was hers and hers alone. He was a dentist and did very well by all accounts, and his desire for her to sell up was in no way related to his wanting to liquidate his half share of the land. She believed him. He was a good man at heart, her little brother, if a little high-handed and full of self-righteousness. But she knew that his motivation was simply her welfare, not greed. Besides, she couldn’t live forever and he was her only heir, so he’d have it all eventually anyway.
All around her people pushed and shoved and called to each other. The foghorns blared. The men loading mail and other supplies had formed a human chain, tossing bags from one to the other until they landed unceremoniously on the floor of the tender.
The ship looked nice, a huge white liner silhouetted against the clear blue sky. It was the first liner to be fitted with anti-roll tanks, Danny had explained before Molly’s father turned up last night. Apparently they were fitted to counteract the rolling of the sea and made the crossing less turbulent and passengers less prone to seasickness. Not that it would matter to her, she decided.
She waited until Finbarr and Molly were both looking up at the ship. He was pointing something out to her, and she was trying to look interested. Eleanor led the two dogs that had been her constant companions since yesterday to the railings of the embarkation area, tying them up with a bit of string from her pocket.
‘Now you two just wait here. It’s all going to be fine, I promise,’ she whispered as the two dogs nuzzled her. Patch danced on his back legs, and she gave them each a sausage she had liberated from the breakfast table. Their trusting liquid-brown eyes reminded her so much of her lovely Bonnie, that unconditional love. Dogs didn’t care if her house was tidy or if she wore nice clothes or brushed her hair. A dog just loved its person and wanted to be with them. They never got themselves tied up in emotional knots like humans did. That was all there was to it. Giving each of them a pat, she wound her way back to the quayside just as the purser opened up the gangway for the next tender.
The crowds surged forward, pressing her almost against Molly and Finbarr.
‘Finbarr! Finbarr!’ Eleanor cried. ‘Please, you have to help!’
The brawny lad turned around. Molly
was clearly alarmed to see the normally serene Eleanor so upset.
‘Please, there’s a group of boys up there by the bandstand. They’re kicking that little dog that was following me, the one with the patch on his eye. Please, I dare not intervene – they look nasty – but I can’t go knowing the poor little creature is being hurt. Can you go rescue him, please?’
‘Of course we will,’ Molly answered. ‘You go and we’ll take care of the dog. I promise, Eleanor.’
‘Which way?’ Finbarr asked, glad to be back in the ladies’ good graces again.
‘Over there. By the bandstand.’ Eleanor pointed. There was a throng of several hundred people between them and the brightly painted bandstand in the middle of the park.
‘Let’s go,’ Molly said, but before Eleanor could say anything, Finbarr stopped her.
‘No. You wait here, Molly. I’ll see to it. I don’t want you around people like that. You just say goodbye to Eleanor here, and I’ll be back. Don’t worry, the little fellow will be waving up at you. You just get aboard. The best of luck to you, Miss Kind,’ Finbarr said chivalrously.
‘Thank you, Finbarr, thank you so much,’ Eleanor said, fishing her ticket out of her bag. ‘I just couldn’t…’
‘Of course, don’t worry,’ Finbarr called as he pushed his way through the throng, going in the opposite direction to all the passengers.
‘Right.’ Eleanor turned to Molly. ‘Take this and get on that boat. Here’s your bag, everything you need.’ She held out her ticket.
‘I can’t do that…’ Molly replied, shocked. ‘I told my family that…’
‘Carpe diem, Molly. Harp was right – either you let them down or you let yourself down. You don’t want to marry that lad, nice as he is, and your parents will get over it. But you never will if you make the wrong decision now. Take your chance, girl, live the life you want, not the one chosen for you by people who’ve had their own chances. Go…take it.’
‘But…but what about you?’ Molly asked.
Last Port of Call: The Queenstown Series Page 23