Workhouse Angel

by Holly Green

  The man made a gesture of denial. ‘No need, no need. I’m happy to help a fellow traveller.’

  Richard mounted the gig, thanked the gypsy again and set off at a walk. It was hard to maintain the slow pace, because now he seemed to have picked up a definite scent he was eager to pursue it, but he reminded himself that he needed the pony to be fit for the rest of the quest, wherever that might take him, and forced himself to rein in. Halfway there, the two young horsemen passed him, heading back in the other direction.

  Meanus was a poor sort of place; a cluster of thatchedroofed cottages round a cross-road with an inn at the junction. Richard drove the length of the main street, looking for someone who might give him information. An old man, squatting on his doorstep, took his pipe out of his mouth, spat and turned away without answering. Two women, gossiping over a garden fence, separated and went indoors as he approached. There seemed to be no one else about and, as it was past midday, he returned to the inn, tied the pony up outside and went in. The single room was empty except for a woman behind the table that served as a bar and two old men hunched over a game of drafts in one corner. The woman looked at him and he read hostility in her expression.

  ‘Good evening.’ Richard made his tone as emollient as possible. ‘I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a little girl who is missing. I’m told she was seen heading in this direction.’

  The woman shrugged and turned her head away, then called over her shoulder in her own language. One of the old men got up and went out. Another man, the landlord, Richard guessed, came out of a back room.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  Richard repeated his request.

  ‘You’re an Englishman, by your speech,’ the landlord commented.

  Richard agreed that he was.

  ‘And this child your looking for, would she be English too?’

  ‘Yes, but what difference does it make? She’s a child in need of help, whatever country she belongs to.’

  ‘Aye, aye. I’m just trying to get the full picture. So what is she to you, that you’re searching for her?’

  Richard produced his card and told his usual fiction.

  ‘The newspapers, is it?’ The landlord studied the card with interest. ‘Well, well, who’d have thought the English papers would take such an interest.’

  ‘The child is from Liverpool. She was sent here to be educated at a convent school. Her … her family are understandably worried about her.’

  ‘Oh, aye, aye. They would be, of course.’

  Richard was beginning to lose patience. It almost felt as if the man was deliberately spinning the conversation out. ‘So have you seen her?’

  ‘Seen her? No, no. There’s been no sight nor sound of her here.’

  Richard let out a sigh of exasperation, then pulled himself together and forced himself to speak quietly. ‘Do you think anyone else in the village might have seen her? Would someone perhaps have taken her into their home?’

  The landlord pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘No. If they had I’d be sure to have heard. Not much happens hereabouts that doesn’t get talked about in here of an evening.’

  ‘Do most of the local people come in here in the evening?’

  ‘Aye, most of them.’

  ‘Perhaps I could ask around then.

  ‘You could, but I think you’ll not learn much.’

  Richard pulled out his watch. There was no point in driving back to Limerick now he had come this far, and there was the pony to think of. ‘Can you put me up for the night?’

  ‘Aye, there’s a bed you can have.’

  ‘I’ll take a pint of your best brew – and something to eat perhaps?’

  The man spoke to the woman, his wife Richard assumed, in their own tongue, and she nodded and went off into the back room. Richard took his beer and added, ‘My gig is outside. The pony needs feeding and watering.’

  ‘I’ll send the boy to see to him.’

  There seemed to be nothing else to be done, so Richard took his beer and sat down in a corner of the room. He tried to engage the old man in conversation but got only a blank stare in response. The woman brought him bread and cheese and when he had eaten it he wandered outside again.

  The village seemed to be deserted, so he walked along the crossing road for some distance. Men were working in the fields, but they were too far away for him to engage them in conversation and he sensed that if he tried they would resent his interruption. Depressed after the brief optimism of earlier, he made his way back to the inn and ordered another pint of beer.

  The sun sank lower and at last people began to arrive, singly and in small groups, the men still in their working clothes, the women in shabby dresses with aprons. They glanced at Richard as they came in, but no one spoke to him, so when half a dozen or so were gathered he went over to them and asked his usual question. He was met with shrugs and shaken heads, but there was something in the looks that passed between them that made him uneasy. Returning to his seat, he reflected that what he was seeing was probably a general distrust and hostility to an English stranger, and knowing what he did about the tragedy of the famine, which was still fresh in people’s minds, and the part his fellow countrymen had played in it, that was not surprising.

  He was given a dish of greasy stew, containing some unidentified meat, which he suspected might be goat. By the time he had eaten it, the room was filling up, and the sound of voices grew louder as the pots of ale were emptied. At one point one voice was raised drunkenly above the rest.

  ‘Where’s the fiddler then and the little song thrush? Are we not to have any music tonight?’

  Someone near him growled a reply and the man looked across at Richard and subsided, looking uncomfortable.

  Richard began to wish that he had set off back to Limerick and sought a night’s lodging somewhere else along the way. He was about to retire to bed when he heard hoof beats and the jingle of harness outside the door and two men came in. It was obvious from their appearance that they came from a different strata of society than the labouring men who filled the room. They wore tweed jackets and their breeches and boots were better cut and of better fabric. Also, there was something in their manner that suggested a degree of authority and, though they were obviously known to the locals, they were greeted with respect tempered, Richard thought, with a certain reserve.

  The older of the two spoke briefly to the landlord and then came over to where Richard was sitting.

  ‘I’m told you are looking for a small girl? Is that right?’ His pleasant manner was a relief after the way he had been treated up to that moment.

  ‘Yes.’ Richard responded eagerly. ‘Do you have any knowledge of her?’

  ‘I think we do,’ the man replied. ‘Paddy here picked up a girl on the road a couple of weeks back and took her into Bruff.’

  Richard’s pulse quickened. ‘He did? That’s wonderful news. What happened when he got her to Bruff?’

  ‘She was taken to a place where she could be looked after. We can show you where if you come with us tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that! Thank you so much.’ He half rose from his seat. ‘Couldn’t we go straight away?’

  His companion smiled. ‘It’s a touch late to be setting out now. It will be dark before long. You’ve taken a room here, I think?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get a good night’s sleep and we’ll be on our way first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you staying in the inn tonight?’

  ‘No. We’ve friends nearby who will give us a bed for the night. I’ll wish you goodnight and see you in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, I don’t know your name. I’m Richard Kean.’

  ‘The name’s Liam Doherty. Just call me Liam.’

  ‘Thank you, Liam. Goodnight.’

  Richard went to bed in a tumult of emotions. His long search was almost over and tomorrow he would see the daughter he so much longed to find – the daughter he ha
d abandoned all those years ago.

  And that thought cooled the joy of anticipation.

  How would she receive him? Would she even believe that he was her father? He had no way of proving it. And if she did believe him, would she not blame him for all that she had suffered? Rather than a happy reunion, should he not expect bitter recriminations and hostility? He told himself that he must have patience; that eventually by kindness and understanding he would break down the barriers and teach her to love him. It was all he could hope for. On that thought, he fell asleep and slept surprisingly soundly, in spite of the fact that he found evidence in the morning that he had shared his bed with some unwelcome occupants.

  There was only dry bread and some hard cheese for breakfast, but he choked it down without tasting it and was just settling his bill with the landlord when his friend from the night before arrived to collect him. A four-wheeled dog cart was drawn up outside the inn, with the man referred to as Paddy holding the reins.

  ‘Hop in, and we’ll be there in no time,’ Liam said.

  Richard was about to comply when a sudden thought halted him. ‘I have a hired gig in the stables. It would be better if I followed you in that.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Liam said easily. ‘I’ve had a word with the landlord. Your pony is lame, I’m told. You can pick it up on your way back, with the little girl. That will give the animal a chance to recover.’

  That seemed the best plan, so Richard climbed into the dog cart and they set off.

  ‘So you’re a newspaper man?’ Liam said. ‘All the way from Liverpool.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m surprised your editor is interested enough to send you all this way.’

  ‘He is a personal friend of the child’s father – her adoptive father, that is.’ Richard felt a need to embroider his rather bald narrative.

  ‘Is that so? And I’m told the paper is offering a reward for anyone who can discover her whereabouts.’

  Enlightenment dawned. So this was why these two had come to find him. Some rumour must have reached them that he was in Meanus and making enquiries. Well, their motives were not important as long as they took him to Angelina.

  ‘That’s correct,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure the paper will be happy to give you the sum mentioned, to share with your friend.’ He indicated to the taciturn Paddy.

  ‘Ah, well, I won’t say it won’t be welcome –’ Liam smiled ‘– but that wasn’t our first thought, you know.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Richard murmured.

  Bruff was a substantial town built along a river, which Liam informed Richard in English was called the Morning Star. Somewhat to his surprise they rattled straight through the high street and came to a stop outside a small, solidly built house set by itself on the river bank. From the look of it, he guessed, it had once been a mill.

  ‘Is this where she is?’ he asked.

  ‘Come on in,’ Liam said, jumping down from the cart.

  Richard followed him inside, his heart thumping against his ribs. He would see her at any minute. Would he recognise her? Would she know him?

  Liam led him into a back room. It was almost unfurnished, except for a deal table and a couple of chairs. The windows were small and high up, so that the room was gloomy in spite of the bright sunlight outside, and there was dirty straw on the floor. There was no one there.

  Richard looked round. ‘Is this where you brought her? Where is she?’

  The expression of friendly good humour had vanished from Liam’s face, as completely as if he had discarded a mask. Paddy, uncommunicative as ever, closed the door and set his back against it. Liam took one of the chairs and set it in the centre of the room.

  ‘Sit there.’

  ‘Why?’ With a shock like a blow to the stomach, Richard realised that he had been the victim of a cruel deception.

  ‘Sit!’ Liam repeated, moving closer.

  Richard looked from him to Paddy and contemplated punching him in the face and trying to make a run for it. One glance at the immoveable bulk in front of the door told him that it would be useless. His only recourse was to try to talk himself out the situation. He sat, as ordered.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what you want with me. It’s clear you haven’t got my … the little girl I’m looking for. Why have you done this?’

  ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ Liam said. ‘Now, tell me the truth. What brings you here?’

  ‘I’ve told you. My newspaper sent me.’

  ‘That’s a lie for a start. I’ve friends in Liverpool and they tell me that the editor of the Liverpool Echo has never heard of you, and certainly never sent a reporter over here. So, what are you after?’

  Richard struggled to bring his mind to bear. The disappointment, after being on the threshold of meeting Angelina at long last, was like a stone in his chest, making it hard to think coherently. But one fact emerged from the maelstrom.

  ‘You’ve communicated with someone in Liverpool? You must have been following me for several days at least.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’ve been keeping an eye on you, watching you snooping around. What I want to know is, what are you really looking for?’

  ‘I’m looking for the child. All right, I’m not a reporter. I’ll admit that was a fiction. But the rest is true.’

  ‘Oh yes? And why would you be so concerned about a missing girl?’

  ‘Because she’s my daughter!’

  ‘Ah, now we’re coming to it. We were warned that would be the story.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who warned you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve told you, we’ve friends in Liverpool. We were told you were coming and what the story would be. We’ve been watching you ever since you got off the boat.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Watching me? Why? What do you think I’m looking for?’

  ‘That’s the whole question, isn’t it? What are you looking for? Let’s stop beating about the bush. You’re a British spy, sent here by the government.’

  ‘I’m what?’ Richard almost laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the accusation.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me! Who sent you? And what are you looking for?’

  ‘Nobody sent me. I came to look for my daughter.’

  ‘This imaginary child you keep talking about. How much of a fool do you think I am?’

  ‘She’s not imaginary! Ask the Mother Superior at the Convent of the Faithful Companions of Jesus if you don’t believe me. She will tell you that a child called Angelina McBride ran away at the end of May and has never been found.’

  ‘McBride, is it?’

  The name seemed to hold some significance for Liam. Richard pressed on. ‘The McBrides adopted her from the workhouse in Liverpool and they sent her to the convent because she was becoming an embarrassment to them. They didn’t want anyone to find out about her origins.’

  Liam looked at him with a frown. ‘And you say you are her father? Can you prove it?’

  Richard shook head reluctantly. ‘I can tell you why I think she is my daughter, but at the moment I have no proof.’

  ‘So tell me.’

  Once more Richard related the humiliating details of how he had abandoned his daughter.

  Liam listened in silence, then he produced a sardonic grin. ‘It’s a good cover story. Now let’s have the real one. You’re a British spy and you’ve been sent here to find out what we are planning. I want to know how much you’ve discovered.’

  ‘What do you mean by “we”? Who are you?’

  The question was answered by a stinging open-handed blow to his face, which almost knocked him off his chair. ‘Don’t give me that! You’ll be trying to tell me next you’ve never heard of the Fenians.’

  ‘Fenians!’ Richard pulled himself upright. ‘Is that it? Look, I know nothing about you or your plans. I’ve lived in South Africa for most of the last seven years. I told you that. I’d never heard of you until a week or two ago.’

  A second blow sent him sp
rawling to the floor. ‘You’re lying!’

  ‘I’m not!’ Richard wiped his hand across his mouth and it came away bloody. He hauled himself into a sitting position. Slowly something was becoming clear.

  ‘Listen to me, just for a moment. Did Connor McBride tell you I was coming? Did he tell you I was a spy?’

  ‘What if he did?’

  ‘He wants his revenge because I am trying to take my daughter back. He has told everyone a pack of lies about her being the child of his deceased brother. I’ve discovered he never had a brother. I’ve been looking into his affairs, I admit, but only because I want to prove that Angelina was adopted from the workhouse where I left her. It seems he has other secrets that he doesn’t want known and he is afraid I might uncover them. That’s why he has told you I’ve been sent here to spy. He wants me dead and he’s hoping you’ll do his dirty work for him.’

  He saw from Liam’s expression that he had sown the seeds of doubt in his mind and pressed his advantage. ‘Look, send someone to the convent in Limerick. I told the true story to the Reverend Mother there. I’m sure she will confirm that McBride left his daughter there and she has run away. Ask anyone in Limerick, ask the police or the editor of the paper there. I may have told them a falsehood about the reason for my interest, for shame of my part in the true story, but they will tell you that all my questions have been about the whereabouts of my daughter. It is the only thing that concerns me. You must have seen, last night, how affected I was by the prospect of finding her at last. Do you think I could counterfeit that?’

  Liam stood silent for a moment. Then he said something in his own language to Paddy and turned back to Richard.

  ‘There’s a convent of the FCJs here in Bruff. If the child went missing from the sister house in Limerick they will certainly have been told. If they confirm your story I might begin to believe you. Meanwhile, you’ll stay here, under guard. Don’t make any attempt to escape. Even if you got out of the house, we’ve plenty of friends round here who will be happy to bring you back.’ He looked round at Paddy. ‘Give him some water and shut him in. Stay on guard. I’ll be back shortly.’