I rushed on, anxious to be finished. ‘My da is a farmer, and my ma keeps the house. I-I was shy in school but had a nice teacher who brought me books. A-And I wanted to come to America for the adventure of it.’
I stopped talking and tried to control the trembling in my hands. He looked at me for a long time, as if measuring what I had just said. I felt sure he knew that some of it was lies. I steeled myself, ready for the accusation. Instead, he laughed aloud.
‘You are not one for long speeches, are you, Miss Sweeney? I wish some of the long-winded politicians I was in the company of tonight could have heard you. They might have learned something.’
I was nervous under his scrutiny. I smoothed out my dress and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I wasn’t used to people staring at me, unless they were making fun of my stutter. Men like him would never have given me a second look. But he seemed to be appraising me, almost like a potential suitor. I chased the thought away. You’re nothing but an eejit, Delia.
At last he spoke again, his tone gentle.
‘Forgive me, Miss Sweeney, it did not occur to me until just now that you are sensitive about your stutter. I should not have made fun of you.’ He leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined like a steeple. ‘I’ve noticed it does not affect you when you speak about Lily.’
I didn’t reply.
‘I also notice that you do not have a particularly Irish accent – more English than Irish, I would say. My dear wife, Mary, had a brogue you could cut with a knife, as she often said herself.’
I allowed myself a smile. I was back on firmer ground. ‘I’ve been told that often, sir,’ I said. ‘I put it down to my teacher – the one who gave me the books. She was from the gentry and had no trace of a brogue at all. I suppose some of it rubbed off on me. A-And, besides, I lived in a very quiet house. Nobody in my family spoke much.’
I sat back in the chair. He looked away from me and stared silently into the empty fireplace, lost in his own thoughts. I was afraid to make a move in case I disturbed him. The voices of Mrs Donahue and Kathleen drifted up from the kitchen and the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven times. He broke the silence by ringing again for Kathleen, signalling for more drinks. It occurred to me that he’d probably been drinking earlier that evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was determined to get drunk. When Kathleen came in, as before, she gave me a curious look, this time raising an eyebrow. I didn’t blame her – it must have been very odd to see the master of the house and myself sitting there like an old married couple. I had not finished my first soda water, and I tried to wave away the glass she held.
‘If it ’twas myself, I’d be having a whiskey,’ she whispered as, ignoring my signal, she set the glass down.
Aidan O’Hanlon, however, had no such reluctance. He raised his glass with gusto, and, with each swallow, his tongue loosened more. It was then he began talking again, this time about himself, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I judged that he would not expect any more talk out of me, and I was right.
Some of the things he told me I already knew about from Mrs Donahue. He explained he’d been born in New York and that his father was a banker, that his mother had left the family when he was young, and his two brothers had followed their father into banking. So, he was the black sheep, I thought. I was dying to ask a million questions but didn’t dare.
As he talked, I got the impression he had forgotten I was in the room. I fought back the drowsiness that had suddenly come over me. I wanted to hear every word he said. I was almost giddy that he was sharing so much with me, yet at the same time I felt like a guilty intruder prying into his private thoughts.
‘And then I met Mary. She was so beautiful . . .’
My ears pricked up as he mentioned her name. I was very curious about her. From the photos I had seen of her on a side table in the library she was indeed beautiful, and the way Mrs Donahue spoke of her, she could have been a saint. The truth was that I was a bit jealous of her.
He looked up at me as if suddenly remembering I was in the room.
‘She died because of me,’ he said, his speech slurring. ‘If I hadn’t taken her to Texas, she would still be alive.’ He took another gulp of his whiskey. ‘She left me, Miss Sweeney, just like my mother left after she told me she never would. The ones you love will always leave you in the end one way or another. It may have been my fault they left, but I will never let it happen again. Love is a curse, Miss Sweeney, don’t ever let yourself fall in love.’
He was rambling now and making no sense. Surely he couldn’t be equating Mary’s death with deliberately leaving him? And quite likely there was more to the story of his mother’s departure than he was saying. The events had evidently become all mixed up in his mind. What was clear to me was that his trust in those close to him had been destroyed, one way or the other, and the poor man was tortured by it.
His head drooped, and the sound of his deep breathing told me he had fallen asleep. I watched him for a while, then stood up and went over to him. Gently, I took the empty glass out of his hand and set it on the table. He didn’t stir. I draped a blanket over him and tiptoed out of the door and up the stairs.
I lay in bed recalling each word he said and how he had looked at me. At first, I’d been giddy that he’d finally noticed me and had taken me into his confidence. But then a small voice inside my head told me the encounter meant nothing at all. All he’d done was recite the bare outlines of his past. He might as well have been talking to a stranger on a train. The closest he came to betraying emotion was when he mentioned Mary.
‘Don’t ever let yourself fall in love, Miss Sweeney,’ he’d said.
I realized then that we were alike. I was afraid to fall in love as well. I still believed that no man would ever have me. Ma had told me that often enough, drilled it in until I believed it. Whatever feelings I had for Aidan O’Hanlon were schoolgirl fantasies, and I needed to put them out of my head.
By the next day he had returned to the aloof and slightly distracted man I had come to expect. He nodded at me in the hallway as if the evening before had never happened. I wondered if he even recalled it.
‘So how was your evening with himself?’ Kathleen’s question sounded more like an accusation. ‘The two of yez looked very cosy; sitting talking as if ye’d known each other for years.’ She turned to Mrs Donahue. ‘You should have seen them,’ she said. ‘If I didn’t know better—’
‘That’s enough, Kathleen,’ said Mrs Donahue. ‘We’ll have no such gossip in this house.’ She turned to me. ‘Sit down, Nora, love. Have your breakfast and don’t listen to this one.’
Kathleen shrugged and laughed as she turned away towards the sink. ‘I wonder what Dom would think if he found out you were making eyes at the master of the house?’
‘I want to hear no more about it.’ Mrs Donahue’s voice was sharp. ‘We’re having society to dinner tomorrow night and we have to be getting on with it. Take off your apron now, miss, and go and buy everything I have on this shopping list.’
Kathleen pulled a face and snatched the list from Mrs Donahue. I stood up and excused myself, leaving my boiled egg and toast only half-eaten. Kathleen’s attitude was beginning to wear me down. She seemed to take every opportunity to pass remarks on my behaviour. I suppose I should have complained that, as Mrs Donahue often said, she didn’t know her rightful place. But who was I to complain – after all this was not my rightful place either. I was still as much of an imposter as I’d been in Donegal.
After that night, Kathleen’s attitude towards me seemed to shift. She was polite enough while Mrs Donahue was present but when we were alone she snapped at me over the smallest things, and ignored me when I asked her for something. I grew more and more frustrated.
‘What’s got into you, Kathleen?’ I said.
‘Nothing,’ she said, glaring at me. ‘I’m just the maid doing me job.’
I made no reply, but you could have cut the air between us with a kni
fe.
I discovered the cause of her anger when Dom arrived the following Saturday evening to take me to the dance. Kathleen banged the door in his face, leaving him standing on the front step.
‘Your boyfriend is here to see you,’ she said as she made for the stairs back down towards the kitchen.
I caught her arm and turned her to face me. ‘What’s wrong, Kathleen, what have I done to you?’
Her face was flushed, and her eyes glinted with anger.
‘Well, listen to little Miss Innocent,’ she snapped. ‘Didn’t take long for the greenhorn to steal Dom away from me, did it?’
My mouth dropped open. ‘What do you mean? Dom and I have known each other since our schooldays. Besides, I thought you and Dom were just friends.’
‘We were on our way to more than that till you interfered.’
‘I’m so sorry, Kathleen. I’ll tell him to leave right now.’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t bother your head. There’s plenty more fish in the sea.’ She turned around and flounced down the stairs.
I sighed and went out to join Dom. I was about to tell him what Kathleen had said, but he spoke first. He obviously had other things on this mind.
‘You’ve done well for yourself, Delia,’ he said, reaching out his arm toward me.
I didn’t answer.
When we reached the footpath, he stopped and looked back up at the house.
‘This house is a far cry from the likes of the one you told me about on the ship. And you said you’d be down on your knees scrubbing.’
He waited for me to answer. ‘You’re right,’ I said at last. ‘I passed myself off to them as Nora.’
‘But you’re not Nora,’ Dom said quietly. He reached for my hand. ‘And you’re not one can live with lies.’
I bowed my head. ‘I’m doing it for Lily,’ was all I said.
‘’Tis your own business, Delia. I’ll not say another word about it. Come on, we’ll be late for the dance.’
NORA
It was pleasant enough living at Mrs Shaw’s house, and I wasn’t unhappy, but after a while I started to get bored. The sameness of every day began to suffocate me. There were only so many times I could go for a walk or sit on the bench in the garden playing with Silver. I was desperate for something else to do, or other people to meet. One day, when Mrs Shaw was on her way out for the day, I plucked up the courage to ask if I could go with her. Even if it meant taking my life in my hands riding in that car of hers, it would be worth it to get away from here even if just for a day.
‘I’d be delighted to have you join me, dear,’ she said. ‘I didn’t invite you earlier because I thought you needed peace and quiet for a while. But I can see for a young girl like you, peace and quiet has its limits.’
Gingerly I climbed into the car and slid down in the front seat while she started up the engine. The car roared to life and I gripped the seat as she took off down the drive and out on to the road. I said a prayer to the Virgin Mary to let me come back alive.
‘You chose a marvellous time to come with me,’ she shouted over the engine noise. ‘I’m going to join the ladies marching to protest against poor working conditions for women. I imagine you won’t have seen the likes of such a protest back in Ireland.’
My mouth fell open. She must be talking about them women Teresa mentioned – the ones demanding that they be let vote. I couldn’t remember what Teresa called them. It was a word I’d never heard before. Feck! I thought to myself. I’d been hoping for a day out shopping where I could get a gander at the latest styles – and maybe Mrs Shaw might even buy me something. Or maybe a nice lunch at a posh place where I could show off my new manners. But a feckin’ protest march? I groaned at the thought.
I paid her little heed as she prattled on about the protest and what fine women I was going to meet. Instead I fixed my eyes on the open road. It was summer and the weather was warm. I leaned back and let the smell of fresh flowers and mowed grass surround me. I smiled to myself. Something about the weather and the smells felt familiar. Had I enjoyed days like this in the past? I shrugged. How would I know?
We left the countryside behind and tall buildings began to appear here and there. As we drove, they became more crowded together. I surmised we must be getting close to New York City and my excitement grew. Although I’d lain in hospital there for weeks, I’d never had a chance to see it. Even the day I left with Mrs Shaw, nothing much had registered with me. Now I sat up straight and looked around me. I didn’t expect what I saw. The streets were dirty and covered with rubbish. The smells that poured out of open doorways would make you boke.
The car stopped, stuck behind a crowd of cars, carts, carriages and bicycles, and people hurrying to and fro across the street. To my right, young women in drab clothes loitered outside a dismal, soot-covered building with grimy windows. The women stared at us, a suspicious look in their eyes. One or two shouted something that I couldn’t make out – but I was sure they were cursing us. I looked at Mrs Shaw to see had she heard them.
‘Poor creatures,’ she said, ‘locked up in that filthy building all day. You should see the conditions inside – dark and dusty and hot as hell.’
‘You’ve been in there?’
‘No, not in this building. But there are dozens of them all over the city, and all of them alike. You probably never heard of the Triangle Shirtwaist factory. It burned down a year ago last March. One hundred and forty-six workers perished, most of them women – women just like these. The doors were all locked and they couldn’t get out. Most died of smoke inhalation, the rest from jumping through windows. The youngest was a child of fourteen.’
I stared up at the grimy windows, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be so desperate you’d have to jump from them. ‘God rest their souls,’ I whispered. I looked back at the women and my heart filled with pity for them. I recognized somehow that pity wasn’t something normal for me, and I wondered again about my past.
Not far past the factory, Mrs Shaw pulled the car over in front of a small building and stopped.
‘Come along, dear,’ she said as she jumped out.
I was struck again what a strange woman Mrs Shaw was. Any other woman her age would be bent over on a walking stick, but here she was with more vim than someone half her age. I knew fine well that she could leave me in the dust any day of the week.
Inside, in a small room, a group of women of all ages bustled about, organizing stacks of envelopes, writing on big pieces of cardboard in black ink and attaching them to wooden sticks, and gluing ribbons together to form rosettes. They talked away as they worked, joking and laughing. One of them stopped what she was doing and ran over and greeted Mrs Shaw like a long-lost friend.
‘Felicity!’ she said. ‘How good to see you.’
Mrs Shaw smiled and pulled me forward. ‘This is the young lady I told you was staying with me. The girl from the Titanic.’
The woman trained her clear blue eyes on me. Her face was kind and she took both of my hands in hers.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘We’re all delighted to meet you. Felicity has told us so much about you. What you must have been through – I cannot imagine. Come. Have a cup of tea.’
She pulled me towards the back of the room where a woman was pouring tea into mugs. I had a sudden urge to cry. It was as if this stranger had wrapped me in a warm shawl like an infant.
Before I could finish the tea, I found myself being pulled along by the group of women towards the door. Someone pinned a rosette on me and thrust a pile of printed leaflets into my hands. The others hoisted the cardboard signs with sayings like ‘Equal Pay for Equal Work’ and ‘Strike for Better Working Conditions’ on them. Outside, they fell into step, two by two, and began to march, Mrs Shaw at the front. I walked beside a young, pleasant-faced girl about my own age. She nodded at me.
‘First time?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ I said, wishing I could disappear into the ground.
She nodded to th
e leaflets I carried. ‘You should start giving those out.’
I pushed the leaflets at passers-by. Men and some women shouted insults and dropped the leaflets on the ground. When we came to the factory where we had stopped earlier, the workers watched us in silence before disappearing inside. It was then that my anger erupted. Those women deserved somebody to stand up for them. I began to thrust the leaflets at people with new energy. I picked up the ones they threw on the ground and shoved them back in their faces. I matched them insult for insult. I laughed to myself – my vulgar tongue had come in handy. Pleased with myself, I turned to the girl beside me who was staring at me with her mouth open.
‘That’s the way you do it,’ I said. ‘You’ve to give them as good as you get.’
On the way home in the car with Mrs Shaw, I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was wrecked from the long march, but a new feeling had crept into me. It was pride. Not the sort of pride you might get from being admired, but the feeling you’d get from doing something that mattered to somebody else. I knew I had never felt this before. I reached over and touched Mrs Shaw’s arm.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
When we got back to the house, I was too tired to eat dinner and went straight up to bed.
That night I dreamed of girls jumping out of windows, a massive fire raging behind them. Their screams grew loud and I sat straight up in bed. It was then I realized the screams were coming from me. Mrs Shaw rushed into my room, Beatrice right behind her, and turned up the lamp.
‘Are you all right, my dear? Were you having a bad dream?’
I nodded my head.
‘That’s what happens when you don’t eat your supper,’ scolded Beatrice. ‘I always done say an empty stomach bring on all sorts of trouble.’
‘I expect she’s had a memory come back to her,’ said Mrs Shaw. ‘Is that right, dear?’
It was then I realized she was right. ‘I was dreaming about the girls we saw today; they were jumping out of the factory windows and the fire was raging behind them. But then the fire turned into water, and . . .’
The Titanic Sisters Page 10