‘Are they related to each other?’
‘Different surname, so I guess not. Ah well. I suppose we’ll never know.’
‘You should ask Ryan. The fellow who runs the bookshop opposite my café. He’s into genealogy and local history. He’d be able to look up these guys and find out more about them. I’ll introduce you to him, next time you come by the café.’
I smiled. ‘Actually I’ve already met him. I was in there this morning buying myself some books.’
‘Oh yes?’ Janice put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side. ‘And what did you think of our local silver fox?’
‘He seemed nice,’ I said. Why my cheeks felt flushed was a mystery.
‘You like him!’
‘I only said half a dozen words to him. And, Janice, I only left my husband yesterday. Give me a chance!’
Janice had the grace to look mortified. ‘Ah, I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth. He is a nice fellow, though. He’ll definitely be interested in your little mystery, if you ask him. I’ll stay well out of it. Kids! Come on, we must be off and leave poor Clare in peace!’
‘It’s all right, you don’t need to rush off.’ I was more amused than offended by Janice’s matchmaking. ‘Good idea though, I will ask Ryan about how I could find out more about these people, or anyone who lived here before my family. I want to research my own genealogy too. It’d be a nice little project.’
Janice laughed aloud once more. ‘As if you haven’t enough to do! Ah, but we must be getting on anyway. Ciara’s got her Irish dancing lessons, and Donny’s going to a sleepover for his friend’s birthday. So I’ll be one down tonight. Come on, gang. Say goodbye to Clare.’
They mumbled ‘bye’ as they traipsed out. ‘Come again. I’ll make sure I’ve some Coke and biscuits next time. Or one of your mother’s chocolate cakes from the café.’
The oldest girl who I guessed was Ciara pulled a face. ‘We get all Mammy’s leftover cakes. I prefer shop-bought.’
Janice rolled her eyes as she ushered them outside. ‘There’s no pleasing some people. Come on or you’ll be late, so you will.’
The house seemed doubly quiet after they’d gone. I made myself some dinner, then sat on the grimy old sofa in the sitting room with a glass of wine. It had been a long day, but I felt good at what I’d achieved. Janice’s visit had really helped. I could do this. With the support of my sons and some local mates, I could do this. And although it was only day two, I felt I’d made a start at forming some new friendships.
In the early days of our marriage, my friends all thought Paul was wonderful, whisking me away on surprise weekends in spa hotels or city breaks. Prague, Paris, Lisbon, Florence – we’ve been all over and stayed in some lovely places.
Call me ungrateful, but at times I resented the ‘surprise’ aspect of these trips away. I think I’d have liked them more if I’d been involved in choosing where we went; if I’d been allowed to find guidebooks and read up on the places before the trip; if I’d had the anticipation as well as the event. Sometimes the way Paul sprung the surprise on me left me feeling unsettled and disorientated. I’d have things planned for the weekend, but then Paul’s surprise trip would mean my plans had to be cancelled.
I know, I know, what a hardship – having to rearrange a shopping trip and do the gardening some other time so as to make time for a weekend strolling along the banks of the Seine and browsing the art in the Louvre. But there was one weekend in particular that might explain why I came to resent these surprise weekends away.
I’d hardly seen my old school friends since we married. There was a group of four of us, and we’d done everything together when we were at school. After school we made a point of meeting up several times a year. As we got older this dwindled to a once-a-year shindig – we’d book rooms in a cheap hotel somewhere we could all get to easily and have a great night catching up and reminiscing. Lots of wine would be drunk and lots of giggling accomplished.
One by one we’d got married and had all attended each other’s weddings. Babies were born and our weekends away were harder to manage but children have two parents, and apart from in the very early months babies can be left with their fathers.
Crunch time for me came after our eldest, Matt, was born. He was nine months old and already weaned when the girls’ weekend came round. It was just one night away, and only twenty miles from our home, and it had been written in our house diary for months. In the week leading up to it I had gone through Matt’s feeding routines with Paul, and made sure he knew how to mix up formula and heat up baby food. He’d listened and nodded and everything seemed to be lined up ready for me to have a great couple of days with my old mates.
Until the Friday morning, the day before I was due to go to meet them. Paul was up early, even before Matt was awake, and he brought me breakfast in bed – a tray laid with tea, toast, a boiled egg. He was smiling broadly as he brought it in.
‘Surprise!’
‘Ooh, this is lovely,’ I said, sitting up and arranging a pillow behind my back so I could put the tray on my knees. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Look under the napkin.’
I lifted the napkin, and there was an envelope. Inside were two tickets for the Moulin Rouge for the next day.
‘You’ve always said you’d like to go.’ He sat down on the bed and took my hand. ‘Excited? Your parents have agreed to take Matt for a couple of days. They’ll be here in an hour to collect him. Our flight’s at twelve.’
I couldn’t answer for a moment. I just sat there holding the tickets, trying to remember if I’d ever said I wanted to go to the Moulin Rouge.
‘But what about my weekend away?’ I managed in the end, my voice emerging as a squeak.
‘This is your weekend away, darling! Properly away, in Paris, with me. Better than staying in that old Travelodge up the road.’ He was still grinning and holding my hand.
‘But why did you book it for this weekend, Paul? When you knew I had made plans?’
‘Ah, pfft. Your plans are easy enough to change. See your friends some other time. When I’m at work, maybe. You’ve got all week to see them, rather than spoil my precious weekends by leaving me with the baby.’
‘The baby? Our son, you mean.’ I felt my eyes fill with tears. I’d been so looking forward to seeing my friends. ‘And it took us ages to get this weekend sorted. It’s not easy to find time when all four of us can meet. Sarah and Lynne both work full-time. Jess has been living in the Far East for a year and only just came back. Paul, you knew about this weekend. It’s been booked for ages!’
‘So have those tickets. There’s a long waiting list for the Moulin Rouge, you know. Honestly, Clare, you’re so ungrateful. We’re booked into a gorgeous boutique hotel up in Montmartre, too. The tickets include dinner before the show. It’ll be amazing!’
‘I’m sure it will, but …’ A tear escaped and slid down my cheek. I’d been longing to see Jess and hear all her tales of ex-pat life in Bangkok, and show them all photos of baby Matt.
‘It will. Anyway, you’re coming with me. I have a case for you half packed – you might want to check you’re happy with the dress I put in for you to wear tomorrow night. Come on. Eat up your breakfast. And stop crying. You don’t want your parents to see you looking all miserable when you’ve got such a treat ahead of you!’ He patted my hand, stood and left the room.
So, I had to call Jess, explain and apologise, and ask her to pass the message on to the others. She sounded a bit cold with me on the phone. I wasn’t surprised. The weekend had been picked to fit with her return from Bangkok. ‘Next year, then,’ she said. ‘If you can manage it.’
‘Oh, I’ll be there next year, don’t you worry,’ I said.
But I wasn’t. Every year there was some reason why it was impossible for me to go. One year I was heavily pregnant with Jon and Paul said it was too dangerous to be away from home in case I went into labour. Another year he was sick, contracting food poisoning the day before
. Another time his mother arrived for an extended visit. And then there were no more girlie weekends booked.
I thought the meet-ups had naturally come to an end, with everyone finding it harder now they had husbands and children to work around. But I heard on the grapevine much later that the other three had continued to meet, and just stopped inviting me as they thought I didn’t want to see them any more.
‘Friendships naturally come to an end,’ Paul had said. ‘You can’t expect to still get on with people you met when you were 10, when you are 30, or 40.’
But I had got on with them. And I missed them so much. Paul had driven a wedge between us.
What made the whole Moulin Rouge episode worse is that when we arrived at the airport Paul pulled out an envelope from the travel agent’s with the tickets in. I caught a glimpse of the covering letter, and it was dated just two days earlier. So he hadn’t planned this before I planned my girls’ weekend as he’d said, but had booked it only a couple of days before.
Now, as I sat in my own house, away from Paul, I wondered if I’d be able to rekindle that friendship with Jess and the others. It’d be worth a try. I could send them all an email, tell them my news, and maybe even suggest a reunion weekend, perhaps in Dublin. It had been a long time, but there was nothing to lose.
Chapter 10
Ellen, October 1919
When Ellen returned to Carlton House on Sunday afternoon, the day after she’d stood with Jimmy at his friend Gerry’s graveside, all was in uproar. The servants were running to and fro, carrying towels, sheets, bowls of water and bundles of rags, up and down the stairs.
‘What’s happening?’ Ellen asked Siobhan, who was running down the stairs with an empty water jug, her cap askew and her apron untied.
Siobhan shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The mistress is after wanting this and that, the messages are coming thick and fast and my feet are worn off. Here, you’re the upstairs maid, you can take over now you’re back.’ She thrust the jug at Ellen. ‘Madame wants this filled with water, and ice from the ice-house, and take it up to the green bedroom. Leave it on the little table outside the room and knock three times, then wait. Madame will come out for it and to give you the next order. I’m fair worn out, so I am. Time for me to have a sit-down in the kitchen.’ She didn’t wait for an answer.
Ellen sighed and carried the jug to the scullery where she left it on a bench, then took off her coat and hat and left them with her overnight bag just inside the housekeeper’s office. If Madame Carlton was upstairs then she wouldn’t notice the office being used as a temporary cloakroom. Ellen could quickly run up to her second-floor room with her things later on.
She retrieved the jug and went outside to the ice-house, where she chipped away at the ice until the jug was half full, then went back inside to fill it with water from the scullery tap. She looked down at herself – she was still wearing her weekend dress. What would Madame Carlton say? But then, it was not yet five o’clock, not yet the time she was due back at work in any case.
Ellen hurried up the stairs to the room Siobhan had mentioned, and knocked three times on the door as instructed. Madame Carlton must have one of her mysterious Volunteer guests in there, she supposed. The door was answered almost immediately by the mistress herself.
‘Ah, Ellen. I am glad you are back. Wait here a moment.’ She took the jug, passed it to an unseen person inside, and then stepped out into the corridor closing the door behind her.
‘Madame, I am sorry, I am only just returned and have not had time to change yet. I’ll do so now, really quickly, so I will.’ Ellen bobbed a curtsey and turned to go, but the mistress caught at her arm.
‘No, wait. It’s good that you are in your own clothes. I have an errand for you. I need you to go to Drumlane and fetch Doctor O’Mahony. Tell him it’s urgent, a brother is injured.’
Ellen opened her eyes wide. ‘But, ma’am, what about Doctor Morris, in Blackstown? That’s so much closer and I can run there in twenty minutes …’ It would take her over an hour to walk to Drumlane, she knew.
‘I know Doctor Morris. But he is not, shall we say, as sympathetic as Doctor O’Mahony. I am sorry, I know it’s a long way and I would send one of the men from the stables, but he would be stopped and questioned. You are much less likely to be questioned, and if you are, say you are fetching the doctor for your father.’
‘Madame, who will question me?’
Madame Carlton caught hold of her hands and paused a moment before answering. ‘Ellen, I’m afraid the Black and Tans have set up a roadblock between here and Drumlane. You are a young girl and they will let you through without any problems, I am sure of it. Hurry now. It’s important the doctor gets here as soon as he can.’
‘Won’t he be stopped by the roadblock too?’
‘He will have a pass. Don’t worry about the doctor, just yourself. Can you do this for me?’
She nodded and curtseyed again. ‘Yes, Madame.’
Madame Carlton smiled. ‘Good girl. And, Ellen? You are doing this for your country, as well.’
Ellen stared at her, but the mistress turned and went back into the green bedroom. Ellen took a deep breath and hurried back down the stairs and through to the housekeeper’s room to retrieve her coat and hat. It was a bitterly cold day, and she had a long walk ahead.
‘What is it she wants this time?’ Siobhan appeared from the kitchen. ‘Why are you not yet in uniform?’
‘I’ve to go out on an errand,’ Ellen replied, buttoning her coat.
‘Glad it’s you and not me, so I am,’ Siobhan said, returning to the kitchen.
Yes, Ellen thought, it would be nice to be able to go and sit in a warm kitchen now, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. But a doctor was needed – a sympathetic doctor, Madame had said, and somehow Ellen knew the mistress wasn’t referring to his bedside manner – and someone had to fetch him. She left the house through the servants’ entrance at the back, and set off down the drive, walking at a brisk pace that she hoped she’d be able to keep up all the way. She was doing this for her country, just like Jimmy. That thought sent a thrill of pride rushing through her.
Her route took her through Blackstown, along the high street and out the other side of town, past a cluster of houses and then along a country road that led to Drumlane. She had not been this way since the war began.
The roadblock was set up just outside the town. A farm cart had been placed blocking half the width of the road, and four men dressed in their mismatched black and tan uniforms and armed with rifles, guarded the open side. Ellen could see them as soon as she rounded a corner, and for an instant she faltered, unsure whether to go on or try to find a way past them through the fields.
But they had rifles, and if they were suspicious, might they not just shoot at her? Better, she decided, to raise her head, act confident and innocent. For she was innocent, wasn’t she? She was only fetching a doctor. For her father, who was sick. Coughing, with blood in his phlegm, she decided, remembering how her mother was before she died. And if they asked why she did not go to Doctor Morris she’d reply that she had tried the Morris’s house but the doctor was not at home, and her father was so very sick she’d decided to go on to Drumlane for the other doctor. Her sister was left nursing their father.
Yes, that was a plausible story. Feeling more confident now that she’d worked it all out, she quickened her pace and walked directly towards the roadblock.
‘What’s your business, miss?’ one of the men asked as she neared them. His voice was rough-sounding, with an English accent. Jimmy had said the Black and Tans were mostly hardened criminals, given the choice to fight the Irish rather than serve out their jail terms.
‘Fetching a doctor,’ she replied, hoping her voice was trembling less than her knees.
‘Right pretty lass you are. Wouldn’t mind seeing you again when you come back this way,’ the man replied, with a leer.
She hesitated, not sure if that meant she could pass or not.
&nbs
p; ‘Well, go on with you,’ he said, waving his rifle as if to push her past with it. She scurried past, trying not to run, scared they’d shout out and stop her after all, terrified she’d feel the sudden searing pain of a bullet in her back.
No, Mary-Ellen, she told herself, you’ve done nothing wrong and even the Black and Tans wouldn’t shoot an innocent girl in the back.
But how innocent was she really, now that she was involved with the Cause, albeit in a very minor way? She was fetching a doctor, presumably to tend to an injured Volunteer. Who he was or how he’d come by his injuries she might never know, but it may well have been in an attack against the very men she’d just passed.
She reached the doctor’s house and passed on the message. Doctor O’Mahony, a man in his thirties with an impressive moustache, regarded her solemnly as she repeated what Madame Carlton had told her to say.
‘Thank you, young colleen. You’ve done a great service today. I’ll ride over to Carlton House immediately. I’m sorry I cannot offer you a lift.’
‘That’s all right. But, sir, there are Black and Tans on the Blackstown road …’
He smiled. ‘I know. But they will let me through. Now, go inside where my wife will give you some tea and soda bread to nourish you for your journey back. Rest as long as you need to.’ He waved her through to his kitchen, while he went round to the stables.
Ellen was very grateful to get back to Carlton House that night. It had become dark as she walked home, and despite the sustenance the doctor’s wife had given her she was starving. Her feet were sore too, from the long walk. And she still had her regular Sunday evening chores to do before she could collapse into bed. Perhaps Siobhan would help her out a little. But it wasn’t to be. Siobhan stayed in the kitchen all evening, apparently hard at work polishing cutlery, while Ellen ran around the house attending to her usual chores as well as more fetching and carrying for the doctor and Madame Carlton, who both remained in the green bedroom for hours.
The next day Ellen rose at six o’clock as usual to start her morning chores, including setting the fires in all the bedrooms currently in use. She knew better than to go into the green room, however; although she was curious who was inside.
The Forgotten Secret Page 9