Another Kind of Life Page 26

  And Philippe had never appeared. Her prophecy from last summer had been uncannily accurate. One very small part of her had held out hope that he would be waiting for her, miraculously, at the Gare du Nord, or perhaps at the station in Calais. She wouldn’t give up hope, not yet, not until she had to.

  PART THREE: 1900–1906

  Eleanor’s Journal

  1900 WAS A truly momentous year for us Bright Brilliant Sisters.

  Hannah had just given birth to her first baby, Eileen. May had experienced the joy of travel, at last; and I was spending all my time planning my escape.

  For the second time, I lived the summer apart from both my sisters, and I missed them terribly. Our house was deathly quiet; even Mama didn’t sing any more. There were ladies in our drawing room on fewer and fewer occasions now, and Papa became more and more engrossed in ‘business’ which kept him out and about town a good deal. From what I observed, it seemed that most of his transactions took place over long lunches at his club on Stephen’s Green, from whence he would return smelling of cigar-smoke and good brandy. I have often wondered how his gentlemen companions must have regarded him. He cannot have been able to conceal his past completely; his acceptance there must have been yet another result of Grandfather Delaney’s magnanimity and influence. Papa made great show, too, of ‘managing’ Grandfather’s properties all over Dublin, would murmur about his ‘responsibilities’ as a landlord and generally took himself very seriously indeed. Mama would turn her head away from him when he arrived home after his club days, and I could not help noticing her barely concealed expressions of contempt.

  I learned later that Grandfather Delaney had been very careful to leave my father no real role in the management of his properties. After his death, all the significant business was transacted by the old and highly respectable firm of Morgan, Lancaster and Company in Dawson Street, about which not one syllable of scandal had ever been breathed. Mama received a monthly income through the hands of these gentlemen: the large, buff-coloured envelope would arrive with mathematical precision on the last Friday of every month. How much she gave my father remains a mystery – she always went with him to his tailor, for instance, and his bootmaker, and I know she paid his club bills, too. I should not, of course, know these things, not any of them, but I had the disgraceful habit of rummaging in Mama’s desk on the occasions when I was alone in the house. I feel ashamed of myself even now, confessing this to you. But I couldn’t help being curious; and the fact that I was also on my own with both of them meant that my parents’ presence in my life that summer became, for the first time ever, a disproportionate one. I had no May to escape to, no Hannah to make me laugh. Instead, I sensed Mama’s every mood, was present for any sharp exchange that might take place between her and Papa, and was in a position to observe all the unspoken bitterness that filled the air between them. I longed for summer to be over. I wanted the company of other girls, needed the stimulation of study, the safe predictability of school routine.

  At sixteen, I no longer wanted to be burdened by the emptiness of failed lives. I loved my parents, naturally, but I loved the possibilities of my own life more. I knew that Hannah was happy, but her new world seemed to me to be very small. May’s sojourn in France, as I subsequently discovered, seemed not to have brought her any happiness at all: I heard no more talk about Africa, the Americas or Europe. Just nine months as a governess with a wealthy French family, then back home at once to the safety of the familiar. That was how I felt at the time, how I saw things from my corner of the universe, with all the indignation and arrogance of youth.

  All that spring, the newspapers had been filled with excited accounts of the preparations for, and the arrival of, Queen Victoria at Kingstown. Although thousands of Dubliners lined the streets, ostensibly to welcome her, I certainly remember no great outpourings of affection. Mama had been sadly disappointed at the elderly Queen’s appearance: she had seemed sullen, almost sleepy, with no great elegance of person or dress. By summer, the newspapers were filled with accounts of a very different nature. The Boer War was suddenly everywhere: the relief of Mafeking, the fall of Pretoria, the occupation of Johannesburg. At that time, I had little interest in the politics of conflict, but I was overwhelmed by the stories of common bravery: the heroic exploits of doctors and nurses in their tending of the wounded, their extraordinary courage in bringing comfort and relief to the fallen, despite the danger to their own lives. I still have the cuttings that affected me most, now brittle and yellowing, their print blurred all along the seams where they have lain folded for many years. I began, secretly, to gather all the information I could about becoming a nurse. The nobility of the profession appealed to me, but more than that, I could make a good case for attending St Bartholomew’s teaching hospital in London. Thus I should escape Dublin, my parents’ house, and the fate of my sisters. Little by little, I would make my way towards another kind of life, one that awaited me elsewhere, always elsewhere. I knew that I should have nothing at all if I did not seize the first opportunity that presented itself. I had a bright vision of myself approaching an open door; all I needed now was to gather the courage to walk through it and leave my sisters behind.

  Hannah: Spring 1900

  HANNAH AWAITED CHARLES’S return impatiently. She had already been to the window several times, and there was still no sign of him. It was most unusual: he took the same train every evening, arriving home punctually at half past six from his office in Sussex Place. A knock on the drawing-room door made her jump.

  ‘Come in.’

  Mary stood at the threshold, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Is Mister Charles going to be very late, miss?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mary – there was no note in this afternoon’s post. I don’t know what could be keeping him.’

  ‘Not to worry – I’ll keep yer tea hot, so I will.’

  It was really most unlike him to miss his tea. And the Burkes were coming tonight at eight – everything was set up for their musical evening together. Hannah pulled the curtain aside once again. People were streaming up from the station now. She recognized Mr Reeve, who always got the same train as Charles. His little boy was pedalling furiously beside him as they made their way up the hill together. He cycled down every night to meet his father; Charles had often remarked on the young fellow’s devotion. Hannah had wondered aloud if Charles’s pocketful of sweets might have anything to do with the boy’s regular visits to Holywood station, and was rewarded with a look of genuine amazement. How had she known that? She refused to satisfy his curiosity, thinking that he really had led a very sheltered life in many respects – he simply did not understand how women talked to one another.

  She resisted the urge now to run outside and ask whether anyone had seen Charles. She was being foolish: anything might have delayed him. He was fond of saying that his business was not an exact science. By ten to eight she was frantic. Mary came in and lit extra lamps around the drawing room, trying to soothe her.

  ‘Don’t be worryin’ yer head too much, Miss Hannah. Sure mebbe he stopped off for a wee drink after work.’

  Maybe he had – but he usually found some way of telling her. Suddenly, she heard footsteps on the porch. His voice, loud and welcoming, and other voices that she couldn’t distinguish. Of course! The Burkes. She had almost forgotten about them in her anxiety. Charles opened the drawing-room door wide, ushering his guests in before him. There was nothing else for it – her questions must wait. She had guests to see to.

  ‘Hannah, you look wonderful!’

  Bella hugged her, laughing as Hannah’s large stomach got in the way, no matter which way they turned.

  James kissed her hand.

  ‘Blooming, my dear, blooming,’ was all he said. Hannah couldn’t help smiling to herself. The Burkes were only about ten years older than she was, and ten years younger than Charles – yet their speech and manners seemed to have been absorbed from a much older, somehow jollier generation.

&nb
sp; ‘You’re both welcome: please, sit down.’

  Hannah thought she might steal a moment with Charles while their guests were getting settled, but the only communication from him was a warning glance as he poured glasses of wine for Bella and for her. The evening crawled. She tried her best to be gay, to accompany Charles and James as they sang together, two full, rounded tenor voices. Then Bella and James together, then Charles and Bella. She thought she was going to scream.

  When Mary brought the tea and cakes at ten o’clock, Bella leaned over to her, confidentially.

  ‘You look very tired, Hannah. You should rest. We’ll go soon.’

  Hannah looked at her gratefully.

  ‘Yes, I am tired. I really cannot get past this hour of the evening, no matter how hard I try.’

  ‘Then don’t try. Be sensible. How long is it to your confinement now?’

  ‘Just eight weeks.’

  Hannah couldn’t help the surge of excitement she felt each time she admitted how close she was to holding her baby. The great rush of love she felt made her prepared to forgive Charles’s late return, no matter what the reason. It would all be something very simple, she was sure of that. In a way, it was probably good that they had had to entertain people – she didn’t want to quarrel with him, not now.

  She was glad when tea was finally taken and Bella stood up immediately.

  ‘We must be going, James. It’s late.’

  Her husband looked at her in astonishment. He was just about to reply when something in his wife’s expression must have stopped him.

  ‘Aye, of course, of course. Lovely evening, Hannah, Charles – thanks so much. Looking forward to the next one already!’

  A few moments in the hall, a friendly wave, a pause until they turned the corner out of sight. Charles shut the door. He followed Hannah back into the drawing room.

  ‘I was worried, Charles,’ she said quietly. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  He patted the sofa beside him, his expression almost normal, but she had the sense he was making an effort.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about, my dear. I’m sorry I couldn’t get word to you.’

  She waited. He said nothing, just went through the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe. She could wait for as long as it took.

  ‘We lost a building contract today,’ he said, puffing, keeping his eyes intently on the bowl of his pipe, cupping his hands around it. ‘It was a big one, so we were a wee bit disappointed.’

  Hannah knew he was keeping his voice deliberately low, his attitude calm. But she was his wife, she had the right to know, to share it with him, no matter how bad it was.

  ‘Why did you lose it? Do you know?’

  ‘Aye. To be sure, I know. There’s no mystery about that.’

  ‘Can you tell me?’

  She had never seen him like this before. He was dangerously quiet. No teasing, no mockery. It was as though he had retreated somewhere, far away from everything. Suddenly, he seemed to make up his mind.

  ‘Och, it’s just business, Hannah. Nothing for you to worry your wee head about. Haven’t you enough on your plate?’

  He patted her stomach, smiling at her. She felt relieved: something of his old manner had returned. She wouldn’t push him any further. She had learned of late that the more she pushed, the more he dug his heels in. He would tell her in his own good time, and she would have to be content with that.

  Hannah and Mary: Spring 1900

  ‘MARY, MARY, COME quickly, please!’

  Startled, Mary dropped the bundle of clothes on her way to the laundry sink and looked around her. Miss Hannah’s voice seemed to have come from somewhere very near.

  ‘Mary, where are you!’

  The voice was higher-pitched now, frantic. Upstairs; she was calling from upstairs.

  ‘Coming now!’

  Dear God, Mary thought, don’t let anything be wrong. Memories of the Long household started to crowd in on her. Impatiently, she pushed them away.

  ‘Don’t fret, now, I’m on me way!’

  She ran up the stairs, cursing silently as she stumbled in her eagerness. Miss Hannah’s voice had sounded terrified. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night, and Nurse Walker was on standby only two streets away.

  Mary reached the landing to see Hannah standing in front of her, her long white nightgown soaking wet to below her knees, streaked unmistakably with blood. She was shaking, her eyes two startling pools of blue in a pale, terrified face. Mary instantly became calm.

  ‘It’s all right, Miss Hannah. Yer waters have broke. It means the baby’s ready.’

  She smiled encouragingly, leading the frightened young woman back into her bedroom. She had a sudden rush of pity for her: she was only a girl, herself.

  She settled her on the bed, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, rubbing her arms to stop the shivering.

  ‘This’ll be a considerate wee wain, arrivin’ at midday instead o’ the wee small hours o’ the mornin’!’

  She was rewarded with a weak smile. Hannah’s eyes were tearful now, her face not so frozen.

  ‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’

  ‘As right as rain,’ Mary promised her. ‘Now you sit tight for five minutes, an’ I’ll be back with Nurse Walker.’

  ‘No – don’t leave me! Don’t go, Mary, please!’

  Her hands clutched at the sleeves of Mary’s dress.

  Mary knelt on the floor and took Hannah’s two hands in hers.

  ‘Deliverin’ babies is the midwife’s work: lookin’ after them is mine! I promise I’ll be back before ye know it.’

  Finally, Hannah nodded. Mary fled before she had time to change her mind. She felt wildly excited. She had shared this child with Miss Hannah, shared all the joyful anticipation of its arrival as much as a doting aunt. And Miss Hannah had promised, if it was a wee girl, to give her the second name of Cecilia.

  The whole room was filled with pain. It didn’t matter if she stood, or tried to walk, or even knelt on the ground on all fours with Mary rubbing her back. No matter what way she lay or turned, there was no escaping it. Hannah couldn’t bear any more of this. Tomorrow, she’d come back again tomorrow.

  ‘Please, Nurse Walker,’ she begged. ‘Just let me rest for a little while, just a little.’

  Mary sat behind her on the bed, her strong arms linked in Hannah’s, her warm body a comfort, something solid and grounded to lean against.

  ‘We’re nearly there, Mrs MacBride, nearly there!’ Nurse Walker’s voice was loud, encouraging. ‘We can see the wee one’s head. Just a few more pushes and we’ll be there, so we will!’

  Mary’s face was pressed to hers, her cheek warm and firm.

  ‘Ye’re doin’ so well, Hannah; don’t give up now. Pretend ye’re usin’ my strength – push, now!’

  With one huge, last effort, Hannah drew breath, kept her chin down as Nurse Walker had shown her, and pushed, hearing herself groan as though from a great distance.

  ‘Well done! That’s the head now – what a dotey wee face!’

  The midwife’s voice was triumphant. Mary embraced Hannah warmly from behind, finding she could no longer speak. She thought she had never seen anything so magical, so simply wonderful, in her whole life. Hannah began to laugh as the baby seemed to turn around of its own accord, its small red face suddenly visible, all its tiny features squeezed together with indignation.

  ‘One more push, now – the shoulders’ll slide out easy enough!’

  Hannah was rewarded with a high-pitched wail.

  ‘It’s a wee girl, with a fine pair o’ lungs!’

  ‘Look at the length o’ them legs!’

  ‘Let me see her!’

  Nurse Walker was bending low over the infant, her hands moving so swiftly that Hannah couldn’t make out what she was doing. Then, grinning from ear to ear, the elderly woman handed her a tiny bundle, swaddled tight in a white cotton blanket.

  ‘Now, just once more, and we’re done.’

 
Hannah looked up in alarm.

  ‘Twins?’ she gasped.

  ‘No, you wee goose – the afterbirth!’

  All three women laughed. Mary couldn’t contain herself any longer.

  ‘Congratulations, Hannah, well done to you! What a wee beauty she is!’

  Then she blushed. In her delight, she had forgotten all formality, forgotten completely that Hannah was her employer, neither her friend nor her sister. Hannah’s eyes never left her daughter’s face. Her hand sought Mary’s, fumbling among the sheets and towels behind her.

  ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Baby Eileen, say hello to Mary. Mary, I’d like you to meet Eileen Cecilia MacBride.’

  Hannah squeezed Mary’s hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything.’

  May: Spring 1900

  MAY’S EYES WERE gritty with sleeplessness. The trip from Paris had exhausted her. She had hardly slept the night before, every mile of the rattling train journey putting more and more distance between her and her hopes. Even at Calais, her eyes kept looking for a miracle, her neck straining as she searched the crowds for the sight of a tall, rangy figure making his way rapidly through the throngs to claim her. It had not happened, and she was angry at herself for the heights of her ridiculous, romantic hopes.