Another Kind of Life Read online

  Finally, there was the invitation for everyone – Charles, Constance MacBride, Hannah, May, Eleanor, indeed, all the O’Connor family should they so wish – to visit him at Abbotsford, where he would attempt to return the generous hospitality he had received at everyone’s hands in Holywood. He should be delighted, he said, to host his god-daughter’s first birthday in his home. May encouraged her sister to make the visit – Hannah had been ill and lethargic at the beginning of her new pregnancy, and May was concerned about her, felt that she was ready for a change of air.

  Somehow, May’s plans to move out of Holywood never came to fruition. First there was the joy and novelty of helping to look after baby Eileen; then Charles asked her to stay on, confiding that current difficulties in his practice kept him from home more than he would wish; then Hannah became pregnant again, and was too unwell to look after the now highly active Eileen. Somehow, a year and a half had passed. May was conscious that it was now high time for her to go, to find some way of making her own life. Even Mama had started making discreet enquiries about when they could expect her back in Dublin.

  In the event, Hannah, Charles and May were persuaded to make the visit to County Meath, bringing baby Eileen with them. Within a day of their arrival, Richard had spoken to Charles, who spoke to Hannah, who spoke to May, and somehow it was all swiftly resolved.

  Richard held May’s small hand in his, and amid much stumbling and faltering, told her he had loved her since he first saw her. He could promise her devotion, fidelity, respect – all the things by which a man defined his integrity. Money, ease or elegance were a different matter. Farm life was tough, but he had never wanted for anything that was truly essential. If she would have him, he would be deeply honoured, would share everything he had with her.

  Yes, she’d said, I will marry you.

  Philippe still blurred at the outline of her vision, and she tried hard to keep her eyes focused straight ahead. At least the way in front of her was brighter than it had been in some time: its edges were no longer crowded with the bitter weeds of grief and disillusionment. The prospect of spinsterhood, solitude and the unremitting yoke of filial duty finally began to recede a little into the yellow fields and gentle hummocks of a substantial County Meath farm.

  Hannah: Autumn 1901

  CHARLES CARRIED THE sleeping Eileen on to the train, her head lolling across his shoulder like one of Hannah’s childhood dolls. May hurried behind him, blankets at the ready. Hannah smiled to herself. May would make an excellent mother: she had a gravity which calmed Eileen and soothed her tears into chuckles. Richard walked behind them, carrying their cases with ease. It was just as well there was one strong farmer among them, he’d said with a wide grin: the station was far too small to boast a porter at this hour of the evening.

  Hannah was glad for her sister. Richard was a good, kind man, generous to a fault, fond of children. Rather like Charles, in fact. May had chosen well. Hannah had no doubt that her sister had been first to choose here: Richard had followed, of course, more than willingly, hardly able to believe his good fortune. Money, though, would always be a problem. They would never have enough, and Abbotsford was a draughty, sparsely furnished place. Hannah shivered at the memory – no matter how early the young girl from the village lit the fires in the bedrooms, no matter how high Richard had piled on the logs in the drawing-room grate, Hannah’s memory of the entire five-day visit was of having felt the cold.

  Charles turned back now to help her on to the train.

  ‘All right, my dear?’

  He had been particularly kind to her since she’d been ill with this next baby. He always thought ahead, planned for her ease and comfort, and yet she knew something was troubling him. Some weeks back, she had asked him, tentatively, was he angry that there was another baby on the way. He had looked so genuinely astonished that she had felt relieved at once, reassured that she was not, somehow, the cause of his worry.

  ‘You must never think that, my dear, never.’

  He had grasped both her hands in his, his voice urgent.

  ‘I am delighted to be the father of a growing family. The prospect fills me with nothing but happiness. I am concerned only that your health should not suffer.’

  She had felt lighter after that, less weighed down with guilt. She suspected that people were not paying him as promptly as they should, and the thought depressed her. The last thing she wanted was to repeat her own mother’s history: fighting and complaining over money. But once Charles had reassured her that he longed for this baby as much as she did, everything seemed to change. As if by magic, she began to feel better in the mornings, no longer racked by nausea. Charles seemed to slot back into his old routine, too, coming home on the minute-past-six train each evening. And now the glad news of May’s wedding: Hannah knew she was selfish to want to hold on to her sister until then, but she couldn’t help it.

  May had written home the very evening she had accepted Richard’s proposal. Hannah had gone into her room just before dinner to hug her all over again, to make plans, to tell her what a wonderful man Richard was – quite the best, in Charles’s estimation, quite the soundest man he had ever known.

  ‘I don’t want to go home just yet, Hannah. I couldn’t bear Mama’s fussing.’ She paused. ‘May I stay with you until a few weeks before the wedding?’

  What May did not confess to her sister was that she couldn’t bear the thought of Mama prying into Richard’s affairs – how much land he had, what his income was, how May’s life with him would be. She knew, no matter what Richard’s virtues, that his worth would be subtly, perhaps even wordlessly, but nonetheless unfavourably, compared with Charles’s.

  According to Mama and Papa, they were delighted and proclaimed Richard ‘a gentleman’. May was only a little resentful that they appeared almost uncaring about the details of her forthcoming marriage. She thought they were glad to have her off their hands at so little trouble to themselves.

  Once the others were settled in the compartment, May went back on to the platform to say goodbye to Richard.

  ‘Come back soon,’ he said softly, pressing her hands between his. ‘Now that I have someone to work for, you won’t recognize Abbotsford the next time you visit. I’ll make it right for you.’

  ‘Don’t, Richard – please don’t change too much on my behalf. I love it just as it is, truly.’

  May returned the pressure of his large hands, feeling an overwhelming affection for this gentle man. And she meant what she said. She loved the old charm of Abbotsford, had found the slightly worn rooms to be warm and comfortable. She already thought of it as her home.

  Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him. She didn’t care who was watching; she would soon be his wife. Then she turned and fled, back to Charles and Hannah.

  Hannah had watched her discreetly, the whole time. That kiss, she felt, more than anything else, meant that the ghost of Philippe had finally been laid to rest. And Richard would never reject her, should he ever discover her secret. His need for her was every bit as great as hers for him. They really were a perfect match, she thought.

  Hannah: Spring 1902

  WHEN HANNAH WOKE, the room was full of light. Mama was still in the rocking chair beside the bed, asleep, her head resting on one hand. Maeve was in the Moses basket beside her. Hannah didn’t know how long she’d slept, but she felt better, much better. Suddenly, the silence seemed strange – the baby had to be hungry – why wasn’t she crying? As though her new daughter had heard her, a thin wail arose from the depths of the basket. Her mother started, setting the rocker in sudden motion. She reached towards the basket and lifted out her tiny granddaughter. Then she turned to smile at annah, her whole face lined with sleep.

  ‘Here you go, young mother,’ she said softly. ‘Breakfast is required.’

  Once the baby had started to feed, Hannah turned to her.

  ‘Thank you, Mama, for being here. You’ve been wonderful.’

  ‘I’m so glad I was here for this
little one’s birth. You’ve no idea what it means to me.’

  ‘Was Charles here?’

  Her mother laughed.

  ‘We had to forcibly eject him, three times. He’s the proudest father I’ve ever seen. He didn’t want to wake you.’

  Hannah nodded. She hoped it was true, that he was proud and happy with another baby girl.

  ‘He made me promise to waken him, so I’ll do just that and leave the two of you alone.’

  Hannah watched as her mother stood up stiffly from the chair. With a pang, she realized that she was no longer young. As though she’d heard her, Sophia said:

  ‘I’m afraid I’m past the age of sleeping in chairs all night!’

  ‘Get some proper rest, Mama. I’ll be fine now.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, my dear. Sleep all you can.’

  Charles seemed delighted enough. Hannah watched his face for any sign that this child was less welcome than Eileen, any indication that she had disappointed his secret hopes. Whatever he may have felt, his outward self was smiling hugely, eyes bright with love.

  Hannah was grateful for the hours he spent with her that morning. She had discovered, although Charles had never told her, that he was losing contract after contract to the Protestant firms all over the city. He, and firms like his, were being sidelined by the politics which seemed to dog this part of the world everywhere she turned. Hannah didn’t even pretend to understand the bitterness and prejudice which seemed to have the whole of Belfast constantly on edge these days. As yet, there were none of the overt terrors of the carriage ride to the station all those years ago; instead there was a subterranean sea of silences and secrecies and bigotries which threatened to erupt and carry everyone with it in a tidal wave of unprecedented fury.

  She knew that her furtive reading of Charles’s post had been wrong, but she could never get him to share the truth of his other life with her: the one which happened between eight and six, and late in the evenings when he was delayed or, simply, chose some activity other than coming home. Perhaps all men existed under the same pressures, forced to divide their very selves into acceptable domestic and public faces, no matter how the two collided. She was disappointed; she had hoped that they would do better: that by sharing, they could somehow halve the trouble. But Charles resolutely kept his concerns to himself, and she had learned that she could not change him.

  There were times when Hannah feared for her children, all the others she knew she would have. While they were small, living in the protection of a tolerant, civilized town, all could still be well. But when they were grown, what would happen to them then? Would they have to endure being regarded as second-class citizens, watching people’s faces change when the names of their schools marked them out as taigs and fenians? Would they have to live among hostile others who asked ‘What are ye?’ rather than ‘How are ye?’ as a greeting? She did not want her children to absorb the mindlessness of tribal hatreds, to feel that their place was always the lesser one because someone else’s tradition had deemed it so.

  Hannah had grown to love her adopted town. She had even learned to appreciate the poetry of the surrounding countryside, with its liquid, magical names. Wolf Hill, Ardglass, Kilkeel, Annalong . . .

  But Belfast, and all it stood for, would never claim her heart.

  Eleanor’s Journal

  I LOVED ABBOTSFORD from the moment I first saw it. I loved its rambling oddness, the solidity of its comforts, its innocent lack of modern elegance. May brought me to see her future home just a few days before her wedding. Mama did not want us to undertake the journey, given that the wedding preparations were so far advanced, so demanding of everyone’s time, but May was insistent that I see her home before my return to St Bartholomew’s.

  ‘I want you to take this memory back with you,’ she said. ‘I can’t describe it well enough in letters – you must see it for yourself.’

  Richard came in the trap to collect us from the station. I thought both my sisters fortunate, in their different ways, in their choice of husband. Richard was a plain man, direct in his ways, open in his devotion to his future wife. I was glad. I could see the tenderness she felt towards him, and I hoped she would be happy, as well as secure. It was to be many years before Hannah told me about Philippe, about her conviction that he and May had been intimate; many years, therefore, before I understood how May must have needed this marriage.

  The farm was a good distance from everywhere. There was no village close by, and we passed but a few farmhouses on our journey, each scattered from its neighbours by long tracts of ploughed land. I wondered would May be contented to be so much alone. Then I thought that the openness of the countryside would most probably suit her: she had always found Dublin and Belfast difficult. She needed room to breathe.

  A long driveway led up to the house, green lawns sloped away on all sides, and as we turned the corner into the yard, the glittering waters of a stream were just visible in the distance. I turned to my sister, surprised to catch the mute appeal in her eyes.

  ‘It’s beautiful, May – the house, the view – everything about it! I shall very easily imagine you here!’

  Richard looked gratified.

  ‘My father’s house,’ he said, nodding. ‘And his father before that. Our roots run deep here.’

  The pony came to a halt in the middle of the cobbled yard and Richard helped May and me to descend from the trap. A large grey and white dog lay sleeping beside the water pump, his pink tongue lolling. He opened one rheumy eye as we stepped into the yard, and his bushy tail gave a single, feeble wag.

  ‘All right, Boy, it’s all right.’

  Richard’s voice was kind as he leaned down to stroke the old dog’s head.

  ‘Just about had it, poor old Boy,’ he said. ‘He should go in his sleep any day now.’

  I felt a stab of sympathy for the animal. If my memory is accurate, Boy died the morning Richard and May were married. When they returned to Abbotsford, the Duggans had already buried him.

  Inside, the farmhouse was cool. Having been in Hannah’s home so recently, I was struck by how shabby everything was here. It was all clean and neat as a new pin, but it had not had a woman’s hand for some time. Richard cooked and cleaned for himself, I learned, and had done so for the previous ten years, with occasional help from a girl in the nearest village, some five miles distant. It was clear that he had survived well, but the finer points of cleaning incandescent mantles and removing dust from picture rails were obviously way beyond his capabilities. Or perhaps Sister Sheridan had just made me oversensitive to such matters.

  I was charmed by all of it. We walked the land at Richard’s invitation and he provided us with excellent afternoon tea. I felt rather sad leaving – I should have liked to spend a longer time there. My cold dormitory began to seem even more unattractive after my brief visit to this homely, welcoming place. I felt quite depressed on our return to Dublin.

  The wedding passed as all weddings seem to do – with a great deal of fuss beforehand, large quantities of cake and wine on the day, and so many sad and wilting flowers afterwards. May had not wanted the Shelbourne; she preferred the intimacy of home.

  Papa behaved himself on that day; by early afternoon, Mama’s anxious looks were diminishing in frequency. Hannah had both her babies at the wedding: the now highly active two-year-old Eileen, and her placid, two-month-old sister, Maeve. Charles was even more the doting father this time around – he really was a most unusual man. I was loath to leave all of them. All I could think of was the year ahead. I should be engaged once more in scrubbing toilets and enduring the sharp tongue and beady eye of Sister Sheridan.

  For some time after May’s wedding, I think I even envied my sisters a little. Now, I find that ironic. I had not even begun to comprehend the range and depth of your love, already in the process of transforming the rest of my life.

  May: Spring 1902

  RICHARD LOOKED NOT so much uncomfortable as incongruous in his good suit. He was
a man who cared little for clothes in his everyday life, but it was clear that he had made an effort for the day of his wedding. And yet, although his suit fitted him well, May couldn’t help feeling that it had been made for another man altogether. It seemed to hold itself apart from Richard, or he from it, so that they appeared to be two separate entities. There was Richard; and there was his suit.

  When May walked down the aisle towards him on her father’s arm, he turned to greet her, his big face transformed by the warmest smile she had ever seen. He looked almost handsome, she thought, his face coloured, but not yet weather-beaten, by his outdoor chores. He had chosen to invite only the Duggans, his friends and neighbours from a nearby farm. May had insisted, in the interest of fairness, that her number of guests be small, too.

  ‘My dear, you’re a picture.’ Bridie Duggan beamed at her, hugging her close as soon as she could get May on her own. They had bumped into each other on the stairs at home, after May had removed her hat and Eleanor had laced flowers into her dark hair. The guests waited downstairs, and May was glad to receive Bridie’s kiss, to return her hug.

  ‘He’s the best of men, you know that. And a lucky one. Now don’t forget – there’s no formality in our part of the world. You call on me whenever you need anything, d’ye hear me?’

  ‘I do indeed, Bridie. I shall look forward to it.’

  May felt warm towards everybody that day. Mama had done a beautiful job in arranging the wedding breakfast. She had placed posies of spring flowers everywhere, and May appreciated all her efforts to make the day special, despite her disappointment at her middle daughter’s choice not to have a more public display at the Shelbourne.

  Hannah had brought Mary with her to help. Katie had long since retired from service and Lily had surprised everyone by getting married a year ago, to a small farmer from her home town in Tipperary.