‘Maybe there is something else going on with her. To be honest, she seems very irrational most of the time lately.’
‘It can’t be easy for you, Jack, living here.’
‘It’s my lot.’
‘But it could be different. You can still do so much with your life.’
‘Thanks, sis, it’s nice to know not everyone has given up on me.’
The moment hung in the air.
‘I’d better bring her up some tea,’ Jack said.
There was no more mention of the house and, when her mother eventually got up, she seemed withdrawn. As if in a trance. She retreated again to her bedroom quite soon and Emily could hear her praying for what seemed like hours. She decided to stay the night.
But the next morning her mother was even more distant. She walked up to the church for morning Mass and stayed for about three hours.
Emily went to find her. Her mother was on her knees with a rosary beads, staring at a statue of Saint Martin. Everyone knew how devout Peggy O’Connor was.
Peggy got up and they walked back. Her body was hunched. Emily tried to get her to talk but it was useless.
Peggy had some tea and toast and then headed back to the church.
Eventually Emily knew she’d better make tracks back to Dublin. She told Jack she would be back in a few days to see how Peggy was then. But she felt a terrible guilt leaving. Well, there was no going back. The deal was done.
Hopefully Jack was right and it was something else that was bothering their mother. She would try to convince her to go to the doctor and maybe have some tests done.
Four days later Emily drove down to Eveline with the keys. There was so much to do. Getting workmen – painters, a carpenter and an electrician. As she turned the key, she felt a sense of surrealism knowing this was now her home. She walked around, admiring everything as if it was her first time. It really was a charming house with a sense of the past that was almost tangible. Then she set to work. She knew where she wanted to begin. She had wanted to work on the master bedroom.
She began clearing out the wardrobe. She had wanted to do it alone. She felt she owed it to the woman whose beautiful clothes were left hanging there. They were exquisite but because of being left there for so long were very dusty and stained. She put some gloves on and began. She adored the jade-green satin one and after putting a sheet over the bed she laid it down on it. The stitching was superb and the embellishments all of course done by hand. She decided to try get the dresses cleaned and then she would decide what to do with them. She certainly did not want to part with them. She should keep them as an inspiration for her work. In fact, she suspected she would end up keeping most of the personal belongings. She couldn’t imagine just dumping them. A thought struck her. There was a heritage house in Draheen that might be glad to accept such vintage items.
She moved over to a chest of drawers and looked at the ornate bottles of perfume. There was a vintage bottle of Chanel No 5 and, when she opened it, she was amazed that there was still some of the precious liquid inside.
She pulled out the drawers of the dressing table. There were some underclothes folded in the drawers, still intact. Mostly all made from the finest silk and lace. She was about to close the drawer when she saw the edge of an envelope. She pulled it out. A faded cream envelope with elegant handwriting on the front of it.
It was addressed to a Mrs Doreen Clarke in Whitewater, County Westmeath. It was not sealed. It wasn’t really hers to open but she knew she couldn’t resist.
She sat at the dressing table and began to read it.
Eveline House
January 12th, 1950
Dearest Mama,
I am making one last bid to reconcile with you. I know in your eyes I have deeply disappointed you. But I beseech you to try to forgive me for the sake of your granddaughter.
Sylvia is the most precious thing in the world to me. I have never known a love so pure.
But Sylvia is ill. Very ill. An illness that frightens me so much that at times I cannot breathe. We live in a town as I have told you in my previous letters that has not welcomed me.
Someone sent poison letters and Sylvia was the first to find them. Calling me a witch and threatening us. The writer of the letter warned us to leave Draheen.
But, dearest Mama, my poor Sylvia has a very strange illness. She is so little and what has happened to her has my heart broken into bits of tiny glass. We found her almost dead. Her body was full of cuts and wounds. Her body bruised. Yet it seems that somehow she harmed herself. I fear something terrible has happened to her. Something evil has somehow grabbed hold of her and I am so very frightened for her.
The doctor thinks it could be some psychological disease, but he does not know much about it. He wants her to see some special doctor in Dublin. But the chaplain of the hospital is sure that her wounds are not of this world. I am so scared for her and I beg you to come to Draheen. I feel you are the only person who could somehow help me. I don’t know why.
If you could just try to be here. I know you have a deep faith and I feel that will help. Please, I beg you. Come to Draheen. I fear for her life.
I cannot write again after this if you do not come. So, if I do not hear from you, this is goodbye forever.
Your ever-loving daughter,
Violet
Emily stared at the letter. She threw it down. What had she just opened? A fear gripped at her.
Why was it not posted? It had raised a thousand questions. Something fell from the dressing table and made her jump. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but a very unsettling feeling descended on her.
She put the letter in her bag and grabbed her keys. All thoughts of cleaning and sorting out the house had left her. What the hell had gone on with this family? Well, she had to find out. It dawned on her that she should have done all this before she bought the house. But she was too busy and the auction was so rushed. This woman had disappeared. She should have researched it. The auctioneer had said that there was an investigation. Why had she not checked it out? She felt foolish. Well, she would have to know now. She locked the house. She had seen a Garda Station as she was driving into the town. That would be her first stop.
A young garda was signing passport forms for a family. She waited for her turn and then tried to explain.
‘My name is Emily O’Connor. I have bought Eveline House. The old house just outside the town. I am afraid I did very little research on it before I bought it. I believe a family lived there. Could you tell me anything about them? I believe there was an investigation into the woman who went missing who lived there?’
He looked a bit dubious as if he hardly knew what she was talking about. He went to talk to an older garda behind the glass screen. The older man looked up at Emily, then got up from his desk and arrived out to talk to her
‘Good evening – I believe you are the new owner of Eveline House,’ he said.
He was a small stout man with a bald head, and he stood with his hands behind his back.
‘Step into my office here for a minute,’ he said.
He opened an adjoining room that was just as grey as the station and ushered her in.
‘Take a seat, please.’
He sat down opposite her. The desk was covered in brown files and empty used coffee mugs.
‘Yes, I am the new owner. Could you tell me any history that perhaps I should know about it? I believe the former owner went missing. Have you any details on it, please?’
He looked at her as if weighing up what he was going to tell her. He scratched his bald head and sat back in his chair.
‘Well, there was a family who lived there called the Wards. They were Irish but had been living in England. They hadn’t been in Draheen very long when she was reported missing and an investigation was opened. It is a cold case.’
‘What does that mean?’ Emily asked.
‘Well, there was never any satisfactory findings. The case remains open in case any more evidence is fou
nd. The woman was never found. But that is about it. The father and daughter disappeared after that. With the housekeeper – a local woman.’
‘Was there any idea as to what happened to Mrs Ward? Did she run away perhaps?’
‘That is a possibility. There are hundreds of possibilities. But it was investigated as a possible murder case.’
Emily felt the colour drain from her face.
‘In fact, they did try to arrest her husband and the housekeeper, but they had both disappeared the evening beforehand. There were searches, I believe, even in London but there was never any sign of any of them again, including the child. The gardaí at the time had circumstantial evidence but a body was never found. As I said there were many theories. But nothing really proven. The case remains opened.’
Emily’s mother’s words came back to her – to leave the house well alone. She tried to find her voice.
She thought of the letter in her bag. Would this be new evidence? But she decided not to divulge it. At least not for now.
‘Can you please tell me where I could get some more information? I would like to know a little more as I now live there.’
‘The Draheen Post. Their offices are over on Market Square. Talk to Gerry Hynes. He’s the editor and a journalist. He knows most things about the town. He has written several articles on the missing woman. I can’t give you any more information on the case, but Gerry can certainly give you some history on the house. He is quite the historian.’
Emily thanked him and came out to her car and rang the Draheen Post. She asked to speak to Gerry Hynes.
‘Hold on a minute,’ a young girl replied. ‘I think he’s here. Who will I say is looking for him?’
‘I am the new owner of Eveline House. I am just trying to find out the history of it and I believe he might be able to help.’
‘Oh, grand, Gerry is actually here now,’ she said cheerily.
Emily could hear her relaying her query to him.
‘Good morning, how can I help you?’ came a male voice.
‘Hello. I’m Emily O’Connor, the new owner of Eveline House. I was aware there was some history about Eveline, but I was unaware that it was quite a story. I would love to know a little more.’
‘I can do better than that. I have lots of cuttings from the papers of that time. I researched it. It always intrigued me. Drop over to the offices. I would be delighted to tell you about it. And – welcome to Draheen.’
CHAPTER 27
Gerry Hynes was a tall thin man with a very thick head of grey hair and a grey neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in a dark suit and rimless glasses. He brought her into a very orderly office and went to a drawer and within minutes took out a file.
‘I am of the old stock. I still like to rely on a filing system. I don’t trust that cloud in the sky. It’s possibly my age, hard to change old habits. Take a seat. So, you want to know about the family that lived in Eveline? What do you know? It’s been a subject of curiosity of mine for many years. I did a little investigative journalism on it, but it always ended at a closed shop. But someone in this town knows exactly what happened to the Wards of Eveline House. That is a fact I am sure of. Tell me, how much do you know about the Wards already?’
‘Next to nothing, really.’
‘I see. I wondered if the auctioneer had given out all the details of Eveline before the sale.’
‘What do you mean “all the details”?’
‘Well, about the Ward family.’
‘To be honest, it all happened so quickly, and I was caught up with work. I didn’t really research who lived there. There are some beautiful portraits of the family and I know they kind of just left but there was something about her going missing first? I went up to the Garda Station before coming here. The garda told me to contact you. He said that the case was still open pending any new information. What do you think happened to the family?’
‘Well, that is the thing – no one really knows. It seems that Violet Ward upset the people of the town by moving here. You do know that she was an up-and-coming playwright but banned in Ireland? It was a very different Ireland of course in the 1950s. Any books or plays that were written were heavily censored. Ireland was fiercely dominated by the Catholic Church and some of the townspeople did everything to make her aware of how unwanted she was. Even though the play was not performed here, everyone knew the content – not that they understood it or the intention of the playwright – and that very much upset the priest and the people of the town. Her presence here to some people tarnished the reputation of the town. Then there were letters that the child received that threatened them if they did not leave. These letters began a whole spiral of events. They were supposed to be quite vindictive, and there was supposed to be a terrible incident where the child had some sort of fit and almost died. There were even rumours that she was possessed. Sure, you can imagine the hullabaloo that would have caused. Some say this was codswallop and she had some sort of mental illness like schizophrenia but things like that weren’t very well understood by the general populace back then.’
‘So, when did this woman go missing?’ Emily asked, almost afraid of what he was going to say.
‘One morning when her child was still very ill in hospital on January 12th 1950. Early that morning, Violet Ward went for a walk. Some say she went to Blythe Wood and a scarf and a key were indeed found there. They had search parties out. But to this day she was never seen again.’
Emily could feel her breathing deepen. She had written that letter the day she had gone missing. She tried to steady herself.
‘What do you think happened to her?’ she asked.
‘There were certainly suspicions that her husband Henry done her in, I am afraid. That he was having an affair with the housekeeper. But if he did, he did a good job of hiding any evidence. Then he disappeared with the housekeeper and the child before he was to be arrested. The police went to the house to arrest him but there was no trace of him. There were supposed sightings in England and extensive searches here and in England, but they were never found. They searched the house of course but found nothing. There is, of course, the basement at the house and they thought that he had hidden her body there but again there was nothing there. They thought then that he had perhaps moved the body. But, to be honest, from all the research that I have read I think it was more complex than that. I don’t think he was having an affair and wanted his wife gone. It does point to him being guilty but who knows? He was meant to have quite a temper. Perhaps a moment of madness. But there was no concrete evidence. He would most probably have hanged for it though if he was caught. With or without a body. The housekeeper too.’
Emily sat back, weak with this news. Gobsmacked.
‘I gather you never knew all this before you bought the house?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘That auctioneer is a shrewd operator. He knew that if news got out about the house it might put people off, so a quick sale was decided on, I suspect. I saw the advert in the Sunday paper. It never mentioned any of this of course.’ Gerry Hynes was shaking his head.
Emily thought back to all those people who had packed the auction room yet did not buy the house.
As if reading her thoughts Gerry said, ‘The auction attracted quite a crowd. You see, they thought perhaps the daughter, Sylvia, might turn up. “The Jeweller’s Daughter” as she is referred to by the locals.’
‘He was a jeweller?’
‘A very well-respected goldsmith and jeweller. Both parents came from humble beginnings, but they did very well. He had a workshop in the town and had plans to open a large jewellery shop.’
Emily felt as if she had opened a door and had no idea how to shut it. It was hard to face that she already had misgivings about buying Eveline. It was not like her to be so impulsive. She should have given it more thought and she should have for once listened to her mother. Maybe the house was cursed with bad luck or something. But it was far too late. The deal was done. Su
ddenly, her little house in Stoneybatter looked far too appealing and she wished she could wave a magic wand and reverse what she had done. She had an ill feeling about it all and that garda was very cagy earlier. Telling her nothing.
Gerry Hynes was looking through some newspaper cuttings.
‘I gather you never heard of the old rubbish about the house being haunted either?’ he asked.
Emily felt her stomach lurch. Could this get any worse?
‘When I first arrived, some women joked about it at the viewing. I really didn’t take much heed. I thought they were saying that just because it was locked up for so long.’
‘The folklore is that the ghost of Violet Ward is searching for her daughter and can be seen through the window on certain nights. A very popular story around Halloween let me tell you!’ Gerry said with a laugh.
But Emily was not laughing. She felt her stomach churn.
‘Of course it had a bit of history before the Wards bought it too,’ Gerry went on. ‘It was belonging to the Boynes. Now they were a colourful family. The last one who lived there was a kind of herbalist. She died in unusual circumstances.’
‘What kind of unusual circumstances?’ Emily asked, her voice a whisper.
‘Oh, well, she was found almost dead. She died shortly afterwards. Some said she poisoned herself. She was not the full shilling, shall we say. Then it was closed for a few years before the Wards bought it.’
He opened a folder and pulled out even more faded newspaper clippings. He spread them on his desk for Emily to see.
‘I have a bit of a collection on the Wards as you can see. Here, have a look at these – there’s something I need to attend to – I will nip out and be back shortly.’
The Secret of Eveline House Page 19
