The Secret of Eveline House

by Sheila Forsey

  Emily went down to the station. The gardaí had received a letter similar to the one sent to Gerry Hynes, who had just contacted them to say he was going to run a story. They were going to put out an appeal for any new information and felt they needed to alert Emily to the fact. Garda Ryan apologised to Emily, saying that he was sorry that a new resident of Draheen should be embroiled in an unpleasant matter which basically had nothing to do with her, apart from the fact she had bought the house in question.

  Emily felt herself flush. If he only knew, she thought.

  Embarrassed she said nothing about the letter.

  ‘Why did you not tell him?’ Jack asked, highly frustrated, when she got back.

  ‘Let’s try and find out what is in Dunmore East first and at least be prepared,’ she said. ‘I’ll go down in a day or two and check it out.’

  The following day she was at Eveline with Jack when she got another phone call from Gerry Hynes.

  ‘Just to let you know that Sylvia Ward has hired a private investigator. He means business. He has contacted different people here in Draheen, trying to find out anything he can. But he won’t find out much. Most are dead.’

  Emily knew she had no choice. She would have to confront her mother. Sooner or later they would find her and drag it all back up.

  But first she would drive to Dunmore East and find that letter that Jack saw.

  ‘Look, I’ll go with you,’ said Jack. ‘Why don’t we just stay here tonight, go early in the morning and then I can get back to meet with the carpenter in the afternoon.’

  ‘Stay here?’

  ‘Yes, we can use the beds in what will be Seb’s room and the one in the guest room. You’ve bought some bedclothes, haven’t you? We can work on the studio tonight and get the design right. Let’s get a takeaway, get some kip and then head for Dunmore East at about six. I have my key with me.’

  ‘Okay, you’re right. I will do up the beds and then we can get down to measuring the designs. Oh God, Jack, there is so much going on I can hardly cope.’

  ‘It’s okay, sis. We can cope together. First things first, let’s see what is in that box.’

  They ordered a curry and worked on the studio design, eventually coming up with something they were pleased with. It was after eleven before they finished up.

  They got into their respective beds, exhausted.

  It felt so strange to be finally sleeping in the house. Emily planned to sleep in the main bedroom when she moved in but there was so much work to be done on it first. She had splurged on a gorgeous embossed duck-egg wallpaper. It would look gorgeous with the wood floor.

  She lay there, everything going through her mind. The house. The commissions she had. She was trying to come up with a design to suit Jenny Wright. It was proving very challenging. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming about wallpaper and Jenny Wright’s dress.

  But all too soon she was awoken.

  ‘Emily! Emily! Jesus, Emily! Wake up!’

  She shot up in the bed. The light was on and Jack was bending over her.

  ‘Christ, Jack, what’s wrong? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You frightened the bloody daylights out of me!’ she shrieked.

  Jack looked completely shaken.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is it Mam?’

  ‘No, no – I just thought I saw something!’

  ‘What? You gave me the fright of my life because you thought you saw something. What is it that you think you saw? A bloody mouse?’

  ‘I thought I heard something, and I got up. Jesus, I think I’m going mad. I need some air.’ He walked out and she heard him open the window on the landing.

  Emily got up, grabbed a jumper and tracksuit bottoms and pulled them on. She shoved her feet in her runners and went out to the landing.

  ‘Jesus, sis, am I going mad?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘What’s wrong, Jack? You look like you saw a ghost.’

  ‘Sis, I bloody think I did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, look, it must be the drugs still affecting my head after all these years.’

  ‘What do you think you saw?’

  ‘I saw a woman in a green dress. A long dress. She had dark hair tied up and she was walking down the stairs. The light from the hall was hitting off little jewels in the dress. Millions of them. But in an instant, it was as if she disappeared. I thought I was going mad. It frightened the bejesus out of me.’

  A sense of dread came over Emily as she thought of the green silk dress of Violet Ward. It had lots of glass beading. There was no way that Jack had ever laid eyes on it. She had put it into the cleaner’s, and she had only collected it and put it back in the closet that day, all covered up in a special sealed bag.

  ‘What do you mean she disappeared?’

  ‘Look, sis, I know it sounds mad, but she just bloody disappeared. Vanished. I need a fag.’

  CHAPTER 33

  They cautiously went downstairs and put the kettle on. Jack lit a cigarette and opened the window to let the smoke out.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sis. I know I’ve freaked you out. It must be just tiredness or something.’

  ‘Tell me again exactly what you thought you saw?’ Emily asked cautiously.

  ‘I was asleep and I suddenly woke up. For some reason I thought that there was someone in the room looking at me. Then I switched on my lamp and obviously there was no one there. Then I thought I heard footsteps on the stairs. I called your name. I thought you must be up and not able to sleep or something. But there was no answer. So, I got up and then I could hear nothing, so I thought I had imagined it. I decided to go down and check things out anyway in case you were in the kitchen. The light was off over the stairs but there was enough light from the downstairs light to shine up. I looked down the stairs and I saw a woman in a green dress that almost touched the floor. It was dim, but her hair was dark and pinned up. It was as if the dress had lots of jewels or something on it as they were all shining. I was about to shout out I was so stunned and then it was as if she turned and vanished into thin air. I never saw her face. I rushed down but there was nobody there. Christ! The drugs obviously fried my brain after all those years of abuse and now I am imagining things.’

  ‘I am not sure you imagined it,’ Emily replied.

  ‘What? You think I saw a ghost? Stop, sis. Hopefully both of us are not going cracked.’

  ‘There is a long jade-green dress with tiny crystals and pink appliqued roses. I got it cleaned. It was Violet Ward’s. It’s exquisite. It has little gems attached. Did you see it?’

  ‘No! Where? When?’

  ‘I didn’t think you could have. I only collected it from the cleaner’s yesterday. I left it in the master bedroom. Come on, follow me.’

  ‘You are freaking me out even more, sis.’ Jack took another puff on his cigarette and then discarded it.

  They grabbed their tea and went upstairs to the main bedroom. Emily took the garment out of the closet. It was completely sealed up in a white cleaner’s dress bag. She took it out of its packaging.

  Jack looked like he would be sick.

  ‘That’s the bloody dress.’

  ‘Oh my God, Jack, you must have seen the ghost of Violet Ward!’

  ‘Stop, Emily, I don’t believe in ghosts. It must have been my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe you told me about the bloody dress.’

  But Emily could see that he was very shaken. She put the dress back in its cover.

  They went back to the kitchen and Jack lit another cigarette.

  ‘I could murder a straight whiskey,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t even say that. More tea must suffice. But I do have some nice cake.’ Emily grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

  They never went back to bed but, as soon as daybreak came, they locked up the house and headed for Dunmore East.

  They stopped at a garage and bought some coffee and croissants.

  ‘You okay?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Yeah, in the light of day it all s
eems ridiculous. There is obviously some explanation – it must have been a trick of the light.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Emily thought it better to say no more for now.

  They drove on down to the cottage. The sea looked inviting and she wished she was just there to relax for a couple of hours. She didn’t feel right about snooping in her mother’s stuff. But they had little choice.

  It was dark inside the kitchen and for the first time Emily thought it a little eerie with all the statues. Normally she didn’t mind them she was so used to them. But she had never realised just how many there were. Every saint imaginable was there.

  ‘Can you remember where the box is?’ she asked Jack.

  ‘Yip, follow me.’

  He went into his mother’s room and got down to look under her bed.

  ‘It’s not there. Hopefully I didn’t imagine that too,’ he said with a grin.

  They began to search. There were lots of memory cards and holy pictures and boxes with bills and bank transactions. But no sign of that box.

  Then Emily noticed that there was a pillowcase at the back of the wardrobe in her mother’s room – a pillowcase that looked rather bulky. In it was an old brown wooden box with scratches on it. It was locked.

  ‘That’s not the box I saw. It was more like an old biscuit tin from years ago.’

  ‘Well, what could be in this?’

  Jack easily broke the delicate lock. Inside was an envelope. Jack took it out.

  ‘This is the envelope that I saw in that other box. I am sure of it. She must have moved it. I wonder where the other box is?’

  ‘Look at what it says on the envelope,’ Emily whispered.

  In faded ink and big sprawling handwriting was written: To Violet Ward.

  It was sealed. She picked it up. There was something like a small box in it. It looked like it had been opened and resealed.

  ‘What will we do?’ she said to Jack. ‘Should it go to a solicitor – or the guards?’

  ‘We have come all this way. Just open the bloody thing.’

  Emily took it out. There was a small velvet box and a letter. In the box was a locket in rose gold.

  With her hands shaking she opened the letter and read it aloud.

  My dearest Violet,

  I do not know where you are, and my heart and soul are broken. I have searched and searched. Forgive us for leaving you. But, if I stay, they will surely throw me in jail and I will possibly hang as they think I am to blame for your disappearance. I cannot leave our little girl alone in the world. Betsy is loyal to the end and is leaving with us to help look after Sylvia. Where are you? In my darkest hour I imagine something dreadful has happened to you. Please God let that not be the case.

  If you should return, go to London to the pub where I first told you that I loved you. There will be a message there as to where we are. Please come back to us, Violet.

  Forgive me for not heeding you and not leaving this town before. I love you.

  I am sending you this locket as token of that love. Inside is something to remind you of your beautiful child and your loving husband,

  Henry

  Jack carefully opened the locket.

  Inside were two locks of hair. One golden, one a white-gold curl.

  CHAPTER 34

  Draheen, January 12th, 1950

  Peggy McCormick loved the two hours before the shop opened. It was the only time that Miss Doheny was not watching her like a hawk. She had written to her aunt and asked if there was a different job she could go to. But she got no response. Miss Doheny’s shop was worse than anywhere. Surely there was somewhere a little easier than this. At least somewhere that she might have someone to talk to. Here she had no one. Miss Doheny treated her like a simpleton.

  Peggy had taken to rising early and getting out for a walk before she began her day. She loved Blythe Wood. She loved the way the cobwebs glistened in the early-morning frost. She loved to hear the birdsong and watch the birds build their nests high up in the trees. She loved the colours and how much they changed. In autumn they were a haze of reds and oranges and even purples and of course every green and brown imaginable. It was darker in the wood now, but she loved the frost and if she was early enough it was like a glass wood, full of new clear shiny ice. She looked forward to escaping there every morning when Miss Doheny was preparing herself for the day and thought she was still asleep. She knew that Miss Doheny awoke early, prayed and then read the bible and the Far East magazine in her room while keeping an eye on the goings-on on the street outside. But Peggy knew how to escape her beady eye and run to the woods. Her only way to cope with the day ahead. It meant she was exhausted by the end of the day, but she had to find some way to cope. It didn’t matter if it was cold or wet, she still went. In fact, it was better with the cold because she would run then and for a time forget what her life was like. She had never thought that this could be her lot. She was determined to make a life away from here.

  Away from Ireland. She had seen so many go but she had no one to go with and no one to go to. Her aunt said she was too young to go to America on her own and where would she get the money for the passage anyway? But, as miserable as Miss Doheny was, she was paying her, and she was saving up every penny that she could. Her Aunty Katy had written saying that she should send any money to her and she would look after it for her. Her aunt had even tried to persuade Miss Doheny to send her money to her. But Miss Doheny had insisted that she would only pay the girl herself. If she was responsible enough to be sent to work in her shop, she should be responsible enough to look after her own money. Peggy was very thankful for this small mercy as she was sure she would not see a penny of it if it went to her aunt.

  She often wondered if her mother knew about the hard life she had. Why had she gone mad? When she was little, she did not remember her mammy being mad at all. She remembered her as being full of fun. She would take her for long walks and they would pick wildflowers and blackberries and make blackberry jam. They would decorate the tree for May Day with broken eggshells and then sit and have a tea party with her teddy and her doll. Her mother told her that her life would be wonderful and told her stories of Cúchulainn and Tír na n-Óg. She remembered baking bread on the fire and at Christmas she would get some raisins and currants and her mother would make a big curnie loaf and they would eat it hot with butter running on it. She would sing to her and tell her stories.

  She had little recollection of when it changed. Her mother would stay in the bed and not get out. There would be no dinner and then her father took to staying in the pub and not coming home, sometimes for days on end. She often picked nettles and boiled them and made soup because she was so hungry, her mother still in the bed. She picked wild mushrooms and cooked them herself. Her mother stopped giving her a bottle of milk and some bread-and-butter and sending her to school. But she hated school anyway. It was an old school that had only one small window. The fire took ages to light and sometimes she would sit and feel her fingers go numb, praying that the teacher would not ask her for her composition. She had used all the excuses that she could think of. She had written a composition about a tree. Her teacher had laughed and made a mockery of it.

  When the fire did light, they put their dusty lemonade bottles full of milk beside the fire to warm. Then the milk tasted sour or like buttermilk. Sometimes she had no milk and would run to the river for a drink as the other children laughed.

  Then her father forgot to come home altogether. Peggy often wondered if he lost his way and forgot where he lived. She often set out on the road to find him but by dusk would return without him, her mother still in bed. Maggie Joyce said he had run off with a fancy woman to Dublin and left them. She had wanted to wallop Maggie Joyce across the face for saying such filth.

  On Fair Days she would go into the town to see if she could spot him. It was always full of men. They seemed to have their own language. Then they went to the pubs and drank the money, while the wives waited outside grumbling and whining.
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  Then the priest arrived and told her mother that her husband was dead. Found dead in a ditch. His corpse gone off with the crows feeding on it. It all changed then. They took her mother away. Screaming and roaring. They said there were rats in the house and the child was half starved. It was years later that she realised they meant her, that she was half starved.

  Peggy had hidden in the henhouse, but they had found her. She did not know where they had taken her mother. They sent Peggy to Katy’s. They said she was Aunty Katy. That’s what she was to call her anyway. But she never knew she had an aunt. Her mother never said.

  She often wondered, if her mother knew how difficult her life was, would it make her less mad and maybe she could come out of that awful place that she was in. If there was any cure for her madness. Madness was the worst thing, she did know that.

  She had gone to see her once. Aunty Katy had taken her in a pony and trap. They travelled thirty miles to where she was being kept. A big huge building with a long drive down to it. With a hundred dark windows. There was a long corridor that seemed to never end. She hardly recognised her mother. Her mother did not recognise her at all. Her mother’s teeth were all gone. She was crying and roaring. She cried like an animal. All the people there frightened her. It was a terrible place and Peggy wished that her aunt had not brought her there. There were young people there too.

  ‘Be careful you don’t end up like them,’ Aunty Katy had warned her. ‘Or you could be in with her. It’s in you. The madness is in you.’

  Her Aunty Katy had no time for her from the minute she arrived. She had a bed and she worked for her cleaning and cooking. She never went for any more schooling. Her aunt had shipped her off to Miss Doheny’s as soon as she was fourteen.

  If only she had a friend to talk to. Betsy Kerrigan had smiled at her and looked kindly at her. So had the lovely lady that she worked for. The lady that Miss Doheny and the women were always gossiping about. She had such pretty clothes and such pretty hair. She wished she could go to work for her instead. In the gorgeous house. It was like a fairy castle. She had heard she had a little girl who was very sick and had some strange thing happen to her. She had heard she was all white with blonde curls. She wished she could visit her and maybe talk to her. Maybe even play with her. She longed to talk to someone other than Miss Doheny. Miss Doheny had warned her not to talk to the customers. Not to say any more than ‘Good morning, ma’am’ or ‘Good afternoon, sir’.