It was very easy not to tell Henry about my missing baby. I had wanted to. I thought it would be the honest thing to do. But I couldn’t run the risk that by revealing the truth he would end our courtship. It was best that he knew nothing, that I continued the search myself, through the papers and the post and, if Oliver did turn up one day, if he was tracked down to a home where he didn’t belong, well, then I could travel there quietly and I would tell Henry then. I would make him understand.
* * *
I threw myself into work, enhancing the men’s drapery with daring new stock. I got posters printed up for the front windows to let everyone know who passed about items we were expecting in, new prices, the latest fashions imported from Paris and London.
I set about looking for new premises, a boutique where I could open a women’s drapery. It didn’t take me long to secure a shop just off West Street, with a low rent and a decent space to allow large fitting rooms, tailoring, and enough rails to hang ready-made stock in.
Within a few weeks I was preparing to open, and in the hustle of setting up the shop, a man arrived to paint the lettering on the front of the shop.
‘Will you write out the name?’ he said, handing me a piece of paper and pencil. ‘Exactly as you would like it, to make sure there are no errors.’
I’d been thinking about the name for a long time, and it had come to me in the haze of a half-dream one night. My dreams were always about the same thing. I relived being in that street in London over and over again, the empty pram, the nauseous panic, the dread - they repeated in a looped nightmare, waking me sometimes in the middle of the night or disturbing my thoughts before I drifted off to sleep.
I wrote it out for the painter and he looked at it closely and shrugged. Then he disappeared outside, pressed a ladder to the front window and climbed it with a small tin of paint in his hand.
Inside I set up ladies’ hats and scarves on half mannequins I’d rescued from a sale in Dublin. I added some hand-made bags I’d bought from a market, and two fur shrugs.
I’d visited a number of boutiques in the capital to get a sense of what they were stocking, but also how they were presenting the items. I wanted to be fashion forward, ahead of the times. I intended to earn a reputation as the finest women’s boutique in these parts, just the way we’d built McKenna’s business up too.
The little bell rang and I turned to find Henry, standing, gloves in hand and a smile on his face.
‘Am I your first customer?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think I’ve anything in your size,’ I said and laughed.
He looked around and whistled.
‘This is looking fabulous. You must be very pleased, Miss Thomas. Ever so well done.’
‘Thank you.’
I loved getting praise from Henry. It felt like true praise - he didn’t hand out compliments unless he meant them.
‘So, you’re all set then, ready for the grand opening?’
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Still a bit to do, but we’re nearly there.’
The bell tinkled again and the painter walked in, cleaning his hands with a rag.
‘Would you like to come and see, Miss Thomas, before I finish up?’
Henry and I walked outside and stood back on the street to take a look at the sign.
The painter had used a curly calligraphy, gold on cream, the shape of the letters forming into swirls. It looked exactly like I wanted it to look - elegant, sophisticated and fashionable.
‘What do you think?’ asked the painter.
‘I love it,’ I said. ‘It’s perfect.’
We stared at the sign and then to the window of the shop and Henry drew me close to him.
‘Bonny Oliver’s?’ he said. ‘After your father?’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling, blinking back tears that were threatening the back of my eyes. ‘Sort of’.
Henry thought the tears were for the hard work I’d put in - the joy at seeing my shop come to life. But he had no idea. He would never know of the real meaning behind the sign or what it actually meant to me.
* * *
As I got to know him on our walks around the estate, through Townley Hall Woods and across the back fields, I came to understand that under the accent and the Oxford education, Henry Brabazon was a kindly, learned soul. He and I shared an interest in many things, from the nature and wildlife we saw around us, to the news stories and court cases we read about in the paper, to the social movement where women were gathering together and campaigning to seek the vote.
By Christmas we were spending all of our free time together and when I wasn’t free, spending my hours across the two shops or travelling to the city for stock and business errands, he would accompany me.
He became my confidante. My everything.
Michael and I received an invitation for Christmas lunch at Brabazon House and we spent a wonderful afternoon feasting, drinking, and being merry. Arthur had appeared with his beau and it felt like a true family occasion, the unlikeliest of pairings perhaps, yet it felt right - happy, normal.
Henry had already extended an invite to us for the Brabazon race meet too, on St Stephen’s Day, but I hadn’t accepted yet. The day was too fraught with memories, with bad feelings over our eviction and the death of our father.
‘We should go,’ Michael said, as we sat in the carriage on the way back to the grey house. Henry had offered us rooms at the house, but I wanted to get back to our own walls. I was afraid of committing too much, of giving all of myself to Henry.
‘What do you think Daddy would say?’ I said, wondering out loud.
‘Daddy isn’t here.’
‘I know that, but what he would have thought matters to me.’
‘Daddy would have thought that you should do what is right for you. He would have said, “Henry Brabazon is mad about you and you would be foolish to interfere in what is coming to you.”’
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
But he didn’t answer.
We rode the rest of the journey in silence, Michael’s words playing over in my mind. Henry Brabazon. Mad about me? I didn’t know what to think.
When we got back to the grey house, I took out my writing paper and penned a note of acceptance for the races and meet ball. It would be perfectly acceptable to attend with Michael and I would enjoy the occasion, seeing the house at its finest with the grandest of folks and their fashions.
I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was betraying Daddy. That I was treading in the steps of Flann Montgomery, becoming a part of what he was - a set that my Daddy never liked.
Still, I would never turn out like him - greedy, ruthless - a coward.
The one thing nobody could call me was a coward.
* * *
On the morning of the races, Henry invited me out to the house early.
‘I can’t stand the fuss,’ he said. ‘Come out and we’ll go for a ride, it takes my mind off things.’
I was no horsewoman, but over the past few months Henry had been teaching me. I’d gone from being rather terrified atop of the great big horse he always set me on, even though she was a sure-footed, gentle creature, to enjoying feeling the movement of her barrel tummy under my thighs and the rocking motion as we trotted down the road.
We started going for faster country rides.
‘Let’s go in the direction of Dowth,’ he said this morning. ‘And if we like, we can take off over the fields then.’
I barely thought about where we were going until I spotted the lane leading down to my old home, the mound and tombs looming in the background. I was quiet as we rode past, not looking down the lane, not wishing to see what it looked like now or who lived there.
‘It’s never been lived in since,’ said Henry, peering at me from under his riding hat.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘Montgomery’s son moved out soon after his father’s death and I never re-let it.’
‘Why?’ I said.
I knew
Henry had struggled with finances on the estate - it didn’t make sense not to gather the rent on our former property and the outhouses which still stood strong in the yard.
‘I think I was saving it,’ he said. ‘For you.’
I didn’t know whether to believe him. Was he saying it because he so obviously had a fondness for me?
‘Would you like to see it?’ he said.
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. It would dredge up too many memories, remind me of my parents and the life I once had there.
We rode past the lane and just as our horses had clip-clopped past, I reined my mare in and stopped.
‘Changed your mind?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I nodded.
We turned our horses and made our way down the lane, leaning back into our saddles as the horses rode the incline.
Brambles covered over the entrance gate, grass seeping into the muddy lane. Henry dismounted and cleared the gate to open and I rode in on my horse.
The familiarity of the place came flooding back, the sight of the house and the windows I’d looked out of every day, made me feel warm. And sad. It all seemed smaller somehow.
The place wasn’t in too bad disrepair, nothing a few hours tidying and whitewashing couldn’t solve.
I dismounted and walked round the yard, going up to the house to look in at the window, where my mother always stood, at the stove.
‘So strange,’ I said to Henry. ‘I loved living here. In the country.’
‘Why don’t you move back?’ Henry asked. ‘I could give it to you, help you get it cleaned up. It would give you a bit of your own space.’
‘You just want me nearer to you,’ I teased.
‘I guess I want to give back what is rightfully yours,’ he said.
‘It will always be yours,’ I said. ‘And the Trust’s.’
‘Things are changing,’ he said. ‘Lots of tenants own their own places now.’
‘Do you still see me as a tenant?’ I said.
‘No,’ he said, slightly indignant. ‘I just want to put things right.’
I shook my head, tracing my finger along the dust on the window, cutting a sausage shape through it.
‘It wouldn’t make sense, living here, with the business in town.’ I said. ‘It’s more convenient where I am. It’s a nice idea, Henry, but it’s not practical.’
‘I have another nice idea,’ he said. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around my back, holding me as I stared in the window of my old home.
I turned around and reached up to kiss him, something we had been doing so often now, unable to keep our hands from each other whenever we were alone.
‘Marry me,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a ring. My mother’s ring ... well, that got given away. But Molly, you are so dear to me, I can’t bear to think of life without you.’
I let him embrace me. Could I spend the rest of my life with his man and his complications? Could I be Lady Brabazon, overseeing this land, this house that we had only a few years before, been forcibly removed from?
Yes.
I could.
I could be Lady Brabazon.
‘Alright then,’ I said, into his chest. ‘The answer is yes.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
MOLLY
The bell tinkled and I look up from the ledger I was writing in. It’s Nora, her face peering out from an old-fashioned bonnet.
‘Nora,’ I say. ‘How lovely to see you.’
I come out from behind the counter, but we don’t embrace.
She looks smaller somehow, worn - older than her years.
‘Hello Molly,’ she says. ‘I thought I’d pop in for a look. I’m ever so pleased for you.’ She looks around quickly. ‘What a lovely shop.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘How are you keeping? How are the children - how many is it now, four?’
‘Five. Twins last year.’
‘Oh my!’
No wonder she looks tired. Her dress draws my eye. I notice how worn it is.
‘Yes, a little surprise.’
A surprise she doesn’t look happy about. I feel sorry for her.
‘I heard you’re engaged now,’ she says.
‘News travels fast.’
‘Well, it is some news, Molly. Who would have thought it? All those years ago.’
‘Yes. Sometimes I find it hard to believe myself.’
‘You’ll be a Lady.’
‘I suppose I will.’
‘You’ll have to start acting like one, then.’
‘Never,’ I say and laugh.
It’s so good to see her, to talk and chat, to joke with her.
She walks over to a rail and starts looking through the clothes. Her fingers linger on the material, touching it, feeling the texture.
‘Such beautiful dresses,’ she says.
‘Would you like to try one on,’ I ask her. ‘It can be adjusted to your size. We have a lovely changing room here.’ I point to the space where we’ve hung a curtain and mirror.
‘Oh no,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t afford it, Molly, I’m just looking.’
‘We do a payback scheme,’ I say. ‘You can pay it weekly.’
‘I can’t,’ she says and shakes her head.
I realise I am asking too much of her - that Nora probably hasn’t had a new dress in years.
‘Not to worry,’ I say. ‘But if you do want to try one, you’re very welcome. And if you change your mind, whenever, I’ll do you a very hefty discount. For my old friend.’
She smiles.
‘When is the wedding?’ she asks.
‘Just a few weeks to go,’ I say. ‘It’s creeping up on me.’
‘It’ll be a grand affair.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It will. Hardly my scene at all.’
We laugh again.
‘Well best of luck, Molly. I hope it all goes very well for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, warmed by her sincerity.
She turns and walks to the door.
‘It was nice to see you again, Molly.’
She puts her hand on the door and opens it.
‘Bye,’ I say and watch her leave, her shoulders hunched.
I watch her walk by the window and as she disappears from view, an idea strikes me. I snatch a dress from the rail and package it quickly in brown paper. I open the door and look up the street - she’s nowhere to be seen.
Running, I get to the top of the street and look left and then right. She’s up ahead, almost at the church.
I run fast and get to her, reaching out to touch her back.
She turns around, startled, and I hand her the package.
‘This is for you,’ I say, panting. ‘Say nothing, just take it, I want you to have it. I’ve to get back to the shop, but I hope I see you again soon.’
I turn and run, without waiting for her reaction.
But I know that a smile will have crept to her face, a grateful, happy smile but one tinged with embarrassment.
Nora is my oldest friend. But our lives are worlds apart. I see that now, how far I’ve come.
* * *
Working in drapery and having access to the finest materials had its advantages. I’d ordered in a rich cream taffeta and travelled to a dressmaker in Dublin. She made me a dress that suited me very well; little fuss, elegant, a smattering of pearls at the waist.
My wedding dress is in a large rectangular box, on the seat beside Ruth, a new maidservant Henry had taken on at Brabazon. Ruth was to be my new aide and she holds on to the dress box as if were a newborn baby about to be thrust from its sitting. Inside, the dress is wrapped in layers of paper, and I can’t help but think about it and smile as our carriage trundles slowly home.
Ruth is chattering, agog after her first visit to Dublin.
‘So busy, I’ve never seen so many people,’ she says. ‘And the shops. My, I would’ve loved to have stayed there all day, just to look, just to have a touch of the things. So pretty. Oh, your dress is so beautiful, Miss Thom
as.’
She looks down longingly at the box.
I laugh a little.
‘I’m parched,’ I say. ‘Let’s stop at the Coachman’s for tea.’ Ruth looks relieved at the impending break. The tavern on the road to Slane is respectable enough for two ladies to enter and dine by themselves.
‘You look very content, madam,’ says Ruth, picking up on my good humour.
‘And why wouldn’t I be?’ I say. ‘It’s not every day you pick up your wedding dress.’
I was glad we had hired Ruth. She was younger than me and I knew her sister from school. She was from a good family. I wanted a maidservant with a background like mine, someone I could relate to. I would need her confidences as I made my own way with Henry. He had fallen in love with me and he brushed aside my tenant girl past. Others wouldn’t.
‘I’m ever so excited for you,’ she says.
I know that she is happy for me - that she does not begrudge the life I have made for myself, the opportunity I am marrying into. I think, after these recent years, of coming back to Ireland, of losing Mam and working on our shops, that I am the happiest I can remember being. I’ve enjoyed Henry’s courtship - his constant attentions and persuasions to allow me to see a future life with him. It’s hard to believe I’m in the position I’m in now.
Ruth holds the door open for me and I sweep into the tavern, waiting to be seated at a private table away from prying eyes. My grand clothes see that I am always afforded special attention now and I have grown used to being treated well, and kindly, with respect, from my regular travels with Henry.
We are seated at a table towards the back, beside a flickering fire and away from the men perched up on stools at the bar. We order sandwiches and tea and as I sit there and look at the flames, I wonder aloud what the weather will be like, in three days’ time, my wedding day.
‘I’ve the whole family praying for you,’ says Ruth. ‘A nice fine day. No rain, wouldn’t that be grand?’
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