Lady Louisa, who sat taking in the proceedings, gave a dry laugh. ‘I can’t think what I can do, Edward. She is beyond all reason.’
Victoria went to sit on the side of her mother’s chair and put her arm around her. ‘Please don’t cry, Mama. This should be a celebration.’
Lady Ennis looked at her daughter as if she were mad. ‘Celebration? What is there to celebrate about one son paying court to a totally unsuitable girl, while the other abandons us at the mere crook of that horrible little Jewish man’s finger?’
‘Mr Hoffman is not a horrible little man, Mama, and why would you care whether or not he’s Jewish?’ said Victoria. ‘Besides, he is offering Valentine a chance to make something of himself.’
‘Hear, hear, Victoria,’ said her father. ‘America may make a man out of your brother after all.’
Valentine bowed his head and said nothing.
Lady Ennis glared at her husband. ‘And what of the fact that our sons are undertaking this journey together? What if that ship sinks? What if they both drown? Ennis Estates will be left without an heir. I don’t see how you can permit it, Edward.’
‘Nonsense, Thea. The Titanic is the soundest and most advanced ship ever built. I hear her engines are of the finest and most efficient design. There’s never been a ship like her.’
‘Besides,’ said Louisa, signalling Burke for another glass of sherry, ‘I daresay they have an adequate number of lifeboats.’
The Titanic sailed out of Queenstown on Thursday, 11 April, 1912 on her maiden voyage to New York. The Dublin newspapers were full of the story. Rosie sat in the café on Sackville Street reading every word of every article. She pictured Valentine standing on the deck looking out to sea. Would he think of her? she wondered. The pain she had felt last New Year’s Eve in the garden when he had told her not to wait for him returned, more intense than before. In the midst of the rush of people around her she felt completely alone.
Back at Ennismore, the Bell family and the staff were lost in their own imaginings. Thomas and Valentine Bell and the younger footman, Sean Loftus, who had also sailed, were foremost on their minds. A vague restlessness had taken hold of Victoria since she had waved her brothers goodbye, jealous of their adventure. Her first two Seasons in Dublin had been a whirlwind of excitement, and her travels on the Continent unforgettable. She had thought at the time that life could not get better. She had acquired many suitors and enjoyed playing one off against the other. But by the time she had arrived home late the previous year, the excitement had begun to pale. Meeting Sofia had not helped matters. The young woman’s free spirit and disregard of the stifling rules of the gentry had made Victoria realize how narrow and boring her own life was and would likely remain.
Below stairs, Thelma moped while a glum Sadie sat mending one of Lady Louisa’s petticoats. Immelda fingered the flimsy pages of her prayer book, her head bowed. Mrs O’Leary set the lamb to roast in the oven and sank down on a chair, flapping her apron to cool her burning cheeks.
‘Ye look like ye lost a shilling and found a farthing,’ she said.
‘I miss Sean,’ said Thelma.
‘Don’t waste your time moping about that lad,’ said Mrs O’Leary. ‘Sure isn’t he having the time of his life with all the pretty young girls?’
Thelma stuck out her bottom lip. ‘I suppose he is.’
Sadie shoved her mending aside. ‘I wish I’d gone with my cousins and the rest of the ones from below in Lahardane,’ she said, referring to more than a dozen young people who had left from her own village. ‘Just for the craic, that’s all. And I’d have had me pick of the handsome lads on board.’
‘Sure they’re no more than grooms and stable hands and farmers’ sons,’ put in Mrs O’Leary, ‘just like our Sean. I thought you had your sights set higher than that, Sadie.’
Sadie flushed. ‘I don’t mean the lads in steerage,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t be bothered with the likes of them. I’d have been up on the first class deck as fast as my feet would carry me. Who knows, I might have met a count or a prince or maybe some rich Yankee boyo.’
Mrs O’Leary rolled her eyes. ‘’Tis dreaming y’are, Sadie Canavan. They’d have gates and guards to keep out the likes of you. You’d have been sent back down where you belonged.’
Sadie glared at the cook and resumed her mending, punching her needle ferociously into the gauzy material. Mrs O’Leary stood and blessed herself.
‘Why are ye all sitting around with faces as long as a drink of water? ’Tis happy for them we should be. Seaneen, and Masters Thomas and Valentine too, and wishing them good fortune at the end of their journey.’ She turned to Thelma. ‘Get up, girl, and wipe that face off yourself. There’s work to be done.’
By the following day, the torpor that had filled the house eased. The servants went back to their daily routines and the talk of America faded. Only Victoria continued to dwell on it. Not for the first time, she wished she had someone to talk to. She had tried to bring the subject up with her mother but Lady Ennis was distracted, indulging her overt outrage that her sons had had the temerity to go against her wishes by leaving. At times like this the pain of her lost friendship with Rosie was acute.
She wondered what Rosie was doing. Her friend had left so abruptly that no one had understood it. Valentine had roamed about the house as if in a daze. He was the last one to see her but insisted to Victoria that he had said nothing to upset her. In her frustration, she had gone to visit Rosie’s mother at the Killeen cottage and had found the poor woman distraught. All she had was a brief note from Rosie saying she had gone to Dublin to check up on the welfare of her sister, Bridie. Victoria knew in her heart something more than concern for Bridie had driven Rosie away. She hoped her own neglect of her old friend had not been the cause. She pushed down the guilt that rose up at the thought.
On the following Monday unsettling news began to trickle in about a ship that had sunk somewhere in the Atlantic. Speculation around Dublin was ripe. Details were scarce. There had been no confirmation yet that the ship involved was the Titanic.
Rosie was in a daze as she made her way to the offices of the White Star Line which owned and operated the Titanic. There, she was jostled by crowds of frenzied relatives and friends of the passengers, as well as reporters, all clamouring for news. She hoped against hope that it was some other ship that had met with disaster. But the longer she stood, the more the conversations swirled around her, the more her hopes were dashed.
She did not go back to Bridie’s that night. Instead she sat on a bench outside the now darkened White Star offices. She had not eaten all day but food was the farthest thing from her mind. Valentine! Oh my God, let him be alive! She repeated the words to herself over and over like a prayer. She bargained with God. Let him live and I will give up all my jealousy. I will no longer desire him. I will put him out of my mind forever. I will never bother him again. If only you will let him live.
By the next day the New York Times had confirmed the news. The Titanic had hit an iceberg and sunk. The rescue ship, Carpathia, had picked up over seven hundred passengers. The White Star offices began to circulate lists of the survivors. Rosie scoured them, standing on tiptoe to see above the crowd, and straining her eyes to read the small print. At last she saw his name. Valentine Bell. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God.’
While Valentine and the Hoffmans had all survived, Thomas was listed as missing, as was Sean Loftus. Like hundreds of others who had perished, their bodies had not been found. The house was plunged into mourning. Drapes were drawn to blot out the light. Visitors came to pay respects and servants crept about the house wearing black armbands. Lady Ennis’s earlier hysterics gave way to stony silence. Reverend Watson arrived to make arrangements for the memorial service. Valentine had cabled to say he would not be coming home for the service. His duty, he said, was to stay and comfort Sofia who was inconsolable.
Below stairs, Mrs O’Leary dropped to her knees and wailed.
‘Sweet m
other of God. May holy St Brigid and holy St Christopher have mercy on all them poor souls.’
Thelma began to sob. ‘Don’t let Sean be dead.’
Sadie wept for her two young cousins who were also listed among the missing while Mrs Murphy muttered her prayers, and Mr Burke bowed his head.
‘Well, I suppose we’ve all been spared then,’ said Brendan, who sat at the table drinking tea. ‘I mean if your man Valentine had drowned as well as Thomas there’d have been nobody to inherit the estate and that would mean we’d all have been out on our arses.’
Without warning, Mrs O’Leary jumped up and slapped Brendan across the face. ‘How dare you?’ she shouted. ‘Have you no mercy in you at all?’
Brendan shrugged. ‘What do I care what happens to the gentry?’ he said. ‘A few less of them in Ireland would suit me. I’d rather they were all dead and buried. They have no rights in this country, and never did.’
Anthony stood up and leaned over Brendan, his face close. ‘That’s enough, me boyo. This is neither the time nor the place for your rebel talk. Save that for the public houses and show some respect for the dead.’
Sadie stood up. ‘I have to go to Lahardane,’ she said. ‘I have to see my family. Surely they’ve heard the news by now. Ah, what am I going to say to them?
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Brendan, standing up. ‘I have a spare bicycle. We’ll ride down there together.’ He turned to Mr Burke, as if in afterthought. ‘I might have no sympathy for the gentry, but I feel for them poor souls below in Lahardane who never did any harm to anybody. And Sadie needs someone to go with her.’
Mr Burke nodded. ‘As long as you are back by morning.’
He turned to the housekeeper. ‘Some brandy, I think, Mrs Murphy,’ he said. ‘It would do us all good.’
CHAPTER 12
At the end of April Lady Marianne finally sent word for Rosie to return to the house on Fitzwilliam Square. Rosie had almost given up hope of ever hearing from her again. When the letter arrived she was weak with relief, but her relief turned to anxiety when she heard Lady Marianne’s proposal.
‘It will be such a wonderful experiment,’ the good lady told Rosie when she went to see her. ‘I will bring you out for the 1913 season. It is too late for the current one and besides, many are still mourning the Titanic disaster. I will introduce you to all the right people. I shall say that you are my poor orphaned cousin from the country whom I have adopted as my ward. I’m confident with my support we can find you a good match.’ She paused and rubbed her hands together. ‘It was dear Mr Kearney’s suggestion. I told you he always has such marvellous ideas. And best of all, Miss Killeen, what a delicious deception to pull off under the very nose of my dear sister-in-law, Lady Ennis. Just the best ruse ever!’
Rosie was stunned. She slumped down on one of the velvet chairs, trying to take it all in. Her immediate reaction was to protest. How dare Lady Marianne use her just to amuse herself at the expense of her sister-in-law? She would refuse. She would hold on to her last shred of dignity. But as she opened her mouth to speak, she found herself mute. What good would it do her to refuse? What other alternative had she? Valentine was gone. Lady Marianne had told her that he had decided to stay in New York to comfort Sofia. She had no money and no prospects. She thought again of Bridie and her infant up at Foley Court. What right did she have to let her pride stand in the way of the only thing that might save them?
‘Thank you, my lady,’ she said, her head bowed. ‘I am very grateful for your kindness.’
She did not tell Bridie the whole plan, only that Lady Marianne had invited her to stay until employment could be found for her. Tears welled in Bridie’s eyes, and Rosie reached out and hugged her.
‘Ah, don’t be crying now, Bridie. Sure isn’t this the best thing for all of us? As soon as I have money I can move you and Kate out of this place and we can all take a room together. I’ll find a place that is clean and respectable. And we’ll be able to pay for a doctor for the baby, and . . .’
Even as Rosie said these things she felt guilt rising in her. What if Lady Marianne’s plan didn’t work? How could she give Bridie such false hope? But she pressed on, ‘It might take a bit of time, but I’ll be back to visit as often as I can.’
She picked up little Kate and held her so tightly the child began to squirm in her arms. Rosie choked back tears as she looked into Kate’s brown eyes, so like Ma’s. ‘I’ll not forget you, Kate,’ she whispered.
As she took her leave from Foley Court later that day, however, she pushed away all thoughts of false hope and allowed herself to enjoy a guarded optimism about what the future might hold.
Thus in early May of 1912, Rosie Killeen moved into the guest bedroom of 6 Fitzwilliam Square and threw herself and her future upon the mercy of Lady Marianne Bellefleur.
Her first months at Fitzwilliam Square were a whirlwind of visits to the best dress shops in Dublin, etiquette lessons from Mrs Townsend, a fierce matron whose business was to ready young ladies for the Season, and invitations to teas at the houses of Lady Bellefleur’s acquaintances.
‘We must bring you out slowly,’ Lady Marianne had said. ‘We’ll start by introducing you to ladies whose influence is minor, just to see how you fare. Then we can work our way up to the more important houses.’
Lady Marianne had insisted that Rosie’s name be given as Rosalind. ‘Rosie or Roisin is entirely too native a name, my dear, lovely though it is,’ she said. ‘We must pay attention to such details.’ Rosie had wanted to protest, but again she thought of Bridie and held her tongue.
And so she allowed herself to embrace her sudden good fortune. She remembered all the glittering fantasies of her childhood, imagining how it would be to live as a grand lady. And now that she was on the cusp of such a reality she could scarcely believe it. Lady Marianne’s protégé, Mr Shane Kearney, sat with her every evening after dinner regaling her with the foibles of Dublin’s high society. Rosie giggled as he recounted tales of illicit affairs, hushed-up scandals, ‘unplanned’ children, gambling, carousing and excesses of all kinds among the city’s gentry.
‘Is there no one who is respectable?’ she asked.
Mr Kearney tossed back his hair with a smile. ‘Oh, I’m sure there are, my dear, but where is the amusement in discussing them? I prefer the profligate and the scoundrels. So much more delicious, and usually so much better dressed!’
Rosie made quick progress. Her manners and diction were already refined from her years of being with Victoria and, she had to admit, from Lady Louisa’s tutelage. Not once did she betray her origins as a farmer’s daughter. She spoke French adequately and played the piano quite well – both desirable attributes for a young lady entering society. Along with Mrs Townsend’s guidance, she quickly mastered the appropriate behaviours when being introduced at teas and dinners. Lady Marianne was very pleased with her improvement.
But on the quiet evenings at Fitzwilliam Square, when Lady Marianne and Mr Kearney had gone out to the theatre or to dinner with friends, and Rosie sat alone in the small library, doubts began to creep into her mind. She had always known the strict schedule kept by the Bell family at Ennismore. Their days were punctuated by unwavering timetables – breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner precisely at seven in the evening, sewing or reading until bedtime at eleven. Now, in living this routine herself, Rosie realized how confining it could be.
As time wore on it began to feel more and more as if she was acting out a bizarre pantomime. She had to change dress several times a day, always follow the cues of the gentlemen, and keep her opinions to herself. She could not even go out for a walk without a chaperone. Is this what life would be like as the lady of a grand house? Is this what life was like for Victoria? Is this what life would have been like if she’d married Valentine? She pushed away such thoughts as forcefully as she could.
Many of the people she met at the teas and dinners she attended she found boring. Had it not been for Mr Kearney’s stories of their various s
candals, she would have had difficulty making it through such evenings. She held her own well enough with discussions of horse riding and country houses and the latest fashions, careful not to slip into the point of view of a servant. Most of the girls her own age appeared to have less humour than even Lady Louisa at Ennismore, and their mothers, while polite, clearly viewed Rosie as competition for their daughters. She had never imagined how competitive this business of finding a husband could be.
One welcome exception to the succession of boring evenings was when Lady Marianne brought her to visit the Butler family at Temple Villas. There were three sisters, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-one, daughters of a doctor and his artist wife. They were lively and entertaining, and interested in everything that was going on around them. And, despite their mother’s urging, not one of them had a great desire to be ‘brought out’ into society. Instead of horse riding and fashion and country homes, they talked of the plight of the poor in Dublin, the growing labour unrest, and the swelling tide of nationalism.
Rosie listened intently. She could certainly attest to the state of poverty in Dublin, but could hardly mention her sister Bridie or Foley Court. Valentine had talked at times about the labour unrest and the rise of unions. Victoria had said that Jules Hoffman was so impressed with Valentine’s knowledge on that subject that he had invited him to America. What surprised her was that these girls, daughters of a respectable Protestant family in Dublin, were enthusiastic about Irish nationalism. Rosie had always thought that such sentiments were restricted to the likes of Brendan Lynch at Ennismore, and those lads like him down in the west of Ireland.
‘Yes, our friends dear Lady Gregory and Mr Yeats of the Abbey Theatre are strong proponents of the nationalist movement, aren’t they, Mr Kearney?’ said Lady Marianne, beaming at her companion.
‘Indeed. And they use the Abbey Theatre to that end to promote their views.’
‘Oh, I love the Abbey,’ said Kathleen, the youngest sister. ‘I would so love to be an actress. But Papa says it would not be proper.’
The Girls of Ennismore Page 12
