The Girls of Ennismore

by Patricia Falvey

  As she mused upon Lady Louisa’s dire predictions, Victoria’s thoughts turned back to Brendan Lynch. For the last year she had made a deliberate effort to keep him out of her daily thoughts, refusing to meet his eyes during dinner, and staying away from the servants’ quarters. But at night he still invaded her dreams – a dark, sullen lover with hypnotic eyes who made love to her so passionately that she often awoke soaked in sweat. Now she found herself wondering what he would be like as a real-life lover. Each time it happened she chased the fantasies away, flooded with hot embarrassment.

  While she still ignored him at dinner, she began to time her evening walks to coincide with when she thought the servants, including Brendan, would have finished their work and have a bit of leisure time before bed. She knew she was taking a risk, but the excitement of the forbidden had taken hold of her and she felt helpless against it. She hadn’t thought clearly about what she would do when she actually ran into Brendan, as was inevitable.

  On New Year’s Eve 1913, Mr Burke invited her to join the staff for their annual celebration. ‘You seemed to so enjoy it last year, my lady,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr Burke,’ she protested. ‘I do not wish to intrude on your private time.’

  Even as she said the words, she yearned to see Brendan playing his violin. What could it hurt? She told herself she would leave after he performed.

  ‘Perhaps just for a little while then. I could accompany the musicians on the piano. I haven’t played in so long and I’d love to learn some of your Irish tunes.’

  The rest of the staff had no choice in the matter but to let her stay. Mr Burke nodded to all of them to carry on as usual. But there was a strain in their conversation and laughter, and while their resentment did not show on the surface, it was palpable.

  Brendan nodded at her as she sat down at the piano, a faint smile playing around his lips as he took up his violin and began to play. Victoria sat transfixed, her fingers resting on the keys without playing. She watched his every move – the set of his shoulders, the arc of his elbow, the long, thin fingers caressing the bow. She watched his face as its hard lines melted into soft contours and his dark eyes became lit from within as if by a distant flame. Even after he had finished and set down his instrument she was unable to move. He stared straight at her and she returned his gaze without blinking. Had it not been for Anthony Walshe shouting, ‘Good man yourself, Brendan,’ she wasn’t sure how long she would have sat there. Recovering herself, cheeks aflame, she muttered an excuse and got up from the piano and left.

  ‘Your playing must have turned the young colleen’s stomach, Brendan,’ joked Anthony in an effort to break the tension.

  Brendan smiled back. ‘Ah sure, music will do queer things to the soul, Anthony.’

  Outside, Victoria stood trembling, her heart thumping in her chest and her breath unsteady. What had she been thinking? Her family would be horrified if they knew where she was. But deeper in her soul, in the rebellious region that had awoken following her visit to Dublin, she realized that a strange insanity had taken possession of her, against which she was powerless.

  ‘Are you all right there, Lady Victoria?’

  Brendan’s voice cut through the darkness. Victoria swung around.

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  ‘Will I walk you back to the house so? ’Tis powerful dark to be out on your own.’

  Without waiting for an answer, Brendan took her elbow and steered her towards the house.

  ‘I hope my music didn’t offend you, miss.’

  ‘Of course not. You play beautifully, Brendan.’

  She realized with a start she had just used his name for the first time. She stole a look at him and saw under the moonlight that he was smiling.

  ‘I wasn’t sure the likes of yourself would enjoy music like mine – Irish music, that is.’

  ‘And why wouldn’t I? I’m Irish too.’

  He grinned then, and pulled her closer to him. ‘I always knew you were different,’ he said.

  Her heart jumped at his words, even as alarm bells sounded in her head. This wasn’t right. She should not encourage him. And yet all she wanted was to walk with him, feel the pressure of his hand on her elbow, and the nearness of his body next to hers. She noticed that he slowed his step as they approached the house. Then he turned to face her.

  ‘Why have you been avoiding me, Victoria?’

  She immediately wanted to deny it, but the truth tumbled out instead. ‘I was afraid,’ she said simply. ‘We’re not supposed to like each other. There are rules.’

  He put up his hand and caressed her cheek. ‘Those rules are for the others,’ he said, ‘not for you and me.’ He pressed closer. ‘These last few months have been torture for me. I thought you no longer cared about me. Or that maybe you’d fallen in love with some fancy suitor. But tonight, tonight I saw in your eyes how you feel about me.’

  Victoria let out a small whimper. What was she to say? Again, the truth won out. ‘You’re right. I do have feelings for you, Brendan. And I can see that you have them for me.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘But we can’t act on them. Don’t you see it would be wrong?’

  Brendan drew back from her and was silent for a while. ‘We can be friends, so,’ he said at last. ‘Sure there’d be no harm in that.’

  She smiled. ‘No. No harm at all.’

  Later that evening, Immelda Fox slipped out of the kitchen and walked towards the stables behind the house. In her wake the sound of voices streamed from the kitchen – Mrs O’Leary giving out about one of Thelma’s frequent blunders, Sadie gossiping about Lady Louisa, Mr Burke attempting to impose civil order. The moon’s face now hid behind a fan of clouds as she strolled through the courtyard. The soft neighing of horses greeted her as she drew closer to the stables. She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘How do ye bear the smell of dung?’ she said to Brendan Lynch who sat smoking on an upturned barrel.

  ‘Smells better than the gentry,’ he said.

  ‘Give us a fag.’

  ‘Jesus, would you ever buy your own, Immelda? You get wages the same as meself.’

  ‘Just give it to me.’ Immelda’s tone was rough and filled with irritation.

  Brendan shrugged and passed her a cigarette and a box of matches.

  Immelda lit the cigarette and took a long drag. ‘I’ve a powerful headache after listening to herself,’ she said. ‘All that woman does is complain. If it’s not about the Victoria one, then it’s about the rest of them ignoring her outrage at Lady Marianne.’

  Brendan grunted as Immelda took another long puff.

  ‘Ye could almost feel sorry for himself married to the likes of her,’ she said. ‘No wonder he stays away as much as he does.’

  ‘I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him. Probably has a fancy woman over in London.’

  Immelda gave Brendan a sharp look. ‘What would you be after knowing about that?’

  Brendan shrugged. ‘Nothing. But it’s what they all do, isn’t it? People like him think they own the world and they’re entitled to take anything or anybody that suits them. Why should himself be any different?’

  Immelda’s voice grew hard. ‘God forgive me. I hate them all, so I do.’

  ‘Fine way for a nun to be talking.’

  ‘I was never a nun.’

  ‘Ye might as well be, for all your bloody piety.’

  ‘And you’re no saint, Brendan Lynch. I see how you’ve been looking at the Victoria one.’

  ‘Arrah, for fuck’s sake, Immelda, you’re full of shite.’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve seen the way you follow the trollop with your eyes.’

  ‘She’s not a trollop. And ’tis none of your bloody business.’

  Immelda leaned against the stable wall and took a long puff on her cigarette. Her tone softened. ‘I’m just trying to warn you, Brendan. You could lose your job over the likes of her and then where would you be?’

  Brendan chuckled. ‘Ah, so you’re only concerne
d about me welfare, is that the way of it? Are you sure ’tis not a wee bit of jealousy on your part? After all, you have to admit I’m a fine-looking feller.’

  Immelda’s cheeks reddened as she bent to grind out her cigarette butt on the ground. When she looked up anger had replaced her embarrassment. ‘I’d never go lowering myself for a vain eejit the likes of you.’ As she turned to walk away she called back over her shoulder, ‘Just remember, pride goes before a fall. Don’t be saying I didn’t warn you!’

  After their encounter on New Year’s Eve, Victoria and Brendan grew more emboldened. In the early months of 1914 they arranged meetings, sometimes at the stables, sometimes in the garden, sometimes at the estate gates, always late at night and in darkness. At times he was gentle but other times a fierce anger seemed to overcome him and he was sarcastic and impudent.

  ‘What is it you’re wanting from me, miss? Is it a new plaything you’re after – a feller with rough hands and a rough brogue to excite you?’

  Oddly enough, his occasional rudeness only made him more fascinating to her. She had expected at any moment he might lunge at her and press hungry lips over hers. She found herself vaguely disappointed when he did not. Instead, he seemed content to talk.

  ‘Why are you always so angry, Brendan? Why do you resent my family so much? Rosie explained to me all about how the aristocracy drove the Irish off their lands, but that was a long time ago. And the rest of the servants don’t seem to hate us as much as you do.’

  Brendan had shrugged. ‘They’re just better at hiding their feelings.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s it. I think there’s something more.’

  Little by little, Victoria drew the story from Brendan like an unravelling thread. At first he spoke in general terms. England’s Oliver Cromwell and his men had driven the Irish off their lands. The penal codes had denied the Irish their rights to hold property, or vote, or have an education. On top of that, the landlords starved the people. County Mayo was hit the worst, he said. Nearly a million people had died there. Many of those who did not die by the roadside had died on coffin ships bound for America. After the famine years, the population of Ireland was only half of what it was before.

  Brendan’s voice took on a faraway tone as he talked of such tragedies. Although she could not see him in the darkness, Victoria imagined his face softening and the light in his eyes glowing as he spoke in the way that they did when he played his fiddle.

  ‘I’ve heard those stories,’ she said softly. ‘And I believe them. Some of our society says it’s all exaggerated, but I have seen their cruelty up close. I saw how they treated Rosie in Dublin.’ She paused, remembering the night of the ball and Rosie’s despair the next morning. ‘But I still think there’s something else.’

  It was early April 1914, the second anniversary of the Titanic sinking, and the deaths of Thomas and Sean and so many others, when Brendan finally revealed the ‘something else’ that Victoria instinctively knew he was holding back. She had slipped out earlier than usual after dinner to meet him. They sat in the Victorian garden on the bench that had been Victoria and Rosie’s favourite place to talk. At this time of year the evening light lingered. She knew she was taking a risk that someone would see them, but ignored it. She had longed to see Brendan’s face clearly as they talked, and tonight she could.

  ‘Me ma drowned herself,’ he said out of the blue.

  His voice was harsh as if his throat hurt and he looked past to her to some invisible space beyond.

  ‘She was only thirty years of age,’ he continued, as if speaking to himself. ‘She left me da, and me and four more children behind her. Me da turned to the drink and left me to rear the rest of them. I was the oldest.’

  He paused, and Victoria held her breath. She had no words for him. She knew he expected none. Without thought she reached out and took his hand in hers. It was rough to the touch, and the feel of its roughness moved her to tears more than his words had done. She waited.

  ‘Her ma before her did the same thing. So maybe the madness runs in the family.’

  He swallowed hard. His hand gripped hers.

  ‘Me granny and granda were alive during the famine. They were starving like everybody else. When he found out she was pregnant he climbed over the walls of the local estate and stole a few vegetables.’ He turned his face towards Victoria. Tears filled his eyes. ‘’Twas only a cabbage and a bunch of onions. Nothing anybody would miss. But the master himself, may he burn in hell, caught him and shot him stone dead.’

  Victoria gasped.

  Brendan didn’t appear to hear her. He had turned away again. ‘After that, Granny was never the same. She survived and so did me ma, but she was never right. She walked into the lake when Ma was only ten.’ He laughed gruffly. ‘Come to think of it, the same age as I was when me own ma died. They say history repeats itself.’

  Victoria spoke up. ‘Whereabouts was your grandfather shot?’

  She prayed that it had not been on the Ennis Estates.

  Brendan looked at her suddenly as if surprised to find her there. ‘What? Ah, ’twas over in Killalla.’

  They sat in silence. At last Victoria leaned forward and took his face in both of her hands. She kissed him softly on the lips. ‘I’m so sorry, Brendan,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Immelda Fox accosted Brendan as he came through the kitchen door.

  ‘You were missed at dinner,’ she said. ‘Mr Burke was asking where you were.’

  Brendan shrugged. ‘I wasn’t hungry.’

  He tried to push past her, but she blocked his way.

  ‘Aye, just hungry for that Victoria one. I saw ye from her ladyship’s window,’ she said, ‘kissing on the garden bench like two lovers.’

  ‘’Tis none of your bloody business.’

  This time he pushed roughly past her and went into the kitchen. But she followed him through the kitchen and into the back hallway to the room where the footmen slept.

  ‘What is it ye want, Immelda?’

  ‘I want to hear you’ve ruined her for anyone else.’

  Brendan stared at her. ‘You’re not right in the head, Immelda. Get away from me before I slap the face off you.’

  Immelda backed away and spat on the floor where Brendan stood. ‘Don’t tell me the fierce Irish rebel let himself be sweet talked by a gentry girl who was just playing with him. Are you that much of an eejit? She doesn’t give a shite about you. She’s just amusing herself. Mark my words. The minute an eligible feller of her own class comes along she’ll pretend she never even knew you.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Brendan began, ‘she’s different . . .’

  But Immelda turned and strode away. Brendan let loose a string of curses in her wake.

  CHAPTER 17

  The following evening the Bell family, except for Valentine who was away on estate business, gathered after dinner in the library. Although the room was stifling hot, Lady Ennis had forbidden Mr Burke to open the windows.

  ‘I will not have idle ears outside eavesdropping on our conversation,’ she said.

  Victoria sat upright in a leather chair beside the game table. Her hands were clammy, and a trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck. She dared not think of what might be coming. Her first inkling of trouble was when Brendan had not been present at dinner. Sadie Canavan had helped Mr Burke serve. Victoria had caught her sly smirk as she ladled the soup into her bowl. Dinner was a glum affair. Her mother and aunt had avoided looking at her, and her father had gulped down more wine than usual. No one had spoken. Sofia had looked bemused but shrugged and concentrated on her food. When the last dish was cleared, Lord Ennis had risen, grim-faced, and asked everyone to join him in the library. Mr Burke had followed with brandy and sherry, which he served and then disappeared, unbidden.

  Lord Ennis stood in front of the fireplace and looked about him. Victoria held her breath.

  ‘I scarcely know where to begin,’ he said, ‘so disturbing is the news that has reached
my ears.’

  His wife uttered a low sigh which he ignored. Instead he set his gaze squarely on Victoria.

  ‘A man expects his sons to disappoint him now and then. It’s part of their process of growing up and asserting themselves as men. They often test the rules. God knows, your brother Valentine has done it often enough. But a man does not expect his only daughter to behave in a way so disgraceful that it dwarfs any misdeeds of his sons. You have not just disappointed me, Victoria, you have pained me deeply.’

  Victoria shrank inside. Deep down she knew what he meant, yet out of a bleak hope she was wrong she asked the question anyway.

  ‘What have I done, Papa?’

  Lady Ennis, unable to control herself any further, erupted.

  ‘You know very well what you have done, Victoria. I have tried to overlook your rebelliousness these last twelve months – your scandalous dress, your rudeness to me and our guests, your sullenness. I put it down to your unhappiness about not yet securing a husband and your loneliness for company your own age.’ She paused and sighed dramatically. ‘I tried to put myself in your position and to be patient with you. But this . . . this . . . I can hardly bring myself to say the words.’

  Victoria’s frustration rose. She wanted to embarrass her mother into describing the accusation aloud. ‘Tell me, Mama. Tell me what I have done.’

  But Lady Louisa jumped in.

  ‘For God’s sake, Victoria, do stop playing the innocent child. You have been consorting with a footman in front of everyone. You didn’t even have the decency to be discreet. You have been seen loitering around the servants’ quarters and the stables stalking him like a bitch in heat, and last evening you were seen in broad daylight kissing him in the garden. Where else you have been with him and what else you have done we can hardly bear to consider.’