by Anne Doughty
‘I don’t think I’ve much idea either, Rose, but I must try. I’d be grateful for the opportunity,’ he said, as he watched her gather herself.
She nodded encouragingly, got cautiously to her feet and gripped the back of her chair quite firmly.
‘Hannah, please tell Sarah I need her downstairs.
She raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth who smiled, pursed her lips, moved briskly across the room and up the step leading to the parlour.
Sarah came downstairs her face grim, her lips pressed together in a firm line. She looked straight at her mother and ignored Hugh.
‘Sarah, Elizabeth and I are going into the parlour for a little while. I want you to come and listen to what Hugh has to say. Properly listen. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were upset, but then probably you kept it from me because you knew how tired I was, which was kind of you. But if you want to be kind to me now, you’ll talk to Hugh and sort out whatever has come between you. Do you understand?’
Sarah nodded, her shoulders rigid with tension, her grim expression shifting towards a very presentable scowl.
‘Then come and sit in my chair, so that Hugh doesn’t have to stand.’
She waited till Sarah had seated herself on the edge of her armchair, her body held as far away from Hugh as was possible, before she released her grip and moved slowly across the room.
Hugh wasted no time. Sarah had been making sure she was only in his company when Elizabeth or her father was present. Recently, she’d even managed to avoid greetings and goodbyes. He guessed Hannah had spoken to her about her behaviour, but wise and gentle as Hannah was, she was no match for Sarah’s stubbornness when it got going.
‘Sarah, I know you’re upset with me and don’t want to talk to me. Do you think, out of kindness, for your mother’s sake if not for mine, you might answer yes or no to my questions?’
She kicked the toe of her shoe on the flagged floor, looked away from him and inclined her head a fraction of an inch.
‘Thank you,’ he said, solemnly. ‘You know, even in a court of law the defendant knows what crimes he has committed and has the opportunity to defend himself,’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘I can only guess at what I have done. Do you blame me, Sarah, for the child’s death?’
She nodded vigorously.
‘Do you blame me for your mother’s illness?’
She stared at him, so shocked at what he’d said, it was some moments before she remembered to shake her head.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ said Hugh with a great sigh. ‘That is a great relief to me,’ he admitted, as he collected his thoughts again.
‘Well then, on the count of the child’s death of which I stand charged. Was it because I did not drive faster on the icy road?’
A brief shake.
‘Was it because I did not insist on the doctor coming out of his surgery immediately we arrived?’
Another shake.
‘Was it because I gave the mother money to ensure a proper burial?’
Sarah tightened her lips and shook her head impatiently.
Hugh paused and looked at her attentive face, for she was now watching him carefully, her curiosity fully engaged.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, suddenly. ‘I can’t think what to ask next.’
‘You know perfectly well why I blame you,’ she burst out. ‘That poor woman, all the way down from Lisnaree and all along the main road, and then up the hill. All that walk carrying the child to get a ticket from you. Why couldn’t she just have gone to the dispensary in the morning when the little child took ill? It was nearly as far to walk, but the road’s flatter and the snow hadn’t started and the child wasn’t so ill in the morning. It might have lived if it hadn’t been for the stupid ticket,’ she ended furiously, having completely run out of breath.
‘Do you think it was my idea she come to Rathdrum for a ticket?’
‘Well, who else?’ she retorted furiously.
‘The dispensary system was set up many years ago. Someone in each area was given the task of holding tickets. My father was responsible until he died. Then it became my responsibility’ he explained quietly.
‘Then it’s a rotten system,’ she said equally furiously.
‘So would you be prepared to blame the system rather than the unfortunate man who has to work with it?’
She glared at him and said nothing.
‘Has it occurred to you, Sarah, that if you blame me, or if you blame the system, another child might die?’
‘That’s why I’m so angry,’ she shot back, her eyes widening every moment. ‘Lots of other people might die, all because of a silly bit of paper. They have to have it, because they’re too poor to just send for the doctor. Why don’t you pay them more? Then they could afford doctors.’
‘Do you want an answer to that question, or are you too angry to listen? You can nod or shake.’
‘Yes, I am angry, but I will listen. I can’t think of any excuse, but I’m curious,’ she said coldly.
‘Workers in the linen industry are among the lowest paid of all textile workers,’ he began coolly. ‘Unless you have several members of a family working, there’s seldom enough money going in to a home to provide food and clothes, never mind doctors and medicine. Do you think I’m pleased about that?’ he asked more sharply. ‘Well I’m not,’ he went on, before she had time to comment. ‘But I’ll tell you what the alternative is. Or one of them anyway. You would say pay higher wages. But higher wages puts up the price of cloth and you run the risk of losing your share of the market. If orders stop coming in, then there’s no work. Mills close and people starve, unless there’s some provision made. And there’s little enough of that,’ he ended grimly.
Sarah said nothing. She sat staring at the toe of her shoe moving on the dark surface of the floor.
‘Do you realise, Sarah, that blaming someone stops you doing anything about a problem?’
She looked at him and shook her head slowly.
‘If you blame someone for something they’ve done, or something you think they’ve done, it makes an end of it. You just walk away from the problem. Blaming is easy. You don’t have to do anything except be cross or angry. But is that going to help another child at another time?’
‘No, no it’s not,’ she cried out in despair. ‘That’s what’s so awful. It’s because I can’t do anything that I’m so angry. What can I do? What could I possibly do?’
‘Well, you could talk to me,’ he said promptly. ‘You could find out what the problems are and between us we might find some answers. It would be difficult, but it would be better than nothing, wouldn’t it?’
‘And you’d tell me things, like about the rates of pay for linen workers and why they’re so low,’ she said, turning towards him for the first time.
‘Of course. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
‘And what about things you don’t know about like managers who make stoppages in wages for singing at work?’ she came back at him.
‘Well then, you’ll have to tell me. If you know something I don’t know, you can explain it to me.’
‘And you’ll listen?’
‘Of course I will. Have I ever not listened to what you tell me?’
She shook her head solemnly and then smiled.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’ve been horrible. I won’t do it again … if I can help it,’ she added quickly.
He bowed over her hand and kissed it in a rather exaggerated way. She giggled and then gave him a radiant smile.
‘So we’ve agreed in principle?’ he said, his own face softening.
She nodded, mimicking her own cool responses, and laughed, her dark eyes sparkling with pleasure as she looked up at him.
‘Yes, we’ve agreed,’ she repeated firmly.
CHAPTER TEN
Rose watched John’s face carefully as he read slowly down the last sheet of the long letter she’d handed him as soon as he’d finished his lunch. She waited
patiently as he laid the folded sheets on the tablecloth. The hint of a smile touched his lips as he picked up his mug and drank deeply.
‘Well, what do you think, love?’
‘What I think,’ he said firmly, ‘is that she’s one great lady. An’ she thinks the world of you,’ he went on. ‘Sure I cou’d love her for that, even if I diden know her from Adam. I think you shou’d go. Isn’t it just what yer man Doctor Stewart recommended for you way back in March?’
‘But two months, John,’ she said uneasily. ‘It’s a long time.’
‘Aye, it is,’ he said, laughing wryly, ‘for a couple never parted a night in twenty two years, unless you count me sleepin’ in Jamie’s bed when you were so poorly,’ he added, looking at her directly. ‘But sure we might have been parted for good,’ he said coolly. ‘What’s two months compared to that, an’ me knowin’ you’re safe and well and has the best of everythin’? Wouldn’t it put you rightly on your feet before the winter? Sure she’s wanted to see you ever since our weddin’ day.’
‘Yes, it’s true,’ she replied, smiling suddenly.
She remembered the young woman whose knowledge of Irish geography was so vague she thought Armagh and Lord Harrington’s estates in Sligo were within easy visiting distance of each other. Only an afternoon spent with an atlas had prepared her for his plans for their wedding journey. Before that France and Italy were all the same to her.
‘We’ve had our plans often enough,’ she agreed. ‘But they never worked out. Like the plan you and I made for me to go and see my mother,’ she added sadly. ‘I really would love to see Lady Anne. She’s my oldest friend, despite the relationship between us.’
‘Sure what of that?’ he said sharply. ‘She knows if it hadn’t been for you, she’d never have married Harrington. You’re more like sisters, the pair of you. D’ye not mind the state she was in when she got news of the rail disaster and didn’t know you were safe? An’ she was even worse when you took ill. It wasn’t even a day after Hannah wrote before the flowers and the boxes of fruit started comin’. You go, love, and take the girls like she says. We can afford it well enough, thank God,’ he said warmly. ‘She’s right, it’ll be a new experience for them, leavin’ Ireland for the first time, an’ travellin’ down England on the train. Aye and meetin’ her boy and girl. What age are they now, I’ve forgot.’
‘Young Lord Richard is just twenty-one this month. Do you not remember they were married at the end of August and he was born the following May?’
‘Aye an’ we laughed and said there’d be some busy countin’ on their fingers. There was a desperate amount of gossip went on in that place now I think back to it,’ he said, a broad grin spreading across his face. ‘Sure they gossiped about us as well. They had us married an’ all from the first night we walked out.’
‘Well, they weren’t far wrong,’ she came back at him, laughing gaily.
It was a long time since she and John had spoken of those glorious summer weeks of ’75 in Kerry, when they’d walked in the evenings by Currane Lake and watched the water fowl sail across its calm surface, while Lady Anne in a green velvet dress was encouraging the shy and awkward Lord Harrington.
‘Is there any more tea, love?’ he asked, as he drained his mug. ‘No, don’t get up,’ he added quickly, as he saw her begin to move. ‘If there is, I’ll pour it. An’ if there’s not I’ll make some more, for I’m bone dry today, though it’s not all that warm for the end of May.’
He picked up the teapot and glanced over his shoulder as he weighed it in his hand. ‘Before you go, you’ll have to practise being waited on and not hop up like you were about to a minit ago.’
‘Do you not think I have had enough practice being waited on these last three months?’ she said ruefully.
He laughed as he refilled their mugs, glanced up at the clock and put hers down in front of her.
‘What time’s Hugh picking you up?’
‘It’ll be well after two,’ he said. ‘They’ve a visitor for lunch, so he had to scrub off the grease. He was not well pleased, but it means I’ve another half hour yet,’ he said settling himself. ‘And what about the girl? Lady Marianne, isn’t it? Wouldn’t she be the same age as Hannah?’
‘Not far off,’ she agreed. ‘They’re both eighteen now, but Marianne will be nineteen in November. There’s only six months in it.’
‘They’ll get on well enough I’d think. Hannah has a nice way with her. An’ any girl of Lady Anne’s will know how to behave herself.’
They looked at each other across the lunch table, both silent, each suddenly aware of what the other was thinking.
‘What about Sarah?’ John asked cautiously. ‘D’ye think she’ll be agreeable to go?’
Rose raised her eyebrows.
‘I really don’t know what to expect,’ she began. ‘She usually jumps at any chance to be up and away, but she’s not much enamoured of the aristocracy, as she calls them. I’m not sure what Lord Harrington’s proper title is now. Lady Anne still calls him Harrington, but I think it was an earldom he inherited. Whatever it was, Ashley Park is an enormous house. His great-grandfather owned half of Gloucestershire and he built it so he could entertain in the grand style and impress people. That may not go down too well,’ she ended, even more doubtfully.
‘Well, I still think you and Hannah should go,’ said John firmly. ‘I wouldn’t want to force Sarah, but I don’t want her to stop the two of you. You’ll enjoy seein’ Lady Anne and it’ll do Hannah good to have a holiday. She’s been that concerned about you she’s had no chance to think what she wants when she leaves school,’ he finished briskly as he caught the distant sound of the brougham on the hill.
‘Ye needen’t give a thought to Sam and me. Mrs Rea will see us right, but if Sarah’s not for goin,’ maybe Elizabeth could help us out,’ he said, bending down to kiss her. ‘Between Elizabeth and Mrs Rea, we could manage Sarah rightly,’ he assured her, pausing in the doorway as the brougham drew nearer. ‘I don’t want anythin’ stoppin’ you goin’. We’ll just have to fit things in round that,’ he said, turning away and striding down the garden path as Hugh drew up at the gate.
To Rose’s amazement Sarah expressed great enthusiasm for spending two months with people of a social class and of a level of affluence she had regularly described as indecent.
She puzzled over this sudden change of heart but it was only by chance that some days after Sarah’s declaration that she overheard part of a conversation which went some way to explaining what had happened.
‘You know, Hannah, it’s very easy to blame people for the things they do,’ began Sarah solemnly, as they wheeled their bicycles down the garden path. ‘But I don’t think you should make judgements until you know all the facts. You can’t really blame Lady Anne for living in a huge place and having pots of money and dozens of servants. She didn’t ask for it. It just happened. It’s what she does with it that matters,’ she announced firmly. ‘Besides, blaming people doesn’t get you very far.’
She was sorry not to hear Hannah’s reply as they cycled off down the hill, but it was a real relief she need no longer be anxious about Sarah’s behaviour when they actually got to Ashley Park. It was one less thing to think about in what looked like a very busy time.
This year the annual birthday celebration with the Sintons was due to be held at Ballydown, and although Mary Sinton had offered to have it in Armagh to spare Rose the effort, she’d decided that with the girls and Mrs Rea’s help she could manage. This year she would be forty-four and Sarah fourteen and she particularly wanted Elizabeth and Hugh to be there. If it hadn’t been for Elizabeth there might not be a party at all.
After the Annual Celebration, however, there were only two weeks to the end of June. Given the way her energy still ran out so quickly, she’d have to start preparations for the visit right away, if all three of them were to be to be properly provided with dresses and accessories.
Elizabeth was a real help and support. She brought the ne
w season’s pattern books and samples of fabric from Belfast, suggested a dressmaker in Banbridge who could make their best dresses and came everyday to help with the travelling dresses and everyday dresses they’d make at home. She also made sure Rose didn’t overtax herself.
Though Hannah loved sewing, trimming and embroidering, she was determined to do well in her Leaving Certificate, so she helped only when she could take a break from her revision. Sarah’s sewing was perfectly competent and she did offer to help, but Rose decided it would be more peaceful if she and Elizabeth were left to themselves. Sarah was perfectly happy with this arrangement especially as she had already begun on her own preparations. While Rose and Elizabeth were at work in the parlour, she sat at the kitchen table and made copious notes from all the library books she could lay hands on that referred to either Gloucestershire or the Cotswolds. At regular intervals, she would favour the sewing party with the benefit of her studies.
First she dealt with the physical geography, then she turned her attention to the history of Ashley Park. Lord Harrington had indeed succeeded to an earldom and ought properly to be called Lord Ashley. She explained that while his son had been christened Richard Molyneux Harrington, he was now known as Lord Cleeve.
‘Can you really imagine saying, “Lord Cleeve, would you please pass the butter?” she demanded, one afternoon when Hannah and Rose were fitting her with a new day dress in a fine checked cotton.
‘Keep still, love, or the pins will stab you,’ said Rose patiently.
‘Sorry,’ she said, straightening up and holding her arms away from her sides. ‘But Ma, how will one know what to do?’ she persisted.
‘Hold on a moment till I’ve finished this bit,’ her mother replied, suddenly weary as she pinned another tuck in the softly draped skirt. ‘What do you think Hannah? Have we tucked it enough?’
