The Family Way

by Rhys Bowen

  “I can’t help it,” I said. “And I’m not an invalid. I’m having a baby. And I feel fine. Women all over the world get on with their lives while they are pregnant. Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back to the Mainwarings today.”

  Gus looked at Sid and sighed. “Impossible,” she said. “I can see we’ll just have to kidnap her and lock her up.”

  “I don’t try to stop you when you go on your suffragist marches, do I?” I reminded.

  “We are not with child, Molly. If one of us were then I’m sure the other would make sure she did not do anything too strenuous.”

  “Going to Irvington on the train cannot count as too strenuous,” I said, “and I’m sure you agree that the servants there may be able to shed light on Maureen’s character and why she felt she had to go back there if she was unhappy.” I gave them an appealing look. “One of them might also know where Maureen has run off to. Servants confide in each other, you know.”

  “Very well,” Gus said at last. “I don’t suppose there can be any harm in your going to someone’s house, as long as you don’t walk out in the sun and make yourself exhausted.” She looked across at Sid. “Make sure you take a cab. There is bound to be one at the station.”

  “I suppose we had better go with her to make sure she doesn’t do anything too risky and outlandish.” Sid looked at Gus for confirmation.

  “You’ve been very kind,” I said. “You’ve already given up one full day of your holiday on the river. I can’t ask you to again. Besides, it might look suspicious if a whole bevy of women descends on the servants’ entrance at once.” I looked across at Bridie who was already tucking into her eggs with gusto at the other end of the table. “But I would ask a favor and leave Bridie with you today. I don’t want to show up with a child in tow. And I’m sure she doesn’t enjoy traipsing around all over the place with me.”

  “Of course. We’d be delighted,” Gus said. “What would you like to do, Bridie?”

  “Go swimming,” Bridie said quickly.

  “Bridie, remember what Mrs. Sullivan said,” I reminded her. “She said that ladies only swim where there are bathing machines and when they have proper swimming attire.”

  “Fiddle faddle,” Sid said, warming to the task now. “We’ll take you swimming, Bridie. We’ll go and find you a costume. I’m sure there will be bathing suits for children in a local store.”

  Bridie looked at me with a half-guilty smile. “You won’t tell Mrs. Sullivan, will you?” she asked.

  “My lips are sealed,” I replied.

  So we set off, the others in search of swimming attire and the right place for a safe swim, and I to the station where a train soon arrived to take me to Irvington. There was no cab in sight when I arrived. I had remembered that the Mainwarings’ house was only a short way up the hill, and the day still being cool and fresh, I set off. I hadn’t realized that a short carriage ride is not the same as a short walk, or that the hill was so steep. I was huffing and puffing like a steam train by the time I reached those impressive wrought-iron gates and I had to sit for a while before I dared go inside. I had dressed simply today in a plain muslin with a little cape, as I wanted the servants not to be sure of my rank, and thus willing to chat with me. But the muslin I had chosen now clung to my back like a damp rag. I was sure I looked a sight. I took out the small mirror I carried in my purse and surveyed the damage. My hair was plastered to my forehead beneath my straw hat, and my face was as red as a beetroot. Thank heavens I wasn’t coming to call on Mrs. Mainwaring herself. I’d have to make sure I slipped through grounds and arrived at the servants’ entrance unseen or I would find myself summarily ejected.

  I discovered a small gate in the wall and slipped in through it, glad I hadn’t had to draw attention to myself by opening those impressive wrought-iron affairs. I hadn’t gone far when I heard the sound of footsteps on the path. There was the nursemaid coming toward me, in a crisply starched gray-and-white uniform, pushing the baby carriage. She nodded to me, looking unsure as to who I might be and what I was doing there.

  “If you’ve come to see the mistress, I’m afraid she’s out,” she said. I could see her analyzing my outfit and noticing my sweaty and unkempt appearance.

  “No, I’ve come to talk with the servants,” I said. “About a young woman who worked here until recently. Maureen O’Byrne. Did you know her?”

  “No, I didn’t, I’m afraid,” she said. “I haven’t been here long. I was only hired after the baby came.”

  I had drawn level with her now and looked into the carriage. A beautiful child, probably two or three months old, lay asleep on a pale-blue, silk pillow. He had a little fuzz of red-gold hair and long dark lashes curled across his cheeks.

  “What a lovely baby,” I said. “It’s a boy, is it?”

  “That’s right. A little boy, ma’am.”

  “Is it their first?” I asked, thinking that Mrs. Mainwaring was no longer in the first flush of youth.

  “It is. The master’s pleased to have an heir at last, I can tell you.”

  “And Mrs. Mainwaring? She must be pleased too, after waiting so long.”

  The nursemaid gave me a sideways look. “She’s not exactly the motherly kind, if you know what I mean. Ladies from her class, they’re not raised to take much interest in their children, are they? Thank heavens for people like us, or the little mites would get no love and affection at all.”

  I noted she had decided that I was not the same rank as the Mainwarings. I was “people like us.” That would be useful when it came to chatting with the other servants.

  “I should be getting along. I’m holding you up from your walk,” I said. “Do I go around to the back of the house to find the servants’ entrance?”

  “That’s right. If you follow that path it will take you through the orchard and you’ll see the back door.”

  I thanked her and followed the path that skirted the wall, nicely hidden by large shrubs, until it came out to an apple orchard. Beyond the orchard was a stretch of lawn and beyond that some sort of earthwork was going on with a couple of men digging away and another hammering at some wood. I spotted the servants’ entrance at the back of the building and made for it. A maid was hanging out a line of laundry. She must have been so involved in her task that she didn’t hear me coming because she jumped and put her hand to her mouth to cover a scream.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve come about Maureen O’Byrne.”

  “Maureen? She’s not here anymore.” The girl looked around nervously as if she wasn’t sure whether she’d get into trouble for talking to me. “Are you a relative of hers?”

  I decided there were times when lying was permissible. This was one of them. “I am,” I said. “My name’s Molly. I’ve come over from Ireland because the family is worried about her.”

  “I’m Anna.” She gave me a friendly little nod. “You heard then, did you?” she paused. “About what happened to her and why she’s not here?”

  “About the baby, you mean? I did,” I said. “I was up at the convent and they said she was supposed to come back here, but that she ran off.”

  “That’s what we heard too,” the girl said.

  “So she never did come back then?”

  She shook her head. “The last we saw of her was when she left here several months ago.”

  “How well did you know Maureen?” I asked.

  A wistful smile crossed her face. “We were good pals. A really nice girl. Refined. Kept herself to herself, if you know what I mean. Rather religious, wasn’t she? Really cut up about the baby. She said, ‘I’ll be spending centuries in purgatory for this, if I don’t go to hell.’”

  “It must have been hard for her with Mrs. Mainwaring having a baby at the same time.” I said. “Sort of reminding her of what she was giving up.”

  She looked at me funnily, embarrassed, almost as if she was in an agony of indecision.

  “I suppose that’s why she didn
’t want to come back to have to take care of another woman’s child,” I went on.

  Her cheeks were bright red now and she shifted from one foot to the other, looking extremely uncomfortable. “It wasn’t exactly as easy as that. That’s why she was so torn. She didn’t want to be here, in fact she hated Mrs. Mainwaring, but she wanted to be near the baby. Well, who wouldn’t?” She looked at me, her eyes imploring me to understand. And suddenly I did. And as soon as I realized, I wondered how I could have been so dense.

  My hand went up to my mouth. “It’s her child, isn’t it? Maureen’s. Mrs. Mainwaring couldn’t have children so they decided to adopt this one.”

  She nodded. “We’re not supposed to know about it, but of course we all do. It’s the closest he’d ever come to a proper heir, I suppose.”

  And then the final piece of the puzzle fell into place and again I wondered how I could not have seen the truth earlier.

  “I see now. It was his child. Mr. Mainwaring. He was the father.”

  She looked around, in case anyone might have overheard us. Then she moved in closer to me, speaking in a low voice. “That’s why she was scared to come back here. She thought he wouldn’t keep his hands off her again. Well, you know—Maureen is a pretty girl, isn’t she? And Mrs. Mainwaring—she hasn’t much interest in that sort of thing. She keeps her bedroom door locked most nights. I can tell because I take up her morning coffee, and I have to tap on the door and say, ‘It’s me, Anna, with the coffee, ma’am,’ before she’ll come and open it.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “And he’s that sort of man, isn’t he?” she went on. “Healthy appetite for that kind of thing, you know. He’s tried it with other servants in the past and some girls left rather than giving him his way. He tried it with me once, but I slapped his face and made it quite clear that he’d better not touch me. Maureen was so naïve, she didn’t realize until too late. And she didn’t want to be fired.”

  “So she didn’t want to come back and yet she wanted to be close to her child. Poor thing. What a tough decision to make.”

  Anna nodded. “Mrs. Mainwaring was furious too when she found that Maureen had run off. She’s not normally an emotional sort of woman but she was in a right state, I can tell you—stomping about and calling her ungrateful. I suppose she felt that Maureen had put her on the spot when she had to hire another nursemaid at such short notice. Poor Maureen—in the end her religion probably made her see it was better to give up the child rather than risk it all happening over again.” She put a tentative hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. This has obviously been a shock to you. Were you close to her?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Only a distant cousin, but she was well loved by the family back in Ireland. I only hope I have some way of finding her now. Nobody seems to know where she might have gone. You don’t have any idea at all where she might go if she chose to run away? Did she ever talk of going off somewhere? Any friends she might have gone to?”

  Anna thought about this, then shook her head. “She hated New York City. Too much noise and bustle for her after coming from the quiet of the Irish countryside, so I don’t think she’d have gone back there.”

  “No young man then?”

  “Who has a chance to meet a young man when we’re stuck at a place like this? There’s only the gardeners and the groom and they’re old and married.” She met my eye with a look of concern. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think where she might have gone.”

  “I see,” I said. “Look, is there anyone else here she was close to? Anyone else she might have secretly contacted or confided in?”

  “I can’t think who that would be,” she said. “Maureen and I shared a bedroom. I’m the head parlormaid. She was under-parlormaid. Apart from us there’s the lady’s maid, who’s a real snooty old cow, the master’s valet, who’s not interested in girls, if you get my meaning. And then there’s the cook, the scullery maid, and the butler. That’s it.”

  I tried to think what else I might ask. It was all horribly clear now. Poor little Maureen, at the mercy of the master while his wife was quite happy to turn a blind eye as long as he didn’t bother her. No wonder she didn’t want to return to the house, especially when her religion was so important to her and she felt that she had committed a sin for something that wasn’t in any way her fault. I toyed with the word “religion.” Anna had stressed it several times. And a new thought came to me.

  “Anna, is it possible that she decided to stay in the convent and become a nun?” I asked.

  She thought about this. “Stayed and become a nun?” She frowned, considering something that hadn’t occurred to her before. “I suppose it is possible,” she said. “I wouldn’t put something like that past her. Like I told you, she was very devout. Always on her knees praying and she remembered every kind of saint’s day and holy day. And no meat on Fridays. All those kinds of things mattered to her.”

  “Then it’s possible she didn’t leave the convent at all,” I blurted out. It all made sense now. The abandoning of the little statue and her hairbrush. She had renounced her worldly goods when she went into the novitiate. Perhaps she had even taken a new name, which was why the novice at the door didn’t know who she was. The only strange thing was why the nuns claimed that she had run away—unless they had promised Mrs. Mainwaring she would return to be nursemaid of her child, and she had begged the nuns to hide her. It had been easier to slip Maureen into the convent and then claim that she had run away.

  “Thank you, Anna,” I said. “You’ve been really helpful. I think I might have a good chance of tracing Maureen now.”

  She looked pleased. “If you do find her, would you give her my best? I was real fond of her and I worry about her.”

  “I will,” I said.

  She glanced around again. “I’d best get back to work before someone sees and I get an earful.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad I had a chance to talk to you. If I had listened to other people I’d have believed she’d run off to New York.”

  “Not Maureen. Never.” We broke apart as one of the workmen came toward us. “Can you fill up the water jug again for us, miss?” he asked. “It’s hot work today.”

  “Of course.” Anne glanced across at me. “Mrs. Mainwaring has taken it into her head that she wants a summer house.” She hesitated as if she might want to say something more, but then added. “I hope you find Maureen and she’s all right. Tell her Anna sends her kind regards.”

  Then she went inside to refill the water jug, while I made my way unseen to the front gate and back down the hill to Irvington Station.

  Twenty-two

  I found myself smiling with satisfaction as I took the train back to Tarrytown. It all made sense now. Maureen had been heard to say, “You can’t make me. It’s cruel.” And she’d meant going back to a situation where her child belonged to another woman and where she was at the mercy of a master with lustful ways. I remembered the way he had looked at me, almost undressing me with his eyes, in spite of my condition. Perhaps when she ran off angrily she had gone straight to the mother superior and appealed to her. And that good woman had decided to spirit her away.

  It was still early in the day. Sid and Gus would hardly have had time to buy a bathing costume for Bridie and go swimming with her yet. They wouldn’t be missing me and wouldn’t want me to interrupt their fun. Which meant I had hours of freedom ahead of me. If I went up to the convent, I could ask to speak to the mother superior and nobody else and surely she would tell me the truth—maybe even let me speak to Maureen and give her a message of reassurance from her family.

  But what if they brushed me off again, as they had certainly done last time? If those two nuns I had seen before claimed that the mother superior was busy or at prayer again, what then? If I told them I wanted to interview girls for possible future service in my household would they let me in? Let me chat with the girls? Wouldn’t they be suspicious that I had returned after questioning them about Maureen—a
nd if there was anything to hide, they’d simply get rid of me as quickly as possible again. And there would be no way I could look into what really happened to poor little Katy.

  Then suddenly I came up with a brilliant idea, one so daring that it made my heart beat faster. I actually had a way to get inside the convent and see for myself. I put my hand on my belly. If I arrived on the doorstep as a fallen woman in need, surely they’d take me in. Then I’d have a chance to look around, to speak to Maureen, and when I was ready to leave, I’d simply tell them that I’d changed my mind and I wasn’t going to stay.

  The only people who had actually seen me clearly before were Katy and the novice, and Katy was now dead and the novice in the solitude of retreat. The nuns had only been shadows behind the grille to me, so presumably they’d only seen a similar indistinct impression of me in that dark little parlor. And I’d been sitting down when they came in, so they’d never have seen that I too was in the family way. All I had to do was to let down my hair and broaden my Irish accent. Daniel always said that with my hair down I looked no more than fourteen. It was worth a try and the very worst they could do would be to tell me that they had no room for me. In which case I’d let on that I was Maureen’s cousin—and we’d see what happened then.

  I sat impatiently until the train came to a halt. Outside the station I looked around cautiously, just in case Sid, Gus, and Bridie happened to have chosen that moment to walk from the town to the waterfront. But the station yard was deserted, apart from a horse and buggy standing in the shade, the horse with its head down, half asleep. I went over and asked if they were for hire. The driver also looked sleepy but grudgingly agreed. However when I asked him to drive me up to the convent, he stared down at my bulging stomach then gave me a pitying nod.

  He held out his hand and helped me climb up. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, miss,” he said. “The nuns will take good care of you.”