by Faith Hogan
William was walking ahead of her as they rushed up O’Connell Street. The early morning traders beginning to open up their businesses mostly ignored them. She wondered if anyone would guess the change that had occurred overnight. He was silent now, walking fast towards the waiting day ahead. Occasionally, she would catch him up but he was preoccupied, she could tell.
‘The embassy,’ he told her the previous evening when he’d taken her to The Forty-Seven Club. The venue sounded rather glamorous. Inside, it was a seedy bar with tables laid out for cards and dice games. William was familiar with many of the people there. But as much as they welcomed him, they’d mostly ignored her. He’d squeezed his arm about her tighter. It loosened lazily when some of the more attractive women came over to talk to him. Iris was not sure quite what to do when he’d stood whispering with a tall redhead called Clarissa and caressed her back while she stood silently by. Perhaps he brought a different girl here every week, she’d thought, he was very handsome after all. Then she’d reminded herself that he had asked her here, not Clarissa. ‘It’s complete nepotism, of course. If you haven’t got a family connection, you may as well forget about it. Clive is well in, obviously.’ He’d shaken his head, three thin lines digging into his pale forehead. ‘Not much good to me though, is it? I mean, he’ll be heading off for Paris once he’s married…’
‘Paris?’
‘Yes, lucky bugger. He is going to the consulate there, only a matter of time before he’s appointed Ambassador. Why wouldn’t he? His father owns half of Connaught?’
‘Oh right.’ Iris hadn’t known that Pamela and Clive would be living in Paris. Had Pamela any idea that she would be leaving Dublin? She was quite sure it would come as news to her mother also. ‘When do they leave?’
‘Oh, it’s not official yet, but I’ve seen how these things work. Clive will get married and then it will be announced like a wedding present, he has the posting. Honeymoon in Paris, isn’t that romantic?’ His voice had rasped and Iris had a feeling he smoked too many Players. ‘There’s them and then there’s us, Iris,’ he’d said and she hardly heard the words, they swept so quietly from his lips.
‘Sure, there’s more to life than the Embassy,’ Iris had said lightly.
‘Maybe there is if you come from a family that can support you, but a man who’s going to have to support himself needs to make his way any way he can.’
‘So, you’ll be still trying to get a better post?’
‘Every way I can, pet, every way I can.’
He bent down to kiss her at the steps of St. Kiernan’s. Iris pulled away quickly, anxious that they might be seen, she dreaded going in the front door. Her mother would have a conniption if she thought she was out all night with Willie Keynes. If she knew what had taken place she would probably drop stone dead on the cold floor.
Iris opened the door quietly and ran lightly up the three flights of stairs to her room in the eaves. For once, she was thankful that Pamela was in Mayo on wedding preparation duties.
As she was stepping out of her dress, she realized that William had not arranged to meet again. She laughed then, sure, he would make another date with her soon. It had been the night of her young life. If perhaps it was a night that should not have happened, then she didn’t realize that until much later.
It turned out to be longer than she had expected before she laid eyes on William Keynes again. She tried to find out where he was from Pamela and even from Clive, but either she wasn’t direct enough, or they were being purposefully evasive. All she could glean was that he was busy with some new diplomatic business.
It took two months and a lot of worrying on her behalf, but it was inevitable they would meet at the wedding in Mayo.
The problem was she was late. Two months late, by the time it came to Pamela’s wedding. Although she knew what that meant; she had no idea what it would really mean for all of them. She had to tell William, knew that was her only hope. She would meet William at the wedding. He would tell her where he had been. She would tell him that she was carrying his child and he would say that he loved her and they must marry immediately. At least, that was what she expected would happen.
*
It seemed everyone they knew was invited to Pamela’s wedding. All of the permanents travelled down from Dublin on the train with them. Her mother made a big affair of closing the guesthouse for three whole days.
Sir Clive’s home was impressive and stately, and Iris had never actually seen anywhere quite so grand before. Her mother pronounced, they did not go to town on the dusting front, but they were welcomed with the kind of warmth that her mother aspired to for the guesthouse. They all spoke like Sir Clive, as though they just stepped out of the House of Lords in London. Their biggest redeeming quality was a shared sense of humour and an easy-going approach to everyone they met. Iris figured that Sir Clive was probably the haughtiest of the bunch. Pamela corrected her swiftly if she ever hinted at that: ‘He’s just shy, Iris, you really should give him more of a chance.’ But Iris had far greater worries than giving Clive a chance.
‘I haven’t seen William Keynes, so far.’ She tried to make her voice sound offhand as she pinned up a lose tendril of Pamela’s hair. It was two hours to the wedding. They were sitting in their finery in the large room that had become her sister’s over the last few weeks. Their mother stood silently at the nearby window, perhaps contemplating the loss of her daughter. Iris knew that any sadness was diminished by a sense of relief and blessing at having married Pamela off so successfully, even if Clive was taking her sister to Paris. They’d announced it just before the wedding. Pamela looked beautiful; she wore a white gown that came all the way from London. Iris thought she looked like a real princess. ‘Your father would be so proud,’ her mother had sniffed. Of course, this was a society wedding and most society brides these days wore white dresses. Pamela would be the toast of Dublin when her photograph appeared in the Irish Press and Iris was delighted for her sister.
‘Well, you can count your blessings on that score, can’t you?’ Pamela sounded suddenly cross.
‘Oh look,’ her mother said from across the room. ‘Speak of the devil and he’ll surely appear.’
‘Really, Mother, not you as well,’ Iris said. It wasn’t like her mother to sound so cynical about anyone.
Her mother walked from the window. Iris took over her lookout position, her eyes fixed on William as he made his way jauntily towards the house. She waved, but perhaps he couldn’t see her – probably because he just looked away, as though they had never met.
‘It looks like Clive was right about him, all along.’
‘What do you mean?’ Iris turned quickly. There was something they weren’t telling her and she suddenly had a feeling that it was not good news for her.
‘You should tell her really. It cannot do any harm Iris knowing today. I mean, let the whole country talk about it in a week’s time, but for today, it’s only the family that need to know.’ Maureen Burns placed a gentle hand on Pamela’s shoulder.
‘I should have mentioned it sooner, but Iris, it never seemed like the right time and then I had a feeling that you were a little soft on him, so…’ she sighed and a small nerve knotted in her forehead. Pamela never liked giving bad news. ‘He’s been carrying on with Clive’s sister.’
‘Who?’ Of course Iris knew who, they were talking about her William. ‘I mean, which sister?’ Clive had four to choose from after all.
‘Clarissa.’ Pamela shook her head, as though there had been a death in the family. ‘And, I’m afraid they are getting married. They have to get married,’ she stressed the words, slowly, perhaps assuming that Iris would not understand her meaning.
‘He’s not marrying her.’ Iris shook her head vehemently. ‘He can’t marry her. He has to marry me.’ Suddenly she felt quite faint, felt herself lose balance and managed to flop down on the large eiderdown before she fell down.
‘He is marrying her, Iris. I’m sorry. They are having a very
small wedding here, next week. Family only are to attend. Clive’s mother is beside herself with shame, but there you have it.’ She let her hands fall to her sides and threw herself down beside Iris. ‘I’m so sorry, I know you liked him, but I did try to tell you…’
‘He can’t marry Clarissa. He can’t…’ Iris felt her breath slip away from her. Without warning, the room seemed stifling. Her dress was suddenly too tight. Her body boiled with a kind of heat that made her feel like she might explode. ‘He can’t marry her, Pamela.’ For the first time since she realized she was pregnant, Iris felt panic hold her in its grip. Later, she would look back and realize how naïve she was. Wandering through the days, knowing she was pregnant, believing that William Keynes would propose to her. Seconds disappeared into minutes as she sat on that bed, Pamela with her arms tightly about her. They might have been swallowed up into days and weeks had it not been for the fact that Pamela was marrying Clive at three o’clock. Iris had to dry her eyes and somehow stand beside her.
*
Pamela got married to Clive in the small family church that was tucked beneath the castle, which would, it looked like, be Pamela’s home one day. Iris got through most of the ceremony with very little attention to what was the biggest moment in her sister’s life. She knew from the moment she saw William and Clarissa with her fiery red hair and fine features, so different to her brother, that she could not tell her mother that she was pregnant. William Keynes would certainly not marry her. In Clarissa, he had everything he could want: beauty, sophistication and, most importantly probably to William, connections. Why would he bother with someone as unworldly as Iris? She was an artless child who threw herself at the first man who looked at her. Someone who ultimately was not quite as good as Pamela or, it seemed, Clarissa. She remembered them, that night, Clarissa and William, whispering while she stood on the sidelines; she was just part of his game. William Keyes had used her and discarded her and she meant nothing to him. The understanding, when it finally hit, made her feel numb. The sadness, fear and humiliation somehow slid from her awareness and it was replaced with chilling detachment that rallied her for the ceremony so she acted her part perfectly.
After the service, guests were invited to have tea on the lawn. Music floated over the sounds of animated conversation from a nearby pavilion where a band played low but lively. It all passed in a daze for Iris. The ramifications of being pregnant, of what it meant for the rest of her life, were just settling on her. In 1956, Ireland considered itself quite cosmopolitan, but there was no question of who ran the country. The politics of the day still bowed to the stronger deeply held conservative beliefs of the Catholic Church. In holy Ireland, Iris knew too well, there was no room for unmarried mothers or their illegitimate children. She knew there were only two options for her. The first was the mothers and babies home, but the shame of going there would kill her mother and disgrace her sister. She couldn’t do that to either of them. The second, the kinder thing to do, was to end it all as soon as possible.
Clive’s mother and Pamela had organized the meal. Iris sat through most of it, with Miss Chester on one side of her and her mother on the other. She did not taste a morsel and if she actually ate anything, she didn’t notice. The previous evening she’d walked around the grounds. There was a small river, some way down at the back of the house and it rushed into a lake that Clive said was too dangerous for swimming. It seemed now like a lifetime since Iris had stood over it. Then, the evening sun faded far down into the mountains and she romanticized her blissful future with William and their baby. Today, here in the grand banqueting hall in this beautiful home, she looked across at William and Clarissa. He had not as much as said hello to Iris. She very much doubted Clarissa even remembered her from that night in the Forty-Seven Club.
By the time she was setting off for the lake, she was glad that William hadn’t acknowledged her. Her mind and her body felt oddly empty. It was as if the guts were rattled from her and a hand much more powerful than her own will was guiding her. She believed that suicide was her only path to right the wrong she had committed on that night with William Keynes. She had brought shame on herself and on her family. The sooner that she was dead and forgotten, the better off they would all be.
*
She walked slowly but deliberately to the back of the castle, leaving the gay noise of the gathered guests far behind inside its sturdy thick walls. The night air was soft for the time of year. They say that the west is wetter and colder than any other corner of Ireland. These were the thoughts that she allowed free rein through her mind as she walked down towards the little jetty overhanging the rippled lake. There was no one else about that she could see. Just as well. She had said goodbye to her mother and to Pamela in her own way earlier in the day. Told them both she loved them, but maybe not enough. She put aside thoughts of the child she would bring into the cold water with her or what might become of her as she sank into the dark icy depths. The night air was heavy with the smell of honeysuckle, as though someone had run the path before her and beaten every tree.
She stood, for just a second on the jetty, felt a prayer fall from her lips, although she knew it would not save her. She offered it up for the child. Somehow, she felt responsible for the baby, but of course, there was nothing else for it. At least, this way, they would be together. She walked to the end of the timber slats; one more step and it would all be over. She placed her foot above the water. Forgive me; she thought as she felt gravity take over and the water swallowed her greedily.
5
Kate, Present
It was dark by the time Kate got back to the hotel. Apart from the ship’s lamp that cast light about the steps like a net, there was no sign that anyone was about. Inside the heavy door, the hall welcomed her with the dim glow of table lamps and she paused for a moment to unwrap a fine cobweb from her wet hair. Her normally sleek blonde hair was blown out wild and loose so it fell untidily to her shoulders. Her pale cheeks had colour and her blue eyes danced with an excitement she hadn’t felt in a long time. She peered a little closer; in London she had noticed the beginning of feathery lines just around her eyes, here the skin crinkled because her smile was real and the lines don’t matter so much in her happiness. She should be hungry, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and she didn’t want to count the hours in between. The bathhouse had entranced her, stolen the whole day from her and she had loved it. Every second, it felt like it was soothing her soul, it felt like in some strange way, she’d come home. By the time the pale winter sun sunk behind the evening darkness, it felt like she’d spent a lifetime here and it was where she belonged.
She was glad of the supplies left out by Iris when she got to her room. The fire danced to life when she patted it into place with the poker that lay always across the cast-iron fender.
When Kate finally climbed into bed that night, she knew something in her world had shifted. She slept for almost fourteen hours, woken only by the call of the ocean and a lost guillemot, which perched in the eaves above her window. Her first thought on waking was the bathhouse. She had to go back there again.
‘It’s very lovely.’
‘Yes, it’s a special place,’ Iris replied, ‘Archie’s brother owned it, but it dates back much further than that. In the end, well, Archie probably mentioned that Robert died there, it’ll be sixty years, this summer. A terrible tragedy.’
‘Yes, Archie mentioned Robert. I expected the place to be a little melancholic, after he told me, but it’s the opposite. It’s as though the place has a spirit of its own, but I felt it was a happy place, welcoming almost.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. Robert is never far from my mind. It’s good to think he’s at rest and what he’s left behind is the joy of his life and not the sorrow of its end.’ Her smile did not quite reach her eyes, as though some part of her still remembered the sadness of losing someone who had been special to both her and Archie. ‘Of course, it needs a lot of work now…’ Iris sat with her once she finished her
breakfast and poured tea from a gleaming silver pot. ‘It’s been waiting for someone, all this time. I have said so to Archie, many times over the years. You know, we’ve had offers?’ Her smile held the wisdom that Kate figured only came with time.
‘Yes, Archie mentioned that. Developers?’
‘Oh, they wanted to buy everything in town, given half a chance, they’d have had this place too,’ she shook her head. ‘It was all nonsense of course, the bubble burst in the end and we were glad we held firm. What would we have done with ourselves, eh?’ She nodded towards Archie. He was repairing a cracked tile on the fireplace in the main reception. ‘And the bathhouse – as you say, it is very special. So you were inside?’ Iris sounded almost wistful.
‘Yes, I met a woman from the village, Rita Delaney? We walked every inch of the ground floor.’ They had, and Rita had explained how people still travelled to the far side of Connaught to avail of seaweed baths throughout the year. A brand new bathhouse had opened up fifty miles along the coast and they were doing a roaring trade. Their popularity and benefits had not diminished just because there was no longer a bathhouse in Ballytokeep. ‘People paid to bathe in fresh seaweed and hot water?’ She still couldn’t quite believe that it was so popular.
