Sister Bernadette said, “We don’t get into paddies anymore, do we, Rose Marie? You have to realize, madam, she’s not the person you knew. None of the old things apply anymore.”
Fidelma sang it anyway,
In the green arbutus shadow
On the lovely banks of Laune.
I would rock my laughing lassie
In her cradle, up and down…
but Rosie just walked away with the Sister and never once looked back.
Neither of us spoke till we were on the bus.
I said, “We shouldn’t have come. All we’ve done is upset her.”
She said, “That wasn’t upset. That was her remembering something. It was probably the smell of you when she gave you a hug. Well, I shall still come. It’s a nice trip out and one of these days she might just come to, like waking up from a long sleep, and we’ll have our old Rosie back. The only thing that bothers me, I wouldn’t like to run into Herself. I suppose she’ll be turning up one of these days.”
Five years Rosie had been there and neither her Mammy nor her Daddy had visited.
Fidelma said, “When we were working for them, did old man Kennedy ever, you know? Did he ever try it on?”
I said, “What, with me? Hardly. He liked glamour-pusses, not nursery maids. I had my behind pinched a few times by Mayor Fitzgerald, but that was years back. In the end I learned to dodge him.”
She said, “Your Man liked the glamour-pusses when he could get them but he’d settle for anything that was handy for a quickie. That’s what happens when men are kept on short commons at home.”
I said, “You’re not telling me he tried anything with you?”
“Sure he did,” she said. “At Beals Street. I’d only just started with them so I thought I’d better oblige. I thought it maybe went with the job. It does at some places, you know?”
You never could be sure with Fidelma. She was a bit of a romancer.
I said, “He never did. What if Mrs. Kennedy had walked in on you?”
“Oh,” she said, “he wasn’t that stupid and neither was I. It was when she’d run off home to her Daddy, remember? When she was expecting Kick?”
I said, “Did he come to your room?”
“God Almighty,” she said. “I don’t think he’d have known where my room was. No, he had me in the pantry. It was all over very fast. It was a bit like getting the smallpox shot.”
I said, “Why did you never mention it before?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “To be honest, Brennan, you always struck me as a bit of a prude. I wonder he didn’t try it on with you though. I reckon he’d have liked someone who put up a little fight. And you were better-looking than I was.”
I said, “Well, he never tried a thing with me and just as well. You wouldn’t have seen me for dust. I could never have looked Mrs. K in the face again.”
“Oh,” she said, “I thought that was the best part of it. Looking at her and thinking, ‘Your old man might have a pot of money because he’s nothing to write home about in the other department.’”
I said, “Was it just the once?”
“No,” she said, “it was any time he thought of it, until Herself came home. Do you remember how she got the red-carpet treatment? Anything in the world she wanted. We know what her price was. A new car and a bigger house. So, when you married your man, Nora, you were still a virgin. That must have come as a shock, at your time of life.”
I’d never said I was a virgin.
32
The Official Black Sheep
I went twice to Lord and Taylor looking for Margaret’s boy Ray. The first time the man I spoke to in Footwear said he’d never heard of him, but I went back when the manager was there and he said they had had a young Mr. Mulcahy and he believed he might now be working at Saks. And that was where I found him, in Formal Wear. He’d dropped the “Ray” and was going as “Ramon.”
He’s a good-looking lad, but stunted, like his father.
He said, “I haven’t grown since thirteen. Malnourished. Any seconds, Val always got first dibs. If you don’t mind my saying, Aunt Nora, you shouldn’t bunch your scarf up like a piece of old rag. Here, let me drape it for you.”
I said, “When you’ve finished dressing me, can I take you for a steak dinner?”
“No thank you,” he said. “I don’t eat animals that have dirty bottoms. But an egg salad sandwich would be eminently okeydokey.”
We went to Schrafft’s just down Fifth Avenue. He was living in Brooklyn, one room but with its own hand basin. No girlfriend.
He said, “I don’t really go for girls, Aunt Nora. Not that way. But I expect Aunt Ursie already warned you.”
I said, “I’m not interested in stories like that.”
As a matter of fact, I thought it might be a fashion he was going through. I’m sure things like that never existed before the war. But he’s going on twenty-four now and still not courting, so maybe it is just the way he is.
I said, “As long as you’re not lonely. New York’s a big place to be on your own. Have you made any pals?”
“Sure,” he said, “I pal around with a crowd of the girls from the store. I’m doing okay. It’d be great to get a bigger room but I wouldn’t want to live with anyone. People are so messy. Mom’s messy. And Val loves all that jock bunkhouse stuff. I tell you, if you’d had to share with Val you’d have left home too. So you’re the one who got away. I remember you visited us one time. You brought a friend with you who smiled all the time.”
I said, “That was Rosie Kennedy. I was her nursery maid.”
“Oh yes,” he said, “Mom tells everyone you work for the Kennedys. They’re rolling in it, aren’t they? Do they eat off gold plates and everything?”
I said, “No, they eat off Fiestaware.”
“Oh,” he said, “I see. They’re that kind of rich. Mrs. Kennedy looks kinda spiffy though in her pictures. Her clothes always look good. What is it with their teeth though? They got shares in Pepsodent? There’s a couple of those Kennedy girls got way too many teeth in their mouth. More isn’t always best. You should tell them.”
I walked back with him to the store.
He said, “I can’t believe you came looking for me. It was so sweet of you. And just to think, when I got up this morning I thought it was going to be an ordinary old day. I’m going to take you to meet my friends in Fragrances. Show them I’m not a poor pathetic orphan after all.”
He got a “Hello, Ramon” from all the salesgirls.
He said, “This is my aunt Nora. She works for those toothy Kennedys and she’s come all the way from London, England, to see me. Isn’t that something! Aunt Nora, name your perfume.”
I said, “I can’t afford to buy scent.”
“Perfume,” he said. “Call it perfume. It sounds nicer. And I’m buying. I get a discount. We’ll take your smallest Arpège, Doreen, gift-wrapped.”
I went into St. Patrick’s after I left him, and lit four candles. One for the soul of Joseph Patrick, one for poor Rosie, one for Ramon Novarro Mulcahy, that he have a long and happy life and not fall into sinful New York ways, and one for Walter Stallybrass, who doesn’t hold with candles, but I’ve never allowed that to stop me lighting them for him.
Me and Kick were on our way back to London by the end of April, though there were times I’d thought I’d be sailing on my own. They’d done everything they could to get her to stay. Mr. K had offered to get her a good position with a newspaper, so she could write up everything Jack did and keep the family in the limelight. Mrs. K wanted her to go shopping with her sisters and pray the Nine Fridays and then start walking out with Tom Allen or some other nice Catholic boy. But she held out against them.
She said, “I love Pat and Euny and everybody. And I still like all the gang down in Washington. It’s just that we don’t have a lot to talk about. I guess the war changed everything. I’ve disappointed them though, Nora. I really hate to disappoint Daddy. And Mother’s word used to be law,
but I don’t see things that way anymore. I’m the Kennedys’ official Black Sheep. Next time I go to a costume party, that’s what I’ll go as.”
She had no plans. No driver either. The Devonshires were more than willing to send Gardener Stallybrass down to drive for Her Ladyship again but Gardener Stallybrass declined to be sent. He said if it was all the same to Their Graces he’d prefer to stay and get his camellias back up to standard. Kick said if that was the case she’d manage without a driver.
She said, “I’ll use taxicabs. It’ll be something else to scandalize Mother. Or maybe I’ll ride a bike. Wouldn’t that be wild? I wonder what happened to my old Red Cross bike. I’d just love to turn up to Ginny Balderston’s on that.”
Lady Balderston, Ginny Vigo as was, had roped her in for a ball they were organizing, in aid of veterans from the Commando Corps. It was to be held at the Savoy and they were having committee meetings all the time. It was nice to see Kick with a good reason to get out of bed in the morning. But it was through the Ball Committee that she got to know Obby Fitzwilliam, and that wasn’t such a good thing. Lady Fitzwilliam ran with a very fast set. Nothing but parties and drinking and slamming car doors in the middle of the night. Kick brought a crowd of them back a few times after they’d all been out dancing, but I think I made it clear that it wasn’t convenient. It’s one thing for people to carry on like that when they’ve a great big place like Chatsworth to get lost in, or the Fitzwilliams’ place up in Yorkshire. It’s one thing to spill liquor and leave ring marks and cigarette burns when you’ve help by the hundred, but not when all you have is a housekeeper and one apology for a housemaid.
I went down in my nightdress and wrap one time when I heard glass breaking and there they all were, lounging around in our nice little parlor, drunk as lords, and Lady Obby was standing on a chair singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Most of them were older than Kick, old enough to know better. I know for a fact Lady Obby had a child at home. Sissy Ormsby-Gore didn’t approve of her at all. “An old lush,” she called her. She said she couldn’t understand why Kick gave them the time of day.
But she didn’t see them all the time. She had quite a number of admirers that summer. Lord Billy was in his grave two years already, so there was nothing wrong in it. She went sailing with Barrington Addy, and to a cricket match, and then there was Hugh Fraser that she liked, and Tony Rosslyn and Richard Wood. He was Lord Halifax’s youngest boy. He’d been keen on Kick before the war but he’d bowed out when he knew Lord Billy was serious. Another real gentleman, Captain Wood. He’d come back from El Alamein on walking sticks and two tin legs but he was still a fine figure of a man and I believe he’d have gone a very long way to win Kick’s heart. He wasn’t Catholic, of course, but as Kick said, the kind of Catholic boy Mrs. K had in mind likely wouldn’t want a bride who’d already been married to the enemy and denied the sacraments.
She said, “I do like Richard. I just don’t think I could love him.”
I said, “You said that about Lord Billy once upon a time.”
“Did I?” she said. “Well, we’ll see.”
But then the Veterans Ball took place. Viscount Addy picked her up in his roadster. She went off in her pink satin, pretty as a picture, like a girl again, and she came home a changed person. Four o’clock in the morning she woke me up clattering up the stairs in her dance shoes. She dropped her little mink bolero on the floor and fell asleep still wearing her stockings. Twelve noon she had a gentleman caller on the front step, looking to take her to lunch. Lord Fitzwilliam. She didn’t go. She hardly got her head off the pillow, too tired from all the dancing, but she saw him the next day and the next and the next. Three luncheons in a row.
I said, “I see his game. He has to go home to Her Ladyship at night. That’ll be why we never see him of an evening. But of course she’ll never be up early enough to know what he’s up to at lunchtime.”
“Oh Nora,” she said. “It’s nothing like that. Obby doesn’t do lunch. And anyway, Peter and I are only friends. I’m allowed to have friends aren’t I? I’m allowed to eat?”
Well, there’s eating and there’s eating. How long can a ham salad take? One afternoon when Ginny Balderston came looking for her she still wasn’t home at five.
She said, “Is she out with Fitzwilliam?”
It isn’t a maid’s place to do anything, only take a visitor’s coat and packages, but Delia Olvanie had such a trap on her.
“Oh yes,” she said. “Gone to lunch. Her Ladyship’s out with him every day practically.”
Lady Ginny pulled a face.
She said, “Well, tell her we were supposed to have tea. Tell her to call me would you?”
I don’t know if she did. She neglected all her nice friends that summer, running around with Blood Fitzwilliam. Eventually it was dinners too. Lady Obby was in Ireland apparently, visiting with her people.
Kick hadn’t told me that part. It was Sissy Ormsby-Gore who spilled those beans.
“Oh yes,” she said, “she left directly after the Veterans’ Ball. And she probably knows what’s going on anyway. The Fitzwilliams are rather modern about things. I’m really shocked at Kick though. I thought she was a Sacred Heart girl through and through.” And so did I, but Lord Fitzwilliam had turned her head. People would invite her out but she turned everything down, sitting by the telephone until she got his call. She’d be out till all hours and I couldn’t sleep till I knew she was safe in her bed. I’d lie awake listening for His Lordship’s motor squealing to a halt outside. Three, four o’clock, night after night. Then in the morning neither one of us was fit for anything.
I said, “If you didn’t come home so late you wouldn’t be too tired to wipe off your face powder. Look at the state of your pillowslip.”
“Soooorry,” she’d say. “Soooorry.”
I said, “Half past three you banged that door. And I’ll bet you didn’t say your prayers.”
She swore she did.
She said, “Nora, don’t be cross. I’m having such a lovely summer. Aren’t I allowed a nice time?”
I said, “He’s married.”
“Not for much longer,” she said. “He and Obby are kind of separated. Like you and Walter.”
I said, “You leave me and Walter out of this. We’re not the ones carrying on. What do you mean by separated? They didn’t look separated when they were here carousing night after night.”
She said, “They were just keeping up appearances, till after the ball. But they’ve actually been living apart for ages and they’re going to get divorced. And then Blood and I’ll get married.”
I said, “That’s nice. Then the family’ll never speak to you again as long as you live. It was a hard enough frost set in when you married Lord Billy, and except for his church they couldn’t have asked for a nicer boy. They’ll wash their hands of you, and if you ask me, Lord Fitzwilliam isn’t worth it.”
She said, “You don’t know him. And Jack’ll still talk to me. He doesn’t have to listen to Mother anymore.”
I said, “And when is this divorce coming off?”
“Next year, probably,” she said. “The thing is, Obby’s quite tricky. Some days she’s all for getting on with things and then she goes on one of her benders and starts throwing things. Blood has to handle her carefully. So it’s up to him.”
I said, “Don’t you think you should stay out of it? Why don’t you go out with Captain Wood or one of those other nice boys? Let Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam make their own arrangements? If he’s really the one for you, you’ll still be here when all the nastiness is over.”
I was worried she’d be named in the divorce proceedings.
She said, “But I don’t want to date some nice boy. I love Blood.”
There was no reasoning with her, even when Christmas was coming and His Lordship told her he’d have to go to Yorkshire to spend the holiday with Lady Obby.
She said, “He doesn’t want to go. He’s only going for the child’s sake.”
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br /> I said, “If you say so, sweetheart.”
She said, “Don’t look at me like that. And don’t be so grouchy every time Blood’s name comes up. We’re going to have a wonderful Christmas, I’ve decided. Now listen.”
She put on her “pretty, please” face.
She said, “I ordered you a very special Christmas present but now I’m not sure if you’re going to like it.”
I said, “I don’t need Christmas presents. I need you to behave.”
“No, no,” she said. She was jumping about in her bare feet. “You do need a present. Just promise you won’t get mad when I tell you.”
We were to go to Chatsworth from Christmas Eve until the New Year.
She was trying her hand at matchmaking, or “patch-up-making,” as she called it, throwing me back in the path of Walter Stallybrass.
I said, “I’m not going up there. He’ll think he’s won. Take Delia. She can maid for you. I’ll stay here.”
“No,” she said, “Delia won’t do. It has to be you, Nora, so I hope you’re not going to disobey orders. I hope I’m not going to have to dismiss you for insurrection.”
Her intentions were good, but Kick never thought things through.
I said, “Nothing’s changed, you see. Walter’s been all his life with the Devonshires and I’ve been thirty years of my life with you Kennedys. We’re both too set in our ways to change.”
She said, “But you were so adorable together. I loved watching you, even when you got cross with each other.”
I said, “And we got cross with each other far too much. We only got married because we thought the world was going to end. A lot of people did in 1939.”
She said, “But I feel so terrible every time I think about your being apart. If Billy hadn’t been killed we’d have been up and down to Derbyshire all the time and we could all have lived happily ever after. Walter’s such a dear. Please don’t be cross. Please come and maid for me over Christmas and talk to him at least.”
I managed to finish a striped muffler for him on the ride north, white and black, until I ran out of the black yarn. I had to do the last few stripes in blue. It wasn’t my best effort, but there was no heating on the train and you can’t knit well when you’ve lost the feeling in your fingers. I quite thought he’d be there to meet us when we got to Bakewell. My guts were all churned up and I don’t know for why, because he was only my husband. But they’d sent old Barker from the stables to pick us up and not even in livery.
The Importance of Being Kennedy Page 28
