by Mary Arrigan
‘Mr Egan knew they were searching the stables and sheds. He told us all to stay quiet about it,’ she whispered.
We could hear them turning things over in the larder and the dairy. I swallowed hard. These armed men were searching for John Joe! Mr Egan tried to calm the soldiers.
‘He’s not here,’ he said evenly. ‘We haven’t seen him for a while. He’s not in this house. You must wait for the Master to come before you can search the rest of the house.’
One of the troops looked around at the rest of us. He shook the white shirt in the air.
‘If any of you are caught harbouring a Whiteboy, you know the penalty.’
I gasped, as he ran his finger across his throat. Rose covered her face with her hands.
There was a frightened silence. When the troops had gone, Mr Egan nodded to Mrs Casey.
‘You may serve luncheon now, Mrs Casey,’ he said. ‘As you’ll gather,’ he went on, ‘John Joe seems to be missing. They’ve found a Whiteboy shirt in the stable. If any one of you knows anything, come and tell me.’ And he looked intently at each of us.
What would he do? I wondered. Would he give John Joe up and be rewarded by the Crown? It was hard to know which side people were on.
‘What about your brother, Rose?’ I whispered, when everyone began talking again. ‘Have they caught him?’
Rose shook her head. ‘He was smuggled away,’ she breathed in my ear. ‘Far away.’
‘And what about John Joe?’
Rose shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Don’t say anything. John Joe’s no fool.’
But that was no comfort.
Chapter Ten
Over the next few days the atmosphere was tense. Nobody mentioned John Joe’s name for fear of inviting trouble. I’d lost my only contact with Mama and Grandpa. Now I kept my money in a drawer, waiting for the day when I could send it to them. I was caught in a no-man’s-land of fear and speculation.
‘I can’t bear to think of John Joe out there, hiding somewhere,’ I said to May one night. We were eating some left-over cake May had smuggled up from the ladies’ afternoon tea. ‘Did you know he was a Whiteboy, May?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Me and Mrs Casey knew what he was at. She always kept food for him. Her own nephew was jailed for stealing a sheep.’
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed.
May shrugged. ‘At least he wasn’t hanged,’ she said simply. ‘They were lenient because his father’s sheep had all been taken to pay rent and the family had nothing.’
‘What would they do if they caught John Joe?’ I asked.
May sighed, and rested her head in her hands. ‘Stop! I don’t want to think of it,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m trying not to go to pieces, Esty.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, coming over to sit on the edge of her bed.
May leaned forward and looked at me. ‘Nobody but Mrs Casey knows this,’ she said. ‘But John Joe and me, we’re… well, we’re sort of walking out together.’
‘You mean he’s your young man?’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh, May. Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve never given a sign of it, either of you. All this time…’
‘Because we’d both be sacked if word got out,’ May put in. ‘The Burgesses are very strict about their staff. Relationships are not allowed. It’s a silly rule, but they pay our wages. We couldn’t afford to be sacked. Where could we go, Esty? Unemployed in a desolate land. We’d simply starve.’
‘So, where is he now? Where is John Joe?’
‘It’s hard to know,’ she replied. ‘There are many people who are sympathetic to the rebels. I’m sure he’s safe. That’s the only thing I keep hoping for. I just have to keep up a front and not give any hint of my involvement with John Joe. You’ll have to help me, Esty.’
‘Me? What can I do?’
‘Just… be my friend.’
I put my hand over hers. ‘Of course I will,’ I said. ‘You and John Joe are my two best friends. It’s right that you should be together. I just hope he’s far away.’
The days grew tedious. The troops came back a few times and it pleased us that they were wasting their time. We were trying to keep John Joe’s name out of our conversations, but he was foremost in our minds. Now and then someone would ask, ‘Any news?’ and we’d know what they meant. But there never was any news.
‘No news is good,’ May said. ‘If he’d been caught, we’d have heard. So long as we hear nothing, then he’s still on the loose, and the longer he’s on the loose, the more certain it is that he’s safe.’
Mr Burgess made an unprecedented visit to the servants’ hall and preached about the evil rebels and how we must be on our guard.
‘I have lost esteem among my peers,’ he said, with a frown that seemed to go all the way to his wobbly jowls. ‘The shame of having a rebel in my own household sits hard upon me and my family. I trust you will all do your duty if any information about this boy comes your way.’
‘How sad,’ May muttered, when he’d gone. ‘I’m sure they’ll choke on their sherry at losing face with their peers.’
‘For shame, May,’ said Miss Burke, disapproval tightening her face.
Mrs Casey’s large bosom shook with laughter and she went off to see to supper.
I grew to hate the afternoons when May and I took tea to Mrs Burgess and Miss Emma. I found it hard to look at Mrs Burgess, knowing how triumphant she felt at having a sideboard that came from the Earl of Kildare. She would not mention to her dinner guests that she’d bought it, probably for a pittance, from the widow of a middleman. And I resented Miss Emma’s total absorption in herself, her hair and her fashionable clothes. Though when I said this to Mrs Casey one day, she simply shook her head.
‘The girl knows no other life, Esty,’ she said. ‘This is how she was brought up – how all young gentry girls are brought up. They know nothing else. We’re all products of our upbringing, child. Just you remember that.’
For some reason her words made me very uneasy, in a way I couldn’t explain even to myself.
‘Calm down, Esty,’ May said to me one night as I stood at the window. ‘You’ve been like a chicken with no head for days now. What is wrong with you?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll never settle here, May. I’ll never be a lady’s maid. You’re lucky. You’re able to do all the pandering and “Yes, Ma’am” nonsense and still keep your sense of humour. But as for me – I’m finding it hard to keep my sanity.’
May looked at me critically, her head on one side. ‘What a lot of growing up you’ve done, Esty,’ she said. ‘In just less than a year, you’ve gone from an anxious little thing to a feisty madam with opinions.’
I laughed, but I had no answer to her remark. The anxious part of me was submerged in the business of surviving. When I lay in bed at night, all the worries about my family and the destitute people beyond the Burgess’s gates fluttered about my mind like moths that I couldn’t swat away – that, and my loathing of my mindless job pandering to the sort of young lady I’d once foolishly aspired to be.
‘Just do the work, Esty,’ said May, holding open the quilt for me to join her. ‘Be like me. You get used to it after a while. You learn to bow and scrape without even thinking. It’s simply a way of making a living. Some day I’m going to marry John Joe, when all these troubles are over. But until then I’ll put my worries away. It’s the only thing to do.’
One wet, stormy night, as we were sitting up on May’s bed, an item in The Illustrated London News caught my attention.
‘Look, May,’ I said, pointing to an engraving. ‘They’ve found gold in Australia! Imagine that – digging a hole in the ground and finding enough wealth to live in comfort.’
May looked up from the words she was writing in her copybook. ‘How far is Australia?’ she asked.
‘Right on the other side of the world,’ I laughed. ‘A long way by ship. They say that the skies are cloudless out there and that all kinds of food grow. Listen to that wind and rain. Wouldn’t it be wonder
ful to be where there’s sunshine and plenty?’ And no trouble, I wanted to add. But that would remind May of John Joe.
‘Australia’s not for us, Esty,’ said May, suppressing a yawn. ‘The good Lord chose to put us in a damp place awash with disease and starvation. I think he must have been tired when he created Ireland, and just took to his bed and forgot about us.’
‘Just look at this drawing – this beautiful landscape.’ I pointed to the illustration. ‘All that, and gold in the ground!’
‘You’re a dreamer, Esty. Anyway, isn’t Australia a prison? Isn’t that where they’re transporting some of our people? What can be good about a place that takes prisoners?’
‘The prison is just one small area,’ I said. ‘Australia is huge. Just look at these pictures. The land is vast – hundreds of times the size of Ireland.’
‘Go to sleep,’ May said, as she leaned over to blow out the candle. ‘We have work in a few hours.’
Lying there in the dark, I imagined being in that cloudless landscape. If only life could be like a storybook, where you had dark misery on one page, and then simply turned to the next page for scenes of happiness!
Chapter Eleven
Months went by, and there was still no word about John Joe. I could see that May was starting to give up hope. Once or twice I had to clench my fists when Mrs Burgess or Miss Emma complained. May gave up on her reading sessions, complaining of tiredness. And sometimes I could hear her snuffling softly in the dark. I tried to comfort her, but what can you say when things are that desperate?
One day, just after lunch, Mr Egan beckoned to me.
‘Esther,’ he said. ‘Come to my parlour when you’ve finished your afternoon duties.’
My mouth opened and shut like a fish in a glass bowl. I didn’t know what to say. The only time anyone was summoned to Mr Egan’s parlour was to be sacked or severely reprimanded.
Betty sidled up to me as I began clearing the dishes. ‘Looks like you’ll be getting your walking papers, Missy,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not up to service, are you? They’ve finally found out their mistake and are sending you packing.’
‘I heard that, Betty Murphy,’ Mrs Casey called out. ‘You watch your mouth, girl. We can do without trouble here, so don’t you be the one to stir it up, or you’ll feel my slap across your cheeky face.’
Betty clamped her mouth shut, but not before giving me a satisfied smirk.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ said Rose, when we both had our arms immersed in the sink. ‘Maybe it’s to do with your pay. Maybe they’re going to give you proper money.’
Later, in my room, as I changed into my afternoon dress and fresh white apron, I wondered how I would get through my duties. Was I about to be sacked? Was there some bad news from home? The more I pondered, the more awful were my thoughts. I just wanted to run after Mr Egan and beg him to tell me whatever it was right now.
I wiped my clammy hands on my apron before knocking on the door of Mr Egan’s parlour. All my earlier doubts came rushing back to my mind, especially the most likely one – that I’d be returned as a failure to Mama and Grandpa and become an extra burden for them. Perhaps this was heavenly retribution for not appreciating my good position here. Perhaps I was being punished for wanting a better life.
I took a deep breath and knocked.
‘Come.’
No turning back now. Another deep breath.
Mr Egan was sitting at a small table near the window. The room smelled of pipe tobacco, which reminded me of Grandpa. I hoped Mr Egan couldn’t hear my heart thumping as I approached.
‘Sit down, Esther,’ Mr Egan said, indicating the chair on the other side of the table. He didn’t sound angry. I sat stiffly on the chair, my hands clenched on my lap. Mr Egan cleared his throat and folded his arms.
‘I’ve been observing you, Esther,’ he said. ‘You work very hard and you’ve adapted well to a life very different from what you were used to.’
‘Thank you, Mr Egan,’ I muttered.
He leaned closer across the table. ‘I have some news for you, Esther… ‘
‘What?’ I was startled into interrupting him. ‘Is it my mother? Grandfather…?’
‘Let me finish, child.’ He paused for a moment, as if wondering how to put the words he had to say to me. I held my breath. ‘It’s Lord Craythorn,’ he went on. ‘He’s come back from England to his estate. He has decided to do a land clearance.’
‘I don’t understand, Mr Egan. What does that mean?’
He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘It’s something that many landlords are doing. They’re clearing the small cotters from their holdings to make more grazing land.’
‘Is he evicting people?’
‘Not quite,’ Mr Egan shook his head. ‘He’s offering them assisted passage to America. He gives them their papers and passage to enable them to settle into life in a new country that’s offering good livings to those willing to work.’
I couldn’t really see where this conversation was leading.
‘He’s offering your grandfather and your mother an assisted passage, Esther,’ he went on.
I recoiled with shock. ‘You mean, they’re going to America? But they’re not cotters, Mr Egan. My father was a middleman.’ My words trailed away when I saw him shake his head again.
‘Was a middleman, Esther. It’s one of the harsh facts of life that when the breadwinner dies…’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘They’ve had to rent a cotter’s cottage – isn’t that so, Mr Egan?’ He nodded. ‘But I have money,’ I cried. ‘I’ve been saving all my wages since John Joe went away. I can give them that.’
‘It’s no use, Esther. His lordship wants to clear his land. It’s not a question of rent – your grandfather has been able to pay that from what he earns as a gardener. There is really no choice.’
‘But they can’t have agreed to go! They wouldn’t go far away and leave me.’
‘That’s why I’ve called you here, Esther,’ Mr Egan put out his hand to calm me. ‘I have a letter from your mother which she gave to me when I visited yesterday. But I felt I should explain the position to you before you read it.’ He placed the sealed letter in front of me.
I looked at it, afraid to read its contents.
‘Go ahead, Esther,’ Mr Egan said gently.
I swallowed hard and opened the seal.
My dearest Esty,
When you read this, Mr Egan will have already told you about Lord Craythorn’s offer to assist us to go to America. After much discussion, your grandfather and I have decided it would be in our best interest to agree to his offer. Sadly, there is nothing to hold us here in our own country. With your dear Papa gone, we could never find employment and the money to enable us to survive much longer in these harsh times. I know this will come as a great shock to you, dearest, but we are looking forward to a future in a land where work is available, and where we won’t have to depend upon the whims of a landlord.
Of course, my beloved daughter, we dearly wish that you could accompany us and share our new life. However, Mr Egan tells us that you are working well for the Burgess family and that you will be raised to a higher position in the future. This being so, we would quite understand your wish to remain in service.
Do consider carefully, Esther, and tell Mr Egan, who has been so kind to us and visits your Grandfather regularly. He will bring your reply to us.
Whatever you decide, my child, always remember how much we love you.
Yours, beloved,
Mama
I read through the letter again, scarcely believing what I read. Then I looked up at Mr Egan. I’d had no idea that he knew Grandpa, and was amazed to learn that he’d helped them. I wanted to ask him so much, but my mind was in such turmoil that the words jumbled together in my head. Mr Egan waited patiently, moving away only to fetch me a glass of water.
‘You must think this through very carefully, Esther,’ he said eventually.
‘Oh, I’ve made t
he only decision I can possibly make, Mr Egan,’ I said. ‘I’m going with my family.’
Mr Egan sat back and smiled. ‘I thought that would be your decision,’ he said. ‘But you had to reach it yourself. Your mother insisted on that. I’ll arrange for your wages to be paid up to date. You may leave tomorrow, if you wish. The clearance is happening soon. You’ll need time to help with the arrangements.’
‘Thank you, Mr Egan,’ I murmured, rising from the chair.
But Mr Egan indicated that I should sit down again. He cleared his throat and leaned forward as he clasped his hands.
‘There’s something else, Esther,’ he said in a very low tone. I looked at him with trepidation. Was there worse to come? ‘It’s about John Joe.’
I covered my mouth to stop myself from crying out.
‘I know I can trust you,’ Mr Egan went on, almost whispering. ‘Your grandfather told me what a bright girl you are and that it would be safe to tell you this. You know by now that John Joe is a Whiteboy.’
I stayed absolutely still, in case this was some sort of a trap, but Mr Egan continued. ‘Before he found employment here, his own family was wiped out by the Hunger. He couldn’t bear to see others in the same predicament, so he joined the rebels and began stealing livestock to feed hungry families. His crimes were not as terrible as those of the extremists who maim or destroy cattle in acts of hatred against their gentry owners. But unfortunately for John Joe, and others like him, they all come under the same criminal label. If he were caught, he’d face exactly the same sentence as the extremists, just for being a Whiteboy.’
‘You mean, Mr Egan,’ I put in, ‘you mean John Joe hasn’t been caught?’
‘No. And that’s thanks to your grandfather.’
‘Grandpa?’ I exclaimed. ‘Is my grandpa a…’
‘No,’ Mr Egan said. ‘He’s not a rebel – though I imagine he would be if he were younger. I took John Joe to your grandfather the night I got word of the search. I knew I could depend on your grandfather – we had often talked of the sad state of the country when we met on market day, when he was buying supplies and I was overseeing the estate purchases.’
