by Anne Bennett
A walk in a bitterly cold bleak night in December was madness, a jog would be more like it, and yet Richard found himself agreeing.
And so they walked side by side, Richard still bristling with anger and Maeve doubting the wisdom of what she was about to do. Not only was she putting her neck on the line, but Grace’s and Dr Fleming’s too.
She sneaked a look at Richard’s profile as they passed under a streetlamp. He looked stern and unforgiving, and her heart sank. But he must have felt her eyes on him because he turned and said, ‘Well?’
Maeve swallowed. She had to trust him and believe he loved her too much to betray her, or all was lost. ‘I’d like to tell you,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper, ‘what my life was like when I was married to my husband,’ and she felt for Richard’s hand to help her to go on.
He held it hesitantly at first, but as Maeve spoke she felt the pressure of it increase for he listened to her tale of a life of such poverty and deprivation, when even the most basic necessities were denied them. When Maeve described the beatings Brendan had administered to her and Kevin he felt white-hot rage build up inside him. Eventually he pulled Maeve to a stop, because he could hardly bear to hear what she’d suffered. He held both her hands and said, ‘Maeve, I can hardly stand listening to this. For a man to so abuse you in this way . . . It’s almost unbelievable! Wasn’t there anyone to stand up to the brute?’
‘My family in Ireland didn’t know,’ Maeve said. ‘I did go to them once, but I was forced back by overzealous priests, reminding me of my marriage vows, and gossipy sanctimonious townspeople. But I left Kevin and Grace there, using the war as an excuse. After that, there was little point in worrying them, because they could do nothing about it. Brendan promised to change if I went back, but I knew he wouldn’t.’
‘What of his people?’
‘They’ve been brought up that way,’ Maeve said. ‘His mother often showed the marks of her husband’s fists. They’d have thought nothing of it. I have an uncle living close by, but he thought my husband a grand man like the bloody priest, Father Trelawney. I used to think they were all in it together. If it wasn’t for Elsie Phillips’s help and support for us all, I don’t know what I’d have done.’
‘I tell you, Maeve, it’s lucky your husband is already dead, for I’d feel like ripping him apart for what I’ve heard tonight.’
Maeve gave a sudden shiver, Richard pulled her close and she buried her head in his shoulder. ‘Do you want to go on?’ Richard asked, and Maeve nodded her head dumbly. She had to go on, or she’d never have the courage again.
‘Let’s walk, then, or we’ll stick to the ground,’ Richard said, and as they cuddled together Maeve told him of the babies she’d lost through near-starvation and violence, and the last one, almost full term, when Brendan had beaten her so severely that he’d killed the child while it was still inside her.
She felt Richard’s hand on her shoulder tighten. ‘I can’t have children now, Richard,’ Maeve said bleakly. ‘You should know that. Brendan damaged something inside me. I can never give you a child of your own if we . . . if we should marry.’
Richard’s heart plummeted, though Maeve was unaware just how upset he was. He’d yearned for a child of his own – not to replace Nina, for no one could do that – but a child he’d have the pleasure of watching grow up. Now that could never be and he felt the disappointment keenly. He asked himself if it mattered. Of course it bloody mattered. But then he faced the realisation that he’d rather have Maeve on any terms, than anyone else in the world.
‘It’s you I love, Maeve,’ he said. ‘You I want to share my life with.’
Maeve hadn’t been aware that she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a huge sigh of relief at Richard’s words. She went on. ‘You said you felt guilty being unable to grieve for your wife and child. The last baby I lost, I lay in a hospital bed and couldn’t feel truly sorry that the child had died. It was one less mouth to feed, you see, and I was consumed with guilt that I felt such little grief for the tiny baby girl who’d done no one any harm. When they said I’d be unlikely to have any more children, inside myself I rejoiced. I thought Brendan could paw and maul all he liked, and I’d be safe.’
She caught hold of Richard’s other hand and swung him round to face her. ‘That’s how I thought of his attempts in bed, you see, pawing and mauling. It was nothing like the rapturous thing I shared with you that one night. I never knew sex could be like that; even from the earliest days of our marriage, I’d felt little. I never knew what was wrong and why I felt as I did, though I’d always been eager enough at the start, at least before I became pregnant with Kevin. That’s when Brendan decided that I deserved no consideration at all, either in the bed or out of it. But when you made love to me that night, I suddenly realised that it couldn’t have been me at fault, or I couldn’t have responded so eagerly to you, nor enjoyed it so much, could I?’ she asked urgently.
Richard knew exactly what manner of man Brendan had been. ‘No, darling,’ he replied. ‘There are many men like your husband, who think only of themselves and nothing for their partners. It’s a form of selfishness. You are a sensual woman, Maeve, and there is nothing sinful in that, or about enjoying it either. When we are married, Maeve, I will show you often how much I love you.’
He wasn’t surprised that Maeve left frustrated night after night and didn’t seem to know why. He wouldn’t expect and decent woman would know about such things. But far more important in his opinion was the vicious and sadistic nature of the bully that she had married.
He tightened his arm round Maeve, pulling her closer to him, and she snuggled against him, feeling safe and protected. This man she knew she could trust with any secret under the sun and she began to tell him how Brendan had met his end. She made him see the horror of it, the beating so ferocious that it had almost stripped the clothes from her back. Her screams, she said, had brought her terrified daughter from her bed, and her puny efforts to stop her father had only enraged him further until Grace had picked up the poker and brained him with it.
‘Oh, the relief when he fell lifeless to the floor,’ Maeve said. ‘Oh, Richard, you’ve no idea. Of course, I was frightened for Grace and I knew we’d have to make it look like an accident, but we were safe. I sent Grace to change from her blood-stained nightie to her ordinary clothes, for I knew she’d have to fetch the doctor. I leant across for the poker to clean it and Brendan opened his eyes and looked straight into mine.
‘I saw hatred deep within him. I thought if he lived my life wouldn’t be worth tuppence; if he recovered he would surely beat me to death and Grace would be led a dog’s life. As for Kevin, Brendan had something really nasty planned for him. He kept hinting at it to keep me like a frightened wreck and I knew he couldn’t be allowed to live. He was evil – I could almost smell it in the room – so I picked up a cushion from the settee and smothered him.’
‘And this was why you thought God would take your son from you?’
Maeve nodded. ‘I prayed about it, you know,’ she said. ‘And I sort of made a bargain. I said if there was any way to make amends He had to show me. After all, I did kill the man. That’s why I thought He was demanding Jamie’s life.’
She pulled away from Richard, looked straight into his eyes and said, ‘Tell me honestly, are you shocked at what I did?’
‘I’ll say I’m shocked, shocked to the very core of me!’ Richard cried. ‘Shocked at the life you led and how you stood it, and I’m appalled at the clergy who offered no support and the society we live in which condones such behaviour.’ He pulled Maeve to him again and said, ‘Maeve, now answer me honestly, do you love me?’
‘I’ve loved you for ages,’ Maeve said. ‘I wouldn’t let myself believe it. Grace said she thought it was because I felt too unworthy to be loved, that what I did to Brendan was weighing on my conscience. She told me to tell you everything.’
‘Wise Grace,’ Richard put in.
‘But doesn’t it matt
er to you what I did?’ Maeve asked anxiously.
‘Not a jot,’ Richard assured her. ‘To my mind, the man deserved that and more.’
‘Do you truly mean that?’
‘I do indeed,’ Richard said. ‘And after living with such a man you deserve a life of happiness.’ He squeezed her tight and said, ‘I love you so much, darling. I want to protect you from harm. Nothing will ever hurt you again, I promise.’
Maeve nestled against him and Richard said, ‘Maeve, did you ever confess what you did to a priest?’
‘Aye, but to one at St Chad’s,’ Maeve admitted. ‘I never asked for absolution.’
‘And did you tell him what Brendan did to bring the tragedy about?’
Maeve puckered her brow in thought. ‘I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘What difference would it make?’
‘Tomorrow we pay a visit to Father Trelawney,’ Richard said. Absolution and the confines of the Church mattered little to Richard but he knew Maeve wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of hell’s flames burning her up for all eternity.
‘Oh God, no, not Father Trelawney!’ Maeve cried.
‘Maeve, we’ll have to have him read the banns,’ Richard said. ‘You are going to marry me, aren’t you?’
‘Ah, Richard, yes, yes, yes.’
‘Then we must see the priest,’ Richard said. ‘Afterwards we will ask him for a special confession and this time, my dear, I will be beside you. No one can hurt you any more, I promise you that. Will you trust me?’
Maeve did trust Richard, it was the priest she didn’t trust, but she said nothing, and submitted and returned his kisses of tenderness and understanding. Then they made their way home hand in hand.
It was two evenings later that Father Trelawney listened to the fantastic tale Maeve told him.
He knew some of it, of course, but if he’d been perfectly honest he would have to accept that for years he’d listened and believed only Brendan Hogan’s version of events. And if he was honest, if Maeve had gone on her own he might not have believed her this time either, and that was scandalous. But now she had Richard Prendagast with her, and the man was no fool, and he obviously believed Maeve totally.
So the priest listened as Maeve told him of her life. Father Trelawney remembered the time she’d thrown the facts at him years before in hospital and how he’d taken Brendan to task about it afterwards. But had he ever checked with Maeve that things had changed? No, he hadn’t, and he faced the fact now that he hadn’t wanted to know. Brendan had told the priest he’d been sorry for what he’d done that one time, and said he’d tell Maeve the same if the hospital would only let him in to see her.
Over the years he’d often said the priest didn’t know the half of what he had to put up with and complained of the nag Maeve had become. Father Trelawney had chosen to believe it. It was easier for him that way, especially as Maeve had often been difficult with him too. But as he listened to the simple tale of the life she’d led under Brendan Hogan’s tyranny, he knew with sudden clarity that she was telling the whole and terrible truth and that he had let her down.
For the first time he realised he’d done her a severe disservice encouraging her – forcing her – to return to Brendan before the war. He’d had no qualms at the time: marriage was a sacrament, ordained by God, where two people were joined in sickness and in health, for better or worse until death parted them. That, as far as he was concerned, was that – until now, that is. Now the doubts over the wisdom of his actions that he’d never previously allowed to surface crowded his mind and made him feel utterly ashamed of his weakness in believing Brendan because it had been easier.
But when Maeve came to the last night of Brendan’s life, he was shocked to the core. Maeve wouldn’t meet his eyes and her voice was a mere whisper and yet he doubted not a word.
And Maeve held Richard’s hand so tight, she felt the bones crunch together and he put his other hand over hers and she looked at him gratefully. It gave her the courage to go on. The priest learned how Maeve had felt forced to do this terrible thing to save not only herself, but also Grace and Kevin. Dear, dear, it was dreadful – not only what Maeve had done, but why she’d done it. If what she said was true, she’d truly suffered and in so many ways for years and years. But still he saw it was this last act, the murder of Brendan, that was tearing Maeve apart. The poor woman, she must have been desperate and he was partly to blame.
He wondered if it could be considered that Maeve had acted in self-defence – not in the legal sense; oh no, he knew that – but in the eyes of God, perhaps? He didn’t know. Once he would have said murder was murder, but what about extenuating circumstances?
‘Maeve, are you sorry for killing your husband?’ he asked her gently.
‘No, Father. I had to do it and we’ve all been happier since,’ Maeve said. ‘But I’m sorry I felt drawn to do such a thing.’
Father Trelawney deliberated with himself, his head bowed. The silence stretched between them until it became uncomfortable and yet neither Richard nor Maeve felt they could break it.
Eventually, Father Trelawney said, ‘Many must take responsibility for the position you were in, Maeve, me most of all. because I was told many times and ignored your plight. I am bitterly ashamed for the part I played in it and I will have to answer to God, no doubt, for I didn’t come to your aid when I should have done. I’m very, very sorry. I see now how much I added to your misery and I hope you will forgive me. As far as your action went, although it was wrong and I cannot as a priest condone it, I absolve you, for it was done to protect not only yourself, but also your children and therefore could be seen as an act of self-defence.’
Richard felt Maeve’s breath leave her body in a big sigh and knew he’d been right to insist she tell the priest. It would never have rested easy on her conscience if she hadn’t.
‘Make a good act of contrition,’ the priest advised, ‘as I will for my part in your sufferings.’
‘A penance, Father?’
‘None,’ the priest said. ‘You’ve paid the price already, I think.’
And Richard could only agree with him.
‘How are you feeling?’ Elsie asked.
‘Terrified,’ Maeve admitted, and Elsie smiled.
‘You’ll do fine.’
She’d come to Moss’s that morning to help get the bridesmaids ready. There were Maeve’s three daughters as well as Angela, who’d spent the night in Maeve’s flat, and the two young ones had been so excited they’d been fizzing with it. They looked angelic, dressed in the lilac dresses in shiny satin that fell to the floor in layers, but Maeve knew what mischief Mary Ann and Angela could cook up together and she’d been glad to accept Elsie’s offer of help.
She’d been a tower of strength and Maeve was gratified to see how well she’d got on with her mother Annie, who’d come across with Kevin to see her married. She was lodging just next door at the Mosses’ with Maeve’s youngest brother, Colin. Maeve had been surprised but delighted that most of the family had come over for the wedding, but Annie had said firmly that she was not letting Maeve marry a man she herself had not seen, not again. She’d been down that road once and that was enough. Kevin, though he’d wanted to come, had been hesitant to leave his granddad because it was mid-February and a busy time at the farm, but Thomas had insisted.
‘You’ll go and support your mother, boy,’ he’d said. ‘Would you have her walk down the aisle on the arm of a neighbour? You know she’d not ask her Uncle Michael; she had little time for him. Anyway, your grandmother can’t go on her own. Don’t worry about me. Tom will be giving me a hand.’ Thomas had given a wheezy laugh then, and went on, ‘The two of you would have me wrapped up in cotton wool.’
So Kevin had travelled to England with his grandmother and now shared a bedroom once more with his little brother, Jamie, much to the child’s delight.
Maeve had been dumbfounded, proud and pleased as punch to have most of the family round her for her special day, and even her Uncle M
ichael had come up trumps for once and offered accommodation not only to Kate, but to Liam, his wife, Moira, and their two young children. It was lovely to think of them all there waiting for her in the church. She had much to thank God for, Maeve thought, for Jamie was now fully recovered and would be standing by the side of his grandmother in a navy-blue suit very like his brother’s with proper grown-up long trousers. It was lovely to have him back home. Almost immediately, though, Maeve noticed how well behaved Jamie was for Richard. He only had to say a thing for Jamie to rush to do it. It was still a novelty for Maeve to see that.
Really, she thought, people were so kind. The Mosses had even closed the shop for the wedding and were now on the way to the church. It was as different from the slightly hole-in-the-corner job of her other wedding as it could be. She’d known few people then to invite – only her uncle and his family. Now she knew so many and Elsie said they were near lining the streets to wish her the best, because she’d seen them when she’d been helping the girls into the car.
And now it was time for Elsie to leave. Her long-suffering husband was waiting for her in the kitchen and suddenly Maeve realised she had to tell the dumpy little woman what she thought of her. She put her arms round Elsie and pulled her close, and Elsie, pleased but embarrassed, cried out, ‘Give over, you’ll have your dress all crushed. And if you cry you’ll have me blarting my eyes out too, and what will that do to our make-up, eh?’
‘Shut up, Elsie,’ Maeve said gently. ‘I just want to say how much I love you.’
The lump in Elsie’s throat threatened to choke her and she muttered thickly, ‘And I love you, girl, and more than I can ever tell you.’ They drew apart as they heard Kevin’s footsteps approaching the bedroom, and Elsie, dabbing at her damp eyes, said, ‘I’ll be away then, bab.’
Then Kevin was at the door, so smart and tall that Maeve’s eyes shone with pride. And Kevin thought he’d never seen his mother look so lovely, in the dress of cream satin – not a traditional dress, but beautiful all the same with folds of material that fell halfway down her calves, clad in nylon stockings, and with shoes, hat, bag and gloves in contrasting navy. Richard’s mother had done them proud, he thought, because she’d insisted on making all the dresses herself as her present. Richard told Jamie the sewing machine went on so fast and for so long there were nearly sparks coming off it and Kevin could almost believe it, looking at what the woman had achieved for his sisters and his mother.
