“It is beautiful, even if it documents a horrible hero,” Connie said, bending down to examine the multitude of small patches.
Pushing the quilt with the toe of her shoe, Hetty spoke, her voice strong.
“Every one of these pieces represents the bastard my husband was.”
Pointing to the centrepiece, where the points of delicate shirt colours wheeled out in a movement of gentle colour, she explained more.
“Violet and pink: they were his Sunday best, starched stiff, difficult to iron. If Barry’s shirt was not immaculate, warm from the heat of the iron when he reached for it, as he carefully dressed for Mass on a Sunday morning, he punched me in the stomach. Never enough that I couldn’t walk, but just enough that, as we made our way down the public footpath, my insides flared with pain.
“White for the work shirts, bleached and starched to the point that they wore out too fast.”
Pointing to the mint green slit in the wheel of colour, Hetty’s hand shook.
“Eve, he bought that shirt to come here, the time you decided to change the drawing room curtains. Remember he drove over to show you the bolts of cloth.”
Eve did remember. Barry had been nervous, perspiring, mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief as he gabbed on too much, and she felt sorry for him. She was happy enough with a plain gold for the bay window and the three front single windows. She brought him tea and excused herself, so she could show a sample to Arnold in the library.
“You did not go for his samples, Eve,” Hetty said quietly.
“I loved a plain gold basket weave, but Arnold would not hear of it.”
Eve remembered he was so rude, flinging the bolt so that the fabric gushed across the library floor when he heard that his wife was going to buy from a shop in Arklow.
“Are we to have the same soft furnishings as everybody in Ballyheigue? Over my dead body, I can tell you. At Ludlow Hall we pick the finest fabric, furnishings that endure, furnishings that fit in with the Hall and who we are.”
She knew better than to argue, pulling out of the library, rolling up the sample as she went.
When she told Barry Gorman she was sorry, but her husband did not like the colour, he went from pale to grey. Stuttering his words in his anxiety, he offered every other colour under the sun, almost begging for another appointment. He persisted, not realising she was trying to let him down gently.
“What did he do when he got home?”
Hetty shook her head. “You are entitled to pick any colour you like for your curtains, he knew that well, but . . .”
Hetty’s voice trailed off, as she walked over to the bay window and fingered the curtain.
“Somehow I never imagined you would go for a brocade, Eve.”
“I didn’t. I hated the heaviness of them all these years, way too formal and fussy for windows that look over fields with sheep and horses. I preferred the plain gold Barry had to offer. He knew what suited a window.”
“Why didn’t you order it?”
Eve picked up a panel of her patchwork and flattened it out with her hands.
“You are not the only one who had a husband who thought he knew everything. Arnold made all the big decisions: that day it was the drawing room curtains. The next morning, he rang Clerys in Dublin and a man was sent down to measure the windows. Arnold was taken in by the man’s guff that brocade gave the room a hint of sophistication. Within weeks, the curtains were up.”
“I never realised Arnold was like that,” Hetty said quietly.
“Like the rest of us never copped on to Barry.”
Connie moved to the window. Climbing up on the chaise longue, she unhooked the top of the curtain pleats, first letting one side drop to the ground, then the other.
“I think we are all in agreement it is time for these drapes to go.”
She swung around to Hetty and Eve, standing staring at her, a look of admiration across their faces.
“You are leaving a lot of windows open to the world.”
“All they will see is dancing.”
“Hetty, you suffered because of Arnold’s decision,” Eve said.
“He must have felt really bad, because he forgot himself that night and punched me in the face. Barry did not usually leave evidence for the public eye.” Hetty, with her finger, circled her right eye. “I had to stay out of sight for a while, or at least until the make-up could do a better cover job, once the bruising turned a yellowish colour.”
Connie jumped down, put an arm around Hetty and hugged her tight.”
“Help me take the rest down,” she said.
Eve ran out to the kitchen and grabbed a chair. Climbing up, she reached for the top of the drawing room bay window. In all the years she had owned Ludlow Hall, she was never brave enough to suggest a change of curtains. Tugging so hard the curtain pole shook, yanking the hooks out of position, she felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her.
Hetty pulled over the couch and stood on the arm to tackle the second front window. They worked hard, unhooking, letting the heavy brocade curtains fall to the floor.
“The room is much nicer now,” Connie said, surveying the bare windows, the mountains of spent curtains in piles across the floor.
“God knows what the Ludlow Ladies’ Society will say,” Eve said, making the other two chuckle.
Hetty turned to Connie. “We will blame you.”
“I suppose the truth is out of the question.”
“Out of the question,” both Hetty and Eve chanted at the same time, and the three women laughed as they bundled up the gold curtains, helping Connie throw them in a heap at the far end of the hall.
Hetty took out her powder compact. She stood at the bare window, gently tapping the red blotches around her eyes. Snapping the compact shut, she turned to Eve.
“How do I look?”
“Like it never happened, any of it.”
“Good, back to normal so,” Hetty replied, picking up sections of the memory quilt and folding them neatly away.
Kathryn Rodgers, holding a neat little handbag, was the first at the door.
“We have to get more fabric in. We need to send out an SOS to the village,” she said, standing in the hallway, directing operations as the other women carried in box after box.
Dana Marshall hesitated when she saw Connie loitering in the hall. Never one to let a moment pass, she called out to Connie, her voice high-pitched. “Don’t worry, I am not hiding a dog in here.”
Connie did not answer, but waved, disappearing out of view.
Kathryn rapped Dana on the knuckles.
“Don’t be such a naughty girl. We have so much work to do.”
“A bit of humour gets us a long way,” Dana said, digging into a box and pulling out a pile of old clothes. “I am not too sure how we will get anything presentable out of this lot,” she said, holding an old tweed skirt up to her. “If you ask me, a lot of people are saying they are donating fabric, but really they are getting rid of all their own shite.”
Kathryn Rodgers clapped her hands loudly.
“Let’s be clear that we’ll only take fabric that tells a story. What you have in your hand, Rebecca, does it have a story?”
Rebecca, flushing pink to be singled out, held up an Ireland football jersey.
“A few people have asked us to include a green jersey. Nobody wanted to give up their Ireland shirts, but they were all talking about the time in the ’90s when Ireland got as far as the quarter-final in the World Cup. Somebody put green dye into the river that flows through the Ludlow lands and the town and . . .” Rebecca turned to Eve. “Remember your Arnold went mad and called the Gardaí and insisted they find the culprit and look for the dye. He even had the priest announce at Mass that he was going to find who did it and charge them for any damage caused. If you don’t mind me saying, he was way over the top.”
Kathryn guffawed out loud. “Wasn’t there quite a lot of talk when a crate of dye was found in the barn at Ludlow Hall? That silenced Arnold Brannig
an.”
Eve remembered it well, and the fury Arnold cradled for so long. When, a week later, she saw Michael and Richie slip the empty crate into the boot of their car, she said nothing.
Hetty began to giggle. “My Barry bought a fish in the river, caught only that day, and I poached it for his dinner. I thought the water was a funny colour, but I said nothing. The fish just smelled of fish. He threw up like a volcano that night. When, the following Friday, I put fish in front of him for his dinner, the poor man turned as green as the river.”
“Maybe include the green as a meandering river through the quilt,” Eve said, and the others, surprised, laughed heartily.
Date: April 10, 2013
Subject: THE LUDLOW LADIES’ SOCIETY
Ludlow ladies,
We are living in such exciting times! Who would have thought a few weeks ago that life could be so good?
Ladies, now is the time for us to band together and produce the best quilts ever. As you know, the Americans know their patchwork, so we want to make sure that it is our best work. Ladies, we want to get this right!
We are asking all those members who may have lapsed in their attendance to support us now, as we arrange and sew our memory quilts. With any luck, we will receive the great honour of having our work examined by the First Lady.
Even if you can’t give your time, please donate quality fabric that has some resonance with Rosdaniel. Spread the word, ladies, and please drop all fabric donations in to Bernie Martin on Parnell Street. Top-quality fabric only, no more football shirts please, and most definitely only clothes with a story!
May I say, ladies, that if our very good friend Jack Davoren deigns to donate, refuse. I hear he has a new Sunday suit and is only dying to get rid of his old one. The Ludlow Ladies’ Society will not entertain Jack Davoren’s cast-offs.
Let’s work hard and dream of the honour of having the most beautiful Michelle Obama throwing an eye over our patches! This is an amazing opportunity for Rosdaniel to showcase its best and an incredible opportunity for the Ludlow Ladies’ Society.
Kathryn Rodgers,
Chairwoman
18
Eve woke before it was light, images of Hetty bruised and in pain flashing through her mind. She wanted to talk to Michael, to feel reassurance in his voice, but she did not want to ring him so early.
Instead, she went downstairs and pulled out the button box, her hand stacking the buttons into a high mountain before letting them run to one side. Closing her eyes, she felt the heaviness of the button mound, hundreds of stories held in such tiny offerings. Piercing through with her fingers, she let the buttons of all shapes, colours and sizes rain down either side of her hand.
Opening her eyes when she felt the softness of the small Lady Washington pearl button, memories flooded back of the light blue dress with the angel sleeves she had made especially for the Ludlow Fete. After only four months in Ludlow, she came up with the idea of the fete and was cute enough to time it for when Arnold was on an extended trip to the States. The dress, made of cotton with tiny flowers on a light blue background, was long since gone, but she remembered it had taken her a week to run it up, stealing time on her machine when the estate was very busy, workmen tidying up the gardens and mending the fences for the fete. Using a Butterick pattern, she pinned the tissue to the fabric, which she had bought the summer before on a day out in Dublin, confident she could finish it in time for the fete. It was not a fancy dress, a simple pattern of the time, maxi length with a deep frill at the bottom and angel sleeves from a bodice tight into the waist. She placed three mother-of-pearl buttons on the bodice, trimming the angel sleeves with a delicate lace, which she replicated at the waist.
Eve smiled to think of the dress now. A dress for a sunny day, and they got just that for the fete in late July. Arnold was in America, and just as well, because he would never have approved of opening up Ludlow Hall to the public.
The first of the crowds came directly after Sunday Mass, laden down with picnic baskets and blankets to spread out near the lake. Children crowded around the old jetty, taking turns to jump in the water as their mothers stood watching and gossiping.
The Ludlow Ladies’ Society set up a stall laden down with patchwork cushions, doilies and cushion covers. Eve had a separate stall selling rhubarb and ginger jam, along with apple chutney made in the farm kitchen. Michael stood with her, manning the stand, until the last pot had been whipped up. Afterwards, they walked together down the yew walk to the lake.
“It is still very busy at the lake. Will we give it a miss, walk over to see the horses in the far field?” he asked.
They strolled side by side, sometimes stopping to chat to those sitting out on blankets on the field nearest the house. Many did not take much notice of the two of them, but those who did remarked that Arnold Brannigan should not spend so much time away from home: Michael Conway was strutting about as if he owned the place.
Climbing over the locked gate that was marked “off limits”, they made their way across the second paddock, where some of the sheep stopped to watch them as they crossed over to the field beyond.
“The gossips will have a field day,” Michael muttered, making her giggle with nervousness.
“Arnold does not talk to anyone in the village. Anyway, we are not doing anything wrong,” she said, sounding a lot braver than she felt.
It was a few moments later that Michael told her she looked beautiful.
Embarrassed, she ran her hands across her dress, saying it was new but only a dress she had run up herself.
“Stop putting yourself down, Eve. Light blue is your colour. The way the light sparkles off those buttons, they are a mirror to your eyes.”
She had no answer to that, but it made her feel warm all over as they walked on together, not needing to say much more.
After a few moments, she turned to him.
“Do you always notice so keenly what a woman is wearing? I thought men did not take particular notice. Arnold notices nothing.”
“Arnold is a fool. No offence, but it is true: he should not be leaving you alone here at Ludlow.”
She laughed nervously. “I am hardly completely alone. I am always busy, especially with the Ladies’ Society.”
She skipped on ahead, and he watched her, the blue dress fluttering in the sunshine.
“He brings me back the most wonderful gifts from New York.”
“Wealth can get you out of any situation,” Michael said, and she put her hand on his shoulder to calm him.
“I am not sure you even like him any more.”
He was about to answer when Eve heard her name being called. It was Hetty Gorman, half running, half walking, swaying and gesturing wildly at the two of them. When she got as far as them, she was puffing, using her hands to fan her hot, round face.
“You two are hard to keep up with. Eve, it has been decided you should make a speech. We need to do it before everybody starts wandering home.”
“I am not very good at speeches, Hetty.”
“You might as well start getting good at it: everybody wants to hear from Mrs Ludlow.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth, making Michael guffaw loudly.
“I think Eve knows already everybody calls her Mrs Ludlow, Hetty.”
“It is just a friendly nickname,” she said, her face flushing red.
“And one I like,” Eve said, linking Hetty’s arm through hers for the trek back to the house. Hetty was pumping sweat and out of breath, Michael following behind.
Within minutes of her arriving back at Ludlow Hall, a crowd gathered at the front steps, with Eve standing on an old apple box on the top step. She spoke softly, thanking them all for coming.
“Maybe we can make it an annual event. It is so lovely to get together in a spirit of community. I am glad Ludlow Hall can play its part, and I hope it will continue to do so for many years to come. Thank you also to the Ludlow Ladies’ Society for making it all possible.”
; The Ludlow ladies, she thought, clapped the loudest, and she wondered what would Arnold say if he ever found out she had stood on the top step of Ludlow Hall and addressed a crowd.
Michael stayed on until the last person left, walking, picking up bits and pieces of litter, and tidying away tables and chairs that had been dragged across the grass to favourite picnic spots and the lake, where mothers sat watching out for their children. After an hour, when everything was more or less back where it should be, Michael stepped in the still-open front door of the Hall.
“I hope everything is well here.”
“You mean are all the family jewels still in place? If I knew where they were, I could tell you. I looked in on Arnold’s study, in case anybody wandered in there, but nothing has been touched. I think everyone respected the sign saying ‘Private’ at the bottom of the stairs. Hetty said only a handful of people came into the house; the sunshine was a much bigger draw. There is nothing much anyone would want to take, big old ugly antiques and that’s it,” Eve said, running her hand along the marble-top table in the hall.
Michael laughed. “You are the boss, Eve. You could change it all if you liked.”
“Arnold would have something to say about that.”
She walked ahead into the drawing room.
“You will have a sherry, Michael.”
He grimaced, shaking his head.
She moved to pour a drink for herself, but stopped in front of the drinks cabinet.
“What is wrong?” Michael asked.
“There was half of a decanter of sherry there before, but now it is empty.”
“Somebody has gone home to Rosdaniel happy,” Michael said.
Eve swung around to face him. “Hetty and Barry were looking after the house, they would never let anybody drain the sherry decanter.”
“Barry wouldn’t let anybody, because he would drain it himself first.”
Eve was surprised at the venom behind Michael’s words.
He coughed, almost as if to contain his anger. “Barry is well known for liking a drink, I doubt he could resist it.”
Eve put a bright smile on her face, pointing to the kitchen. “Nothing for it but to make a cup of tea,” she said.
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 16
