Another Man's Child

by Anne Bennett

  ‘They tell stories, you know?’ Orla said, seeing Norah’s confusion. ‘Terrible things happen, like girls tied onto railway lines with a train coming, oh all sorts of things happen.’

  ‘Goodness!’

  Mary laughed. ‘The girl never gets crushed by the train or anything. She’s always rescued just in time.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And there’s no voice, just the piano thumping away and you know when something dreadful is going to happen by the music played and the way it’s played.’

  ‘I heard they’re going to be putting voices on soon,’ Orla said. ‘They are going to call them “talkies”.’

  ‘Well they are not here yet,’ Mary said firmly. ‘And I’m sure Norah would be entertained enough at the silent ones we have now as I bet she had nothing like it in Donegal.’

  ‘Oh no I didn’t,’ Norah said. ‘All told there wasn’t much at all in the town. Don’t know whether I will get to go to any in Birmingham as my first priority is seeing my sister.’

  Norah had told the three sisters that she would be getting a taxi to the fictional address where her aunt lived as the train slid into New Street Station.

  The platform was teeming with people, much worse than Belfast, Norah thought as she alighted from the train and hugged Mary, Bridget and Orla, for she had been immensely glad of their company but now she was on her own and knew she must be on her guard. She saw a few odd people in raincoats and though they might have been perfectly respectable, she thought her best bet was to walk in a purposeful way with her head lowered and make for the taxi rank as confidently as if she had been going to it all the days of her life. There were horse-drawn cabs and petrol-driven ones but going in a cab pulled by a horse was no treat to Norah and she made for the petrol-driven ones. The driver of one was out of his cab having a smoke and so that was the one she approached.

  In the light from the street he knew Norah was a country girl by her dress and not the sort of person that usually used taxis, but he doffed his cap and said, ‘What can I do for you, miss?’

  ‘I need to go to the nearest Catholic church please?’

  ‘Oh, that would be the cathedral then.’

  ‘Oh, does Birmingham have a cathedral?’ Norah asked, for though she knew all cities had cathedrals she didn’t know in England whether they would have a Catholic cathedral as well.

  ‘Birmingham has two cathedrals,’ the taxi driver said. ‘St Philip’s is the Anglican and St Chad’s the Catholic one, so it’s St Chad’s you want and I can’t take you to either.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I wouldn’t take the money off you.’

  ‘I can pay. I have money.’

  ‘I’m sure you have but I won’t take any money for a journey that is so close. Look,’ the taxi driver said, pointing. ‘That road there is New Street. Turn left there and cross the road on your right-hand side and you will come to Bennetts Hill and that will lead to Colmore Row. You will see the Council House and Town Hall to the right of you, but you turn right again and walk straight down that road. You will pass St Philip’s on the left and the Grand Hotel on the right, but you keep straight on until you come to a road to your left called Whittall Street and you turn into it by a big square building that until quite recently used to be a workhouse and St Chad’s is at the end of that short road. Now you got that?’

  Norah nodded but it was done so hesitantly the taxi driver told her again and then he said, ‘Now you’re all right and no one will harm you, but you keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone.’

  Norah set off with great trepidation, glad at least that the rain had stopped but it had rained a good deal and she walked well away from the road, for some of the vehicles sent up spray and the glow from their headlights gleamed and the wheels swished on the wet road and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

  She kept her head lowered as the taxi driver advised but as people passed her she could see them illuminated in the street lights and saw that she was totally wrongly dressed for Birmingham. The women’s clothes were generally shorter and most wore coats and if they had boots they had fashionable ones, nothing like the clod-hopping work boots she wore and she understood why Jim had sent her the money for a new wardrobe when she got to America for she imagined they were even more fashion-conscious in New York.

  However, there was nothing she could do about it and maybe her clothes would help convince the priest that she was who she said she was, because if he disbelieved her or refused to help, she wouldn’t know what to do, for she had not formulated a plan B. She was walking along beside the shops the three sisters had told her about that probably sold the clothes the women about wore, but she could see nothing but vague grey shapes in the windows because the shops were all closed.

  Bennetts Hill was easy to find and she gave a sigh of relief when she turned into it. No shops in this road, she noticed, just lines of shiny wooden doors of buildings that opened on to the street and at the top of it she saw the majestic Council House to her right as the taxi driver had said and another building resembling a picture she had once seen of a Roman temple and she imagined that that was the Town Hall and she turned right and carried on.

  She passed the Grand Hotel opposite St Philip’s with its white paths weaving through the gardens, and so she knew she was on the right road, and in fact it was no distance then to Whittall Street and she saw the cathedral straight away at the end of it but she approached slowly, nervous now she was at her journey’s end.

  SEVENTEEN

  The door to the church stood open because the priest had just finished benediction and Norah waited till the small congregation had left the church and then she entered the porch but hesitated to go further. The lights had been dimmed and there was only one woman there setting out the hymn books, for the morning Norah supposed, and no sign of the priest who was at that moment taking off his vestments in the sacristy. Then the woman looked up and saw Norah. Eileen Hennessey was the priest’s sister who had lost her husband in the early months of the Great War and, as she was childless and the priest’s housekeeper had left his employ for more lucrative war work, it had seemed sensible that Eileen move in to look after him. She took her job very seriously and could sometimes be impatient at the many demands put on the priest, for he was generally a kind-hearted man and didn’t like to refuse if he could help in any way.

  However, when Eileen saw Norah standing in the porch, looking so incredibly nervous and somehow vulnerable in her slightly shabby and out-of-date clothes, she felt a tug in her heart and she stepped into the porch towards her, saying as she did so, ‘Can I help you?’

  Norah’s voice was little above a whisper as it seemed the courage and determination that had brought her this far had all but deserted her and so Eileen had to strain to hear her words. ‘Yes, please would it be possible to see the priest?’

  ‘He’s changing,’ Eileen said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Oh maybe,’ Norah said. ‘You see …’ and she told Eileen the same tale she had told the sisters on the journey over. During the telling the priest, John Mortimer, known as Father John, finished changing into his normal garb and came back in the church from the sacristy, but neither woman noticed him. He heard the tail end of what Norah had said, but it was enough to alarm him and he was gratified to hear his sister say, ‘I do understand the urgency you must have felt to ascertain your sister wasn’t too ill and yet it was still very foolish for you to travel quite alone and without booking respectable lodgings before you left Ireland.’

  Eileen had taken the words out of his mouth, Father John thought, for that would have been his initial response as well to the girl’s tale and as he approached he saw that she looked suitably chastened, even more so when she turned and spotted him. So did Eileen.

  ‘Oh John,’ Eileen said and with a slight nod in Norah’s direction went on, ‘this young girl by the name of Norah Mulligan from Donegal in Ireland has travelled here alone because of the illness of her
sister and—’

  Father John raised his hand. ‘I know, Eileen, I heard the general gist of it and the question is, young lady,’ he said, facing Norah with a frown puckering between his eyes, ‘what are we to do with you now?’

  Norah was exhausted and tense with nervousness and worried about what she would do if the priest was unable to help her. She felt tears prickling behind her eyes and knew she couldn’t let them fall if she was to convince the priest that she was fully capable of looking after herself and so to keep those tears at bay she spoke more sharply than she intended.

  ‘You haven’t to do anything with me,’ she said. ‘I am not a child and I have money. I know not all lodgings are respectable and I just want directions to one that is. I may need one for a few days depending on how my sister is.’

  Far from being offended, the priest was relieved by Norah’s spirited response for he realised that she was not as young as she appeared – the country clothes hadn’t helped her there – but despite them she seemed an upright young woman who had genuine concern for her young sister. However, he said to her, ‘I really don’t know how to advise you, my dear. We have Catholic hostels in the town but I know they’re full. There might be room at the hostels run by the Girls’ Friendly Society, or the Birmingham Mission, but I couldn’t possibly be certain. They are not ideal because although they are basically Christian they are not Catholic, of course, but at least there you would feel safe. It will be Monday before their offices are open.’

  ‘Have you no emergency hostels?’

  The priest nodded. ‘We have,’ he said. ‘But I would strongly advise you against trying to use those, for you would meet the dregs of society as well as those just down on their luck. They are for the homeless, most of them.’

  ‘And shortly I might be joining them,’ Norah thought wryly as Eileen spoke up, ‘John dear, as it is only for a few days why can’t Norah stay with us – at least until after the weekend when a temporary place might be found for her in one of the places you mentioned?’

  ‘Oh, that’s so kind of you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Eileen said dismissively. ‘It’s the only thing to do, the Christian thing to do. We can hardly throw you onto the streets.’

  ‘Eileen is right as usual,’ Father John said. ‘We always have a spare room made up for a visiting priest or the bishop who might come to stay, as St Chad’s is a cathed-ral, so you are welcome to make use of it.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Eileen said as they began walking towards the presbytery, which was next to the church, ‘I don’t know why it is, but if I am on a long journey anywhere I always arrive as hungry as a hunter. Does it affect you the same?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Norah said fervently.

  ‘Well I always leave supper for John after benediction and it is a little bit of stew that won’t take a minute to heat up. Will that suit?’

  ‘Oh yes, it will suit very well indeed.’

  When they arrived, Eileen took her shawl from Norah and bid her lay her bag down and sit before the fire. She had left it banked up but now poked it into life and shook a few nuggets of coal on it for good measure and as Father John, in the chair on the other side of the fire, seemed engrossed in a paper, Norah had nothing to do but feel the warmth seeping into her very bones. As she watched the flames flickering up the chimney and smelt the delicious smells coming from the pan she had seen Eileen put on the range in the kitchen she felt saliva gather in her mouth. She closed her eyes with a slight sigh and didn’t stir even when Eileen came in and took a shovelful of glowing embers from the fire and put them into a copper pan.

  ‘I think our guest has gone to sleep,’ John remarked to his sister a little later as she came in with their bowls of stew.

  At the sound of the priest’s voice Norah awoke with a start. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said but he looked amused rather than annoyed and Eileen said, ‘Nothing to be sorry about. Come and take your fill and then I will show you the room you’ll be using. The bed’s not been slept in for some time so I’ve put the warming pan in to air the sheets and warm it slightly and you can go up whenever you want. Generally we don’t keep late hours here.’

  ‘No, we didn’t on the farm either,’ Norah said as she took her place at the table.

  ‘What livestock did you keep in the farm?’ Father John asked.

  Norah answered him and he asked another question about the farm and her family and Norah stuck to the truth as far as she could. It was easier and also, if she showed the slightest hesitation, he could easily contact their parish priest to check a few things and then the cat really would be out of the bag but she thought it would be easy to make a mistake with her head fuzzy through lack of sleep.

  Again she was saved by Eileen who said, ‘Enough, John. Can’t you see the poor girl is dropping with tiredness? Further questions will have to wait.’

  The priest didn’t argue with his sister and a short while after this Norah was in the room. As Eileen said, the bed had been warmed by hot coals in the copper pan and Norah found it more than comfortable and cosy and she sighed in contentment. And yet she doubted she would sleep easy for so much had happened that day, but when she closed her eyes she dropped off almost immediately and was soon in a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Sunday dawned icily cold and Celia was glad to have so many pretty, warm things to dress Grace in. This was the first sight Henry’s parents would get of their granddaughter and she guessed that they were probably quite shallow people who would be more amenable to a pretty, sweet-smelling and well-dressed child and that’s what Grace would be, Celia decided.

  And so she put on the terrycloth nappy squares she had hemmed before Grace had been born and popped the rubber pants over that before she pulled the wool vest over the baby’s head, followed by a petticoat and white crocheted dress with a line of little blue rosebuds on the neck and around the hem and matching lace-trimmed pantaloons. She chose a matinee jacket the same pastel blue as the rosebuds on the dress and she had to admit the baby did look gorgeous. Celia smiled as she planted a kiss on her forehead and took her downstairs to see if Henry approved.

  He did very much. ‘She looks so lovely,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘Surely she would melt the hardest heart?’

  Celia wasn’t sure about that and Henry held her tight and was rewarded with a beaming smile and he felt his heart constrict with love for Grace and he really didn’t see how his mother could fail to be captivated by the child.

  ‘And what of you, Celia?’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Henry said. ‘Annabel had so many clothes just hanging there and she has no need of them now. I know she would want you to have her things.’

  Celia knew she would too because Annabel often sorted something out for her to wear and Celia had never felt so bad about that because it was Annabel’s choice. But after her death, it hadn’t felt right to rifle through her personal possessions. Now though, with Henry’s urging, she left him minding the sleeping baby and went into Annabel’s room. Janey cleaned this room along with the others and the furniture gleamed and the three mirrors on the dressing table had no marks on them and even the fire was laid in the cleaned grate.

  Remembering why she was there and aware that Henry was waiting for her, she opened the wardrobe and ran her fingers along the many, many dresses hanging there. Some she rejected out of hand as being too fancy but eventually she settled for a winter-weight dark blue dress that came midway down her calves and a short matching jacket. And in the drawers she found silk underwear, including corsets and black stockings.

  She was unused to the button boots and so she sat on the chair in front of the desk to fasten them. Although she had seen the desk many times before, she’d never taken that much notice, though she knew that it was modelled on one that Henry’s father had in the library of the family home. He said that Annabel had been to stay with him often before this last time especially after he was de-mobbed when the war ha
d ground to a halt two years before. ‘When I saw this replica of the one my father has, I knew Annabel would be tickled pink to have it in her room,’ Henry had said.

  ‘Why particularly?’ Celia had asked.

  ‘Because my father’s had a secret panel,’ Henry explained. ‘Annabel used to open it and put things inside.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Letters mainly, little notes, you know,’ Henry said. ‘Sometimes when I was visiting I’d check it and if there was something in there I would add to it. She loved that. I often thought Annabel was very lonely growing up and as I was ten years older and at boarding school from the age of seven I was no companion for her. I think she would have been happier going away to school and if she had stayed until she was eighteen, she would have been safe from Timberlake’s advances and might be still alive today and looking forward to a bright future.’

  ‘Of course,’ Celia said. ‘I never thought of that and you’re absolutely right.’ She turned to study the desk now. It was indeed beautiful and gleamed like everything else in the room. The pen holders above the main desk were delicately carved and there was a pad of leather inlaid on the top of the desk to write on and blotting paper was secured in a brass holder.

  She wondered if there was a secret panel in this desk. Henry hadn’t said there was and Annabel had never mentioned it, so Celia doubted there was because she was certain Annabel would have told her if there was and taken delight in showing her how it worked, for she had been quite childlike in many ways. So not really expecting to find anything she began running her fingers over the top of the desk gently and wasn’t that surprised when her search was fruitless. And yet she started underneath and eventually her probing fingers came into contact with a small lever and when she pressed it to the right, a panel slid open. Celia gave a small cry of surprise and delight, but it wasn’t empty as she had imagined it would be. She remembered what Henry had said and smiled sadly at the thought of Annabel still writing letters to herself and lifted it out. She wondered for a moment if she should take it to Henry and got to her feet to do that, but curiosity got the better of her. She saw that the envelope had already been opened once and she withdrew the sheet of paper and began reading and her legs shook so much with shock that she sat down, afraid they wouldn’t hold her up.