Another Man's Child

by Anne Bennett

  Norah felt her heart plummet for she had felt deep sadness in Andy and she had seen the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. She had to see her sister and ask what she was playing at throwing away the love of this good man. Guiltily, she knew she had done just that to poor Joseph O’Leary. She wondered when he had realised it was finally over – had he felt as bad as Andy did now? – and guessed he did because he had loved her so much. No wonder all the young fellows and many young women were cold towards her and she vowed to treat men with more respect and compassion in future. But now it was imperative that she saw her sister without delay.

  ‘I think we really should be off now,’ she said to Andy.

  ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Andy said and then, as they walked to the tram stop, he said, ‘Why are you still here? I thought you would be living the high life in America by now.’

  ‘Huh and so did I, but my father knew Celia wouldn’t have left home without help and knew it was me helping her and so I wasn’t let go and Dermot went instead.’

  ‘Dermot? Isn’t he only a child?’

  Norah smiled. ‘It wouldn’t go down that well if he heard you saying that. He’s sixteen and thinks himself a fine figure of a man. Remember he is going to our Aunt Maria and our brother is already there and will look out for him. Anyway he has only just gone because his help was needed till after the harvest. I think one of the reasons Daddy was so keen to get him away was the tale of all the young fellows joining the IRA to fight the Black and Tans.’

  ‘Sixteen year olds?’

  ‘Oh yes, sixteen year olds and younger still. Daddy always said he doesn’t want a united Ireland won by children. Anyway when Dermot’s friend, Jerry Maguire, who had been in our house many times and seemed a fine sensible young man, joined too, Daddy wanted Dermot well out of it.’

  ‘Do you think he’d be caught up in it himself?’

  ‘He says not, but it’s hard to know what pressure he’d be under,’ Norah said. ‘They say things like anyone not for us is against us – and what if Jerry was to call upon the bonds of friendship? Anyway Daddy didn’t dare risk it and Dermot went yesterday.’

  ‘And you came here?’

  ‘Well yes, but not like you would do in a normal family, saying “I’m off to England to see my sister” and going with my parents’ blessing and money in my pocket. No, none of us were allowed to even speak Celia’s name in the house and I had to wait till they were all gone to see Dermot off and sneak away.’

  ‘Did they all go to see Dermot off?’

  ‘All except the eldest, Tom. He was left at home to see to things and he thinks I went with the others and they thought I had stayed in the farmhouse. They went not just to see Dermot out from the pier in Moville but to visit Greencastle, the next village where my married sister Katie lives, and they will likely stay a day or two with her because living such a distance away Mammy never gets to see her and she has a wee boy now, so he will be a great draw.’

  ‘So she doesn’t know you’re here?’

  ‘No one but Dermot knew what I intended to do, but I wrote to Mammy and posted the letter in Belfast telling her everything,’ Norah said. ‘I didn’t want them worrying too much or maybe setting the Guards after me like they did with you and Celia.’

  ‘They set the Guards after us?’

  ‘They surely did,’ Norah said. ‘To all intents and purposes you left without telling Dinny Fitzgerald and in effect stole his horse. He was wild about that and only slightly mollified when he got the telegram. The Guards were on the case by then and they retrieved the horse and questioned the people at the stables but they could tell them nothing. They didn’t know you and you had given them no indication of your future plans and they didn’t see Celia at all. I think they put a watch on the port at Belfast.’

  Andy nodded. ‘I did wonder when I saw the police watching as we boarded but I didn’t know if I was being over-cautious because I didn’t know if that was the usual practice or not. Anyway, once on board I said we were brother and sister.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To protect Celia and for propriety’s sake she became Celia McCadden, my younger sister, come to England in search of work after the death of our parents.’

  ‘She agreed to that, I presume?’

  ‘She welcomed it. Could see the sense of it.’

  ‘Yes I suppose so,’ Norah said.

  ‘We weren’t together anyway,’ Andy said. ‘Because she met up with Annabel Lewisham and she was so incredibly seasick that she stayed with her for the rest of the journey.’

  The tram pulled up to the stop and Andy led the way to the top deck and Norah followed him fearfully holding tight to the rails and sat beside him with a slight sigh of relief. Andy didn’t notice her unease because he was thinking of something else and she had barely sat down when he said, ‘What made you come now to see Celia?’

  ‘Basically the letter you sent.’

  ‘The letter?’

  ‘Yes,’ Norah said, ‘the letter. Before that came, all we knew was that at a station in Liverpool, you boarded a train heading towards Birmingham.’

  ‘How did you know that much?’ Andy said and suddenly slapped his hand to his brow. ‘I know, it was Seamus Docherty, wasn’t it? Christ, I thought I’d given him the slip.’

  ‘Not well enough apparently,’ Norah said. ‘He was telling all that would listen.’

  ‘He would.’

  ‘Well you can’t blame him,’ Norah said. ‘See, he hadn’t been there when the hullabaloo went up about the two of you taking off because he’d been at some funeral or other in Liverpool. When he came back and you two were the talk of the place and he knew the next chapter, so to speak, he was bound to say, wasn’t he?

  ‘Anyway, what we did know was that you and Celia were together. Then you sent the letter to your parents telling them about the canal and the job you had on it and didn’t mention Celia once.’

  ‘She had thrown me over by then. Anyway I didn’t think they’d know about Celia. I’d never mentioned her in my letters home. I was leaving anyway when I was with the Fitzgerald’s because for all I loved Celia I thought the obstacles were too great and she was being punished and I had decided to go away and try to forget her for her sake.’

  ‘Surely to God, Andy, you haven’t been away from Ireland long enough to forget how it operates?’ Norah cried. ‘Your brother Chris is dating a girl from Donegal Town but I should imagine that, even if that wasn’t the case, your names are known throughout the whole country over what you did. There was no one I could discuss my concerns with because Celia’s name cannot be mentioned in the house and I felt quite alone. And I knew I had to be the one to sort it out. I suppose my name will be mud as well now.’

  ‘I’d say you have a chance.’

  ‘And I would, but no matter. As it was, I was filled with shame because I had arranged for you to slip away and encouraged Celia and if anything had happened to her it would be all my fault, so I took the chance to leave as soon as I could. You had given clues, you see: no address, but you said you were on a canal boat taking Dunlop workers from a place called Aston. I thought you might be here today as I knew you wouldn’t be taking workers over on Sunday.’

  ‘And here I am,’ Andy said. ‘And you will soon see that Celia is the one you should have the least worry for. She is sitting pretty and this is our stop.’

  It was countryside, Norah thought as they alighted from the tram and began to walk down the road. ‘How much further?’ she asked.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Andy said. ‘See we’re coming to Pype Hayes Park on the left side of the road?’

  Norah nodded and Andy went on. ‘Well, when we come level with the entrance of that we turn right and Grange Road is just there and that’s the road Henry Lewisham’s house is on.’

  The houses in Grange Road were set well back from the tree-lined road and looked quite imposing, Norah noted, and Henry Lewisham’s was no exception. Surveying the sweep of drive and the three white steps
to the oak studded front door, Norah was struck by shyness. She knew a woman of her social class wouldn’t normally knock at the front door of such an establishment.

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Course you can,’ Andy said. ‘Have you come all the way from Ireland to look at the door?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Well who shall I ask for? Celia?’

  ‘Best ask for Lewisham,’ Andy suggested. ‘Ask for Lord Lewisham and go from there.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

  ‘No fear. I’m the last person either of them will want to see,’ Andy said and added, ‘But I’m not hanging round all day either, so are you going or aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m going,’ Norah said and she couldn’t control the slight tremor in her legs as she heard her feet crunch on the gravel as she walked down the drive. Once she reached the door she pushed the bell pull and heard it jangle inside, before her courage deserted her. The door was opened by a maid in black and white who lifted her chin slightly at seeing Norah and that put Norah’s back up straight away. Willing her voice not shake with nerves as well as her legs, she said, louder than she intended, ‘I need to speak with Lord Lewisham.’

  The maid’s face plainly said the likes of Norah would have no business with Lord Lewisham, but what she said was, ‘Both Lord and Lady Lewisham are out.’

  Norah was stunned by her words but she said, ‘Have you any idea when they will be back?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Oh.’ Norah was completely nonplussed.

  Not so the maid. ‘Will that be all then?’ she said and at Norah’s brief nod she closed the door firmly and with a definite click and left Norah standing on the steps and she retraced her steps to where Andy was waiting for her. Everything he had said about Celia was true. That man Lewisham couldn’t have married Celia, but she was using his name and that could only be because she was living with him as his wife.

  Henry’s parents’ house, Manor Park Hall, where Annabel and he had been born and reared, was in the middle of the countryside set behind high hedges and an ornate set of gates opened to a long curving gravel drive. Celia’s mouth dropped open with surprise for the house was huge, like a mansion. It was set in its own grounds and was three-storied and of honey-coloured brick. There were a great many castellated chimneys and mullioned windows. A balustrade ran all the way around the front of the house, finishing at the marble steps that led up to the oak studded door. It was the sort of house normally Celia would be nervous of entering. But her emotions had been in such turmoil that she had followed Henry blindly.

  The door was opened by a maid in a spotless frilled white pinny over a black dress and a hat matching the pinny was atop her curls. She knew Henry, of course, and greeted him and so did the butler who came to take their coats, but this Henry declined. ‘We won’t be removing our outer things, thank you, Mannering. We don’t intend to stay long.’

  ‘As you wish, sir,’ the butler said, though Celia could see both he and the maid were very curious about her role and where Grace fitted in. She also knew though that servants have eyes and ears and would often know far more of the lives of the people they served than they would be aware of. She was sure if the servants put two and two together they’d know whose child she was carrying.

  ‘Lady Lewisham is in the drawing room, sir. She is expecting you.’

  It had been Celia who had insisted that Henry phone ahead for it was an awful long way to his family house and a wild goose chase if they were out. He had said nothing of the child but said there were matters concerning Annabel that he had to discuss. The maid led the way through the oak-panelled hall past the gong and in front of the large and imposing staircase. She felt her feet sink into the carpet and noted that the stairs were carpeted the same way and fastened with shining brass stair rods and hanging from the ornate and sculpted ceiling was a beautiful chandelier.

  The maid announced Henry but she didn’t know who Celia was so she said nothing and Celia slipped in behind Henry as he was explaining about the child. The room screamed opulence, beautiful upholstered easy chairs before the fire dancing merrily in the marble hearth, probably quite priceless ornaments arranged on tables and more in a glass-fronted cabinet. Two more crystal chandeliers were hanging from the moulded ceiling and there was a bureau against one wall and a grandfather clock in the corner and the room seemed bathed in light from the winter sunshine shining through the large window overlooking parkland.

  Suddenly Celia’s attention was taken from the room by Henry. She saw his blazing eyes were fastened on his mother’s as he snapped out, ‘What do you mean Grace is nothing to do with you? She’s your granddaughter, for God’s sake.’

  Celia wasn’t a bit surprised by Lady Lewisham’s response – unlike Henry, it was what she had expected all along. If she’d had any thoughts for Annabel at all she would have been along to see her when she was alive and arranged a respectful funeral at her death. She looked at the elegant woman before her but the clothes didn’t make up for the discontented face, thin cruel lips, long aristocratic nose and hard gimlet eyes. She was heavily made-up and her hair was beautifully coiffed and decorated but it made no difference for her mean spirit made her look almost ugly. Why would a woman like that care what happened to Annabel’s child when she cared not a jot for the mother? And she proved this by saying, ‘I disowned my daughter when I lost respect for her because she brought shame on the house when she propositioned Timberlake.’

  Henry took a deep breath and Celia knew that he was trying to control his temper. She was standing apart from them both, still by the threshold of the door rocking Grace, who was becoming restless as she picked up the tension in the room. It was like electricity sparking between Henry and his mother as Henry spat out, ‘Timberlake totally abused your hospitality and rather than Annabel propositioning Timberlake I was told it was totally the other way round and Timberlake broke into Annabel’s room and violated her, your own daughter, and yet the man went unpunished.’

  ‘Timberlake is a gentleman,’ Lady Lewisham said. ‘As he said to me, he had no need to force her door open for it was already ajar and she was inside, naked and waiting for him like some sort of wanton. He said that she had been tormenting him and teasing him all evening and promised what she would give him if he was to come to her room that night and, as he said, a man is only made of flesh and blood. He’d had a lot to drink and he said he allowed himself to be beguiled by her charms that he might have resisted sober. He said she was more than willing, begging for it in fact. Annabel was a very beautiful girl, but obviously lacking in any sort of moral fibre.’

  Celia felt sick. She remembered the horrendous tale Annabel had told her, how she had sobbed and her eyes looked haunted because for a while she was back in that room, battling with the man intent on raping her, and that even though she struggled she knew there was no way she would be able to stop him. And then, when it was obvious there were going to be consequences, she had gone to the people who should have protected her. But they believed the man’s version of events and, instead of admitting he had done this terrible thing, he had made Annabel out to be some sort of immoral slut, a girl that bore no resemblance to the one she had lived with for some months before Grace’s birth.

  She saw Henry didn’t believe in this man Timberlake’s version of events either and he said to his mother, ‘So if Annabel was tormenting and teasing him all night surely you would have noticed and so would many others. There would have been talk and there was none. Did you actually see them canoodling yourself or maybe Father did?’

  Lady Lewisham looked vague. ‘Your father has no recollection of the night in question and even I … I’m afraid I too imbibed a little unwisely.’

  ‘So you saw nothing, or if you did you can’t re-member?’

  ‘No, but … well I’m sure Charles Timberlake would have acted in a discreet manner.’

  �
�Oh are you?’ Henry said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I don’t think there is much discretion about breaking down a young girl’s bedroom door to ravish her totally against her will, because that’s what really happened.’

  ‘You always took her part.’

  ‘Someone had to,’ Henry said. ‘Neither you nor Father had much time for Annabel … But this isn’t whether you believe her or not, is it? You know the type of man Charles Timberlake is, everyone knows, and Annabel isn’t the first girl he’s raped and I would take a bet she won’t be the last. I did think the daughters of friends might be safe, but obviously I was wrong. If you tried to hold him the slightest bit responsible, he would have maybe pulled out his offer of finance that Father is relying on. Or else, he might have spread abroad the story of Annabel’s wantonness you believed so completely. Either or both of these would have ruined you as far as respectable society goes. I think that it would serve you bloody right. I can’t believe that you still consider that man a friend.’

  ‘How dare you talk to me like this, Henry? Whatever has come over you?’

  ‘Nothing has come over me,’ Henry said. ‘Such a terrible injustice has been done here and nothing will happen to the man who caused the death of the sister I loved so much. But both you and Father destroyed her before her death and I find that hard to forgive because you did it just so your lives would go on as before.’

  ‘Henry’s right,’ Celia put in, unable to be quiet any longer.

  ‘And who are you, pray?’

  The caustic tone was lost on Celia. She was too angry and agitated to take any notice of it and had no intention either of lowering her voice as she cried, ‘I am a friend of Annabel’s. Tell me, did you enjoy calling her vile names and falsely accusing her of things she hadn’t done? In the end, as Henry said, you destroyed her as much as Timberlake and she was filled with a shame she had no right to feel.’