by Daisy Styles
‘Oh, no!’ she groaned as he approached her with his face set in an unctuous smile.
‘Miss Murphy! What a surprise,’ he gushed. Kit cringed as he grasped her hand. ‘My deepest commiserations,’ he added in a low voice. ‘Mother Gabriel informed me of the child’s tragic disappearance.’
Snatching her hand free, Kit moved away from the odious man. ‘Are you helping with police inquiries?’ she asked curtly.
‘Mother Gabriel has instructed me to deal with the police, and with Mr and Mrs Garland, the adoptive party, who have returned to America,’ O’Rourke smugly replied.
Kit took a sharp breath. If O’Rourke was in contact with the American couple, he would certainly know where they lived.
‘Will you be paying them a visit?’ Kit asked sharply.
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ he responded as he avoided eye contact with her.
Feeling angry enough to hit him, Kit brusquely turned her back on O’Rourke, her skin prickling as she felt his eyes following her as she walked away.
Hurrying by Christ Church Cathedral and the Guinness fermentation plant, Kit’s heart began to sink. What she wanted to do was to run into every house and search all the rooms, turn the place upside down just in case somebody had hidden Billy under the bed or in the shed. The thought that he could be anywhere was beginning to drive her mad. She peered into windows, thinking to herself, ‘Is he here, or here, or here?’ When she saw cars whizz by with a child on board, she ran to see if the passenger was Billy. Drivers looked at her as if she was insane, but Kit didn’t care; she had to check everything, and she had to be sure she hadn’t missed any vital clues.
Weary and foot-sore, Kit came across a little Catholic church close to St Kevin’s Hospital. Dipping her hand into the stoup, she blessed herself with holy water, then went inside. By the light of flickering candles, Kit passed several statues until she reached the statue of the Sacred Heart, before which she knelt and buried her head in her hands.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ she prayed as tears streamed down her face, ‘look after my son. Please keep him safe … please lead me to him … please let him be alive.’
She could go no further: words failed her, and all she could do was to kneel and sob. Before she left, Kit lit three candles, which flickered into life as she closed the church door and wiped the tears from her eyes.
When Ian and Kit met at suppertime in the hotel, Ian was on his second whisky and soda. He knew immediately from the weary expression on Kit’s face that her search had been as fruitless as his. Greeting her with a kiss, he sat her down by the fire in the dining room and rubbed her cold hands.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
Kit shook her head.
‘Let’s order dinner,’ he said.
Kit nodded, even though she felt sick to her stomach.
Over a bowl of leek and potato soup, they swopped notes on their separate searches.
‘So, nothing, apart from bumping into Mr O’Rourke, which I could have done without,’ Kit muttered angrily as she stirred her soup, which had turned cold.
Feeling tired and helpless, Ian leant across the table to take her hand. ‘We’ll go to Chapelizod tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘We might have more luck there if your father has gone back home.’
The following morning, as Arthur and Violet drove down the A6 to Coventry, Kit and Ian, in the car that he’d hired for their stay in Dublin, drove into the Fitzwilliam estate.
Mr Murphy was indeed at home, and not at all happy to see his daughter or her lawyer friend.
‘What the feck are you doin’ here?’ he said as he stood barring their way into his cottage.
Loathing her father more than she’d ever thought possible, Kit didn’t waste time on niceties. ‘Billy’s gone missing.’
‘And what’s that to do with me?’
‘Quite a lot, according to Mother Gabriel,’ Kit retorted.
‘The owd bitch sent the police snooping round here; they found nothing to nail on me.’
‘Apart from the fact that you were in the convent the night that Billy was taken,’ Ian coldly pointed out.
‘You’re welcome to look for the little bastard,’ Murphy mocked. ‘The police found nothing, but, if you want to waste your time, feel free.’
Kit clenched her fists so tight her nails cut into her flesh; she had an overwhelming urge to grab her father around the neck and choke the truth out of him. Ian, on another trajectory, continued to challenge Murphy, who remained as cocky as a rooster.
‘You do realize that if we were to find Billy in a place where you had concealed him, you would be charged with unlawful abduction.’
‘To hell with you and your fancy feckin’ talk,’ Murphy cursed. ‘If it weren’t for my whore of a daughter, opening her legs to the lord of the manor, we wouldn’t be up to our necks in trouble.’
Before Ian could stop her, Kit flew at her father. Small she might have been, but with a temper on her she was like a wild cat who’d found her cub missing.
‘You pig!’ she screamed as she repeatedly pummelled his chest with her fists. ‘FITZWILLIAM RAPED ME!’
‘Bejesus, he did!’ Murphy sneered as he landed his fist in her face.
Ian was on Murphy in a second; twisting his arm up behind his back, he cried, ‘Touch Catherine again and I’ll break your neck!’
‘Get off my feckin’ land!’ Murphy roared. ‘Piss off and never come back!’
Ignoring the blood streaming down her cheek and the bruise blooming over her right eye, Kit stood before her father. ‘May you rot in hell for what you’ve done to me and my son.’
Murphy sneered at his elder daughter. ‘You might thank me one day.’
Kit paled; she well knew that evil look in her father’s eyes. ‘What have you done now?’ she gasped.
‘Me?’ he taunted her. ‘I don’t need to do anything.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘Why would I when I’ve got connections in high places?’
Knowing how much her father loved to exaggerate his links with the gentry, Kit laughed in his face. ‘Connections?’ she mocked. ‘Who are you kidding?’
Before another fight broke out, Ian led Kit to the car, which he drove away at speed, keen to put a distance between Kit and her now raging father. As he approached the elaborate metal gates that displayed the Fitzwilliam family coat-of-arms, Fitzwilliam himself came riding by on a large dapple-grey horse. His curious eyes landed on Kit, to whom he doffed his cap as he mouthed a lascivious kiss. The sight of him salaciously greeting his girlfriend in this way sent Ian into a frenzy of anger he’d never before experienced.
‘You unutterable swine!’ he roared as he slammed on the hand brake and leapt from the car.
Standing before scowling Fitzwilliam, Ian reached up and dragged him off his horse. Crying out in fury, Fitzwilliam started beating Ian around the head with his leather riding whip.
‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are?’ he bellowed as he lunged at the younger and much stronger man. ‘How dare you lay your filthy hands on me?’
Kit, who was out of the car and watching the on-going fight in horror, cried out, ‘STOP, IAN! STOP!’
Oblivious to her voice, Ian saw red as his blood boiled in rage. Punching Fitzwilliam hard in the face, he yelled, ‘How dare I touch you? Look at the young woman you raped!’
Twisting the overweight man around, he forced him to face Kit, who shrank away in disgust.
‘You left her pregnant!’ Ian cried.
Swinging round, Fitzwilliam gave Ian a hefty punch in the stomach before raining blows around his head. ‘I’ll do what I want on my own land, you cocky English bastard!’
‘Then remember this next time you rape another innocent girl,’ Ian snarled as he crashed his fist into Fitzwilliam, sending him reeling to the ground, where he writhed in pain.
‘Holy Mother of GOD!’ Kit wailed as she pulled Ian back to the car. ‘For pity’s sake, let’s get out of here,’ she implored.
Knowing that Fitzwilliam had the local gardaí in his pocket, Kit all but wrestled him into the driving seat, then slammed the door hard. As she ran around to the passenger seat, she shouted, ‘For the love of God – will you get the hell out of here!’
As Kit and Ian drove away from Chapelizod, Arthur and Violet walked into Coventry Police Station, where Violet sought proof of her husband’s death. The policeman behind the desk said, ‘Ronnie Walsh’s body’s in the morgue; as his wife you’ve every right to see it.’
Violet gasped. She’d somehow imagined that he’d show her a photograph of Ronnie’s dead body, or produce his gold watch with his initials on the back.
‘The body!’
‘There’s no better proof that somebody’s dead,’ the policeman said grimly.
Seeing Violet about to decline the invitation, Arthur caught her by the arm.
‘Mrs Walsh would like to see her husband’s body,’ he said firmly.
As they were led along echoing corridors, Violet whispered nervously, ‘I don’t think I can go through with this, Arthur.’
‘We’re not living in fear for the rest of our lives,’ he answered. ‘Today we lay Ronnie’s ghost to rest.’
Once inside the bleak and chilly morgue, the policeman passed along several bodies, all draped in white sheets, lying on stretchered trolleys.
‘This is Ronnie Walsh,’ he said as he read a ticket attached to Ronnie’s big toe. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he added as he left the room.
‘It’s got to be done, Vi,’ Arthur said as he gripped Violet firmly by the hand and lifted the sheet to reveal a very white and waxy naked man.
Violet smothered a cry with her gloved hand. ‘Oh, dear God’ she cried as she saw the gun wound to Ronnie’s temple and his wide gaping mouth.
Determined to see the grim business through to the end, Arthur asked, ‘Are you sure it’s him?’
Violet nodded.
‘Certain? No doubts?’ he persisted.
‘No doubts at all.’
Turning trembling Violet to face him, Arthur said with steely purpose, ‘Ronnie can never come back, Vi. Your husband is well and truly dead.’
Violet took the end of the sheet from Arthur’s grip and threw it back over Ronnie.
‘GOOD!’ she shouted, and, turning her back on the man she hated, she walked out of the morgue and into a new life.
Kit and Ian arrived back at their Dublin hotel covered in cuts and bruises. Not wanting to be seen, Ian hurried Kit to his room, where he bathed their wounds with warm water.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Kit cried as he washed her bruised cheek. ‘Why did you have to lay into Fitzwilliam? He could have you whipped and imprisoned.’
‘He’s not God Almighty, Kit, whatever your family and the other estate workers may think. He’s an overweight, self-seeking rapist!’ He drew in a breath as he continued. ‘The way he looked at you, the leering, salacious, dirty old man. He would have taken you again if he’d had his way.’ Seething, he dipped the soft cloth in the warm water. ‘I would have torn him apart if you hadn’t pulled me away.’
‘I could see that!’ Kit exclaimed.
‘I’ve never actually wanted to kill a man before,’ Ian confessed. ‘The thought of him touching you, forcing his ugly bloated body on you.’ He stroked a finger over her bruised cheekbone as he murmured with tears in his eyes, ‘My sweet innocent Catherine.’
Kit took his hand in hers and kissed it. ‘Ian, my love, it’s over with now: let the past stay in the past. We’ve got to focus on Billy. We’ve got to find him,’ she added desperately.
Gazing into her earnest, pleading face, Ian nodded in agreement. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Fitzwilliam, God damn his soul, is history. Billy is the priority now.’
A knock at the door startled them both.
‘Telegram, sir,’ said the porter when Ian opened the door.
Ian glanced at the name on the envelope. ‘It’s for you, darling,’ he said as he handed it to her. The wording was brief:
GET BACK TO PENDLETON NOW YOU’RE IN BIG TROUBLE WITH THE BOSS GLADYS
Kit scrunched the telegram into a ball. ‘I am NOT leaving until we find Billy!’ she declared angrily.
‘Even if it takes weeks?’ he asked.
Sticking out her chin, Kit said defiantly, ‘YES!’
Ian sighed. He knew from the mutinous look on her face that he was in for a fight. ‘If a soldier went AWOL during a battle, he’d be court-martialled,’ he started. “You can’t walk away, Catherine.’
‘There are compassionate reasons for me staying!’ she cried angrily. ‘It’s not like I’m on holiday – my son has been stolen – does compassionate leave cover that?’ Slumping back on to the bed, she wailed, ‘How can I abandon Billy?’
Ian took out his handkerchief and tenderly wiped away her tears. ‘Darling,’ he said softly, ‘I’m going to stay here and search for Billy.’
‘On your own?’ she asked in surprise.
Ian shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to employ a private detective.’
‘A private detective!’ Kit gasped.
‘I’ll give him all the leads we have so far: your father, Mother Gabriel and the Garlands too. That’s a good few to start with.’
‘O’Rourke needs watching!’ Kit cried. ‘He’s like a snake,’ she gave a little shudder. ‘There’s something about the man that makes my skin creep.’
‘I intend to keep an eye on O’Rourke personally,’ Ian assured her.
Kit leant her head against his shoulder. ‘Let me stay, Ian, please let me help you,’ she implored.
‘Sweetest girl,’ he said as he kissed her quivering lips, ‘the longer you’re away from the Phonix, the harder it will be to go back. Believe me, it’s the right thing to do.’
Kit sighed. She’d imagined quite another triumphant return home, accompanied by the two ‘men’ in her life. Now she would have to make that miserable journey back across the sea with all her hopes dashed and without the baby she yearned for and the support of the man she loved.
33. Home
Violet and Arthur raced back from Coventry and clocked on for their shift with only five minutes to spare. When they walked into the canteen arm in arm and wreathed in smiles, everybody knew the news was good. Malc, who was waiting with Myrtle and Gladys said, ‘Is he …’ Unable to say the word, he winked. ‘You know …’
‘DEAD?’ Violet asked.
Malc nodded.
‘We saw him in the morgue,’ Violet told him. ‘Like the policeman who accompanied us said, “You can’t get deader than that!” ’
A loud irreverent cheer rang out. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks!’ laughed Malc.
‘She’s a free woman,’ Arthur said happily.
‘At last,’ Violet added. ‘Is it wrong to feel so relieved?’
Myrtle considered her question. ‘I would say it’s a gift from God,’ she replied. ‘He’s relieved you of your misery.’
Violet leant over to kiss Myrtle’s plump cheek. ‘Thank you, Myrtle – you make me feel so much better!’
Kit’s crossing back to England couldn’t have been more different from the happy one she had so enjoyed on the way out with Ian. Autumn weather had set in, and the rain poured from low grey clouds that churned the waters of the Irish Sea. The medication that had worked so well previously barely touched Kit this time: she was sick throughout the entire journey. Worse than that, she ached for Billy and for all the shattered dreams of the home journey she’d imagined. And for Ian too, whom she’d clung to at the port. Why was it always her destiny to leave Dublin with a heart as heavy as lead? As fellow passengers jostled by, Kit had disentangled herself from Ian, who had kissed her for the last time.
‘I’ll be back soon with good news, I hope. I’ll do everything in my power to get that boy of yours back, I promise.’ he’d said solemnly.
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‘I love you more than I can say,’ Kit whispered as she picked up her suitcase and walked up the gangplank like a woman condemned by pirates to drown.
The gangplank was drawn up and the ship slowly pulled away from its moorings. Leaning over the railing, Kit waved to Ian until his beloved face was nothing more than a blur.
Though exhausted by their long hard day, neither Arthur nor Violet was ready for bed.
‘Let’s take a short walk on the moors,’ Arthur suggested.
‘Blow the cobwebs away,’ Violet joked and slipped an arm through his.
After being cooped up all day, the air was sweet and refreshing. Lengthening their stride, they made their way along sheep tracks that led up to a flat wide crag surrounded by heather. In silence they sat together listening to the cackle of scurrying pheasants and the lonely call of the curlew.
It was Violet who broke the easy companionable silence,
‘You know Arthur, I want to live in this area for the rest of my life. I’ve never known such peace as I have here on these lovely moors.’
‘I don’t mind where I live as long as I always have you beside me, darling Violet,’ Arthur replied.
Violet passionately kissed his beautiful mouth and stroked his strong stubbly jaw line.
‘You need a shave!’ she joked.
Grabbing her around the waist, he squeezed her to his chest. ‘I need YOU!’ he teased.
When they finally, rather breathlessly drew apart, Arthur reached for her left hand.
‘I bought this for you to wear in Scotland,’ he said softly as he slipped a glittering ring on to her wedding finger. ‘I wanted you to have a ring on your finger when we moved up there.’
‘So people wouldn’t think we were living in sin?’ she guessed.
He nodded then added, ‘And because I love you.’
Violet gazed in wonder at the pearls and diamonds mounted on a golden band.
‘Oh, Arthur! It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.
