Elizabeth's Story, 1848

by Adele Whitby

  Katherine sucked in her breath sharply as soon as she spotted Mr. Fellows and turned to head back upstairs before we could be seen, but something about the man caught my interest. I put my hand on her arm and held my finger to my lips to let her know to be quiet. We lurked just outside the servants’ hall, listening.

  “Her name is Maggie O’Brien,” the man said in a thick Irish brogue. “And she came here to work as a scullery maid in 1827.”

  Mrs. Fields shook her head. “That’s two years before my time,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  “It’s been more than twenty years since she was employed here?” Mr. Fellows interrupted. His tone was indignant. “And you’re just beginning to look for her now?”

  “Circumstances kept me away from England,” the man said, his voice full of sorrow. “I was in India for many years. When I stopped getting Maggie’s letters, I wanted to return to look for her, but I didn’t have the means to do so. When I finally made it home again, I went directly to Ireland, and Maggie’s family told me that they hadn’t heard from her in that time either.”

  “I have no memory of such a maid,” Mr. Fellows said. From his tone, I had the impression he didn’t believe what the man was telling him.

  “Please,” the man pleaded. “It was her dear mother’s dying wish that I find her. She doesn’t believe Maggie ran off.”

  Mr. Fellows shook his head. “She’s not employed here now. Of that I can assure you.”

  “Were you butler here in 1827?” the man asked.

  Mr. Fellows pulled himself up to his full height. It was his most dignified pose. “I was first footman, under butler William Adams,” he said.

  Mr. O’Brien started to ask another question, but Mr. Fellows cut him off. “I can assure you that Chatswood Manor has never been a home for abandoned wives. Now, I must ask you to leave here at once.”

  “Please, Mr. Fellows,” Essie said. “Can we not give the man a bite to eat first? He looks like he could use it, and I’m sure it’s what Lord Chatswood would want us to do.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Fellows said with a frown. I could tell he didn’t like Essie’s suggestion that she knew better than he did about what Papa would want.

  He turned back to the man with an icy stare. “But you are to leave directly afterward.”

  The man nodded, and Mr. Fellows swept out of the room. I pulled Katherine back against the wall, but the butler didn’t even look in our direction. He went into his office and closed the door with a loud bang.

  “Come, Mrs. Fields,” Essie said. “I’ll help you fix a plate and pour the tea.” She turned to Mr. O’Brien with a friendly smile. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder about the poor man who was trying so hard to find his wife. Where could she have gone? People don’t just disappear, never to be heard from again! I had to know more! As soon as Essie and Mrs. Fields had entered the kitchen, I tugged Katherine toward the servants’ dining room.

  “Papa won’t like it,” she said, trying to hold me back.

  “Papa won’t find out unless you tell him,” I answered in my most practical voice. “And besides, this is a mystery, just like in the books we read! There could be a real-life mystery unfolding around us. Do you really want to miss out on this?”

  I could tell I had convinced Katherine from the way her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  The man jumped to his feet when we entered and started twisting his hat in his hands again.

  “Please do sit down,” I said. “And tell us all about your wife. Don’t leave out a single detail!”

  If the man was wondering how we knew of his missing wife, he didn’t show it. He just looked nervous. “It’s all right, really,” I assured the man. “My sister and I live here, and we want to hear all about your wife. Perhaps we can help you find her!”

  The man still looked a little unsure, but I think he couldn’t resist the chance to talk to someone about his wife. “My name is Sean, Sean O’Brien,” he stammered. “And my wife is Maggie.”

  “What can you tell us about Maggie, Mr. O’Brien?” I asked.

  When he began to talk about his Maggie, there seemed to be a candle shining in Sean O’Brien’s eyes. He told us about how Maggie could read and that her dearest wish was to become a teacher.

  “She just needed a bit more schooling first,” he said. “Not many girls in Ireland learn to read. Nor boys either. Maggie wanted to change that. She was a fine teacher. She even taught me to read, and believe you me, I wasn’t an easy one to teach!”

  I nodded, remembering how even Essie didn’t know how to read when she came to work for us, though she had been a wonderfully easy pupil to teach.

  “Shortly after we married, I had a chance to work for the East India Trading Company—in India,” he said. “Oh, how I hated to leave my Maggie. But it was a grand chance to make good money. Money to send Maggie to teacher’s school and to make our dreams come true.” Mr. O’Brien shook his head with a regretful air. “We both agreed it was the right thing to do, and we came up with a plan. I was going to make my fortune and come home to Maggie or send for her. Maggie got a job here as a scullery maid while she waited. She kept our marriage a secret—married women weren’t taken into service. She hated to lie, of course, but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, it wasn’t the sort of lie that would hurt anyone.”

  I nodded sympathetically.

  “And then what happened?” I asked.

  Sean O’Brien was about to answer when he jumped to his feet again.

  I turned to see Essie, a tray of food in her hands. “Ladies,” she said with alarm. “What are you doing in here? Lord Chatswood would be very displeased, and Mr. Fellows would have my head.”

  “Oh, please, Essie,” I said. “We were talking to Mr. O’Brien here about his missing wife. We simply must help him to find her!”

  “We have to hear the rest of his story,” Katherine added. She patted the cushion next to her. “Please sit and listen too. We simply must help if we can—don’t you agree it’s the right thing to do?”

  Essie could never resist when we pleaded. She shook her head with a sigh and took a seat next to Katherine. “Be quick with it then,” she said nervously.

  Mr. O’Brien, whose eyes darted from the food to Essie’s face and back again, seemed relieved when she relented.

  “Please sit,” I told him. “Eat your meal and tell us the rest of the story.”

  Mr. O’Brien took a few bites and then continued. “As soon as I had the money to send for her, I did so. But before that, Maggie’s letters had stopped coming and Maggie herself never came to India. I wanted to come back to search for her, but I had some reversals and it took me years to save enough money again to sail for Ireland.”

  “There was no trace of Maggie there?” I asked.

  “I searched and searched. I spent every penny I had. No one had heard from her since the autumn of 1827, just a few months after we parted. Even I began to believe what everyone else did, that Maggie had run off with another man and didn’t want to be found,” Mr. O’Brien admitted. “I told myself I had let her down when I failed to become wealthy and successful in India, and she had moved on to a better life without me. I tried to move on too, but I never stopped loving my Maggie, or wondering what had become of her.” His voice grew thick, and I feared he was going to cry. He took a moment to compose himself and then continued. “But then, just a few weeks ago, her dear mother called me to her bed as she was dying of the hunger. She told me that she knew deep in her heart that Maggie would have never left me for another man. She told me she knew Maggie loved me with all her heart. She begged me to take up looking for Maggie again. I promised her I would. And so I came here.”

  “Do you think she’s living in England still?” Katherine asked.

  Mr. O’Brien shook his head. “I believe my Maggie is in heaven with her ma, but I need to find out what happened to her.”

  “Has the hunger b
een very bad?” Essie asked quietly.

  The hunger. That was the second time we had heard that phrase now. Mr. O’Brien must have seen the question in my eyes.

  “The potato crop has failed us three years in a row now,” Mr. O’Brien said.

  I was confused. Why would it matter if the potato crop had failed in Ireland? There were lots of other things to eat besides potatoes.

  “Most of the Irish live on potatoes,” Essie explained. “The crop failures have been devastating to the people there.” She turned to Mr. O’Brien. “I have family in Ireland. I pray for them every day.”

  “Perhaps your prayers are working,” he answered. “Things have been very bad. Many people have died, and many others have sailed for America, but this year’s crop looks strong—so far, anyway. If we can get through these next few hungry months, things will be greatly improved come August.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Essie told him.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. People had died from not having enough food to eat? My eyes filled with tears, and I saw that Katherine was just as upset as I was. How did we not know that so many people were hungry? There must be something we could do to help. I resolved to put the question to Papa.

  Mr. O’Brien finished his meal and got to his feet. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’m much obliged to you,” he said to Essie. “And to you young ladies. It was nice to have someone listen while I talked about my Maggie. I believe she is no longer here, of course. I wish there was some way to know what happened to her after she left, but I understand that it was a very long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find your Maggie,” Essie said.

  “But surely you can do something,” I said to Essie. “Some of the other servants might have information. What if someone remembers Maggie?”

  “You must try to find out,” Katherine urged.

  Essie hesitated for a moment and then agreed. “I’ll make some inquiries,” she said. “Come back in a week’s time and I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered. But don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “It’s unlikely I’ll find out anything of use.”

  Mr. O’Brien nodded. His eyes shone in excitement and appreciation.

  “May I ask your name?” he asked Essie suddenly.

  “Essie,” she answered. “Essie Bridges.”

  Mr. O’Brien’s eyes widened and he stared at Essie intently, as if he was trying to commit her face to memory. Then he lowered his gaze. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said. “I haven’t known such a kindhearted lass since my Maggie.”

  We walked Mr. O’Brien to the door to the servants’ yard and watched him leave. We were asking Essie about which of the maids might have been at Chatswood at the same time as Maggie when a stern voice made us jump.

  “Lady Elizabeth. Lady Katherine,” Mr. Fellows said. “What brings you to the servants’ hall?”

  “We came to talk to Mrs. Fields about our birthday cakes,” I answered quickly.

  “And is Mrs. Fields outside?” he asked, looking at Mr. O’Brien through the window in the door.

  I could only shake my head. I didn’t have a fast answer for that one.

  “You’re young ladies now, not children,” Mr. Fellows said. “Old enough to ring the bell for myself or Essie when you’d like to speak to one of the staff. I’m sure that’s what Lord Chatswood would prefer.” He gave Essie a pointed look. “I do hope you haven’t involved Lady Elizabeth and Lady Katherine in the lies of a charlatan.”

  I was tempted to argue and defend poor Mr. O’Brien. He wasn’t a charlatan! But I was afraid of getting Essie into trouble, so I bit my lip and only said, “Please tell Mrs. Fields we’d like to discuss our birthday cakes now. We will go wait upstairs for her to join us.”

  I took Katherine’s hand and we walked to the stairs leading to the great hall.

  “Mr. Fellows or not,” I whispered to her, “we have to do everything we can to help Sean O’Brien find out what happened to his Maggie.”

  Later that afternoon, after French lessons with our tutor and a session with Mr. Wentworth, our dancing master, Mr. Fellows rang the dressing gong to let the family know it was time to get ready for dinner. Although it was just Papa and Katherine and me for dinner, we still observed the formalities. Papa would wear his tails, as always, and Katherine and I would change into more formal evening dresses, with Essie’s help.

  Katherine had dressed first, and she wandered into my room while Essie helped me step into a lovely rose-colored silk dress with a flounced skirt and embroidered flowers on the sleeves and around the neckline. Katherine wore blue with tiny seed pearls forming a flower pattern on the bodice and on her sleeves. Together we looked like a spring garden, and I hoped that would make Papa happy. He tried to hide his sadness, but I knew he missed Mama terribly. Maybe even more than we did.

  I looked in the mirror while Essie fastened my buttons, still thinking about Sean O’Brien’s sad story. I remembered what Essie had said about praying for the people in Ireland.

  “Essie, I didn’t know you had family in Ireland,” I said. “Bridges isn’t an Irish name, is it?”

  Essie shook her head. “No, it’s an English name. I don’t know the name of my Irish family. Only that my mother was Irish.”

  Our family tree went back generations and generations. Their portraits hung on the wall and their names were listed in Burke’s Peerage, a guide to England’s landed gentry. I couldn’t imagine not knowing their names.

  “Mrs. Bridges was Irish?” Katherine asked.

  “Mrs. Bridges wasn’t my real mother,” Essie replied, meeting our eyes in the mirror. “She treated me like her very own daughter though. So did my father. They were wonderful parents to me.”

  Katherine perched on one of my chairs, and I sat at my dressing table while Essie did my hair and told the rest of her story.

  “My real mother showed up at the village midwife’s one day on the verge of having a baby—me. The poor thing died minutes after I was born. Mrs. Thornton, the midwife, knew the Bridgeses wanted a child, and so she brought me to them. I’m very lucky that they agreed to take me in and raise me as their own. I couldn’t have asked for finer, more loving parents. They treated me like their very own until the day they died. I miss them dearly.”

  We knew that Essie’s parents had died, of course. When Mama died, Essie told Katherine and me that she knew a bit about what we were feeling because she had lost both of her parents. But we had never known before now that there was even more to her story. “But that’s so sad about your natural mother,” I said. “Didn’t Mrs. Thornton tell the Bridgeses her name?”

  Essie shook her head. “Mrs. Thornton knew only three things about my mother. The first was that she was Irish. Second that she loved her unborn baby more than anything in the world and couldn’t wait to hold me in her arms. And third, that if her baby was a girl, she planned to name her Essie. It was the woman’s favorite name in the world.”

  “And the Bridgeses honored your mother’s wish,” Katherine said.

  “They did,” Essie answered, her eyes a bit misty.

  “Didn’t anyone make any inquiries about the woman?” I asked.

  Essie shrugged. “My mother told Mrs. Thornton that she was married, but the midwife didn’t believe her. No one ever came looking for her, so I think the midwife must have been correct. I have always wondered about my real family in Ireland.”

  My hair finished, I stood up and gave Essie a hug. Katherine joined us, and Essie’s eyes filled with tears again, just for a moment.

  “I’m sure you’ll find out more about her one day,” I said.

  “As am I,” Katherine added.

  “It seems unlikely now,” Essie answered. “It all happened more than twenty years ago. But I am proud to be Irish. One day I hope to go to Ireland to see the land my mother came from, and I pray every night that my family will survive this terrible famine, even if I never discover who they are.”

  I felt sad f
or Essie. I know she said the Bridgeses were wonderful parents, but not to know the name of your mama must be a terrible thing. I was so grateful for my own mama, even though she was taken from us too soon.

  “I’m going to talk to Papa about the hunger at dinner tonight,” I told Essie.

  “I know he’ll want to do something to help,” Katherine added. “Maybe we’ll even be helping your own family.”

  Later at dinner we did just that. I expected Papa to be as surprised about the hungry people in Ireland as Katherine and I had been, but he knew all about the famine.

  “Parliament has the matter well in hand,” he said. “England has sent corn to make up for the lack of potatoes. There are soup kitchens all over Ireland to help feed the hungry people. The landlords are funding workhouses, and they’re even paying the fares for the Irish who want to try their luck in America.”

  “But, Papa, people are dying of hunger,” Katherine said. “Surely there must be something we can do to help.”

  “You’re exaggerating, my dear,” Papa said. “Of course some people have died, but from old age and disease. Everyone in Ireland who wants to work for their food has an opportunity to do so.”

  What Papa was telling us was quite different from what we had heard from Sean O’Brien. Who was right? What was really happening in Ireland?

  There were platters of uneaten food on our sideboard. After our soup course, we had been served braised salmon and green beans, followed by a roasted spring chicken and zucchini. The platters were nearly full when the footmen took them from the dining room and brought in dessert, fresh fruit, and charlotte russe.

  “What will happen to the food we don’t eat?’ I asked Papa. “Does it just get thrown away?”

  Papa sighed. “I’m sure Mrs. Fields and Mrs. Cosgrove have things well in hand.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s put an end to the matter, shall we?” Papa said.

  He had made a request, but his tone was clear. The discussion was over.

  In the drawing room after dinner, Katherine and I settled on the settee while Papa attended to his correspondence. We each held a book, but we were only pretending to read. In truth we were whispering about the people of Ireland. Katherine felt the same as I did, that it was confusing the way there was so much conflicting information, but if even part of what Mr. O’Brien had told us was true, we had to do something to help. The tricky part was going to be doing it on the sly.