Last Port of Call: The Queenstown Series

by Jean Grainger

  Danny lit up another cigarette. He seemed to light one off the other, and he carried them in a beautiful case that looked like it was made of seashells, all smooth and greeny-grey. ‘So no.’ He exhaled a long plume of smoke. ‘The castle-building stuff stayed back in the old countries. We got nice shiny new buildings, tall ones too. We got lots to see – the Bunker Hill Monument, South Station, Faneuil Hall, the Old North Church. And wait until you see the clock tower. It’s beautiful, but new. Not like here.’

  JohnJoe nodded.

  ‘So your mom died, huh?’ Danny asked kindly.

  JohnJoe nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  ‘And you got two sisters? Where they at?’ Danny asked.

  JohnJoe shrugged. ‘I don’t know now. I asked my father, but he says he lost the address.’

  Danny looked troubled. ‘I dunno, but I bet if you asked Uncle Pat when we get to Boston, he might be able to find them. He wouldn’t like the idea that your sisters, his nieces, were missing or something. And the aunt that took them, was it your mom’s sister?’

  JohnJoe nodded. ‘Yes, my Auntie Bridget.’

  Danny’s brow furrowed. ‘Yeah, I think Uncle Pat is in touch with his sister Bridget. You ask him, see if he don’t do something.’

  A glimmer of hope grew in JohnJoe’s heart. Could this be true? Would Uncle Pat find Kitty and Jane? ‘That would be so wonderful…’ He longed for what Danny said to be true, but it seemed impossible.

  Danny gave him a slow smile. ‘He found you, didn’t he? Look, what you’ll come to realise about Uncle Pat is he gets what he wants, and he got influence, y’know?’ Danny raised one eyebrow and JohnJoe nodded, though once again he had no inkling what the man meant.

  ‘So if Uncle Pat wants something, he just gets it. It’s how it is. So you tell him about your sisters – he’ll help.’ Danny seemed sure.

  ‘He sounds really nice,’ JohnJoe said, hoping he was right.

  Danny chuckled. ‘Oh, he’s nice, all right, if you’re on his side.’ He winked and, as the train gathered speed again, stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot, pulled his hat down over his eyes and went back to sleep.

  JohnJoe sat happily, watching the land speed by. Travelling by train was so exhilarating, he wondered how Danny could sleep through it, but he supposed it wasn’t his first trip on a train.

  As the locomotive pulled into Cork station, Danny woke and stood up, stretching and yawning.

  ‘OK, so this is Cork, but we gotta go to…’ – he pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket – ‘to someplace called Queenstown. We’re gonna stay tonight in a hotel, in the Queenstown place, and sail tomorrow back to Boston. Uncle Pat had my aunt arrange it all.’ He pulled their bags off the luggage rack compartment. ‘You ever stayed in a hotel before?’

  JohnJoe stifled a giggle. Danny had no idea how outlandish his question was. Not only had JohnJoe never slept anywhere except his own house or at the borstal, he’d never even met anyone who had ever stayed in a hotel. ‘Never,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Yeah, well, I guess the hotels in Ireland are a bit different from the ones we got back home, but hopefully they’ll have hot water at least. I need a shower.’ He shuddered as if suggesting that everything he might touch was dirty. He did take excellent care of his clothes, and he was neat as a new pin, as JohnJoe’s mammy might say. ‘So, kid, one more night here and then you ready for a new life in Boston?’

  He pronounced Boston like ‘Bah-ston’, and JohnJoe wondered if he should do the same. He’d never heard anyone speak like Danny did. ‘Danny?’ he asked.

  ‘What, kid?’

  ‘Why does Uncle Pat want me? I mean what does he want me for?’

  Danny sat back down, setting the suitcases on the floor of the carriage. ‘I guess your old man didn’t explain much, did he? That guy…’ Danny shook his head. ‘OK, kid, it’s like this. Your Uncle Pat, well, he’s a businessman, y’know? And him and his crew, all big Irish guys like you’ – he grinned – ‘well, they’re busy, y’know? Doin’ lots of different deals, stuff like that.’ He raised his eyebrows in question, and JohnJoe nodded, getting accustomed to Danny’s assumption that he had a clue what was happening.

  ‘Well, it’s best in our line of business to keep things in the family, y’know? People you can trust. Well, my Aunt Kathy had some problems, health-wise, a few years back, and so she can’t have kids, and Uncle Pat is crazy about her so he wasn’t gonna get someone else or nothin’, y’know?’

  JohnJoe nodded again, trying to look knowledgeable, but this conversation was becoming more confusing by the second.

  ‘He could have, easy. I seen plenty of broads over the years make a crack at him, but he’s not interested. He badly wants a son, someone with his blood, but it wasn’t gonna happen, and so he decided to ask your old man if you would like to come over, be adopted and, y’know, be part of the family. He talks about your mom all the time, little Sheila, and he was very fond of her. He don’t got a blood relative of his own to train up in the business. He’s got me, and everyone else is Irish and loyal to him, but it ain’t the same – he wanted family.’

  JohnJoe thought back to Danny giving his father money. ‘Did my da sell me?’ he asked quietly.

  A shadow crossed Danny’s normally open and cheerful face. ‘What? No. Course he didn’t. Uncle Pat just sent his brother-in-law a few bucks. Sell you? What are you, crazy, kid?’ He ruffled JohnJoe’s hair affectionately and chuckled, but JohnJoe knew he was lying.

  ‘So he wants me to live with him, is that it? For a while or for ages or what?’ JohnJoe asked.

  Danny sighed. ‘I told you, he’s gonna adopt you, y’know, so you’ll be his kid, his son. And one day, you’ll take over the family business. It’s gonna be great, and you and me’s gonna be buddies.’ He focused on JohnJoe, his eyes locking with his. ‘Don’t worry, kid, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll take good care of you. You’re gonna be happy, I swear.’

  This time JohnJoe knew he was telling the truth.

  Chapter 14

  As the train pulled into the station at Queenstown, Sean O’Sullivan stood and took his bag down from the overhead shelf, his bulk filling the small compartment. Much to his relief, the young woman who had been wedged beside him had seemed engrossed in whatever she was reading, which suited him fine; he was glad of the time alone with his thoughts.

  The woman stood to reach her bag, her bulk seemed to take up the whole carriage. He was eye level with the shelf, so he grasped the case by the handle and pulled it down, handing it to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, blushing. Her hat was pulled down over her face.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied and went to leave.

  The red-haired girl was behind him as they shuffled off the train. He was bad at chatting at the best of times, and today he just couldn’t. Every mile took him further from Gwen, away from all he knew, but they’d agreed this was the only way.

  His own parents had been mortified that he would even have the audacity to set his cap at Gwen Pearson. The Pearsons weren’t their kind of people, and it was best, to their way of thinking, to never move outside of the box God had placed you in. His mother missed Mass for the first Sunday of her life the weekend after she heard about Sean and Gwen’s romance. She took to the bed, too ashamed to face the parish. If it weren’t such a hullabaloo, it would have been funny.

  Sean worked for old Major Pearson as his stable master. Sean had a way with horses, always had, and he took care of the stables at Oakwood, the Pearson place on the edge of town.

  Gwen was the major’s only child. Her mother wasn’t there, so it was just her and the major. She was a wonderful horsewoman and they’d become friendly, and then that led to love. And it was true love; he was sure of it. Gwen was a wild child and cared nothing for the conventions of society. Her mother was in an asylum in England – she’d had a breakdown of some sort and was not of sound mind – so Gwen was raised by her father and a series of housekeepers. Major Pears
on indulged her, up to a point, but marrying the stable lad was about ten furlongs beyond that point. He said no, straight out, that it wasn’t right for either of them. And while he’d been nice to Sean in his dismissal of him, going on about his natural gift with horses and how he was a fine chap and all the rest of it, he was adamant that the match was a bad one.

  Gwen had been confined to the house, and only because she was so brave and snuck out to see him had they hatched the plan.

  He had cousins in America; they were making a fortune by all accounts. He and Gwen decided that Sean would join them, make his fortune – or at least enough that he wouldn’t be going cap in hand to Major Pearson. He would make enough money to get them a place of their own and then send for her, and if their parents didn’t like it, they could lump it. He tried to imagine his parents’ reaction to having Gwen Pearson as a daughter-in-law and just couldn’t.

  Like everyone around Portarlington, Sean’s father had worked the bog, cutting then drawing peat and loading it on the riverboats that brought it along the River Barrow all the way to Waterford, where it was either sold or exported. Every year it got harder to make money as a riverman. He had no land – his father before him had lost their tiny bit of a farm in a card game. Sean’s two older brothers, Mick and Jimmy, had gone to England and nobody had heard from either of them for years. But Sean landed on his feet when Major Pearson saw him settle a wild filly the day of the hunt in the village and had offered him a job on the spot. He’d worked his way up from stable boy to running the yard. The major liked him, but not enough to let him marry his daughter.

  Gwen had seen an advertisement for a guest house in Queenstown in the paper and had written to book him a room. When he’d admonished her for wasting her money when he could have stayed in a boarding house, she cited how she’d heard that one of the Brownes from out near Glenbarrow picked up conjunctivitis in the boarding house in Queenstown and was refused entry at Ellis Island. All manner of diseases and lice and filth were rife in those places, so she insisted on pawning her gold necklace to pay for it. The major had wisely cut off her allowance, fearing what stunt she might pull. There wasn’t a boarding school in Europe that could keep Gwen Pearson incarcerated, so the major never underestimated his daughter’s powers of escape.

  Maybe she was right, Sean thought as he saw groups of people alight from the train, most of whom looked the worse for wear already, before they ever stepped on board a ship. Dressed up as best they could, they still looked what they were – poor people, leaving the only home they ever knew to seek a better life across the ocean.

  His mother had tearily mended every stitch of clothes he had and had knit him two heavy jumpers and five pairs of socks. His shirts all had the collars and cuffs turned, and his good shoes and working boots had been sent to Tim Cassidy for soles and heels.

  ‘Nobody will look down their nose at my son,’ she’d said, then sniffed as he tried on the old overcoat she was repairing for him. ‘You’re the handsomest man in County Offaly, Sean O’Sullivan, and you’ll be the handsomest on Aquidneck Island too. So mind those fast American women, don’t they take a shine to you.’

  As far as his parents and the major were concerned, the romance with Gwen was over and he was going to America to mend his broken heart. But it wasn’t over. They were just biding their time.

  He moved towards the ticket inspector, who was checking each ticket as people trudged up the platform and made their way towards the town. Was it true that in less than a week he would be in Rhode Island? It seemed impossible, and yet his ticket was in his pocket. He would board the RMS Laconia tomorrow, and five days later he would be in Boston.

  His cousin Paddy had given him instructions on how to get to Aquidneck and assured him there was work there, and plenty of it, for a fella willing to graft, and he was. He would have rather done something with horses, but he had no contacts in that world in America so Aquidneck Island would have to do. The harder he worked, the more money he would make, and then he’d get a house and be able to send Gwen the fare and they’d begin their new life in the United States of America.

  That image of himself standing on the quayside over there, watching the ship dock that held his darling Gwen, that was what would sustain him, keep him going. That was the only thought driving him on.

  There was no future for them in Portarlington; people would never accept them. He’d always be seen as the stable boy who stole the daughter of the house, and Gwen was determined they would not be that. They would be just a young couple, like so many millions that went before, embarking on a new life together as equals. He wished he could write to her, but they decided it would be safest not to. If everyone thought it was over, then she wouldn’t be under surveillance and the fuss would die down. But what if she genuinely lost interest? Maybe she would meet someone else. She was so lively and full of fun; she would be bored in that big old house all on her own with nobody but the old major for company. What if her father decided on someone else for her? The fears and doubts refused to leave him.

  She was such a beauty, his girl, and so brave and ferocious when she had to be. He hated the idea of the major pushing some aristocratic military man on her, some chinless wonder from Bristol or Birmingham, someone he would deem to be more suitable than penniless Sean O’Sullivan. Sean saw the way men looked at her when she was out hunting, in her white breeches and velvet jacket, her jet-black hair tied back. She refused to ride side-saddle, though her father thought it unseemly to see a woman astride; she insisted she could ride faster and safer that way. She was home before all of the women and most of the men on every hunt, mud-spattered and sometimes having taken a tumble but always grinning. The British officers who came to dine with the major or to hunt or fish the Pearson lands couldn’t help but admire Gwen. She was pale and fine-featured, with ruby-red lips and flashing green eyes. She came across as haughty, but Sean knew the warmth and passion of the woman underneath the glacial exterior. She was the one who made the first move on him, kissing him passionately in the stable. He’d never known a woman could feel like that about a man; he’d been brought up to believe that girls only endured the kissing and all of that because it was what wives did, not that they could be as enthusiastic as any man. But Gwen was. She took the initiative at the start, and feeling her hands on his skin, her lips on his body… He groaned almost audibly at the memory of their passionate times alone together. It was every kind of sin, he was sure of that, but he couldn’t help himself. He was putty in her hands, and leaving her was physically gut-wrenching. She loved him, she swore, as she gazed into his face, her green eyes locked with his. She told him that she was his, that there was nobody else for her, that she would wait no matter how long it took. He had to keep reminding himself of that. She loved him and would stay true to him until he sent for her, no matter who the major dangled in front of her nose.

  The likes of the major might not enjoy their position in Irish society for long more anyway. People were agitating for independence again; it wasn’t right to be treated like a peasant in your own place by encroachers. His neighbours were getting involved politically, and there were rumblings of rebellion again, the hope being this time that another bid for Irish freedom would end better than all the previous attempts down through the years. Great as it might be to dream, he doubted it would ever happen. The British Empire straddled the globe, and a few Irish lads with pitchforks weren’t going to send them packing no matter how committed they were. The thought of getting caught up in all of that was just another reason to get himself and Gwen out of this beautiful troubled land.

  Outside the station he was surprised to see a man standing with a sign.

  Mr Danny Coveney

  Miss Molly O’Brien

  Mr Sean O’Sullivan

  Miss Eleanor Kind

  Sean approached him, and as he did, he saw that in his carriage – a large affair with two rows of seats – already seated, was the heavy girl with the red hair who had been sitting beside him o
n the train.

  ‘I’m Sean O’Sullivan.’ He introduced himself to the man.

  ‘Welcome, Mr O’Sullivan. My name is Matt Quinn. I’m operating a hackney service for the Cliff House, so if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll just wait for the other guests. They were on the same train, I believe. And then we’ll be off.’

  Being cooped up beside the girl again wasn’t anything he relished, as he would surely have to talk to her if he met her again, so he asked, ‘Is it far? I could walk, I think. After the train it would be good to stretch the legs.’

  ‘Well, ’tisn’t far as such, but ’tis a climb.’ Matt Quinn pointed to a large white house with red sandstone edging high above the town.

  ‘Oh, that’s grand. I’ll walk so.’ Sean decided to set off.

  ‘How about you put your bag in at least?’ Matt suggested.

  Sean took a look at him. He looked like a decent type, not a man who would try to steal from him, so he agreed and placed his suitcase in the back of the carriage. He would have to take more care once he got to America – there were people there only looking to swindle a man fresh off the boat – but while he was in his own country, he knew who he could trust.

  ‘You don’t need to go on the road.’ Matt pointed to an opening in the huge wall that held the cliff back from the railway station. ‘There are steps there, and plenty of them.’ He chuckled. ‘About two thirds of the way up, you’ll see a gate leading into the Cliff House garden. You can’t miss it – it’s the first one you come to. ’Tis about two hundred fine steep steps up, so you’ll know all about it by the time you get there.’

  Sean nodded his thanks, walked in the direction the man indicated and began climbing. It felt good to move again after the long journey. Halfway up the steps, his heart pounding and his back wet with sweat, he turned and gazed back over the harbour. It was a fine summer’s day, and the water was busy with all manner of vessels. To his left, the huge cathedral watched over the town, and he thought he would go to Mass there before he sailed. His last Mass in Ireland. Would he ever return, he wondered? He doubted it.