by Judi Curtin
‘Nellie,’ I whispered as I jumped out of bed. ‘What is it?’
I sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair, and jumped when I realised that her pillow was soaking wet.
She sat up, threw her arms around me, and sobbed for a long time. I hugged her and stroked her back and waited. In the end, when her sobs were a little less, I let her go.
‘Please, Nellie,’ I said. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how I can help you.’
‘No one can help me,’ she said. ‘No one.’
‘Then tell me anyway. Mam always says that a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’
I thought Mam’s words were true, but they made Nellie cry even more.
‘Oh, Lily,’ she sobbed. ‘That’s it. You’ve got your mam to tell you wise things, and you see her every week and love her and … you have your brothers and sisters – and they are such darlings – and your friends and your neighbours … and you’ve got a home and a village and a place to go where everyone knows you and everyone loves you … and sometimes I get so lonely.’
I held her hand as I started to cry too. ‘Nellie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you home with me. I was trying to do a nice thing, and all I’ve done is make you sad.’
‘It’s not your fault. You are always so kind to me. I’m often sad, but I try not to show it.’
How could I have forgotten what Nellie was like when I first met her? She never smiled or laughed, and when I tried to be friends with her she pushed me away. It took me a long time to understand that after losing her parents and her sisters and her friends, she was afraid to let herself be close to anyone. She was afraid of getting hurt.
‘You can come home with me again,’ I said. ‘Mam would love to see you. The next time you have a Saturday … I stopped talking. It could be a whole year before Nellie got a Saturday off again, and how could she last all those weeks and months with nothing else to look forward to?
‘I know I’m lucky Lady Mary rescued me from the workhouse,’ she said. ‘I know I’m lucky to be working here, but …’
‘But what?’
‘Lissadell is all I have. If I lost my job and had to leave here, what would I do? Even the workhouse probably wouldn’t take me back. I’d have nowhere to go, no one to go to.’
It all sounded so hopeless, I didn’t know what to say. When Winnie and Anne cried I could always find a way to make them feel better – a joke or a tickle, or a treat or a promise – but what could I do for Nellie?
‘I will always be your friend,’ I said. ‘Always and forever.’
She squeezed my hand a little tighter, but she didn’t say anything.
‘Maybe, one day,’ I said. ‘Maybe one day your sisters …’
I knew Nellie had two sisters, but she never talked about them, and when I mentioned them she always changed the subject quickly. Now, for the first time ever, she told me a little more. ‘Before she got sick, my sister Lizzie was so lively and full of fun. The two of us were always laughing and making mischief.’
The Nellie I knew was serious and hard-working and obedient. She always followed the rules and tried her hardest to be the best housemaid a girl could be. It was difficult to imagine her making mischief of any kind at all. What terrible things had happened to make her change her so much?
‘Lizzie was often in trouble,’ she continued. ‘But no one could be cross with her for long. Daddy said she had a smile that was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.’
‘She sounds nice – and what about your other sister?’
‘Johanna was the oldest, and always a bit more serious than Lizzie and me. Mam said her job was to take care of us and keep us safe. She helped to mind us when Mam was busy, and then … when … Mam and Dad got sick, Johanna looked after all of us. Lizzie and I tried to help, but we were only little, and then, when …’ She started to cry again.
‘It’s all right if you don’t want to talk about this,’ I said.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown. ‘You’re my friend,’ she said. ‘I want to tell you. When Mam and Daddy died, Johanna tried to keep us three girls together. We were sick and cold and hungry all the time, but she did her best. The neighbours gave us food sometimes, but they were poor too, and didn’t have much to share. Sometimes I cried and cried for Mam, and Johanna would cuddle me and sing to me. She’d stroke my hair and sing an old Irish song she learned from our granny. In the end, the words would soothe me and I’d fall asleep in her arms, and then I’d wake up and Mam and Daddy would still be gone, and I’d cry and cry some more. And then the neighbours took us to the workhouse.’
‘How could they do that to you?’
‘It was probably for the best. The workhouse was awful, but if we weren’t there we would have starved to death. We were so scared, but Johanna said we had to be brave. When we got there, a woman took me into a room and washed me and cut my hair. I screamed when I saw it on the ground, and she slapped me and told me to shut my mouth. When she brought me out of the room … Lizzie and Johanna were gone – and I never saw them again. I cried for them, but no one listened. Later I learned that the workhouse was divided into different sections.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘There were sections for men, and women, and children of different ages, and for sick people. There were huge high walls between the sections, and even if we could have climbed them, no one would have dared. Oh, Lily, how I’d love to see my dear sisters again!’
‘Maybe you will.’
She shook her head. ‘They are most likely dead. There was terrible fever in the workhouse and so many died … and poor Lizzie was sick before she even got there, and Johanna was so thin and pale …’
‘But you don’t know for sure.’
‘I’m their little sister. If they were alive, they would have come to find me. Johanna was like a mam to me in the end. She would never forget me.’
And then I understood that there was nothing I could say. Some things can’t be fixed. All I could do was hold my friend and stroke her hair, and so that’s what I did.
After a while, Nellie shivered.
‘Look at you,’ I said. ‘You’re frozen half to death. You need to get back into bed.’ Then I remembered the damp pillow, and realised that her sheet was probably wet too.
‘Come,’ I said. ‘You can sleep in my bed with me tonight.’
She was like a little child as she let me lead her to my bed and cover her with my blanket. I wrapped Mam’s shawl over her shoulders and then I jumped in beside her and snuggled up close.
‘Thank you, Lily,’ she said. ‘I feel a little better now.’
‘I’m glad – and there’s one more thing.’
‘What?’
‘If I kick you in my sleep, you can kick me back. All right?’
‘I will.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
I could tell she was smiling so I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
Chapter Seven
A few days later Mrs Bailey sent me to the flower garden. As I walked back with an armful of flowers for the dining room, I deliberately walked slowly, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze and the birdsong and the crisp crunch of my boots on the gravel.
Suddenly the peace was shattered with a loud shout. ‘Lily! Watch out! Get off the path or … oh, no!’
I jumped off the path just as Maeve came up behind me on a bicycle that looked much too big for her. She swerved and skidded and I was showered with gravel as she fell off the path and on to the grass beside me. I dropped my flowers and went to her, keeping well clear of the still-spinning bicycle wheels.
‘Maeve, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?’
She jumped up, laughing. ‘That was a close one. I thought I had the hang of it, but maybe I need a little more practice.’
‘You’ve cut yourself. Look.’
‘It’s only a scratch,’ she said, ignoring the blood that was trickling down he
r arm.
Mr Kilgallon once said that Maeve’s mother, Countess Markievicz, was the bravest child he had ever seen. I think Maeve was a little like her mother in this.
‘And look at your skirt,’ I said, pointing to where it was torn and grass-stained. ‘It’s ruined.’
‘So it is,’ she said, as if this meant nothing. But why would it matter to her, when she had wardrobes full of clothes both at Lissadell and Ardeevin?
‘Where on earth did the bike come from?’ I asked.
‘Uncle Joss bought it for Aunt Mary, but she thinks cycling is unladylike. She said she’d rather die than be seen on a bike, so I’m allowed to have it.’
‘And don’t you think it is unladylike?’
She laughed. ‘Definitely not. Did you know my mother spent part of her honeymoon cycling in France?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘Well she did – and she said it was a lot of fun. Do you want to have a go?’
‘I’d like that very much,’ I said. ‘But Mrs Bailey is waiting for these flowers.’
‘I’ll give them to her,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell her I need you to help with my cycling practice.’
Before I could argue, she had gathered up most of the flowers and raced away. While she was gone, I examined the bike – I’d never seen one up so close before. It was black and shiny with a lovely leather saddle, and a pretty wicker basket strapped on to the handlebars.
‘Mrs Bailey said we’ve got an hour,’ said Maeve when she came back. ‘So we’d better make it count. Let’s go to the coach house courtyard – maybe cycling on gravel can wait for lesson two.’
* * *
It was scary at first but such fun! Maeve was very patient as she followed me up and down the courtyard, rescuing me when I was wobbling, and praising me whenever I managed to go in a straight line for more than a second or two.
‘You’re a natural,’ she said, sounding a bit surprised.
I smiled. Maybe carrying all those buckets of coal up the back stairs had improved my balance.
‘Actually you’re much better than I was when I started,’ she said.
She had only started an hour before me, and now she was acting as if she were an expert, but I didn’t say this – I was trying too hard not to end up in a heap on the ground!
* * *
Before long we were both able to cycle perfectly well and we stopped for a rest.
‘I’ve had the most marvellous idea,’ said Maeve.
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. Maeve’s marvellous ideas usually involved me breaking lots of rules.
‘Why don’t you use the bicycle to go home on Saturdays?’ she said. ‘It would be much quicker than walking, and you’d have all that extra time with your family.’
‘Oh, Maeve. Do you really think I could?’
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I thought of all kinds of reasons it wouldn’t work.
‘What would Lady Mary say? What if you want to use the bicycle? What if something happens to it?’
‘Lady Mary won’t care – she doesn’t want to ever see it again. And I’ll most likely be at Ardeevin and the bicycle will be gathering dust in the coach house. And if something happens to it, Albert will be able to fix it. And you can use the basket on the front to carry treats for your family. Oh, do say you’ll use the bicycle, Lily. Please do.’
I laughed. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll use it. Thank you Maeve.’
When it was time for me to go back to work, we took the bicycle back to the coach house.
‘This is where it’s kept,’ said Maeve, as she propped it against a wall. ‘You can come and borrow it any time you wish.’
Already I felt excited. What would my family say when they saw me on a bicycle?
* * *
As we walked back towards the main house Maeve asked if I had a nice time while she was away in England.
‘Yes, it was nice enough,’ I said, smiling to myself. Maeve had no idea how hard we servants had to work while she and her family were away.
‘And how is your mother and the rest of the family?’
I didn’t answer. Nowadays, even having a family made me feel guilty, because poor Nellie was so alone in the world.
Maeve noticed my silence. ‘Is everything all right? Is someone sick?’
‘No. It’s just that …’
And then, all in a rush I told Maeve how Nellie had visited my family, and how upset she was afterwards.
‘Poor Nellie,’ she said. ‘How sad for her.’
‘I wish I could help her somehow, but I don’t know what to do. Her sisters are my only hope, but how could I find out where they are, or even if they are alive?’
‘You could borrow the bicycle and go to the workhouse and ask them?’
Suddenly I got a small picture of what it was like to be Maeve – what it was like to grow up without fear of the workhouse. What it was like not to be terrified every time your mam or dad coughed, that they would get sick, and that the workhouse would be your only future.
‘Maybe I could do that,’ I said slowly. But I knew I was being stupid. Even if I did the bravest thing of my whole life, I knew no one would tell me anything. They would laugh – or decide I was destitute, and drag me in and make me stay.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t do that. There’s lots of workhouses, so I wouldn’t even know which one to go to. And I’d be too afraid, and they wouldn’t tell me anything anyway.’
‘I wouldn’t be afraid,’ said Maeve. ‘But I suppose they wouldn’t tell me anything either.’
‘So how can we …?’
‘How did Nellie get out of the workhouse? How did she end up here? Who …?’
And as she said the words, I knew what I had to do. ‘Lady Mary helped her,’ I said. ‘Lady Mary went to the workhouse and saved her.’
‘So that means …’
‘Yes! Lady Mary will be able to find out about Nellie’s sisters. Why didn’t I think of that before? Do you think I could ask her? Do you think she might help?’
‘I’m sure she would be happy to help. I can go and talk to her now if you like.’
I liked the idea of that very much. Even though Lady Mary was always kind to me, I couldn’t help being a little bit afraid of her.
‘Yes, if you …’ But before I could finish the sentence, Sir Josslyn’s car came along the drive towards us, and Maeve’s granny was leaning out of the window looking very cross.
‘Maeve Alyss,’ she said. ‘Look at the state of you! Come along, climb in, it’s time for us to go home. Miss Clayton has big plans for you this evening.’
Maeve made a face at me, and then turned and smiled at her grandmother. ‘Sorry, Gaga,’ she said.
‘When will you be back at Lissadell?’ I whispered.
‘I don’t know,’ said Maeve. ‘It could be ages. I’m sorry.’
Then she climbed into the car and was gone.
* * *
‘At last!’ said Mrs Bailey when she saw me. ‘Hurry along and tidy up the drawing room.’
I was turning to do as she said, when I realised it was time for me to be brave. Mam says patience is a virtue, but I wasn’t so sure. What if I was sitting in a corner being patient, and Nellie’s sisters were never found at all?
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bailey,’ I said. ‘I will do the drawing room very soon, but first … first there’s something important I have to say to Lady Mary.’
Mrs Bailey looked ready to explode. ‘You certainly may not go annoying Lady Mary,’ she said. ‘If there is a message for her, you may pass it on to me, and I will relay it when I see her in the morning – if I think it is appropriate.’
Mrs Bailey could be very kind, but I wasn’t sure she would understand what I wanted to ask, and why it was suddenly so urgent.
‘Maeve asked me to bring the message to Lady Mary,’ I said (which was sort of the truth.) ‘She won’t be very pleased if I don’t do as she asked.’
&nb
sp; Mrs Bailey did not look happy. It must have been hard living in a world where a young girl like Maeve was seen to be more important than a grown-up like her.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Lady Mary is in the bow drawing room. Give her your message and come directly back here, do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mrs Bailey,’ I said as I ran off.
* * *
‘Come in.’ Even with those two words, I could recognise Lady Mary’s sweet voice.
As I closed the door behind me, I was glad to see that she was on her own. If Sir Josslyn had been with her I think I might have curled up and died on the spot.
‘What can I do for you, Lily?’ she asked.
‘It’s about Nellie,’ I said.
Lady Mary looked surprised. ‘If something is wrong with Nellie, then you must speak to Mrs Bailey about it. You really should understand how things work by now.’
I could feel my face going red. Why did this house have to have so many rules? Why did I always seem to be breaking them?
‘I’m sorry, Lady Mary. It’s … you see … Mrs Bailey couldn’t … you’re the only … poor Nellie …’
Tears came to my eyes and I couldn’t finish.
‘Now, Lily, don’t fret,’ she said gently. ‘Tell me what is wrong and I’ll see if I can help. Is Nellie unwell in some way?’
‘No. She’s not unwell, only ….’
‘Only what?’
Lady Mary listened patiently as I rushed out my story.
‘The poor little girl,’ she said when had I finished, and was standing still with my hands clasped in front of me, the way Mrs Bailey had taught me. I thought I could see tears in Lady Mary’s eyes.
‘I love to see my own little ones play together,’ she said. ‘And I cannot imagine the cruelty of someone who would see fit to tear them away from each other. Those workhouses ….’ She stopped and wiped away a tear with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘Those workhouses should not be allowed to do this.’
I agreed with her, but I didn’t say anything. A housemaid like me couldn’t change the world – all I wanted to do was make it a little better for my friend.
