The Forgotten Secret

by Kathleen McGurl

  ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Ryan said, noticing the direction of my gaze. ‘A view that has barely changed for centuries.’

  ‘It is wonderful. I love imagining my Irish ancestors gazing out at much the same view, hundreds of years ago.’

  ‘Are they from Meath originally?’ Ryan asked. ‘I thought you’d said your grandparents were the first of your family to live at Clonamurty Farm.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, they were. They moved into it in the late 1920s. But as far as I know the family were local before then. My grandmother definitely was. She was in service in a large house. Could even have been this one, for all I know! I did try to research my genealogy once, but didn’t get far.’

  I didn’t want to add that Paul had found me digging around on an ancestry website and ranted for half an hour solid about what a waste of time that was, before changing the broadband password. It was a week before he would tell me the new password, and that was only because he needed me to do some online shopping for him. Yet again I wondered why on earth I had put up with him for so long.

  ‘So many records were burned in a fire at the public records office during the civil war,’ Ryan said. ‘A tragedy for us history buffs.’

  The waitress arrived then, and we ordered our food. It looked like an intriguing blend of modern cuisine but with nods to traditional Irish fare. ‘Posh colcannon and deconstructed Irish stew,’ Ryan said with a laugh, when I made this comment to him. ‘But yes, it’s very tasty and that’s what matters. Anyway, we were talking about ancestry. Have you had any chance to research the names on the birth certificate and medallion?’

  For once I had news to share on this score. ‘Yes, in fact. One of those books you gave me, that unfortunately had to spend a night in the field, was a listing of all those from County Meath who’d fought in the War of Independence.’

  He nodded. ‘Oh yes. It gives a paragraph on what each person did. Bought mostly by people whose fathers or grandfathers were involved.’

  ‘Well, our James Gallagher is listed there. You’d already told me he was a Volunteer and there are some more details about him in that book. He signed up young, at about 19, and took part in a number of missions. And my grandmother is listed – she was some kind of double agent, passing information about RIC activities to the Volunteers, and feeding false information back. I’d love to know more about exactly what she did. I wonder if she perhaps knew James Gallagher. I mean, if she’d worked here, and he lived at Clonamurty Farm – it’s not far away at all.’

  ‘Intriguing!’ Ryan smiled.

  ‘It’s all so sad, though. It all happened so soon after the First World War, and didn’t many Irish fight in that war for the UK? Then just a couple of years later they were fighting the War of Independence against the UK.’

  Ryan nodded, and we were both quiet for a moment contemplating this, before our first courses arrived. The rest of the meal was spent chatting about anything and everything. Just like on our visit to the Hill of Tara, I felt as though Ryan was an old friend who I could talk to about anything. He told me about his past – he was a widower with one daughter who was working in Australia and whom he missed immensely.

  In response I found myself touching on details about my marriage and the reasons I’d walked out. Not too much detail, of course. I was having a lovely evening out and didn’t want to spoil it by thinking too much about Paul.

  ‘So he was abusive?’ Ryan asked at one point, with a frown.

  ‘Not physically, no. Actually he could be very charming, and would often buy me little gifts and take me on amazing trips away. But he tried to control me. Leaving him was my way of wresting back control of my own life.’ I sighed. ‘He still doesn’t see it. He still thinks I’ll go running back as soon as I hit some difficulty or other. Although he did seem more reasonable the last time I spoke to him. I had a little glimpse of the man I married.’

  Ryan didn’t answer that, but I noticed him bite his bottom lip as though he’d thought of a response but stopped himself from saying anything. I changed the subject quickly, on to my plans for the farmhouse renovations, and we spent the rest of the evening chatting companionably. He really was an easy man to get along with, and despite telling myself ‘this is not a date’ and ‘it’s too soon after Paul to be looking for anyone else’ I found myself wishing it was a date, and the first of many.

  We went for a drink in a pub after the meal, and then Ryan drove me home. I did not want the evening to end. As he parked outside my farmhouse, he switched the car engine off.

  I gathered my handbag from the foot-well and turned towards him. ‘I’ve had a lovely evening. Thank you, so much.’

  ‘Thank you for being such lovely company. And happy birthday.’ He reached out a hand and brushed the back of it against the side of my face. I felt a flutter of excitement.

  And then he leaned towards me, his eyes questioning, his hand gently cupping my chin, and his lips were on mine, soft, warm, teasing. I kissed him back, oh, how I kissed him back! When we parted I rested my forehead against his for a moment, wondering where we were going with this, excited that he clearly felt for me what I was beginning to feel for him, but scared, so scared.

  It had been over twenty-five years since I’d been with anyone other than Paul. How did it all work when you were in middle age? What were expectations these days? Was he going to want to come inside? He’d switched the engine off, he’d kissed me – that all meant he was expecting to be invited in, and then … Oh God. What happened next? Last time I was in this situation, aged about 18, it led to snogging in the kitchen while my parents sat watching TV next door.

  ‘I’d ask you in … for coffee … but actually …’ I stammered, feeling myself blushing furiously.

  ‘It’s all right. Your sons … I mean …’ He tailed off and shrugged.

  I felt a churn of both disappointment and relief, and a sudden urge to be out of the car, in my own home, sitting somewhere alone where I could work out what just happened and how I felt about it. ‘Another time, I guess. When we’ve …’

  ‘… had more time to get to know each other,’ he finished for me, smiling. Yes. That was exactly what I wanted to say. There was no point rushing this. We had plenty of time to let things develop.

  ‘Well, thanks again, and goodnight,’ I said, as I climbed out of the car.

  I had the most stupid grin on my face as I approached the kitchen door. Had to fight hard to get my face under control before going inside and facing a barrage of questioning and innuendo from my sons. Had I really just kissed a man who was not my husband?

  Chapter 20

  Ellen, summer 1920

  The weeks after Ellen’s visit to Jimmy at Gatesend Farm dragged slowly on. About two weeks later, Madame told Ellen that Jimmy and the others had moved on, but she did not know where. ‘Further up county, I believe, but I’m not privy to the details of operations in that area.’ She’d patted Ellen kindly. ‘We’d hear if anything bad happened. No news is good news, Ellen dear.’

  But it was hard. Now that they’d become so close, now that she’d become a real woman, not being with him or having news of him seemed harder than ever.

  And then came the day when she realised with a start that her monthly was overdue. Very overdue. Her breasts seemed a little tender, too. She knew immediately what it meant. She was carrying Jimmy’s child. Now she longed even more for news of him, news that his final mission, whatever it was, had been successful and that he was returning to her, to marry her, so they could begin that idyllic future she’d dreamed of.

  But the news never came. The weeks passed, and her condition began to show. She tried to hide it by tying her apron badly, by letting out her dress, hunching her shoulders over a little as she walked. Sooner or later, she realised, she was going to have to tell someone. She’d lose her job. Her father would be furious. Who knew what the Gallagher family would say. She’d kept away from Clonamurty Farm once she’d realised she was pregnant. If only Jimmy was here! If only this
damned war had never begun!

  By her reckoning she was five months gone when she decided she could keep the secret no longer. She’d already had questioning looks from Siobhan and Madame, but neither had said anything to her face.

  Until one day when she stood up from having been kneeling at a fireplace, brushing out the grate. Her back pained her and she stretched as she rose, arching her back a little to ease her aching muscles. At that moment Madame walked in. Her bump, Ellen knew, was unmistakeable while she stood in that pose. She tried to hunch over, but it was too late. Madame had definitely noticed, and there could be no more pretending. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and she put a protective hand on her midriff.

  ‘How far gone?’ Madame’s voice was gentle.

  ‘F-five months, I think,’ she replied.

  ‘Jimmy?’

  She nodded. ‘He doesn’t know. Oh, Madame, do you know where he is? I need to get word to him!’

  Madame shook her head. ‘No, Ellen, dear. I have no idea where he is. The last I heard, his company had headed north, into Cavan. Beyond the reach of my little pocket of influence. But, as I said to you before, no news is good news. If anything had happened to him, we would have heard.’ She sighed. ‘I will hate to lose you. You’ve been a real asset to the Cause.’

  ‘Madame, will I have to leave here?’ Ellen held her breath awaiting an answer. She’d rather stay here, work for as long as she could, hope for news of Jimmy and never go home to face her father’s anger.

  Madame Carlton nodded. ‘You will. I’m sorry. We have to keep this household appearing as “normal” as possible. I can’t have an unmarried pregnant girl living here. I’m sorry, it would draw too much attention to us. I fear my influence is less than it was. Someone has been passing information to the RIC about our activities here.’

  Ellen clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘It’s not me, Madame! Don’t suspect me!’

  ‘Of course I don’t suspect you! But you will have to go home to your father, at least until your young man returns.’

  Ellen must have looked crestfallen, for Madame took a step towards her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘I can understand you wanting to send a message to him. I shall see what I can do. There may be a way. Don’t give up hope.’

  Ellen forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you, Madame. I would be very grateful, so I would.’

  ‘You should go today to tell your father. Let’s not put it off. Take your day off early. Come back here tomorrow and work another week or two, until I can find a replacement. You will soon find the work too hard as your baby grows, in any case.’

  ‘May I come back, after the baby is born?’ Ellen felt at home in Carlton House. The thought of leaving it was unbearable.

  ‘You will have your baby to care for. But if some arrangement is made that means you are free, then yes, you will be welcome to return.’ Mrs Carlton smiled kindly. ‘I imagine, however, that you will find you want to stay at home with your child. It is a mother’s place.’

  Ellen smiled through her tears in return. Yes, she could imagine wanting to be with her child, Jimmy’s child, at all times. Would it be a boy with Jimmy’s dark eyes and cheeky grin, or a girl with his curly hair and long fingers? She placed a hand on her midriff, feeling the baby kick as though it knew what she was thinking. She could not wait to meet this child. The first of a new generation, proof of her love for Jimmy and his love for her. There were exciting times ahead.

  ‘So,’ Madame Carlton went on, ‘finish up here, go and change, and then go to tell your father. Come back tomorrow for another week’s work. At the end of the week I shall pay you what you are owed, plus a little more for the baby, and you will pack up your room and return to live with your father. But we will stay in touch, of course, and if I hear any news of Jimmy or his company I will let you know.’

  There was nothing more to be said or done. Ellen did as Madame had bid, and an hour later she was ready to leave Carlton House, a few things she needed for an overnight stay at her father’s cottage in a bag. She bumped into Siobhan on the way out.

  ‘Are you after getting another day off?’ the other girl asked, glaring at Ellen.

  ‘Madame brought it forward. I’ll be back tomorrow,’ Ellen replied. She did not want to tell Siobhan about the baby yet. Not before she’d told her father.

  ‘She favours you,’ Siobhan grumbled. ‘She always has. And you think you’re a cut above the rest of us, because she trusts you and gives you stupid little jobs to do, telling you it’s all for Ireland. It’s all a load of rubbish. All of it. Ireland will never be free of Britain, and why would we want to be anyway? Won’t do us any good. No good will come to the mistress. She’s heading for a fall, so she is. You’ll see.’

  Ellen stared at her. It was the first time she’d heard Siobhan say anything against the Cause. A shiver ran down her spine. Could Siobhan be a danger to all at Carlton Hall? No, surely not. She’d worked there longer than Ellen herself had. She might not be involved with the Cumann na mBan and her brother might be in the RIC, but she was sympathetic to the Cause. She’d said so, many times. This was probably just jealousy talking.

  Before Ellen could think of a reply Siobhan had turned on her heel and flounced off. Ellen determined that as soon as she came back the next day, she’d tell Madame about Siobhan’s brother. Let Madame herself decide whether Siobhan was a danger or not. Right now all Ellen could think about was how she was going to break her news to her father. That moment was only about an hour away.

  ‘You’ve brought shame on the O’Brien family, girl! Thank the good Lord your mammy isn’t here to see this day. She’ll be turning in her grave, so she will.’ There were flecks of spittle at the corners of her father’s mouth. Ellen stood in the kitchen, her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed. She had no choice but to endure his rage. He’d need to rant for a while. He’d probably want to punish her in some way – make her clean out the chicken coop for the next month, or sleep on the floor, or say ten Hail Marys every day for a week. She would have to go along with whatever he said. She’d been sinful – falling pregnant outside of marriage. God made no allowances for the fact there was a war on.

  ‘You’ll go away to have this baby. There’s a place run by nuns just outside Dublin. You’ll go there, where they don’t know us.’

  ‘But, Da, how can we afford for me to stay away? I won’t be earning …’

  ‘You work for the nuns. They take in laundry or some such. You work for your keep, and when your time comes they’ll attend the birth.’

  Ellen was horrified. She’d thought she would stay at home with her father, with Blackstown’s midwife and doctor attending the birth. Not sent away among strangers. ‘Please, Da. Let me stay here with you. I can cook, and clean, and do all my old jobs. I can keep away from town, so no one need know. And when Jimmy comes home—’

  ‘That no-good piece of junk. He won’t be coming round here if he knows what’s good for him. I’ll knock him into next week if ever I see him again.’

  ‘Da, I love him! And he loves me. He’ll marry me, I’m sure of it, as soon as he knows about the baby and is able to come back to Blackstown.’

  ‘Are you after telling me he doesn’t know?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s away somewhere with his company. I’ve sent word, but I don’t know when it’ll reach him.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Her father looked apoplectic. His fists were clenched at his sides and his face was red.

  ‘I … I don’t exactly know. Cavan, somewhere. He’ll come as soon as he can, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘He’ll run in the other direction, I’ve no doubt,’ sneered her father. ‘Young lad like that won’t want to be saddled with a wife and child. That’s if he doesn’t get himself shot by the Black and Tans first. No, lass. You’re off to the Merciful Sisters. I’d send you right now only it’s too late in the day to arrange it.’

  ‘I’ve to go back to Carlton House tomorrow, and work another week, Madame says,’
sniffed Ellen. She could not believe what was happening.

  ‘Aye, you’ll go back there, get what you’re owed, give it to me as I’ll have to make a donation to the Sisters, and then you’ll be off on the bus. I’ll take you, make sure you go in and don’t run off somewhere. The shame of it.’ He shook his head.

  The rage was dying down, but in its place Ellen could see a grim determination. She realised she had no choice. She would have to do as he said. Go to this place, the Merciful Sisters whoever they were, have her baby there, and hold on to the hope that Jimmy would hear what had happened, and would come for her. She’d be safe with the Sisters. As would her child. And when he or she was born, she’d find a way to be with Jimmy, if he hadn’t already come for her. Maybe the war would be over by then, and their baby would be born in peacetime. That would be something worth praying for.

  It was an uncomfortable evening. Ellen’s father had a joint of ham, which Ellen cooked, along with some potatoes and turnips. She made soda bread too, cleaned the cottage, and did some laundry. All to try to prove she’d be an asset if she was allowed to stay. But her father grumbled and ignored her protests, and made it clear his mind was made up and could not be changed.

  At last, when there were no more jobs she could do, Ellen bid her father goodnight. As she leaned over to kiss his cheek he turned his face away, muttering something about shame. She left the room before he could see the tears that had sprung to her eyes, and went to her old bedroom. Thank goodness tomorrow she’d be back at Carlton House, with Madame who’d been sympathetic to her plight. Madame was more of a parent to her, more supportive of her, than her father had ever been.

  Ellen resolved to ask her about the Merciful Sisters. Maybe she knew of them. Maybe she’d be able to reassure Ellen that it was the right place for her to go.

  Next morning her father said very little to Ellen as she prepared breakfast, ate, and cleared up afterwards. At last it was time to leave.