Across a Summer Sea (27 page)
‘Sonny, where’s Himself?’ Mrs Moran demanded of the handyman who was just staring at the two women in stunned disbelief.
‘In the stables, I think.’
‘Then I’m after going to see him. You put on the kettle and make some tea. Sure, she’s had a terrible shock and is in need of a cup.’
Mary raised her head and cried out but she was too late, the cook was already out of the door and halfway along the passage.
Sonny made the tea and she sipped it slowly, waiting in some dread for Mrs Moran to return and praying her employer wouldn’t be two paces behind. The last thing she wanted was to have to face him with both Sonny and Mrs Moran in attendance.
‘He says will you go to him in the dining room in five minutes,’ the woman announced on her return.
‘What did you tell him? What did you say?’
‘Exactly what I said to you! That that man has no
right
to expect your help now.’
right
to expect your help now.’
‘Oh, God!’ Mary groaned.
‘Off with you and get yourself changed and tidied up and, Mary, will you promise me something?’
‘What?’
‘Will you listen to what Himself has to say? Really
listen
?’
listen
?’
Mary nodded and went to change her dress and apron with a sense of dread hanging over her.
Heedless of the state of his boots Richard O’Neill strode across the hall and into the dining room. He threw his jacket across the table. Damn! Damn and blast the man to hell! Judging by the garbled tale Julia had told him, he certainly agreed that Mary owed this man no loyalty. And he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want her to take her children back to Liverpool. Yet he had to listen to Mary’s side of it.
Oh, to hell with it! he swore to himself, pouring a large whiskey and downing it in one gulp. He’d tried to keep her at a distance. Tried to keep her out of his mind, out of his thoughts, but it hadn’t been easy, especially through the long lonely hours of the night. But what could he say to her? He had no right to beg her to stay and definitely no right to tell her that he loved her.
‘You . . . you asked to see me, sir?’
Mary’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He’d forgotten to close the door and she was standing just inside it. The bright sunlight streaming in through the large window fell directly on her and he thought she’d never looked more beautiful, even though she was pale and her green eyes were haunted.
‘Mary, is it true?’
She nodded. ‘It is, sir. He . . . Frank will be a cripple and he has no one but me.’
‘Is everything that Julia told me true? He threw you all out? Let you be handed around and kept by the neighbours? Didn’t stop you coming to Ireland and has never made any attempt to contact you or provide for you or his children since? And all because of some imagined infidelity?’
‘Yes, it’s all true, sir, and believe me there was
no
infidelity! I did nothing wrong at all. I’ve never been unfaithful to him.’
no
infidelity! I did nothing wrong at all. I’ve never been unfaithful to him.’
‘I believe you, Mary.’
‘I don’t want to go, sir! I’m so happy here, we all are, but . . .’
‘Then don’t go, Mary. Stay. You owe him nothing.’
‘I can’t, sir! My conscience won’t let me!’ she cried, stricken by his pleading tone.
‘What about the children? What will happen to them back there, Mary? What will happen to Lizzie? She’s doing so well! I understand her, I can help her, I
have
helped her.’
have
helped her.’
‘Oh, you have indeed, sir! More than I could ever have done.’ The tears were falling unheeded down her cheeks now and she looked so vulnerable.
He couldn’t stop himself. He crossed to her side and took her hand. ‘Mary, please reconsider. I
need
you here. You’ve made this place something it has never been for me - a home. Don’t go, Mary, don’t leave me. Don’t take the children away from me too!’
need
you here. You’ve made this place something it has never been for me - a home. Don’t go, Mary, don’t leave me. Don’t take the children away from me too!’
She was totally confused. ‘Sir . . . Sir, I . . .’
‘Forget the bloody “sir”! Can’t you call me “Richard”? Oh, Mary, there are very few times in my life when I have been reduced to begging but that’s what I’m doing now. Don’t go! Please, Mary, don’t leave me.’
She couldn’t speak. A wave of emotion engulfed her. What was he saying? Exactly what was he telling her? She felt suddenly faint and light-headed and yet there was a surge of elation too. Something she had never experienced before in her life.
‘Richard . . . Oh, Richard . . .’ she stammered.
He threw caution to the wind and took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘Mary, don’t go,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I can’t live without you! I
won’t
live without you!’
won’t
live without you!’
She clung to him. She could never deny it now. She loved him.
Without warning he suddenly released her and she looked up and saw the changed expression on his face.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she said, confused.
‘What do you want, Bridie?’ he snapped.
Mary turned, her cheeks burning, and saw the girl standing in the doorway with Lizzie clinging to her hand.
‘Me da says Mary’s had a letter from Liverpool and she’s leaving! Is she?’ Bridie demanded, upset, red-faced and very disconcerted by what she’d just seen.
‘Ask Mary,’ he replied curtly, turning away. Silently he cursed the girl. He’d been so preoccupied that he hadn’t closed the door. A few more seconds, just a few more seconds and he knew Mary would never have left him. Now . . .
Suddenly Lizzie snatched her hand away from Bridie’s grasp and ran to him, throwing her tiny arms around his knees and burying her face in the gabardine of his riding breeches. She had understood more than anyone realised and her little world was crashing around her.
Mary could stand no more. With a heartbroken cry she fled from the room, ran blinded by tears down the passageway to her bedroom, slammed the door behind her and threw herself on the bed sobbing.
Chapter Eighteen
I
T WAS MUCH LATER in the day when Mary at last appeared in the kitchen, red-eyed but calm. Just before lunchtime, Mrs Moran had knocked and called through the door that there was no need for Mary to serve lunch or dinner, Mr O’Neill was going out and wouldn’t be back until late that night.
T WAS MUCH LATER in the day when Mary at last appeared in the kitchen, red-eyed but calm. Just before lunchtime, Mrs Moran had knocked and called through the door that there was no need for Mary to serve lunch or dinner, Mr O’Neill was going out and wouldn’t be back until late that night.
She had cried and cried until there were no more tears left. How cruel was fate! Until this morning she had never been happier. She had everything one could wish for and on top of that had discovered that she loved him and that he loved her. Oh, he hadn’t actually said it, but he’d begged her not to leave him or take the children away, and he’d held her in his arms and said he couldn’t live without her: what further proof did she need? But with that came the realisation that she wasn’t free to love him. She was married to Frank even though he didn’t want her. She could have ignored her duty, her religion and the censure she would certainly face from even the likes of Mrs Moran, Sonny and Bridie, and stay here and live with Richard O’Neill as his mistress, but deep down she knew her conscience would never allow her to do that. And what kind of example would that be for her children? How could she teach them right from wrong, living in sin as she would be? That was the most powerful of the arguments she had with herself. But he’s so fond of the children, part of her cried. Look at how he cares about Lizzie,
really
cares. Frank had never shown such affection or patience with the child. And what were they returning to? A house that held no love, no happiness. Where food would be scarce, comforts few. The dark, dirty streets would be their playground not the fields and woods and rivers. And how would she cope? Oh, the neighbours would all rally round and help, as they always did, but she would have to work, slave more like, to keep a roof over their heads and with nothing,
nothing
to look forward to. Why? Oh, why had this had to happen now? But if she stayed would it really be any better? Even though she loved him, she could never have him. Could she live like that?
really
cares. Frank had never shown such affection or patience with the child. And what were they returning to? A house that held no love, no happiness. Where food would be scarce, comforts few. The dark, dirty streets would be their playground not the fields and woods and rivers. And how would she cope? Oh, the neighbours would all rally round and help, as they always did, but she would have to work, slave more like, to keep a roof over their heads and with nothing,
nothing
to look forward to. Why? Oh, why had this had to happen now? But if she stayed would it really be any better? Even though she loved him, she could never have him. Could she live like that?
‘Oh, Richard! Richard! I love you! I love you so much!’ she had sobbed into the pillow.
The hours had slipped by as she struggled to come to terms with it all. The worst thing that she had to face now was telling the children they must leave all this when she already had the heart-rending memory of Lizzie’s behaviour that morning burned in her memory.
At last she had come to her decision. She
had
to go back. She got up and washed her face in the bowl on the washstand. Splashing the cold water onto her eyes might help the swelling. Then she changed her dress. She would have to face them all sometime.
had
to go back. She got up and washed her face in the bowl on the washstand. Splashing the cold water onto her eyes might help the swelling. Then she changed her dress. She would have to face them all sometime.
‘Will you have something to eat?’ Mrs Moran asked, full of sympathy, when Mary appeared. At least she was calm. Lizzie had been inconsolable. Bridie had had to drag her back to the kitchen and just after that he had stormed in, informed them he was going out, then slammed the door behind him. They’d heard him ride out of the yard and watched through the window as he’d galloped across the fields, putting the horse to every fence and ditch as he went.
‘No, thank you, I couldn’t eat a thing. Where’s Lizzie?’
‘She’s with Bridie and isn’t the poor little mite destroyed altogether. I didn’t think she understood but she did and Bridie said—’
‘What
did
Bridie say?’ Mary interrupted.
did
Bridie say?’ Mary interrupted.
‘She said she had to drag her off Himself and . . . and you . . .’
‘She saw us,’ Mary said flatly, not caring now if they knew.
‘She did. Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry but it could never be.’
‘I know. Oh, I
know
, but . . .’
know
, but . . .’
The older woman came and put her arms around her and the gesture opened the floodgates again.
‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘More than I ever loved anyone, including Frank.’
‘And knowing him, he loves you, but . . .’
‘Oh, please, it’s so hard!’ Mary wept.
‘We’ve all grown fond of you, Mary. We’re all desperately upset that this has happened and when I look at the little one, it breaks my heart. She’ll miss him so, Mary.’
‘We all will, Mrs Moran. We’ll miss
all
of you!’
all
of you!’
‘Ah, Mary, can’t you call me Julia?’
Mary managed to smile through her tears. ‘It doesn’t seem respectful.’
‘Ah, to hell with respect! You’ve shown me more of that than anyone else ever did and if I’d had a daughter I would have wished her to be just like you, Mary. You’re a good girl. A good mother and a good wife and I hope he appreciates what you’ve all given up for him.’
‘I doubt it but I have to go.’
‘When will you tell the other two? They’ll be home soon.’
Mary made a huge effort to pull herself together. ‘As soon as possible. It’s best they try to get used to it. I’ll write to Nellie tonight.’
‘And when will you tell Himself?’
Mary was stricken. She couldn’t face him. She might lose control of herself if he once again begged her to stay. If he touched her, she knew all her strength would desert her.
‘I can’t face him, Julia! I
can’t
! Will you tell him, please?’ she begged.
can’t
! Will you tell him, please?’ she begged.
‘I will so. It’s better that way, for both of you. Now, let’s have some tea. We’re both in need of it.’
Both children were devastated.
‘Why, Mam? I don’t want to go back! I want to stay here!’ Tommy shouted, trying to keep the tears from his eyes.
‘I’ve told you, luv. Your da’s very bad. He won’t ever be able to walk again and he has no one to look after him.’
‘But he didn’t want us, Mam! He told us to go. How will Sonny manage without me?’ the lad demanded.
‘He managed before, Tommy.’
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