The Girl on the Cliff (12 page)

After that initial meeting, no longer did Mary spend her afternoon off wandering aimlessly along the cliffs near the house. Sean would meet her in his trap and they would ride off down to the village of Rosscarberry, or take tea in Clonakilty. Or simply, on a fine day, walk along the nearby beach together. They talked endlessly about anything and everything, taking knowledge from each other. While Mary had her convent education, Sean had knowledge of the land. They’d aired their opinions on Ireland, the Troubles, and discussed hopes and dreams for the future, which included leaving Ireland to try their luck in America. And, sometimes, they simply didn’t talk at all.

The day Sean had taken Mary home to meet his family, her knees had shaken as he’d ushered her through the door into the kitchen. But Bridget, his mammy, and Michael, his daddy, had been welcoming and kind to Mary, and agog to know stories of what went on at the Big House. And the fact she could recite entire passages from the Bible, and the catechism in Latin too, brought smiles of wonder to their weather-beaten faces.

‘You’ve got yourself a good ’un there,’ Bridget had
proclaimed. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be making an honest woman of her soon. It’s time you got yourself married, son.’

So, after a year and a half of courting, Sean had proposed, and a wedding date was set for a year’s time.

‘Now then,’ Michael, Sean’s father, had said a few days later over one too many glasses of poteen. ‘Your mammy and I have been talking about the future. Our farmhouse, ’tis old and damp and small. We need to be thinking of building us a new house altogether. And I’d be thinking that the other side of the barns is a grand spot for such a place. Your mammy and me, we’re too old to move, but for you and Mary and the small ones that will arrive, and for their children’s children, we should be planning for it.’ Michael had put a rough drawing in front of Sean. ‘How does this look to you?’

Sean had studied the drawing – a good, big kitchen, sitting room, dining room and a place at the back for an inside lavvy. Four bedrooms upstairs, with an attic that could be made habitable as the family grew further. ‘But, Pa, where will we find the money to build this?’ Sean had asked.

‘Don’t you worry about that, son, I have some put by. And, to be sure, there will be no costs in labour.’ Michael had thumped the table. ‘We’ll be building it with our own bare hands!’

‘Still,’ Sean had sighed, ‘all that money and work, and ’twill not be ours to own. We only rent this land and what’s upon it from the Lisles, after all.’

Michael took another healthy gulp of poteen and nodded in agreement. ‘I know, son, and for now that’s
the case. But I’m thinking there’s a lot going to change in Ireland in the next few years. The Nationalists’ voice is growing stronger every day now, so, and the British government is starting to listen. I reckon that one day the Ryans will be standing right here on land that they own. And we must think of the future, not the past. So now, what do you think of my idea?’

When Sean had told Mary of his father’s plan, she had clapped her hands together in delight.

‘Oh, Sean, an inside lavvy! And a new home for us and our children. Can it be built soon?’

‘Yes, pet,’ Sean had nodded. ‘The lads from around these parts will lend me a helping hand.’

‘But what about our plans?’ Mary’s smile had faded. ‘What about the thoughts we had to see the world, to get on that boat to America?’

‘I know, I know,’ he’d agreed as he’d put his hand over hers. ‘And that must still be in the back of our minds. But even if we left, the Ryans still need a good new roof over their heads. And wouldn’t it make us both feel better to know we were leaving them with one, if we did decide to go?’

‘I thought we had decided,’ Mary had answered.

‘We have, pet, we have, but everything in time.’

So, in the past year, having gained permission from Sebastian Lisle to build a new farmhouse – as Michael had said, it was no skin off his nose, it simply made the land more valuable – the foundations for the house were laid and the walls began to go up. Mary would often pass it, and stop and stare in wonder.

‘My house,’ she’d whisper to herself in disbelief.

Every spare hour Sean had, he’d worked on it, and as it had grown, and the rooms that would one day be hers began to take shape, the talk was less of leaving for America than it was of the furniture Sean would make in his workshop. And those they would invite in to see their grand new home once they were wed.

Having no family of her own, Mary had adopted Sean’s. She helped his younger sister, Coleen, with her letters, his mother with baking soda bread, and learned from his father how to milk the cows in the dairy. And they in turn responded to her generous, capable self.

Although the family were not wealthy, their one hundred acres brought them a steady income. The farm itself provided for many of their needs, with milk, eggs, meat from the sheep and wool for their backs. Michael and Sean worked from dawn till dusk making sure the farm yielded its potential.

Mary was aware from the looks on the faces of the other local families when they came round to be introduced to her, that she’d won herself a good catch.

And now, thought Mary as she wiped her eyes roughly on her shawl, it was to be taken away from her. It was all very well Sean believing that he’d return to her safe and sound, but what if he didn’t?

Mary sighed. She should have known it was all too good to be true. She had already handed in her notice at the Big House, and was to leave next month in preparation for her marriage. Mary wondered whether, under the new circumstances, this was still the right thing to be doing. If she slipped under the Ryans’ roof and waited until Sean returned from war, she’d have no independence
or
money
of her own. If Sean didn’t return, the chances were she’d die an old maid under her dead fiancé’s roof.

Mary stood up and turned towards Dunworley House. Even though Mrs O’Flannery, the housekeeper, didn’t like her, she appreciated her hard work and there’d been a look of dismay in her eye on the day she’d given her notice. Sebastian Lisle too, and his mother, had expressed their sadness that Mary was leaving.

As she walked back up the cliff towards the house, Mary was sure she’d be able to keep her position for longer. At least, until Sean returned. Mary set her jaw as she walked into the kitchen. Even though she would be swallowing her pride to ask, and then see the gleam of pleasure at her misfortune enter the housekeeper’s eyes, Mary decided it was the lesser of the two evils.

She’d been ‘owned’ for most of her life and had finally escaped.

She did not wish to go back to prison now.

After Mary had waved Sean off to war, gritting her teeth to keep her emotions in check, she gave herself a good talking to on the way up to Dunworley House and went back to work.

The months passed, with news from the Front filtered through to her via Sebastian Lisle, who had
The Times
newspaper delivered to him from England once a week. There was the occasional letter from Sean, who said he was already in France and had fought in a battle in a place called Mons. From his letters, he seemed in high spirits, enjoying the camaraderie of the other ‘Micks’, as the Irish Guards were known. But already there were fatalities in his battalion; he wrote of friends lost or wounded.

Occasionally, Mary popped down to see the Ryans, but the sight of the half-finished house – untouched since Sean and the other young men of the village had left – upset her.

She was in a holding bay, waiting for fate to decide her destiny.

Nine months on, and Sean’s letters had become less frequent. She wrote to him every week, asking him when he thought he might be having the leave he’d been promised. In his last letter, he’d mentioned he’d been shipped back
to the Irish Guards’ London barracks for four days – not nearly enough time to make the trip all the way down to West Cork. Mary read in
The Times
that thousands of allied soldiers had lost their lives in a place called Ypres.

Sebastian Lisle had left Ireland five months ago; not to fight, on account of him suffering from asthma, but to help out in what he called the Foreign Office.

A pall fell over Dunworley House; with only Evelyn Lisle to care for and no guests, there was little for the staff of three to do. The tweeny was dismissed, which meant Mary took on her tasks too. And, along with every soul across Europe, Mary held her breath and waited.

Eighteen months on, Sebastian Lisle came home. It was a pleasure to at least have someone to serve at table; Evelyn roused herself from her torpor and came downstairs to eat in the dining room with her son. Two days later, Mary was summoned to Sebastian’s study.

‘You’d be wanting to see me, sir?’ Mary said as she entered.

‘Yes.’ Sebastian’s watery blue eyes seemed to have sunk further into their sockets; he looked haggard and drawn, double his real age. His red hair was receding, and Mary thought that breeding did not necessarily bless you with looks. ‘There’s a position of housemaid available at our London home. I have suggested you for it, Mary. How would you feel about that?’

Mary looked at him, astonished. ‘Me? Go to London?’

‘Yes. Now I’m back here, we can manage with Mrs O’Flannery and a daily from the village. Whereas in London, what with the war effort and more girls going into the munitions factories and taking over the men’s
jobs driving the buses etcetera, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to find household staff. My brother asked me if I could find someone here in Ireland, and you are the obvious choice.’

‘London …’ Mary breathed. That was where Sean’s barracks were. Perhaps next time he got some leave from France, she’d be able to meet him. Besides, it was an adventure and an opportunity she knew she must grasp.

‘I’m thinking that might be grand, sir. Would my duties be similar to here?’

‘More or less, yes. It’s a far larger house than this, and used to have a staff of twenty. We are now down to ten and everyone is mucking in. You’ll be given a smart uniform, a room shared with one other maid and a salary of thirty shillings a month. Would that suit you?’

‘Well now, I think it might, sir, yes.’

‘Jolly good, Mary. Please let me know as soon as you’ve decided and I’ll arrange your passage to England.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do that, so.’

A few days later, Mary went down the hill to see Sean’s parents and tell them of her decision. Not surprisingly, they weren’t keen on their son’s fiancée leaving Ireland’s shores while he was away.

‘But, Bridget,’ Mary comforted as she sipped tea with her in the kitchen, ‘I’d want to be going so that maybe I can see Sean when he next gets leave.’

‘To be sure, that’s all well and good, but my cousin’s daughter went off to London only last year. They don’t like Irish maids there, so she said. They’d be looking down
on you, like all the English do with the Irish,’ Bridget sniffed.

‘As if I’d care about that! I’ll put them right, never you mind.’ Unperturbed, Mary smiled, unable to keep the glint of excitement out of her eyes.

‘Just promise me, Mary, when the war is ended, you’ll be coming back home here to your man, won’t you?’ Bridget entreated.

‘You know there is nowhere else I’d rather be than by Sean’s side. But while I can be doing something useful as I wait for him, and earn a few more shillings to put away for our future, I’d be thinking it was a good plan.’

‘Well now, you take care of yourself in that heathen city.’ Bridget shuddered at the thought of it.

‘Don’t you worry, I will, I swear.’

Mary felt not a glimmer of fear as she embarked on her long journey. First, up to Dublin, and across on the boat to Liverpool, then down south on an overcrowded train. It came to a halt in a vast station. She hauled her valise up the platform and looked around her. She’d been told she was to be met by someone who would be holding up her name. She gazed through the sea of khaki, engaged in sorrowful goodbyes or happy hellos, and finally spotted a man in a smart uniform, holding a piece of card with her name on it.

‘Hello there,’ she smiled as she walked up to him. ‘I’m Mary Benedict.’

The man nodded solemnly. ‘Follow me, please.’

Outside, the man motioned for her to get into the back of the gleaming black car. She did so, marvelling at the
soft leather on the seat. As they set off, Mary felt like a princess. She had never been in a car before.

She gazed out of the windows at the gas lamps above her – like oversized sherbet-lemons suspended on big sticks – at the crowds of people flowing along the pavements and the tall buildings that lined them. Trams moved ceaselessly up and down the centre of the streets. And the women, she noticed, were wearing skirts that showed their
ankles.
They drove along a wide river, but it was too dark to see much. Then the chauffeur turned right, away from the river, and finally into a large square, lined on each side with enormous white houses. They drove along a narrow mews, where he parked the car and indicated for her to step out.

‘This way please,’ he said as Mary followed him along the mews. ‘This is the servants’ entrance to Cadogan House, and the one you will always use.’ He led her down the flight of steps and opened the door into a small lobby.

Another door led to a low-ceilinged but warm kitchen, in the centre of which was a table occupied by a number of people, all dressed in smart uniforms.

‘Your new parlour maid is here, Mrs C,’ nodded the chauffeur to a large woman sitting at the head of the table.

‘Come here where I can see you.’ The woman beckoned her over, surveying Mary as she did so.

‘Hello, ma’am.’ Mary curtsied. ‘I’m Mary Benedict.’

‘And I’m Mrs Carruthers, the housekeeper.’ The woman finished her inspection and nodded. ‘Well, at least you look healthy enough, which is more than I can say for the last Irish maid we had here. She was dead of bronchitis within a week. Wasn’t she, Mr Smith?’ She turned to the
balding man sitting next to her and broke into a hearty chuckle, her ample bosom heaving as she did so.

‘I believe I’m healthy, ma’am,’ answered Mary. ‘In fact, I’ve never had a day’s illness in my life.’