The Mersey Girls (37 page)

‘But I want to bother about you! And I don’t want you out of my home, I want you in it,’ Mr Cowan almost shouted. ‘I said stupid, selfish things . . . don’t make Mollie suffer for my fault, Miss Murphy! Stay with us, please. You can have weekends off . . . I’ll hire a nurserymaid, a companion for you . . . anything, if only you’ll not go.’

It was awful, it cut the ground completely out from under Linnet’s feet. She stared at Mr Cowan, gaped at him almost, and prayed for the right words so that she might still escape.

‘Miss Murphy? I’ll ring the agency and get the girl, Emma, the one you recommended. I’ll take time off from the office and keep an eye on Mollie myself until the nurserymaid starts. I’ll increase your salary – you shall have a dress allowance, like my wife did – if only you’ll stay with Mollie and me.’

Linnet wanted to say no, she couldn’t stay, not now. She wanted to jump up from her chair and leave the room and pack her case and – and simply run and go on running until she got to Peel Square and the sensible, capable Mrs Sullivan. But she could not do it, could not hurt Mr Cowan so badly. So instead, she nodded reluctantly.

‘All right, I’ll stay for a while, at least. Until Mollie’s at school perhaps. But I’m going to wear my bracelet every day, Mr Cowan, because it’s – it’s a pledge from my young man. We’re going to marry one day, Roddy and me, and I won’t hide his bracelet away as if it was some sort of guilty secret. Is that all right?’

She was looking into his eyes as she spoke and she saw the hurt, the deep, painful shrinking. And knew, as she had suspected when he came into the room and gazed so unhappily into her eyes, that Mr Cowan fancied himself in love with her. He hadn’t realised it, not until she said she would go, and then he had thought of the long, lonely evenings, the solitary dinners, the responsibility of bringing Mollie up alone, and he just couldn’t face it. He had told himself he was in love and had been willing to do almost anything to keep her here, in the house on Sunnyside. She had a horrid suspicion that, if she had not capitulated, he would have offered marriage next. And if he had, and she had turned him down, whatever wouldhe have done then? But even now he had his pride. He would not willingly let her see that she had hurt him.

‘Yes, that’s fair enough, Miss Murphy, you wear your bracelet whenever you please.’ He grinned then, the boyish grin which she liked because it made him look younger and more carefree. She had noticed that when he relaxed and forgot his responsibilities, he could be a pleasant companion who could talk and even joke without having to continually stress his seriousness and superiority. She much preferred that Mr Cowan to the reserved, uncompromising man who thought himself too important to mix with ordinary people and who tried to tell everyone, including Linnet, what they should and should not do. ‘Now, Miss Murphy, can we forget our – our disagreement? It shan’t occur again, for my sister-in-law has pointed out that you and I should work together to make this a happy home for Mollie, and I intend to do just that.’

‘Certainly, Mr Cowan; I’ve forgotten it already,’ Linnet said, pushing her plate away and standing up. ‘And now I’d better go and fetch Mollie in. I’m going to take her on the tram down to the Pier Head so she can see the Mersey – she’s Liverpool born and bred, sir, but she’s never even seen our river. I was shocked, that I was!’

She said it to lighten the atmosphere, and it worked. He laughed. ‘There, now you’ve proved I’m a bad father for I’d not thought to introduce her to the river. Incidentally, Mollie has a great-aunt in Birkenhead; you must take the child over on the ferry and visit her one day. She’s a nice old girl, you and she would get on. Or perhaps I could take some time off and come over there with you. And next summer I thought we might go to a hotel in Llandudno for a couple of weeks; you would enjoy it as much as Mollie, I’m sure.’

‘That would be nice,’ Linnet said politely. She moved past him, opened the door, slid out into the hall. By next summer, she told herself, she would have seen Mollie settled with the new nurserymaid and would have no scruples about leaving. But Mr Cowan had followed her from the room, and as he closed the breakfast room door behind him she turned, smiled at him and spoke as easily and naturally as she could. ‘I’ll see you this evening then, sir.’

‘Indeed. You’ll dine with us tonight please, Miss Murphy. A foursome is easier and more comfortable than a threesome and I feel – I feel you are one of the family already. Mrs Edgar would like to know you better and so would my brother.’

‘Very well,’ Linnet said. She inclined her head and then opened the side door and ran down the garden to find Mollie, glad to end the conversation, which was bound to be rather stilted and awkward considering what had gone before.

Walking back down the garden with Mollie’s small hand in hers and the child chattering away beside her, Linnet thought rather sadly that her courage had not been equal to escape when it came to the point. But she knew, really, that it had not been lack of courage which had stayed her hand. It had been a wry fondness for Mr Cowan, and a real love for Mollie. She could not leave them in the lurch, not once Mr Cowan had apologised. But because she had given in it did not mean she was happy with the situation. I can almost feel the prison bars closing round me, she told herself sadly. But it won’t be for long, it can’t be. Roddy will be home in a few weeks, he’ll tell me what to do. He’s sensible, is Roddy.

And for the first time it occurred to Linnet that to spend the rest of her life with Roddy, even if they did quarrel a great deal, wouldn’t be a bad thing; not a bad thing at all.

Spring had come suddenly, in the middle of April, bringing with it sunshine, wild, warm winds, sudden sparkling showers. And because everything always happens at the same time, Caitlin and Declan Franklin decided to get engaged the same month that the Stations came to Ivy Farm. And that meant, Lucy thought bitterly, that Caitlin, who was such a help, would be too busy with her own affairs to help with the Murphys’ Stations. And with Grandad abed and her aunts busy with their own affairs, that left a great deal for Lucy to do. Because it was a big thing for a family, indeed for the whole neighbourhood, when the Stations came. The priest heard confessions and took communion in your home and all your friends and relatives came, so it was a great time for spring cleaning, and for sending letters to distant relations reminding them that the farmhouse had been singled out and that their presence was required.

In this particular part of Kerry the Stations, it was calculated, came round to each house no more than once in ten years, which gave you plenty of time to prepare, or so you would think. Only somehow things which should be done don’t get done and the world doesn’t come to an end just because you’ve not put a lick of paint on your doors for nine years. And then the tenth year comes along and you’ve got it all to do – every wall must be whitewashed, even walls which the priests and the congregation were highly unlikely to inspect, every floor stripped of old polish and then polished anew, every cushion cover, tablecloth and curtain must be taken down, tubbed, hung on the line, ironed, starched, put back in its place. In short, when a farm had the Stations everyone suffered.

It would, of course, be Lucy’s first time, because ten years before Maeve had still been living at home, masterminding their every move, mothering them. And what was worse, Grandad was poorly. ‘He’ll be here for the Stations,’ the doctor had said the previous week and Lucy, frightened, said, ‘but surely it’s not that serious, doctor? Surely Grandad will be here for years yet?’

Dr Leary had patted Lucy’s shoulder, tried to smile. But it hadn’t been much of a smile because he and Padraig Murphy had known each other all their lives, had drunk together, played tricks on each other . . . had attended each other’s weddings and scoffed at each other’s foolishness over this and that.

‘He’ll not last the summer, unless a miracle happens,’ the doctor told her sadly. ‘But he’ll see the Stations out. Will you be wantin’ to send for Maeve? I’ll add a line to your letter if you like.’

But Maeve had just discovered that she was expecting again and was busy and happy. ‘How can I write with bad news and get her tearin’ back here, perhaps too late?’ Lucy asked the doctor. ‘It takes a long time to arrange a trip across half the world – is it fair, doctor?’

‘No, it’s not,’ Dr Leary said, having given it some thought. ‘Best say nothing, then. Maeve’s not a young woman, to bear a child at her age is no light thing, best not add to her worries until we have to.’

‘And Grandad’s so happy,’ Lucy said. ‘He dearly loves the Stations.’

So she and Caitlin worked as hard as they could – despite her new preoccupation Caitlin did not let the Murphy family down – and the farmhands performed miracles on the outside of the house and in the farm buildings. The haggard was cleaner than it had ever been – save when Maeve had ruled when the Stations last came – and everything was planned down to the last detail. Friends and relatives, forewarned, would be arriving the day before if they came far and very early on the day itself if they were near. The old priest and his young curate would arrive early, too, the curate to hear confessions and the priest, of course, to say Mass. When the service was over breakfast would be served, if the day was fine in the yard, and when a long and leisurely meal had been eaten the priests, having done their duty by everyone, would leave, sped on their way by thanks and good wishes, carrying with them the dues they had collected before the service began. And then the real party would start. Huge meals would be set out on the white-clothed trestle tables and every scrap of food would be eaten, there would be singing, talking, dancing and story-telling, and guests who could do so would stay late into the night.

‘If it rains it’s the barn,’ Lucy decided the day before, though the sky overhead had been clear for a couple of days. ‘There’s too many for the house, they’d be crammed in shoulder to shoulder. No, the barn’s definitely best. What do you think, Caitlin? Shall we set up the trestles in the barn just in case the weather turns?’

Caitlin said leave it until the day, because surely the Holy Mother would look on an event like the Stations with approval, and see that the weather stayed good? And since Lucy agreed with her they put off making a decision, so when the day itself dawned bright and fair, without a cloud in the sky, the girls felt their faith had been justified and set about preparing breakfast with light hearts.

‘They will all come and talk to me, alanna, so make sure I’m in me best,’ old Padraig told Lucy as she brought hot water through so that he could shave. Tm wantin’ to talk to me man of business when the priests leave, as well as me friends. He’s comin’, o’ course?’

‘Would Mr Eamonn miss the Stations at Ivy Farm? He’d sooner lose his right hand,’ Lucy assured the old man. ‘But if you’re tired, Grandad, let business wait. Mr Eamonn can come to see you any time.’

Padraig grinned at her. He had all his teeth still and his grin was a pleasing sight. ‘And I’ve got all the time in the world, so I have? Is that what you were goin’ to say, alanna? Well, well, I’ve had a good life, better than most, and I’m an ole feller now. I don’t grudge the leavin’, but I want to settle things.’

‘But you’ve made your will, Grandad,’ Lucy said gently. ‘That’s all the settlin’ that’s needed, isn’t it?’

He shook his head at her, smiling still. ‘I do as I please, miss! Your aunts are comfortable, you’ve a good home here, but of late I’ve thought of your sister often and often. Who knows where she lays her head o’ nights? Who knows if she’s in desperate need? None of us, none of us. So I’m makin’ provision for her, see? Poor child, poor little Linnet. Makin’ sure she doesn’t go short.’

‘That’s just like you, Grandad, but we still don’t know where she is or how to get in touch with her,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘Maeve tried, years ago, without success. Why should you have better luck?’

He grinned again, a grin with a good deal of mischief in it. ‘Oh, you’ll try harder this time, alanna, and this time you’ll succeed, mark my words. Because if you don’t . . . but no matter, no matter. Hand me me razor and I’ll get rid o’ that white stubble – it makes me look like an old man so it does!’

By the time she climbed into bed that night Lucy was absolutely exhausted, but she was delighted with her first attempt at hosting the Stations. Everything had gone like a dream, exactly as she had planned it. Everyone had paid their dues, confessions had been cheerful and mercifully brief, relatives and friends had congratulated her and her workers on the state of the farm, the tidy house and the wonderful food.

Grandad had enjoyed himself, too. He had held court, seeming not to find so many visitors tiring, and had actually taken a little of the beautiful broth of beef bones and every vegetable she could lay her hands on, which Lucy had made for him.

‘You’ve done well, Lucy,’ her Aunt Clodagh had said as they met, briefly, in the dance. ‘Maeve would be so proud if she could see you now! I used to think you were spoiled rotten, so I did, but you’ve turned out better than I ever thought. You’ve given us a wonderful day, my dear.’

It was high praise coming from the normally critical Clodagh, and Lucy swelled with pride. I’ll remember today for ever, she thought, whirling up the line of dancers on Peder O’Rorke’s arm. Peder was keen on her, he told her so often and she knew it was true. Caitlin and Declan, who worked in the grocery in Caher, couldn’t wed until Declan had saved enough money to get them somewhere to live. Declan was an orphan so he had no family to help him and the Kellys lived in a small tied cottage, they didn’t have room for another soul – and Declan was a good Catholic; the babies would come whether the young Franklins could afford them or no, so you didn’t marry until you had at least a roof over your heads.

It was different for Peder and he often reminded her that she had only to say the word . . . he was a farmer’s son from further up the valley, there would be no shortage of money to build a nice little house for two newly-weds and no need for anyone to scrimp and save.