A Mother’s Spirit
A Mother’s Spirit
Anne Bennett
From rural rags to brief riches and back to ruin, this is a moving saga of hard work, bad luck and finally hope for a family’s future.Gloria Sullivan can’t quite believe where she has ended up.Growing up with no money worries, she fell head over heels in love with the handsome, hardworking Irishman employed by her father. They were the golden couple - until the Wall Street crash, when everything was lost. Finally she agreed to start again in London with husband Joe and their small son.World War Two was raging, and Joe laboured on the docks by day and fighting fires by night. He was a hero - but one dreadful fire left him terribly injured. Once more Gloria resolved to leave everything behind and to take Joe home to his family farm in Ireland, his only hope of recovery.Gloria now dutifully nurses her husband, but she can’t settle in the countryside. Then a nearby American base begins recruiting civilians. Gloria tells everyone it’s her chance to do her bit - but will she be tempted to do much more?
ANNE BENNETT
A Mother’s Spirit
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_c049693b-c8f1-5cbd-bf14-924192a55cfb)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008
Copyright © Anne Bennett 2008
Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007287680
Version: 2017-09-08
DEDICATION (#ulink_6d8c0d40-77ad-55bb-bc18-2694bf92694a)
To my grandson Theo, the youngest Bennett boy, with all my love
CONTENTS
Cover (#u5a48f3f7-344b-58cd-9427-8ccca78a454c)
Title Page (#u0d7364c5-f1eb-506d-985a-4d5c7e6c1849)
Copyright (#u20aea8ba-c051-5c4e-a603-7deba1794b62)
Dedication (#u34911b90-33ba-5c4e-b9b8-e2a0cccb7304)
Chapter One (#uf0684153-73ff-5cf5-8ac3-0f0cebb73867)
Chapter Two (#u2f6d4704-97ea-5eed-b88f-48dd47aece3e)
Chapter Three (#ucdd8189d-3a85-59d7-b5b4-02b517ade465)
Chapter Four (#u307045cd-acf5-5f0a-a357-a79f08dbae24)
Chapter Five (#ucfa4185a-0ef3-5cfc-b1fa-9c2c11259092)
Chapter Six (#u9b620263-b59d-556d-ae3c-c2a967b783e0)
Chapter Seven (#u36cc1871-9c46-50da-889d-18b6a7eab491)
Chapter Eight (#u026a97f4-7949-53b1-a4d9-d7ce22407561)
Chapter Nine (#u176d5655-cd4c-55c8-ae11-272567b64bd1)
Chapter Ten (#u290242ba-bdc6-55b0-b818-32230adf4ff1)
Chapter Eleven (#u6a6befe5-c1fd-54ac-8fe4-f50a39523fbd)
Chapter Twelve (#u1c9199cf-f450-5ad2-aa7f-aba367a491a3)
Chapter Thirteen (#u9e169953-7de0-5f3b-93b5-71fb578a1564)
Chapter Fourteen (#u93a4a09c-30cc-5e83-ac72-b6160e735b34)
Chapter Fifteen (#ua054ff91-6c85-5e03-83be-74312a910d40)
Chapter Sixteen (#u936b79f9-ec06-5e4c-9ecd-12cf9e230cde)
Chapter Seventeen (#u973e93c7-da32-549d-b4a2-c7858c709603)
Chapter Eighteen (#ua405ee38-fb60-5ebe-8ae5-68a9ef3a488a)
Chapter Nineteen (#u1ceff6b3-f732-51d1-a687-8609701c94a7)
Chapter Twenty (#u252fc68d-a171-56f9-b073-d3967822b373)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u0ba8b488-521a-5c7b-acdf-406b20dc8fda)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ua023e1e7-a07a-554d-89e1-1e3fd5e2a2f8)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ub66177bd-b865-5a19-a8d3-c17edd7206d3)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#ub7e3d0f3-7868-5554-8826-e170f5835e53)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u45330095-ab4f-5f4d-9a2d-487b83319175)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u7d23d7fe-332c-5de4-893c-326a4284cb0a)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#ufddc78bb-887b-543c-ba2a-92e42fd518c8)
Acknowledgements (#u5931f3a2-9683-561e-934c-f43b3a23d1eb)
About the Author (#uc68c6173-b40c-5cc7-94de-7b3bc91776ae)
Also by the Author (#u84343306-cdc8-5fbf-b13b-c455f6e1f59b)
About the Publisher
ONE (#ulink_ce9eee48-4d27-51c6-8d3a-c9bec6105fb1)
‘Please let me come with you, Daddy?’ Gloria Brannigan pleaded with her father that afternoon, as he prepared to leave the house.
Brian looked into the appealing eyes of his daughter, the child he loved more than life itself, and shook his head. ‘I cannot take you to the docks, my dear,’ he said. ‘Your mother would—’
‘Mother has retired to bed with a sick headache,’ Gloria said, almost triumphantly.
‘And what about the cold that has laid you low now for almost a week so that you have been unable to go to school?’ Brian asked with a wry glance at her.
‘That is quite gone, Daddy, and I could have gone to school today but you know how Mother fusses so!’ Gloria told him. ‘The fresh air might even be good for me,’ adding, as her father seemed unconvinced, ‘You could even claim the trip to be educational.’
‘And just how do you work that one out?’
‘Well, the things unloaded in New York are from all different countries, aren’t they? I could make a list of them and later I could look them up on my globe.’
‘I think not, darling,’ Brian said regretfully.
‘Oh, go on, Daddy,’ Gloria urged. ‘I am so bored, and the docks are exciting. I like to hear the sailors calling to each other in their own languages.’
‘It’s the languages you can understand that worry me,’ Brian said grimly. ‘Sailors’ talk is not for the ears of young ladies.’
‘Oh, Daddy, don’t be so stuffy,’ Gloria said. ‘Anyway, I shall be too interested in everything else to listen to anything unsuitable.’
Brian gave a throaty chuckle. ‘All right, you cheeky monkey,’ he said. ‘You win. I was taking the smaller carriage anyway, because Bramble can pull that and a bit of exercise will do him good. The pony’s been a bit skittish of late, with you not being able to exercise him. I suppose you know that I will catch it in the neck good and proper for encouraging you to play truant?’
‘You didn’t encourage me, Daddy,’ Gloria protested. ‘It was me persuading you.’
‘Your mother will not see it that way,’ Brian said, with a rueful grin. ‘It’s a good job that I have such a broad back.’
‘Well, I think you are a lovely, kind daddy,’ Gloria said, winding her arms around his neck. ‘In fact, the best daddy in the whole world.’
Brian felt tears prickle the back of his eyes. This child was the only one he would ever have, because of what Norah had suffered at their daughter’s birth. Gloria, however, made up for any son Brian may have hankered after. Her hair was the colour of spun gold and hung in natural ringlets, which she tied back with a ribbon that always matched her dress. Then there were those unusual and very beautiful violet eyes, encircled with long, black lashes and the wide and generous mouth, the only feature she had inherited from him.
‘We must hurry,’ he said. ‘There is not much daylight in these winter days. I will send Tilly in to you to help you get dressed in your outdoor things. The day is bone-chillingly cold and you will need to be well wrapped up.’
Gloria watched her father leave the room with a smile playing around her mouth. At fourteen years old, she was well aware that she could twist him around her little finger.
Joe Sullivan had been appalled by the conditions on board the liner bound for New York. It had been anchored in the deeper waters of Lough Foyle, and he had boarded it from a tender sent out from the pier at Moville in southern Donegal in Ireland two weeks before. He had been excited and in good spirits at being en route to America – the one place to which he had so longed to go.
However, all the steerage passengers had been housed in the bowels of the ship, and many, including Joe, had been sick for the first few days as the ship was tossed about in the turbulent ocean. The weather had been too bad for the hatch to be opened often, to enable the passengers to climb on deck, and so the air in their quarters quickly grew fetid and stale, and soon smelled of vomit.
Joe took every opportunity to be outside, despite the fact that the wind cut through him. Throughout the voyage, the wind whipped the waves into gigantic breakers fringed with white, which constantly crashed against the ship.
November was not a good time to travel the ocean, Joe decided and he would remember that in future, and he had been extremely glad to reach Ellis Island. As he queued to disembark, he looked to the New York skyline with its skyscrapers, which some of the fellows on the ship had told him about. What a sight it was, and as unlike the skyline of his home town of Buncrana, County Donegal as it was possible to be.
The huge Statue of Liberty dominated the waterfront. Liberty was what every Irishman dreamed of. His young brother, Finn, had given his life in the Great War because Britain had promised the Irish their freedom if they helped them fight the Hun. Here in New York, America, Joe was sure he would experience real freedom, and he was filled with exhilaration at the prospect.
First, though, he had to go through the procedure on Ellis Island, where he would be prodded, poked, examined, tested and questioned, to ascertain that he was fit to enter America. He wasn’t worried about the physical examination, for he knew he was as fit as anyone else – fitter than most, in fact. Work all his life on the farm had seen to that.
The three Rs Joe had learned at the school in Buncrana run by the Christian Brothers where, if you weren’t inclined to learn in the normal way, the lesson would be beaten into you. Joe had always had a healthy respect for the cane. His mother had had a similar one and he had felt its sting often. So he had learned as much as he felt he needed, and more than enough to please the Brothers, and now could give a good enough account of himself.
Everyone entering America had to have a sponsor waiting for him or her. Joe might have easily been on the next boat back if it hadn’t been for a neighbour, Patrick Lacey, who had travelled the same route as Joe five years earlier. He would never have touched American soil himself if it hadn’t been for an uncle willing to sponsor him until he got settled, and he offered to do the same for Joe Sullivan.
Joe stood at one side of the table and three stern-faced men sat the other side of it, checking all the tests he had passed and scrutinising the letter closely. Then one said, with a slight smile as he returned the letter to him, ‘That seems to all be in order, Mr Sullivan, and as you passed everything else satisfactorily, there will be no need to detain you on Ellis Island any further. Pack up your things. You will be leaving on the tide today.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Joe. ‘And thank you, sir.’ A frisson of excitement began in his toes and spread throughout his whole body. Friday, 18 November 1921, and he was on his way.
Gloria was blissfully happy having her daddy to herself. The steamship he was waiting for hadn’t begun unloading yet, so Gloria was able to drink in the sights, sounds and smells of the docks as they walked together.
There were sailors everywhere, shouting and calling out to each other, and the steamship funnels belching out grey smoke into the much greyer sky. Goods being unloaded clattered down the gangplanks, and barrels being rolled rumbled along the dockside.
And everyone was so pleasant. Some of the sailors, mostly the foreign ones, Gloria noticed, gave her a wink or called out to her, for she was a pretty child with a ready smile.
Bert Clifford, who managed the factory that her father owned, was especially nice to her and always called her Miss Gloria, as if she was a real lady. He knew which side his bread was buttered, for his boss doted on the child. It was easy to be nice to her too, she was such a comely little thing.
Whispery trails of vapour escaped from people’s mouths when they spoke, and yet Gloria hardly felt the cold, wrapped as she was in a beautiful blue woollen coat with a cape of the same material over her shoulders. A matching bonnet was tied under her chin over the golden ringlets, framing her face and making her eyes look bigger than ever, thick black stockings encased her legs, soft black leather boots went halfway up her calves, and her hands were buried in a black fur muff.
‘Funny how you like the docks so much,’ Brian mused. ‘I must admit I was much the same when I was young. Course, there were some sailing ships about then, but not many. Some ships used steam, but had sails as well. What a sight it was to see those – majestic almost – and yet totally inefficient. A ship could be becalmed for days, weeks even sometimes, whereas now, why, the passage from England takes two weeks or less, they tell me. Like that one there, with the passengers waiting to disembark.’
The passenger ships’ pier was a little further along the harbour than those of the trading boats.
‘So, that one’s from England?’
‘Aye, and Ireland,’ Brian said. ‘It picks up first at a little place called Moville and then Belfast and on to Liverpool before coming here.’
‘I’d love to go to Ireland,’ Gloria said. ‘See the place where you were born and raised, Daddy.’
‘And so you shall, my dear, one day,’ Brian said. ‘But Ireland at the moment is not a place for anyone to visit. It is a bed of unrest, I believe. And for the life of me I cannot see what is so wrong in wanting to govern your own country. Anyway, it means the poor unfortunate people are all coming here, hoping for a better life, though it often turns sour for them.’
There was a sudden cry from Bert Clifford and Brian turned. ‘They’re beginning to unload,’ he said to Gloria. ‘You sit in the carriage for a while now and wait for me.’
‘Oh, Daddy …’
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘You must obey me in this. You will only be in the way and anyway, I’ll not be able to watch you.’
‘I don’t need watching, Daddy.’
‘You think not?’ Brian said, with a lift to his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t at all like the way some of the sailors were smiling and winking at you.’
‘I didn’t think you noticed.’
‘I notice everything about you, my dear,’ Brian said with a smile. ‘Now then, you be a good girl and I will take you for tea at Macy’s afterwards. What do you say?’
Gloria’s answer was in the smile she gave her father, as she kissed him on the cheek before climbing into the carriage without another word of complaint. Macy’s afternoon teas were not to be sniffed at.
She watched her father hurry away towards Bert. She knew there was no reason for him to do this himself, as her mother had said the previous evening. Bert Clifford was an honest and trustworthy man and she couldn’t understand why Brian didn’t just leave him to it.
‘Because it is my business, not his,’ Brian had said. ‘And I want to count those supplies coming off the boat myself, and that is the end of the matter.’
Her mother hated the thought of her husband consorting with common sailors, considering it so unnecessary and degrading. Gloria understood, however, how much her father liked the vibrant clamour and bustle of the docks. He was now lost to her sight in the crowd, and she turned her attention to the immigrant ship just in time to see the gangplanks lowered.
Joe couldn’t wait to explore the place. Those on Ellis Island had changed his money to the American currency before he left, and he jingled the coins in his pocket and thought of the wallet packed with dollar bills, pleased that he had so much of it left. He had been careful and taken part in none of the card schools so many of the other men seemed hooked on. His father had never approved of cards and none had been played in their cottage to while away the winter evenings.
‘A fool and his money are soon parted,’ Thomas John had said when Joe had queried this. ‘Gambling can get a grip on a body. I have seen more than one bet his whole wages on the throw of the dice or a card game, and lose the lot. However did they explain that to their wives and hungry weans when they got home? I often wondered about that and decided a long time ago that gambling wasn’t for me.’
It wasn’t for Joe either because his brother, Tom, still back on the farm in Buncrana, had sold a field and the sheep in it so that Joe could have this chance in America. It had been incredibly generous, and he had been extremely grateful, but he knew there would be no other money if he was to squander this. Although officially Tom was owner of the farm, now that their father had died, their crabbed, spiteful mother held the purse strings. Joe knew he would never get a penny piece from her, and he didn’t know how long the money he had would have to last him until he landed himself a job.
He hoped, though, that Patrick Lacey would help there. Joe’s sponsor had said he would offer him lodging, at least until he got himself straight, and Joe intended looking him up as soon as possible.
The gangplank was down, a cheer went up, and the passengers moved slowly forward, hampered by their cases. Joe’s attention was taken by an altercation on the dockside between a well-dressed man and a sailor over a cask that the man seemed to be demanding the sailor open.
Once it was open, the man withdrew a piece of linen or cotton that had obviously been used as packing. He waved the material aloft, and as he examined the contents of the barrel he started berating the sailor, who appeared to be foreign and was opening his arms helplessly.
It was causing great amusement amongst the disembarking passengers, until suddenly a gust of wind whipped the material out of the man’s hand. It swirled and danced in the air for a while, before settling across the nose and eyes of the pony coupled to a small carriage.
With a shriek, the pony reared on its back legs. The coachman made an abortive dive for the pony, but was struck on the temple by one of its flailing front legs and fell to the ground. Then the pony made a headlong dash for the exit and the main road beyond, people scuttling out of its path.
Inside the carriage, Gloria tried to see what was happening before she was cast to the floor of the carriage where, tossed from one side to the other, she began screaming her head off.
Joe, nearly at the end of the gangplank, spied a face briefly at the carriage window, and realised that it wasn’t empty, as he had supposed, but that there was a child inside. He dropped his bag and case, leaped to the rail, vaulted over the two people in front of him, hit the ground running and took off after the pony. His father always said he could run like the wind and it was true that he could always beat Tom in a race and he ran that afternoon like the very devil.
As he was drawing level with the pony, he wondered how to get it to stop. He wouldn’t be able to hold it by the reins; the panicked pony would just pull him over and drag him along the ground. There was only one thing for it. Joe knew he had just the one chance and he thanked God that the pony was not large. As he drew almost level he made a superhuman leap and landed on the pony’s back, remembering how, as a game, he and Tom had tried leaping onto their old horse at home.
This, however, was no game. If he was thrown from the pony he would be crushed by the carriage. His heart thumped in his chest as, for quite a few moments, he thought that might happen, as he was at the back end of the frightened and panicky animal, which was desperately trying to dislodge him. His relief when he managed to catch hold of one of the reins was palpable, and he began to pull himself towards the pony’s head.
The animal was scared witless, but Joe began to stroke its mane gently and rhythmically, talking to it softly as he had done to their own horse at home when it had been spooked by something.
At first, he wasn’t sure he was doing any good, and he was only too aware how near they were to the main road. He could hear the traffic and knew if he didn’t stop the pony before the road, it was highly unlikely any of them would survive.
However, though his mouth was dry with fear, he kept the panic out of his voice and hands as he continued to stroke and talk as gently as he could. Gradually, he felt the pony begin to respond and to slow slightly. Then people came forward to hold him. He was eventually brought to a halt only a couple of yards from the road. He stood with his head down, his sides heaving and gleaming with sweat. Joe slid from his back, ran to the carriage door and opened it.
Gloria was lying curled in a ball on the floor of the carriage, certain she was going to die. She had begun to uncurl herself stiffly as the carriage stopped, though she still shook.
Joe climbed inside the carriage and lifted the child gently to her feet. Her bonnet had become dislodged and her hair was tousled around her head, and although her face was brick red, it didn’t detract from her beauty at all.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ Joe asked solicitously.
Gloria opened her mouth to speak, and began to weep in fear and relief. She put her arms around Joe’s neck, and he didn’t protest, knowing that she probably needed the comfort of another human being. She cried into his shoulder as he lifted her in his arms and carried her from the carriage.
They were still clasped together like this when Brian reached them, red-faced and panting. From every side people told him of the bravery of the young man, newly arrived in the country, who, without a shadow of a doubt, had saved the life of young Gloria Brannigan.
Brian knew that without being told. He had died a thousand times as he pounded after the careering carriage, and even as he watched the young man from the immigrant ship leap on to the back of the terrified pony, he feared he would not be able to stop the pony in time.
He peeled his still distraught daughter from Joe’s arms as he said to him, ‘I owe you a debt that it will take a lifetime to repay. Brian Brannigan is my name, and this is my daughter, Gloria.’
‘Joe Sullivan, sir,’ Joe said. ‘And as for what I did, I am just glad that your daughter is unharmed.’
‘Thanks to you,’ Brian said, looking Joe up and down. He liked what he saw. Joe was a handsome man, with expressive dark eyes. He stood straight and tall, and looked fully in command of himself, and only his tousled brown hair and his rumpled suit were evidence of his act of bravery. ‘None but my coachman, Tim Walsh, tried to stop the pony,’ Brian went on, ‘and now the poor man is lying comatose on the ground awaiting an ambulance. Everyone else kept out of the way.’
‘You can’t blame them, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I would say the pony was too panicked to stop in any way other than the one I tried, and even I wasn’t sure that it would work.’
Gloria was looking at Joe with a sort of awed expression. ‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘Leaped on the pony’s back, that’s what,’ Brian told his daughter. ‘And in doing so saved your life and risked his own.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ Gloria said. ‘Thank you, I suppose, but that doesn’t seem very much really.’
‘It isn’t,’ Brian agreed, ‘but here is a better offer.’ He turned to Joe. ‘You have just come off the immigrant ship?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Have you a job?’
‘No, but I have a neighbour looking out for me.’
‘Well, I own a factory and I sure could use a brave young fellow like yourself. How d’you feel about that?’
Joe couldn’t believe his luck. In payment for saving this man’s daughter, he was being offered employment. And though the man was still red-faced and breathless from his unaccustomed exertion, he looked to be honest and straightforward.
‘I feel grand about it, sir,’ Joe said.
‘Are you looking for that sort of work?’
‘I am looking for any kind of work that pays a wage, sir,’ Joe said. ‘But I have to tell you that I have never done work in any sort of factory before.’
‘Are you willing to learn?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘That’s all I wanted to hear,’ Brian said. ‘Now I have to find out what is going to happen to my coachman and sort out stabling for the pony, because I will leave him and the carriage here tonight. And I dare say you have to collect your belongings. Let’s say we meet back here in about half an hour and we will go home by taxi.’
‘Home, sir?’ Joe repeated.
‘Yes, home, Mr Joe Sullivan,’ Brian said, clapping Joe on the back. ‘Where my wife, Norah, will, at the very least, want to shake you by the hand.’
TWO (#ulink_59484733-9d09-5984-9896-a222da633ba0)
‘We must go straight home, my dear,’ Brian said, as he helped his daughter into the taxi. ‘It would never do for your mother to get wind of your mishap before I have a chance to tell her. I am afraid we will have to forgo tea at Macy’s.’
‘I don’t mind that, Daddy,’ Gloria said plaintively. ‘I ache everywhere, to tell you the truth, there is a pounding pain in my head and everything is wavy before my eyes.’
Brian felt guilty. He saw that Gloria’s face was as white as lint and that her eyes seemed to stand out in her head and were glazed slightly with pain. By giving in to Gloria’s demands that afternoon, he knew he had put her life in danger. ‘That’s not to be wondered at, my dear, after the way you were thrown about in that carriage,’ he said gently. ‘You are probably suffering from shock too. As soon as we get home, you are going to be tucked up in bed and I am sending for the doctor.’
The fact that Gloria made no comment about this was not lost on her father. ‘Lean against me, my dear,’ he suggested, ‘and close your eyes. That was a dreadful and frightening thing to happen to you, but we will have you home and comfy in no time at all.’
Joe was waiting for them, excited at the thought of riding in a taxi, for he had never done that in the whole of his life before, but as he climbed in he noticed the pallid face of the child, Gloria, as she cuddled up to her father and he said, ‘I hope you are not too uncomfortable, miss?’
Gloria sighed as if the effort of speech was too much for her and it was her father who answered. ‘Battered and bruised and in shock, I think,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the doctor look at her when we are home.’
‘Have you heard how the coachman is, sir?’
‘No,’ Brian said, ‘only that the poor fellow was unconscious and taken to the hospital, but my factory manager, Bert Clifford, is going to see how he is as soon as he can, and he will send me word. I hope that he will be all right. Tim is a fine man and a good worker, and has been with me for years.’
Joe, though, doubted that the man could have escaped without serious injury because he had caught the full power of the frantic rearing pony’s hoofs.
But it wouldn’t help to say that. Anyway, he was soon distracted by his first journey in a taxi through the traffic-filled streets of New York, and he turned his head this way and that, taking in all the sights of the city. He was awed by the sheer size of some of the buildings, so high they did indeed appear to scrape the sky.
Brian watched his amazement for some time before he asked with a smile, ‘Glad you are here, Joe Sullivan?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It has long been a dream of mine to come.’
‘It wasn’t my choice originally,’ Brian said. ‘It was my father’s. I was twelve years old when we first arrived in America. We came here after the death of my mother.’
‘And how did you like America, sir?’
‘I liked it well enough when I came to terms with the fact that I would never see my mother again,’ Brian told him. ‘Though America then, or New York at least, was a different place altogether. There were not that many fine buildings, but a great many ruffians, and the city was ruled by the gangs roaming the streets. My father, though he had a factory in the city, would not live there and so he bought a plot of land in an area to the north called Queens and had a house built that he called Stoneleigh. Then it was all countryside, but the city is creeping towards it now. You’ll see it for yourself in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joe answered. ‘But I am a bit concerned about my sponsor, Patrick Lacey. He will be wondering if I do not call, for he knows I was arriving today.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Brian said. ‘When we get home, if you give me his address, I will dispatch my man to tell him you are dining with us tonight.’
‘Dining, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Brian said. ‘It’s the least I can do, and just a small measure of my gratitude to you.’
‘But won’t your wife mind my just turning up like this?’
‘My boy,’ Brian said confidently, ‘after she hears how you saved Gloria in the way that you did, there is nothing you can do that will annoy my wife, though she might not be as pleased to see me.’
Before Joe was able to form any sort of reply, the taxi suddenly turned through ornate gates and down a gravel path. Even in the descending dusk, the magnificence of the Brannigan residence could be plainly seen. The only large house that Joe had any experience of at all was the one that his sister Nuala worked in. Even so, he knew that the Brannigan house was in a league of its own. It was built of honey-coloured brick and had more windows and chimneys than Joe had ever seen in his life. He trembled in apprehension at even entering such a place.
The taxi drew to a stop before the house, the wheels crunching on the gravel, and Joe was alarmed to think that he was going to go up those marble steps and in at the front door as if he was someone of importance.
Suddenly, the door opened and a man in some sort of livery ran towards them.
‘My butler, Planchard,’ Brian said in explanation to Joe as the man reached them.
Gloria had fallen into a doze in the taxi and only murmured drowsily as Brian gathered her into his arms.
The butler’s eyes were full of anxiety as he cried, ‘What’s happened, sir? Can I help you at all?’
‘There was a bit of an accident in the town, concerning the carriage,’ Brian said, ‘and I left it there. Pay the driver, will you, like a good chap? My hands are rather occupied at the moment.’
‘Do you want help with Miss Gloria, sir?’ Planchard said as he paid the driver, picked up his master’s bag and cast a curious look at Joe, who had climbed out of the taxi and was looking around, not quite sure what to do next.
‘I’m all right,’ Brian said as they walked towards the house. ‘There is no weight to Gloria. But you might look after this brave man here beside me. Name of Joe Sullivan, hailed recently from one of the immigrant ships from Ireland. He will be staying to dinner tonight.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said, dutifully enough, and yet in the light spilling out from the hall Joe caught the man’s surprised eyes alight on him speculatively as he bent towards Joe to take his case.
Joe hid his smile, for he guessed that New York was full of people from immigrant ships from all over the world, but none of them had been brought to the Brannigan house for dinner before. He also knew that he would probably be the talk of the place by morning.
‘Now, Joe,’ Brian said as they reached the house, ‘Planchard will take charge of you, while I get Gloria sorted out.’
Planchard nodded in Joe’s direction and, leaving his case in the hall, he said, ‘If you leave your bag next to the case, sir, I will show you into the drawing room.’
‘And when you have done that,’ Brian said, ‘perhaps you will tell your mistress what has happened and inform her that I am taking Gloria straight to her room. Summon Tilly too, for Miss Gloria may have need of her, and someone had better go for the doctor urgently.’
‘I’ll attend to it all directly, sir,’ Planchard said.
Brian began to mount the ornate staircase, still with Gloria in his arms, while the butler said to Joe, ‘If you would follow me, sir …’
Joe smiled ruefully because it was a novelty being called ‘sir’ and it had happened twice. Wondering what sort of room a drawing room was, he left down his bag and followed the butler, who crossed the black-and-white-tiled hall and opened cream double doors to a low and elegant room with a carpet so thick Joe’s feet sank into it. ‘If you will just wait here, sir,’ the butler said, ‘I am sure that Mr Brannigan will be with you shortly.’
Left alone, Joe glanced around the room with interest and a little fear, for he felt totally out of his depth. The room was lit with electric lights set around the walls and in a huge glass chandelier, which hung from the patterned ceiling. A gold suite was drawn up in front of the white marble fireplace where a welcoming fire blazed in the grate. Joe delicately ran his hands over the brocade pattern of the upholstery and wondered if he would ever dare to sit on one of those chairs.
He glanced at the small ornate clock on the mantelpiece. It was made of gold, which sparkled in the firelight, and had a glass front so the swinging pendulum was visible. ‘Almost six o’clock,’ Joe said to himself and, looking out where the silken curtains to either side of the large window had not been drawn, he saw the evening was as black as pitch.
He crossed the room and stood for a long time peering out at the grounds surrounding the house, marvelling at it all. He thought back to his many, uneventful years in Ireland. He knew that when he thought about his new life in America he could never have imagined the chain of events that had landed him in a house such as this, as the invited guest of such an obviously prominent and wealthy man. He tingled with excitement for he just knew that his life would take off from this point.
He wished no harm at all on the beautiful young lady he had rescued from danger and yet he couldn’t but thank his lucky stars that her father was a factory owner. He just knew that Brian Brannigan could shape his future in America.
‘Ah, there you are, my boy.’
Joe swung around from the window. Brian was standing in the doorway arm in arm with a lady whom he introduced as his wife, Norah. The resemblance to Gloria was marked. Joe guessed that once the older woman’s hair had been just as strikingly blonde as her daughter’s, but now it was much duller and tied from her face in a sort of fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She had the same high cheekbones, and the same-shaped eyes, though Norah’s were plain blue. Behind them Joe saw the resentment and he knew that Mrs Brannigan didn’t want the likes of him sitting down at her table.
When Brian had told Norah of the accident and of Joe’s part in it and went on to say that he had invited the man to dinner, she had looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. She had been up to see Gloria, and she was distressed and worried, and now this other bombshell.
‘You have invited that man to dinner, here?’ she’d repeated.
‘Aye,’ said Brian. ‘I did.’
‘And why, pray, did you do that?’
‘Do what, my dear?’ Brian had asked mildly.
‘Oh, don’t be so obtuse, Brian,’ Norah asked. ‘Why ask a common workman to dinner?’
‘Didn’t I explain what he did, and that if he hadn’t been there—’
‘Of course you have explained,’ Norah snapped. ‘Though if you had acted as a proper father and refused to take Gloria to such an unsuitable place then she would have been in no danger whatsoever. But whatever he did I’m sure the man would hardly have expected to be asked to dine with us. Why didn’t you thank him sincerely, as I am prepared to do, offer him a sum of money and send him on his way? Find him a job if you must, but to ask him to dinner is madness. Surely you can see that he is bound to feel out of place and uncomfortable.’
‘It was done in the heat of the moment,’ Brian admitted. ‘However, he is here now and you must accept it, my dear.’
‘You do not have to explain manners to me,’ Norah hissed. ‘I know how to behave and conduct myself, and much better than you.’
Despite her views, though, Norah was quite impressed when she saw Joe. He was a handsome and well set up young man, and had a way of carrying himself. Added to that, his brown eyes looked honest and steady and he was at least respectable.
Norah Brannigan extended her hand to Joe and said, through pert, thin lips, ‘I believe my husband and I have much to thank you for, Mr Sullivan? He tells me you saved our daughter’s life today.’
‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time, ma’am, that was all,’ Joe said. ‘I was just glad to be of service.’
‘Gloria is much more comfortable now,’ Brian said. ‘We are awaiting the doctor and her maid, Tilly, is sitting with her.’
‘I trust she will make a full and speedy recovery,’ Joe said.
‘So do I,’ Norah agreed. And then she cast a venomous look in her husband’s direction. ‘Of course, the whole thing should never have happened in the first place.’
‘Now, Norah,’ Brian said in a placating tone, ‘we have been all through that.’ He turned to Joe. ‘Now if you give me the name and address of your sponsor, I will send him word where you are.’ Joe gave it to him and he wrote it on the pad he lifted from the desk, then pulled the bell rope by the side of the fireplace. ‘We will have dinner shortly after the doctor has been, but in the meantime would you like a drink?’ he asked Joe.
Joe thought about what the men on the ship coming over had said about the Prohibition Law in America forbidding the sale or production of alcohol, but from the vast array of bottles in the cabinet, he could see no sign of it in the Brannigan household. This didn’t surprise him for, in his experience, most rich people seemed to be able to sidestep the law.
‘I don’t know what to ask for, sir,’ he said. ‘I understood that Prohibition would—’
‘I saw the way the wind was blowing before it became law,’ Brian said, ‘and was able to stockpile a fair bit in the cellars. Ridiculous notion to try and turn a whole nation like this one teetotal.’
‘I couldn’t see it working in Ireland, sir,’ said Joe with a smile.
‘I couldn’t see it even being proposed in Ireland,’ Brian said. ‘Doesn’t work, of course. It will be two years by the end of January next year and already the gangs that used virtually to run the underclass of the city that I spoke about in the taxi have sprung up again. They are now in control of nearly all the illegal liquor smuggled in. Mark my words, that law will cause more problems in society, not less. Still, that doesn’t answer my question. As this isn’t a dry house yet, what would you like to drink?’
A pint of cold Guinness would have gone down a treat, but Joe couldn’t see anything remotely like that and Brian, seeing his dilemma and guessing how he was feeling, said, ‘Will you join me in a whiskey?’
Joe sighed inwardly. Whiskey at least he knew, though he hadn’t drunk it often, so he said, ‘A whiskey, sir, would be very good.’
A young maid dressed in a white apron over her black frock appeared then. ‘Ah Mary,’ Brian said, passing the paper into her hand, ‘give this to McManus. Tell him to go to this address and inform a Mr Patrick Lacey that his friend, Mr Joe Sullivan, is dining with us this evening.’
Mary gave a little bob as she took the letter from Brian, and Joe realised how easy life was for a person rich enough to employ a bevy of servants.
‘Now,’ said Brian, passing a generous glass of whiskey to Joe, ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable and tell me a bit about yourself.’
Joe sat very gingerly on the gold suite, and told Brian of the small town of Buncrana in northern Donegal and the farm near to it where he had been born and reared. He went on to tell him of his young brother, Finn, who had enlisted in the Great War and was killed in 1916, and his elder brother, Tom, who now owned the farm after the death of his father, and his sister Nuala living in Birmingham, England. He didn’t speak of Nuala wanting to marry a Protestant man, or that when she wrote the news of this to her parents her father had had a heart attack and died with the letter still in his hand.
Nor did he say that his mother, who had become almost unbearable to live with, had disowned Nuala because she blamed her for her father’s death, and he never mentioned Aggie, his eldest sister, either – another one his mother disowned – who had run away from home when he was just a boy, because these were personal family matters and not for sharing.
‘The place was not the same at all after Daddy died,’ Joe told Brian and Norah. ‘It was as if the heart had gone out of the place. And then I felt that life was passing me by and, well, I was breaking my back for a farm that would never be mine and so I decided to give America a try.’
‘And how did your brother take that news?’ Brian asked.
‘Oh, Tom understood,’ Joe said. ‘In fact he—’ But Joe got no further for at that moment the doorbell rang.
Knowing that it was probably the doctor, Norah was crossing the room before the maid appeared at the door. ‘Have to leave you to your own devices, Mr Sullivan,’ Brian said.
‘Don’t worry, sir, really,’ Joe said. ‘I am anxious as you are to hear what the doctor has to say about your daughter.’
‘Help yourself to another drink and make yourself comfortable,’ Brian said as he left. ‘We will both be back directly.’
Joe didn’t help himself to a drink, but sipped the one he had slowly as he again looked about the room in wonder. He thought of his brother on the farm and what he would say if he saw him now, sitting in such a room in such a house, as if he had a perfect right to be there, and supping whiskey, no less.
He knew that Tom, in similar circumstances, would probably be paralysed with shock and fear, and unable to take joy in any of it. He, on the other hand, intended to make the most of every minute because he knew it would be nothing more than a glimpse into how the toffs lived, and that when this bizarre day was at an end, his life would return to normal.
The doctor stayed about half an hour and by that time Joe’s stomach had begun to grumble.
‘The news is good,’ Brian said as he re-entered the room. ‘The doctor said there were no bones broken. Of course the poor girl is bruised all over and badly shaken up, and might be slightly concussed, but he said there’s nothing a few days in bed won’t cure.’
‘I’m pleased, sir,’ Joe said with a smile. ‘You must both be very relieved.’
‘We are,’ Brian answered. ‘I told the doctor what you did and he said you undoubtedly saved Gloria from a much greater injury. Now, I suggest that I let Cook know that we will be ready for dinner in half an hour or so.’
The dining room was even more opulent than the drawing room. It was dominated by a large table laid with a white lace cloth, and more cutlery and glasses than Joe had ever seen in his life. He knew that he would have to watch and copy Brian’s use of them very carefully or risk making an utter fool of himself.
Before they had the chance to start their meal, though, there was a knock at the door and the butler came in and said that Bert Clifford was outside and would like a word. Brian was on his feet immediately. ‘Excuse me,’ he said throwing his napkin down onto the table. ‘He probably has news of Tim.’
Brian’s face when he returned was very grave. ‘The news is that Tim has a fractured skull,’ he said, ‘and it’s touch and go whether he will pull through at all, or if he will be any use if he does survive. It is a terrible tragedy altogether.’
‘Has he a family?’ Joe asked.
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘He has always lived alone in a little place above the stables. I will go up to the hospital myself tomorrow, have a word with the doctors and see what’s the prognosis, but for the moment I am without someone to see to the horses.’
And then he took Joe totally by surprise by asking, ‘What about you, Mr Sullivan? Could you take over for a few days until we find out what’s what with Tim?’
‘Me, sir?’
‘You seem to know about horses.’
‘Not horses like these, though, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I only had dealings with farm horses, not thoroughbreds, and then only one at a time.’
‘I thought many of our countrymen did a study of thoroughbred horses, especially those thundering around a race track.’
‘You are right, sir,’ Joe said, ‘but not me. I have never backed a horse in my life. There was little money, for one thing, and I have never liked the idea of throwing hard-earned money away. So you see, sir, I wouldn’t be the man for you at all.’
‘You are exactly the man,’ Brian said. ‘These are not racehorses, and I need no gambler in my employ.’
Joe didn’t know how to get out of this because he was sure that Brian thought he had more expertise than he had, but how could he refuse? Wouldn’t he scupper his chances of employment of any kind if he did? And then there was Patrick Lacey. ‘I’d like to help you out, sir, really I would, but you see, my sponsor may have already arranged a place to stay and—’
‘Naturally he would be informed of the change of plan if you agree to do it.’
Despite the benign look on Brian’s face, Joe saw the determination to have his own way in his steely brown eyes and heard it in his voice. Patrick would be informed, not asked if that was all right or convenient. That was the rich for you.
He suppressed the sigh as he asked, ‘How many horses are we talking about, sir?’
‘Not that many,’ Brian said reassuringly. ‘There’s Gloria’s pony, Bramble – the one you stopped so admirably today – my hunter, the matching pair for the large carriage and the mare Norah likes, which often pulls the small dogcart. Think about it, for you would be getting me out of a fix, and you seem to have a fine empathy with horses.’
Joe’s heart sank. Five horses and all thoroughbreds, he could bet, and he hadn’t a clue how to deal with them.
‘Mr Brannigan,’ he admitted, ‘I have never even saddled a horse in my life. If we rode one at all, it was bareback.’
‘Well, you can learn, man,’ Brian said. ‘It’s not hard, and you will have the stable lad, Bobby, to help you. What that boy doesn’t know about horses isn’t worth knowing. What do you say?’
There was nothing Joe could say but yes. He had known from the start that he would have to agree to anything Brian planned. Joe could not afford to upset him, for he held his future in the palm of his hand.
‘Right, that’s settled then,’ Brian said, beaming approval. ‘After the meal I will send my man McManus to your sponsor’s house again to tell him of the change of plan and have a room made ready for you in the basement with the other servants. Then early tomorrow I want you to fetch the carriage back from the docks.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Joe, and though nervous of doing a job he knew so little about, he was relieved to have employment and a place that night to lay his head.
‘Mind you,’ Brian went on, ‘I think the day of the horse, except for recreational use, is at an end. It is getting too dangerous to take them on to the streets these days, and I have ordered myself a motor car, so that will mean the carriage and the matching pair will probably be leaving us.’ He leaned towards his wife and, seeing her disgruntled look, said, ‘Do take that frown from your face, my dear. I have made my views abundantly clear. In fact, Bramble too is on borrowed time,’ he added, turning back to Joe.
‘Not because of the incident earlier, sir?’ Joe asked.
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘That really wasn’t the pony’s fault, but Gloria has nearly outgrown him now anyway, and then after Christmas she is off to a convent school in Madison. If she wants to ride when she comes home in the holidays then I will hire from the local riding school. So whoever is taken on in the stables will have to see to the car too, of course.’
‘Tim won’t do that,’ Norah said. ‘You know he won’t.’
‘Well, you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, I suppose,’ Brian said. ‘In fact, I have been thinking that it was about time Tim was pensioned off. If he pulls through from this then I will talk it over with him. I’ve no idea how old he is, but he is no spring chicken and I’ll see to it that he is all right.’
Norah laughed. ‘I wish you well of it,’ she said, ‘because he won’t take kindly to that.’
‘Then that will be an obstacle to overcome in the future,’ Brian said. ‘What I want to know, Joe, is what do you think of me getting a car?’
Joe didn’t know how to answer this because he was far more nervous of dealing with a car than horses of any description. At least they were familiar. In the end he said, ‘I … I don’t really know what to think, sir.’
‘Think you could drive a car, Joe?’
‘Oh, I really don’t know about that, sir,’ Joe said agitatedly. ‘I have never had anything to do with cars.’
‘Not many have,’ Brian said. ‘Let’s just say that you are not opposed to the motor car, which will soon be the only way to travel around this city and any other too?’
‘No, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It’s progress, I suppose, like the steam ships taking over from the old sailing ships.’
‘That’s true enough,’ Brian said. ‘What I am asking you, Joe Sullivan, is when the car I have ordered is delivered, are you prepared to learn to drive it so that you can take me to the factory each day and bring me home each evening?’
Joe thought about it, but not for very long, because in his heart of hearts he thought he would probably settle to it better than factory work. He knew too that Brian wanted him to do this for him and he was a man used to getting his own way. If he refused he’d get someone else who was willing to do it and that would be an opportunity lost to Joe, and he sensed that Brian would be disappointed in him. So he said, ‘This seems to be a country where life refuses to stand still so I am willing to learn to drive a car if you want me to.’
‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ Brian said in approval, and he clapped Joe on the shoulder.
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Anne Bennett
From rural rags to brief riches and back to ruin, this is a moving saga of hard work, bad luck and finally hope for a family’s future.Gloria Sullivan can’t quite believe where she has ended up.Growing up with no money worries, she fell head over heels in love with the handsome, hardworking Irishman employed by her father. They were the golden couple - until the Wall Street crash, when everything was lost. Finally she agreed to start again in London with husband Joe and their small son.World War Two was raging, and Joe laboured on the docks by day and fighting fires by night. He was a hero - but one dreadful fire left him terribly injured. Once more Gloria resolved to leave everything behind and to take Joe home to his family farm in Ireland, his only hope of recovery.Gloria now dutifully nurses her husband, but she can’t settle in the countryside. Then a nearby American base begins recruiting civilians. Gloria tells everyone it’s her chance to do her bit - but will she be tempted to do much more?
ANNE BENNETT
A Mother’s Spirit
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_c049693b-c8f1-5cbd-bf14-924192a55cfb)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008
Copyright © Anne Bennett 2008
Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007287680
Version: 2017-09-08
DEDICATION (#ulink_6d8c0d40-77ad-55bb-bc18-2694bf92694a)
To my grandson Theo, the youngest Bennett boy, with all my love
CONTENTS
Cover (#u5a48f3f7-344b-58cd-9427-8ccca78a454c)
Title Page (#u0d7364c5-f1eb-506d-985a-4d5c7e6c1849)
Copyright (#u20aea8ba-c051-5c4e-a603-7deba1794b62)
Dedication (#u34911b90-33ba-5c4e-b9b8-e2a0cccb7304)
Chapter One (#uf0684153-73ff-5cf5-8ac3-0f0cebb73867)
Chapter Two (#u2f6d4704-97ea-5eed-b88f-48dd47aece3e)
Chapter Three (#ucdd8189d-3a85-59d7-b5b4-02b517ade465)
Chapter Four (#u307045cd-acf5-5f0a-a357-a79f08dbae24)
Chapter Five (#ucfa4185a-0ef3-5cfc-b1fa-9c2c11259092)
Chapter Six (#u9b620263-b59d-556d-ae3c-c2a967b783e0)
Chapter Seven (#u36cc1871-9c46-50da-889d-18b6a7eab491)
Chapter Eight (#u026a97f4-7949-53b1-a4d9-d7ce22407561)
Chapter Nine (#u176d5655-cd4c-55c8-ae11-272567b64bd1)
Chapter Ten (#u290242ba-bdc6-55b0-b818-32230adf4ff1)
Chapter Eleven (#u6a6befe5-c1fd-54ac-8fe4-f50a39523fbd)
Chapter Twelve (#u1c9199cf-f450-5ad2-aa7f-aba367a491a3)
Chapter Thirteen (#u9e169953-7de0-5f3b-93b5-71fb578a1564)
Chapter Fourteen (#u93a4a09c-30cc-5e83-ac72-b6160e735b34)
Chapter Fifteen (#ua054ff91-6c85-5e03-83be-74312a910d40)
Chapter Sixteen (#u936b79f9-ec06-5e4c-9ecd-12cf9e230cde)
Chapter Seventeen (#u973e93c7-da32-549d-b4a2-c7858c709603)
Chapter Eighteen (#ua405ee38-fb60-5ebe-8ae5-68a9ef3a488a)
Chapter Nineteen (#u1ceff6b3-f732-51d1-a687-8609701c94a7)
Chapter Twenty (#u252fc68d-a171-56f9-b073-d3967822b373)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u0ba8b488-521a-5c7b-acdf-406b20dc8fda)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#ua023e1e7-a07a-554d-89e1-1e3fd5e2a2f8)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ub66177bd-b865-5a19-a8d3-c17edd7206d3)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#ub7e3d0f3-7868-5554-8826-e170f5835e53)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u45330095-ab4f-5f4d-9a2d-487b83319175)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u7d23d7fe-332c-5de4-893c-326a4284cb0a)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#ufddc78bb-887b-543c-ba2a-92e42fd518c8)
Acknowledgements (#u5931f3a2-9683-561e-934c-f43b3a23d1eb)
About the Author (#uc68c6173-b40c-5cc7-94de-7b3bc91776ae)
Also by the Author (#u84343306-cdc8-5fbf-b13b-c455f6e1f59b)
About the Publisher
ONE (#ulink_ce9eee48-4d27-51c6-8d3a-c9bec6105fb1)
‘Please let me come with you, Daddy?’ Gloria Brannigan pleaded with her father that afternoon, as he prepared to leave the house.
Brian looked into the appealing eyes of his daughter, the child he loved more than life itself, and shook his head. ‘I cannot take you to the docks, my dear,’ he said. ‘Your mother would—’
‘Mother has retired to bed with a sick headache,’ Gloria said, almost triumphantly.
‘And what about the cold that has laid you low now for almost a week so that you have been unable to go to school?’ Brian asked with a wry glance at her.
‘That is quite gone, Daddy, and I could have gone to school today but you know how Mother fusses so!’ Gloria told him. ‘The fresh air might even be good for me,’ adding, as her father seemed unconvinced, ‘You could even claim the trip to be educational.’
‘And just how do you work that one out?’
‘Well, the things unloaded in New York are from all different countries, aren’t they? I could make a list of them and later I could look them up on my globe.’
‘I think not, darling,’ Brian said regretfully.
‘Oh, go on, Daddy,’ Gloria urged. ‘I am so bored, and the docks are exciting. I like to hear the sailors calling to each other in their own languages.’
‘It’s the languages you can understand that worry me,’ Brian said grimly. ‘Sailors’ talk is not for the ears of young ladies.’
‘Oh, Daddy, don’t be so stuffy,’ Gloria said. ‘Anyway, I shall be too interested in everything else to listen to anything unsuitable.’
Brian gave a throaty chuckle. ‘All right, you cheeky monkey,’ he said. ‘You win. I was taking the smaller carriage anyway, because Bramble can pull that and a bit of exercise will do him good. The pony’s been a bit skittish of late, with you not being able to exercise him. I suppose you know that I will catch it in the neck good and proper for encouraging you to play truant?’
‘You didn’t encourage me, Daddy,’ Gloria protested. ‘It was me persuading you.’
‘Your mother will not see it that way,’ Brian said, with a rueful grin. ‘It’s a good job that I have such a broad back.’
‘Well, I think you are a lovely, kind daddy,’ Gloria said, winding her arms around his neck. ‘In fact, the best daddy in the whole world.’
Brian felt tears prickle the back of his eyes. This child was the only one he would ever have, because of what Norah had suffered at their daughter’s birth. Gloria, however, made up for any son Brian may have hankered after. Her hair was the colour of spun gold and hung in natural ringlets, which she tied back with a ribbon that always matched her dress. Then there were those unusual and very beautiful violet eyes, encircled with long, black lashes and the wide and generous mouth, the only feature she had inherited from him.
‘We must hurry,’ he said. ‘There is not much daylight in these winter days. I will send Tilly in to you to help you get dressed in your outdoor things. The day is bone-chillingly cold and you will need to be well wrapped up.’
Gloria watched her father leave the room with a smile playing around her mouth. At fourteen years old, she was well aware that she could twist him around her little finger.
Joe Sullivan had been appalled by the conditions on board the liner bound for New York. It had been anchored in the deeper waters of Lough Foyle, and he had boarded it from a tender sent out from the pier at Moville in southern Donegal in Ireland two weeks before. He had been excited and in good spirits at being en route to America – the one place to which he had so longed to go.
However, all the steerage passengers had been housed in the bowels of the ship, and many, including Joe, had been sick for the first few days as the ship was tossed about in the turbulent ocean. The weather had been too bad for the hatch to be opened often, to enable the passengers to climb on deck, and so the air in their quarters quickly grew fetid and stale, and soon smelled of vomit.
Joe took every opportunity to be outside, despite the fact that the wind cut through him. Throughout the voyage, the wind whipped the waves into gigantic breakers fringed with white, which constantly crashed against the ship.
November was not a good time to travel the ocean, Joe decided and he would remember that in future, and he had been extremely glad to reach Ellis Island. As he queued to disembark, he looked to the New York skyline with its skyscrapers, which some of the fellows on the ship had told him about. What a sight it was, and as unlike the skyline of his home town of Buncrana, County Donegal as it was possible to be.
The huge Statue of Liberty dominated the waterfront. Liberty was what every Irishman dreamed of. His young brother, Finn, had given his life in the Great War because Britain had promised the Irish their freedom if they helped them fight the Hun. Here in New York, America, Joe was sure he would experience real freedom, and he was filled with exhilaration at the prospect.
First, though, he had to go through the procedure on Ellis Island, where he would be prodded, poked, examined, tested and questioned, to ascertain that he was fit to enter America. He wasn’t worried about the physical examination, for he knew he was as fit as anyone else – fitter than most, in fact. Work all his life on the farm had seen to that.
The three Rs Joe had learned at the school in Buncrana run by the Christian Brothers where, if you weren’t inclined to learn in the normal way, the lesson would be beaten into you. Joe had always had a healthy respect for the cane. His mother had had a similar one and he had felt its sting often. So he had learned as much as he felt he needed, and more than enough to please the Brothers, and now could give a good enough account of himself.
Everyone entering America had to have a sponsor waiting for him or her. Joe might have easily been on the next boat back if it hadn’t been for a neighbour, Patrick Lacey, who had travelled the same route as Joe five years earlier. He would never have touched American soil himself if it hadn’t been for an uncle willing to sponsor him until he got settled, and he offered to do the same for Joe Sullivan.
Joe stood at one side of the table and three stern-faced men sat the other side of it, checking all the tests he had passed and scrutinising the letter closely. Then one said, with a slight smile as he returned the letter to him, ‘That seems to all be in order, Mr Sullivan, and as you passed everything else satisfactorily, there will be no need to detain you on Ellis Island any further. Pack up your things. You will be leaving on the tide today.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Joe. ‘And thank you, sir.’ A frisson of excitement began in his toes and spread throughout his whole body. Friday, 18 November 1921, and he was on his way.
Gloria was blissfully happy having her daddy to herself. The steamship he was waiting for hadn’t begun unloading yet, so Gloria was able to drink in the sights, sounds and smells of the docks as they walked together.
There were sailors everywhere, shouting and calling out to each other, and the steamship funnels belching out grey smoke into the much greyer sky. Goods being unloaded clattered down the gangplanks, and barrels being rolled rumbled along the dockside.
And everyone was so pleasant. Some of the sailors, mostly the foreign ones, Gloria noticed, gave her a wink or called out to her, for she was a pretty child with a ready smile.
Bert Clifford, who managed the factory that her father owned, was especially nice to her and always called her Miss Gloria, as if she was a real lady. He knew which side his bread was buttered, for his boss doted on the child. It was easy to be nice to her too, she was such a comely little thing.
Whispery trails of vapour escaped from people’s mouths when they spoke, and yet Gloria hardly felt the cold, wrapped as she was in a beautiful blue woollen coat with a cape of the same material over her shoulders. A matching bonnet was tied under her chin over the golden ringlets, framing her face and making her eyes look bigger than ever, thick black stockings encased her legs, soft black leather boots went halfway up her calves, and her hands were buried in a black fur muff.
‘Funny how you like the docks so much,’ Brian mused. ‘I must admit I was much the same when I was young. Course, there were some sailing ships about then, but not many. Some ships used steam, but had sails as well. What a sight it was to see those – majestic almost – and yet totally inefficient. A ship could be becalmed for days, weeks even sometimes, whereas now, why, the passage from England takes two weeks or less, they tell me. Like that one there, with the passengers waiting to disembark.’
The passenger ships’ pier was a little further along the harbour than those of the trading boats.
‘So, that one’s from England?’
‘Aye, and Ireland,’ Brian said. ‘It picks up first at a little place called Moville and then Belfast and on to Liverpool before coming here.’
‘I’d love to go to Ireland,’ Gloria said. ‘See the place where you were born and raised, Daddy.’
‘And so you shall, my dear, one day,’ Brian said. ‘But Ireland at the moment is not a place for anyone to visit. It is a bed of unrest, I believe. And for the life of me I cannot see what is so wrong in wanting to govern your own country. Anyway, it means the poor unfortunate people are all coming here, hoping for a better life, though it often turns sour for them.’
There was a sudden cry from Bert Clifford and Brian turned. ‘They’re beginning to unload,’ he said to Gloria. ‘You sit in the carriage for a while now and wait for me.’
‘Oh, Daddy …’
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘You must obey me in this. You will only be in the way and anyway, I’ll not be able to watch you.’
‘I don’t need watching, Daddy.’
‘You think not?’ Brian said, with a lift to his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t at all like the way some of the sailors were smiling and winking at you.’
‘I didn’t think you noticed.’
‘I notice everything about you, my dear,’ Brian said with a smile. ‘Now then, you be a good girl and I will take you for tea at Macy’s afterwards. What do you say?’
Gloria’s answer was in the smile she gave her father, as she kissed him on the cheek before climbing into the carriage without another word of complaint. Macy’s afternoon teas were not to be sniffed at.
She watched her father hurry away towards Bert. She knew there was no reason for him to do this himself, as her mother had said the previous evening. Bert Clifford was an honest and trustworthy man and she couldn’t understand why Brian didn’t just leave him to it.
‘Because it is my business, not his,’ Brian had said. ‘And I want to count those supplies coming off the boat myself, and that is the end of the matter.’
Her mother hated the thought of her husband consorting with common sailors, considering it so unnecessary and degrading. Gloria understood, however, how much her father liked the vibrant clamour and bustle of the docks. He was now lost to her sight in the crowd, and she turned her attention to the immigrant ship just in time to see the gangplanks lowered.
Joe couldn’t wait to explore the place. Those on Ellis Island had changed his money to the American currency before he left, and he jingled the coins in his pocket and thought of the wallet packed with dollar bills, pleased that he had so much of it left. He had been careful and taken part in none of the card schools so many of the other men seemed hooked on. His father had never approved of cards and none had been played in their cottage to while away the winter evenings.
‘A fool and his money are soon parted,’ Thomas John had said when Joe had queried this. ‘Gambling can get a grip on a body. I have seen more than one bet his whole wages on the throw of the dice or a card game, and lose the lot. However did they explain that to their wives and hungry weans when they got home? I often wondered about that and decided a long time ago that gambling wasn’t for me.’
It wasn’t for Joe either because his brother, Tom, still back on the farm in Buncrana, had sold a field and the sheep in it so that Joe could have this chance in America. It had been incredibly generous, and he had been extremely grateful, but he knew there would be no other money if he was to squander this. Although officially Tom was owner of the farm, now that their father had died, their crabbed, spiteful mother held the purse strings. Joe knew he would never get a penny piece from her, and he didn’t know how long the money he had would have to last him until he landed himself a job.
He hoped, though, that Patrick Lacey would help there. Joe’s sponsor had said he would offer him lodging, at least until he got himself straight, and Joe intended looking him up as soon as possible.
The gangplank was down, a cheer went up, and the passengers moved slowly forward, hampered by their cases. Joe’s attention was taken by an altercation on the dockside between a well-dressed man and a sailor over a cask that the man seemed to be demanding the sailor open.
Once it was open, the man withdrew a piece of linen or cotton that had obviously been used as packing. He waved the material aloft, and as he examined the contents of the barrel he started berating the sailor, who appeared to be foreign and was opening his arms helplessly.
It was causing great amusement amongst the disembarking passengers, until suddenly a gust of wind whipped the material out of the man’s hand. It swirled and danced in the air for a while, before settling across the nose and eyes of the pony coupled to a small carriage.
With a shriek, the pony reared on its back legs. The coachman made an abortive dive for the pony, but was struck on the temple by one of its flailing front legs and fell to the ground. Then the pony made a headlong dash for the exit and the main road beyond, people scuttling out of its path.
Inside the carriage, Gloria tried to see what was happening before she was cast to the floor of the carriage where, tossed from one side to the other, she began screaming her head off.
Joe, nearly at the end of the gangplank, spied a face briefly at the carriage window, and realised that it wasn’t empty, as he had supposed, but that there was a child inside. He dropped his bag and case, leaped to the rail, vaulted over the two people in front of him, hit the ground running and took off after the pony. His father always said he could run like the wind and it was true that he could always beat Tom in a race and he ran that afternoon like the very devil.
As he was drawing level with the pony, he wondered how to get it to stop. He wouldn’t be able to hold it by the reins; the panicked pony would just pull him over and drag him along the ground. There was only one thing for it. Joe knew he had just the one chance and he thanked God that the pony was not large. As he drew almost level he made a superhuman leap and landed on the pony’s back, remembering how, as a game, he and Tom had tried leaping onto their old horse at home.
This, however, was no game. If he was thrown from the pony he would be crushed by the carriage. His heart thumped in his chest as, for quite a few moments, he thought that might happen, as he was at the back end of the frightened and panicky animal, which was desperately trying to dislodge him. His relief when he managed to catch hold of one of the reins was palpable, and he began to pull himself towards the pony’s head.
The animal was scared witless, but Joe began to stroke its mane gently and rhythmically, talking to it softly as he had done to their own horse at home when it had been spooked by something.
At first, he wasn’t sure he was doing any good, and he was only too aware how near they were to the main road. He could hear the traffic and knew if he didn’t stop the pony before the road, it was highly unlikely any of them would survive.
However, though his mouth was dry with fear, he kept the panic out of his voice and hands as he continued to stroke and talk as gently as he could. Gradually, he felt the pony begin to respond and to slow slightly. Then people came forward to hold him. He was eventually brought to a halt only a couple of yards from the road. He stood with his head down, his sides heaving and gleaming with sweat. Joe slid from his back, ran to the carriage door and opened it.
Gloria was lying curled in a ball on the floor of the carriage, certain she was going to die. She had begun to uncurl herself stiffly as the carriage stopped, though she still shook.
Joe climbed inside the carriage and lifted the child gently to her feet. Her bonnet had become dislodged and her hair was tousled around her head, and although her face was brick red, it didn’t detract from her beauty at all.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ Joe asked solicitously.
Gloria opened her mouth to speak, and began to weep in fear and relief. She put her arms around Joe’s neck, and he didn’t protest, knowing that she probably needed the comfort of another human being. She cried into his shoulder as he lifted her in his arms and carried her from the carriage.
They were still clasped together like this when Brian reached them, red-faced and panting. From every side people told him of the bravery of the young man, newly arrived in the country, who, without a shadow of a doubt, had saved the life of young Gloria Brannigan.
Brian knew that without being told. He had died a thousand times as he pounded after the careering carriage, and even as he watched the young man from the immigrant ship leap on to the back of the terrified pony, he feared he would not be able to stop the pony in time.
He peeled his still distraught daughter from Joe’s arms as he said to him, ‘I owe you a debt that it will take a lifetime to repay. Brian Brannigan is my name, and this is my daughter, Gloria.’
‘Joe Sullivan, sir,’ Joe said. ‘And as for what I did, I am just glad that your daughter is unharmed.’
‘Thanks to you,’ Brian said, looking Joe up and down. He liked what he saw. Joe was a handsome man, with expressive dark eyes. He stood straight and tall, and looked fully in command of himself, and only his tousled brown hair and his rumpled suit were evidence of his act of bravery. ‘None but my coachman, Tim Walsh, tried to stop the pony,’ Brian went on, ‘and now the poor man is lying comatose on the ground awaiting an ambulance. Everyone else kept out of the way.’
‘You can’t blame them, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I would say the pony was too panicked to stop in any way other than the one I tried, and even I wasn’t sure that it would work.’
Gloria was looking at Joe with a sort of awed expression. ‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘Leaped on the pony’s back, that’s what,’ Brian told his daughter. ‘And in doing so saved your life and risked his own.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ Gloria said. ‘Thank you, I suppose, but that doesn’t seem very much really.’
‘It isn’t,’ Brian agreed, ‘but here is a better offer.’ He turned to Joe. ‘You have just come off the immigrant ship?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Have you a job?’
‘No, but I have a neighbour looking out for me.’
‘Well, I own a factory and I sure could use a brave young fellow like yourself. How d’you feel about that?’
Joe couldn’t believe his luck. In payment for saving this man’s daughter, he was being offered employment. And though the man was still red-faced and breathless from his unaccustomed exertion, he looked to be honest and straightforward.
‘I feel grand about it, sir,’ Joe said.
‘Are you looking for that sort of work?’
‘I am looking for any kind of work that pays a wage, sir,’ Joe said. ‘But I have to tell you that I have never done work in any sort of factory before.’
‘Are you willing to learn?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘That’s all I wanted to hear,’ Brian said. ‘Now I have to find out what is going to happen to my coachman and sort out stabling for the pony, because I will leave him and the carriage here tonight. And I dare say you have to collect your belongings. Let’s say we meet back here in about half an hour and we will go home by taxi.’
‘Home, sir?’ Joe repeated.
‘Yes, home, Mr Joe Sullivan,’ Brian said, clapping Joe on the back. ‘Where my wife, Norah, will, at the very least, want to shake you by the hand.’
TWO (#ulink_59484733-9d09-5984-9896-a222da633ba0)
‘We must go straight home, my dear,’ Brian said, as he helped his daughter into the taxi. ‘It would never do for your mother to get wind of your mishap before I have a chance to tell her. I am afraid we will have to forgo tea at Macy’s.’
‘I don’t mind that, Daddy,’ Gloria said plaintively. ‘I ache everywhere, to tell you the truth, there is a pounding pain in my head and everything is wavy before my eyes.’
Brian felt guilty. He saw that Gloria’s face was as white as lint and that her eyes seemed to stand out in her head and were glazed slightly with pain. By giving in to Gloria’s demands that afternoon, he knew he had put her life in danger. ‘That’s not to be wondered at, my dear, after the way you were thrown about in that carriage,’ he said gently. ‘You are probably suffering from shock too. As soon as we get home, you are going to be tucked up in bed and I am sending for the doctor.’
The fact that Gloria made no comment about this was not lost on her father. ‘Lean against me, my dear,’ he suggested, ‘and close your eyes. That was a dreadful and frightening thing to happen to you, but we will have you home and comfy in no time at all.’
Joe was waiting for them, excited at the thought of riding in a taxi, for he had never done that in the whole of his life before, but as he climbed in he noticed the pallid face of the child, Gloria, as she cuddled up to her father and he said, ‘I hope you are not too uncomfortable, miss?’
Gloria sighed as if the effort of speech was too much for her and it was her father who answered. ‘Battered and bruised and in shock, I think,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the doctor look at her when we are home.’
‘Have you heard how the coachman is, sir?’
‘No,’ Brian said, ‘only that the poor fellow was unconscious and taken to the hospital, but my factory manager, Bert Clifford, is going to see how he is as soon as he can, and he will send me word. I hope that he will be all right. Tim is a fine man and a good worker, and has been with me for years.’
Joe, though, doubted that the man could have escaped without serious injury because he had caught the full power of the frantic rearing pony’s hoofs.
But it wouldn’t help to say that. Anyway, he was soon distracted by his first journey in a taxi through the traffic-filled streets of New York, and he turned his head this way and that, taking in all the sights of the city. He was awed by the sheer size of some of the buildings, so high they did indeed appear to scrape the sky.
Brian watched his amazement for some time before he asked with a smile, ‘Glad you are here, Joe Sullivan?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It has long been a dream of mine to come.’
‘It wasn’t my choice originally,’ Brian said. ‘It was my father’s. I was twelve years old when we first arrived in America. We came here after the death of my mother.’
‘And how did you like America, sir?’
‘I liked it well enough when I came to terms with the fact that I would never see my mother again,’ Brian told him. ‘Though America then, or New York at least, was a different place altogether. There were not that many fine buildings, but a great many ruffians, and the city was ruled by the gangs roaming the streets. My father, though he had a factory in the city, would not live there and so he bought a plot of land in an area to the north called Queens and had a house built that he called Stoneleigh. Then it was all countryside, but the city is creeping towards it now. You’ll see it for yourself in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joe answered. ‘But I am a bit concerned about my sponsor, Patrick Lacey. He will be wondering if I do not call, for he knows I was arriving today.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Brian said. ‘When we get home, if you give me his address, I will dispatch my man to tell him you are dining with us tonight.’
‘Dining, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Brian said. ‘It’s the least I can do, and just a small measure of my gratitude to you.’
‘But won’t your wife mind my just turning up like this?’
‘My boy,’ Brian said confidently, ‘after she hears how you saved Gloria in the way that you did, there is nothing you can do that will annoy my wife, though she might not be as pleased to see me.’
Before Joe was able to form any sort of reply, the taxi suddenly turned through ornate gates and down a gravel path. Even in the descending dusk, the magnificence of the Brannigan residence could be plainly seen. The only large house that Joe had any experience of at all was the one that his sister Nuala worked in. Even so, he knew that the Brannigan house was in a league of its own. It was built of honey-coloured brick and had more windows and chimneys than Joe had ever seen in his life. He trembled in apprehension at even entering such a place.
The taxi drew to a stop before the house, the wheels crunching on the gravel, and Joe was alarmed to think that he was going to go up those marble steps and in at the front door as if he was someone of importance.
Suddenly, the door opened and a man in some sort of livery ran towards them.
‘My butler, Planchard,’ Brian said in explanation to Joe as the man reached them.
Gloria had fallen into a doze in the taxi and only murmured drowsily as Brian gathered her into his arms.
The butler’s eyes were full of anxiety as he cried, ‘What’s happened, sir? Can I help you at all?’
‘There was a bit of an accident in the town, concerning the carriage,’ Brian said, ‘and I left it there. Pay the driver, will you, like a good chap? My hands are rather occupied at the moment.’
‘Do you want help with Miss Gloria, sir?’ Planchard said as he paid the driver, picked up his master’s bag and cast a curious look at Joe, who had climbed out of the taxi and was looking around, not quite sure what to do next.
‘I’m all right,’ Brian said as they walked towards the house. ‘There is no weight to Gloria. But you might look after this brave man here beside me. Name of Joe Sullivan, hailed recently from one of the immigrant ships from Ireland. He will be staying to dinner tonight.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said, dutifully enough, and yet in the light spilling out from the hall Joe caught the man’s surprised eyes alight on him speculatively as he bent towards Joe to take his case.
Joe hid his smile, for he guessed that New York was full of people from immigrant ships from all over the world, but none of them had been brought to the Brannigan house for dinner before. He also knew that he would probably be the talk of the place by morning.
‘Now, Joe,’ Brian said as they reached the house, ‘Planchard will take charge of you, while I get Gloria sorted out.’
Planchard nodded in Joe’s direction and, leaving his case in the hall, he said, ‘If you leave your bag next to the case, sir, I will show you into the drawing room.’
‘And when you have done that,’ Brian said, ‘perhaps you will tell your mistress what has happened and inform her that I am taking Gloria straight to her room. Summon Tilly too, for Miss Gloria may have need of her, and someone had better go for the doctor urgently.’
‘I’ll attend to it all directly, sir,’ Planchard said.
Brian began to mount the ornate staircase, still with Gloria in his arms, while the butler said to Joe, ‘If you would follow me, sir …’
Joe smiled ruefully because it was a novelty being called ‘sir’ and it had happened twice. Wondering what sort of room a drawing room was, he left down his bag and followed the butler, who crossed the black-and-white-tiled hall and opened cream double doors to a low and elegant room with a carpet so thick Joe’s feet sank into it. ‘If you will just wait here, sir,’ the butler said, ‘I am sure that Mr Brannigan will be with you shortly.’
Left alone, Joe glanced around the room with interest and a little fear, for he felt totally out of his depth. The room was lit with electric lights set around the walls and in a huge glass chandelier, which hung from the patterned ceiling. A gold suite was drawn up in front of the white marble fireplace where a welcoming fire blazed in the grate. Joe delicately ran his hands over the brocade pattern of the upholstery and wondered if he would ever dare to sit on one of those chairs.
He glanced at the small ornate clock on the mantelpiece. It was made of gold, which sparkled in the firelight, and had a glass front so the swinging pendulum was visible. ‘Almost six o’clock,’ Joe said to himself and, looking out where the silken curtains to either side of the large window had not been drawn, he saw the evening was as black as pitch.
He crossed the room and stood for a long time peering out at the grounds surrounding the house, marvelling at it all. He thought back to his many, uneventful years in Ireland. He knew that when he thought about his new life in America he could never have imagined the chain of events that had landed him in a house such as this, as the invited guest of such an obviously prominent and wealthy man. He tingled with excitement for he just knew that his life would take off from this point.
He wished no harm at all on the beautiful young lady he had rescued from danger and yet he couldn’t but thank his lucky stars that her father was a factory owner. He just knew that Brian Brannigan could shape his future in America.
‘Ah, there you are, my boy.’
Joe swung around from the window. Brian was standing in the doorway arm in arm with a lady whom he introduced as his wife, Norah. The resemblance to Gloria was marked. Joe guessed that once the older woman’s hair had been just as strikingly blonde as her daughter’s, but now it was much duller and tied from her face in a sort of fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She had the same high cheekbones, and the same-shaped eyes, though Norah’s were plain blue. Behind them Joe saw the resentment and he knew that Mrs Brannigan didn’t want the likes of him sitting down at her table.
When Brian had told Norah of the accident and of Joe’s part in it and went on to say that he had invited the man to dinner, she had looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. She had been up to see Gloria, and she was distressed and worried, and now this other bombshell.
‘You have invited that man to dinner, here?’ she’d repeated.
‘Aye,’ said Brian. ‘I did.’
‘And why, pray, did you do that?’
‘Do what, my dear?’ Brian had asked mildly.
‘Oh, don’t be so obtuse, Brian,’ Norah asked. ‘Why ask a common workman to dinner?’
‘Didn’t I explain what he did, and that if he hadn’t been there—’
‘Of course you have explained,’ Norah snapped. ‘Though if you had acted as a proper father and refused to take Gloria to such an unsuitable place then she would have been in no danger whatsoever. But whatever he did I’m sure the man would hardly have expected to be asked to dine with us. Why didn’t you thank him sincerely, as I am prepared to do, offer him a sum of money and send him on his way? Find him a job if you must, but to ask him to dinner is madness. Surely you can see that he is bound to feel out of place and uncomfortable.’
‘It was done in the heat of the moment,’ Brian admitted. ‘However, he is here now and you must accept it, my dear.’
‘You do not have to explain manners to me,’ Norah hissed. ‘I know how to behave and conduct myself, and much better than you.’
Despite her views, though, Norah was quite impressed when she saw Joe. He was a handsome and well set up young man, and had a way of carrying himself. Added to that, his brown eyes looked honest and steady and he was at least respectable.
Norah Brannigan extended her hand to Joe and said, through pert, thin lips, ‘I believe my husband and I have much to thank you for, Mr Sullivan? He tells me you saved our daughter’s life today.’
‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time, ma’am, that was all,’ Joe said. ‘I was just glad to be of service.’
‘Gloria is much more comfortable now,’ Brian said. ‘We are awaiting the doctor and her maid, Tilly, is sitting with her.’
‘I trust she will make a full and speedy recovery,’ Joe said.
‘So do I,’ Norah agreed. And then she cast a venomous look in her husband’s direction. ‘Of course, the whole thing should never have happened in the first place.’
‘Now, Norah,’ Brian said in a placating tone, ‘we have been all through that.’ He turned to Joe. ‘Now if you give me the name and address of your sponsor, I will send him word where you are.’ Joe gave it to him and he wrote it on the pad he lifted from the desk, then pulled the bell rope by the side of the fireplace. ‘We will have dinner shortly after the doctor has been, but in the meantime would you like a drink?’ he asked Joe.
Joe thought about what the men on the ship coming over had said about the Prohibition Law in America forbidding the sale or production of alcohol, but from the vast array of bottles in the cabinet, he could see no sign of it in the Brannigan household. This didn’t surprise him for, in his experience, most rich people seemed to be able to sidestep the law.
‘I don’t know what to ask for, sir,’ he said. ‘I understood that Prohibition would—’
‘I saw the way the wind was blowing before it became law,’ Brian said, ‘and was able to stockpile a fair bit in the cellars. Ridiculous notion to try and turn a whole nation like this one teetotal.’
‘I couldn’t see it working in Ireland, sir,’ said Joe with a smile.
‘I couldn’t see it even being proposed in Ireland,’ Brian said. ‘Doesn’t work, of course. It will be two years by the end of January next year and already the gangs that used virtually to run the underclass of the city that I spoke about in the taxi have sprung up again. They are now in control of nearly all the illegal liquor smuggled in. Mark my words, that law will cause more problems in society, not less. Still, that doesn’t answer my question. As this isn’t a dry house yet, what would you like to drink?’
A pint of cold Guinness would have gone down a treat, but Joe couldn’t see anything remotely like that and Brian, seeing his dilemma and guessing how he was feeling, said, ‘Will you join me in a whiskey?’
Joe sighed inwardly. Whiskey at least he knew, though he hadn’t drunk it often, so he said, ‘A whiskey, sir, would be very good.’
A young maid dressed in a white apron over her black frock appeared then. ‘Ah Mary,’ Brian said, passing the paper into her hand, ‘give this to McManus. Tell him to go to this address and inform a Mr Patrick Lacey that his friend, Mr Joe Sullivan, is dining with us this evening.’
Mary gave a little bob as she took the letter from Brian, and Joe realised how easy life was for a person rich enough to employ a bevy of servants.
‘Now,’ said Brian, passing a generous glass of whiskey to Joe, ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable and tell me a bit about yourself.’
Joe sat very gingerly on the gold suite, and told Brian of the small town of Buncrana in northern Donegal and the farm near to it where he had been born and reared. He went on to tell him of his young brother, Finn, who had enlisted in the Great War and was killed in 1916, and his elder brother, Tom, who now owned the farm after the death of his father, and his sister Nuala living in Birmingham, England. He didn’t speak of Nuala wanting to marry a Protestant man, or that when she wrote the news of this to her parents her father had had a heart attack and died with the letter still in his hand.
Nor did he say that his mother, who had become almost unbearable to live with, had disowned Nuala because she blamed her for her father’s death, and he never mentioned Aggie, his eldest sister, either – another one his mother disowned – who had run away from home when he was just a boy, because these were personal family matters and not for sharing.
‘The place was not the same at all after Daddy died,’ Joe told Brian and Norah. ‘It was as if the heart had gone out of the place. And then I felt that life was passing me by and, well, I was breaking my back for a farm that would never be mine and so I decided to give America a try.’
‘And how did your brother take that news?’ Brian asked.
‘Oh, Tom understood,’ Joe said. ‘In fact he—’ But Joe got no further for at that moment the doorbell rang.
Knowing that it was probably the doctor, Norah was crossing the room before the maid appeared at the door. ‘Have to leave you to your own devices, Mr Sullivan,’ Brian said.
‘Don’t worry, sir, really,’ Joe said. ‘I am anxious as you are to hear what the doctor has to say about your daughter.’
‘Help yourself to another drink and make yourself comfortable,’ Brian said as he left. ‘We will both be back directly.’
Joe didn’t help himself to a drink, but sipped the one he had slowly as he again looked about the room in wonder. He thought of his brother on the farm and what he would say if he saw him now, sitting in such a room in such a house, as if he had a perfect right to be there, and supping whiskey, no less.
He knew that Tom, in similar circumstances, would probably be paralysed with shock and fear, and unable to take joy in any of it. He, on the other hand, intended to make the most of every minute because he knew it would be nothing more than a glimpse into how the toffs lived, and that when this bizarre day was at an end, his life would return to normal.
The doctor stayed about half an hour and by that time Joe’s stomach had begun to grumble.
‘The news is good,’ Brian said as he re-entered the room. ‘The doctor said there were no bones broken. Of course the poor girl is bruised all over and badly shaken up, and might be slightly concussed, but he said there’s nothing a few days in bed won’t cure.’
‘I’m pleased, sir,’ Joe said with a smile. ‘You must both be very relieved.’
‘We are,’ Brian answered. ‘I told the doctor what you did and he said you undoubtedly saved Gloria from a much greater injury. Now, I suggest that I let Cook know that we will be ready for dinner in half an hour or so.’
The dining room was even more opulent than the drawing room. It was dominated by a large table laid with a white lace cloth, and more cutlery and glasses than Joe had ever seen in his life. He knew that he would have to watch and copy Brian’s use of them very carefully or risk making an utter fool of himself.
Before they had the chance to start their meal, though, there was a knock at the door and the butler came in and said that Bert Clifford was outside and would like a word. Brian was on his feet immediately. ‘Excuse me,’ he said throwing his napkin down onto the table. ‘He probably has news of Tim.’
Brian’s face when he returned was very grave. ‘The news is that Tim has a fractured skull,’ he said, ‘and it’s touch and go whether he will pull through at all, or if he will be any use if he does survive. It is a terrible tragedy altogether.’
‘Has he a family?’ Joe asked.
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘He has always lived alone in a little place above the stables. I will go up to the hospital myself tomorrow, have a word with the doctors and see what’s the prognosis, but for the moment I am without someone to see to the horses.’
And then he took Joe totally by surprise by asking, ‘What about you, Mr Sullivan? Could you take over for a few days until we find out what’s what with Tim?’
‘Me, sir?’
‘You seem to know about horses.’
‘Not horses like these, though, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I only had dealings with farm horses, not thoroughbreds, and then only one at a time.’
‘I thought many of our countrymen did a study of thoroughbred horses, especially those thundering around a race track.’
‘You are right, sir,’ Joe said, ‘but not me. I have never backed a horse in my life. There was little money, for one thing, and I have never liked the idea of throwing hard-earned money away. So you see, sir, I wouldn’t be the man for you at all.’
‘You are exactly the man,’ Brian said. ‘These are not racehorses, and I need no gambler in my employ.’
Joe didn’t know how to get out of this because he was sure that Brian thought he had more expertise than he had, but how could he refuse? Wouldn’t he scupper his chances of employment of any kind if he did? And then there was Patrick Lacey. ‘I’d like to help you out, sir, really I would, but you see, my sponsor may have already arranged a place to stay and—’
‘Naturally he would be informed of the change of plan if you agree to do it.’
Despite the benign look on Brian’s face, Joe saw the determination to have his own way in his steely brown eyes and heard it in his voice. Patrick would be informed, not asked if that was all right or convenient. That was the rich for you.
He suppressed the sigh as he asked, ‘How many horses are we talking about, sir?’
‘Not that many,’ Brian said reassuringly. ‘There’s Gloria’s pony, Bramble – the one you stopped so admirably today – my hunter, the matching pair for the large carriage and the mare Norah likes, which often pulls the small dogcart. Think about it, for you would be getting me out of a fix, and you seem to have a fine empathy with horses.’
Joe’s heart sank. Five horses and all thoroughbreds, he could bet, and he hadn’t a clue how to deal with them.
‘Mr Brannigan,’ he admitted, ‘I have never even saddled a horse in my life. If we rode one at all, it was bareback.’
‘Well, you can learn, man,’ Brian said. ‘It’s not hard, and you will have the stable lad, Bobby, to help you. What that boy doesn’t know about horses isn’t worth knowing. What do you say?’
There was nothing Joe could say but yes. He had known from the start that he would have to agree to anything Brian planned. Joe could not afford to upset him, for he held his future in the palm of his hand.
‘Right, that’s settled then,’ Brian said, beaming approval. ‘After the meal I will send my man McManus to your sponsor’s house again to tell him of the change of plan and have a room made ready for you in the basement with the other servants. Then early tomorrow I want you to fetch the carriage back from the docks.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Joe, and though nervous of doing a job he knew so little about, he was relieved to have employment and a place that night to lay his head.
‘Mind you,’ Brian went on, ‘I think the day of the horse, except for recreational use, is at an end. It is getting too dangerous to take them on to the streets these days, and I have ordered myself a motor car, so that will mean the carriage and the matching pair will probably be leaving us.’ He leaned towards his wife and, seeing her disgruntled look, said, ‘Do take that frown from your face, my dear. I have made my views abundantly clear. In fact, Bramble too is on borrowed time,’ he added, turning back to Joe.
‘Not because of the incident earlier, sir?’ Joe asked.
‘No,’ Brian said. ‘That really wasn’t the pony’s fault, but Gloria has nearly outgrown him now anyway, and then after Christmas she is off to a convent school in Madison. If she wants to ride when she comes home in the holidays then I will hire from the local riding school. So whoever is taken on in the stables will have to see to the car too, of course.’
‘Tim won’t do that,’ Norah said. ‘You know he won’t.’
‘Well, you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, I suppose,’ Brian said. ‘In fact, I have been thinking that it was about time Tim was pensioned off. If he pulls through from this then I will talk it over with him. I’ve no idea how old he is, but he is no spring chicken and I’ll see to it that he is all right.’
Norah laughed. ‘I wish you well of it,’ she said, ‘because he won’t take kindly to that.’
‘Then that will be an obstacle to overcome in the future,’ Brian said. ‘What I want to know, Joe, is what do you think of me getting a car?’
Joe didn’t know how to answer this because he was far more nervous of dealing with a car than horses of any description. At least they were familiar. In the end he said, ‘I … I don’t really know what to think, sir.’
‘Think you could drive a car, Joe?’
‘Oh, I really don’t know about that, sir,’ Joe said agitatedly. ‘I have never had anything to do with cars.’
‘Not many have,’ Brian said. ‘Let’s just say that you are not opposed to the motor car, which will soon be the only way to travel around this city and any other too?’
‘No, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It’s progress, I suppose, like the steam ships taking over from the old sailing ships.’
‘That’s true enough,’ Brian said. ‘What I am asking you, Joe Sullivan, is when the car I have ordered is delivered, are you prepared to learn to drive it so that you can take me to the factory each day and bring me home each evening?’
Joe thought about it, but not for very long, because in his heart of hearts he thought he would probably settle to it better than factory work. He knew too that Brian wanted him to do this for him and he was a man used to getting his own way. If he refused he’d get someone else who was willing to do it and that would be an opportunity lost to Joe, and he sensed that Brian would be disappointed in him. So he said, ‘This seems to be a country where life refuses to stand still so I am willing to learn to drive a car if you want me to.’
‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ Brian said in approval, and he clapped Joe on the shoulder.
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Anne Bennett
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: From rural rags to brief riches and back to ruin, this is a moving saga of hard work, bad luck and finally hope for a family’s future.Gloria Sullivan can’t quite believe where she has ended up.Growing up with no money worries, she fell head over heels in love with the handsome, hardworking Irishman employed by her father. They were the golden couple – until the Wall Street crash, when everything was lost. Finally she agreed to start again in London with husband Joe and their small son.World War Two was raging, and Joe laboured on the docks by day and fighting fires by night. He was a hero – but one dreadful fire left him terribly injured. Once more Gloria resolved to leave everything behind and to take Joe home to his family farm in Ireland, his only hope of recovery.Gloria now dutifully nurses her husband, but she can’t settle in the countryside. Then a nearby American base begins recruiting civilians. Gloria tells everyone it’s her chance to do her bit – but will she be tempted to do much more?