The keeper of secrets, p.21
The Keeper of Secrets, page 21
Jimmy laughed. “I remember that. Da found it very funny.”
“We did have some good times.”
Jimmy put his arm around my shoulders. “We did, Lizzie.”
We made our way back to the main reception area. From there Angela brought us to the library. A huge marble fireplace dominated the centre of the room while floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls. Plush, emerald-green couches mirrored each other by the fire, while comfortable armchairs were dotted in front of the windows. Another set of double doors brought us into the coffee dock we were in earlier.
I ventured back out to the terrace leaving Angela and Jimmy to finalise the details for the wedding. It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny and I prayed that the weather would hold for my niece’s wedding. My earlier misgivings about the venue were banished. The building no longer carried the ghosts of its previous owners. It was a well-appointed, luxury hotel that promised the possibility of happy memories to be made.
Chapter 50
The Wedding
Nora married Fionn in the local parish church, St Joseph’s. The bride was radiant in white satin trimmed with lace, carrying a bouquet of orange-tinted lilies and baby’s breath. She was walked down the aisle by her doting father, Jimmy, who beamed from ear to ear the whole way to the altar. He handed her over to Fionn and took his seat beside Kate, who looked amazing in a green two-piece suit reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy.
The officiating priest was the oldest man I had ever seen. He still said the Mass in Latin, even though the Catholic church had stopped that practice a few years earlier. At one stage I swear he fell asleep at the altar. Luckily, he was assisted by Father O’Hagan, a much younger priest who thankfully lightened the atmosphere.
After the ceremony we made our way to the hotel although in my head I still called it Knockrath Manor. My prayers to the Child of Prague had been answered. It was a glorious day. The wedding guests mingled on the terrace while the bridal party had photos taken in the gardens. It was picture perfect. Until I saw Ralph Haughton.
I was standing directly inside the doors leading to the gardens when he arrived from the main reception area. My blood ran cold. I clenched my glass of Babycham so tightly I thought the stem would break. That man had a brass neck coming anywhere near the hotel on the day of my niece’s wedding. He marched straight towards Jimmy.
“Jimmy, I need to talk to you.”
I froze, completely struck dumb. Anger bubbled in my stomach as I stared at this man I had hated for so long. Jimmy looked equally apprehensive.
“This is not the time or the place,” he said.
Ralph looked around him at the wedding guests as if baffled why all these people were in the ballroom. I knew they said he was a recluse, but he had to have known Jimmy’s daughter’s wedding was on that day. The whole village knew. How could he not?
I tried to take a step towards them, but it was as if I were rooted to the spot. Then as suddenly as he arrived, a member of staff appeared beside him and escorted him back out the way he came.
“Gran?”
Beth was beside me, concern crinkling her eyes.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing, mo ghrá. Now where has your father got to?”
We went out to the terrace in search of Michael and Lori. I had no wish to see Ralph Haughton today or any day for that matter. Jimmy said that the hotel staff were aware of his eccentricities and on the odd occasion that he would arrive on the premises, they were adept at keeping him away from the hotel guests.
By the time the gong rang to summon the wedding guests for dinner, we were all hungry. The food was excellent. After living in the heat of Florida for all those years, I had forgotten the taste of quality Irish food. The beef melted in my mouth, served with colcannon so creamy I could taste the butter. It was delicious. For dessert they served strawberries freshly picked from the garden with a generous helping of cream.
For their first dance together as man and wife, Nora and Fionn took to the dance floor to Petula Clark’s, ‘This Is My Song’. Everyone sang the final chorus.
As the dancing continued, I took my turn on the dance floor. I danced with Michael and with Jimmy. Even Conor took his old gran for a spin. It was a blessed day, a joyous occasion. I was so happy I had made the journey. So thankful to Angela for sending us the tickets. So lucky to share this day with my family.
The newlyweds went off to Kerry for their honeymoon. I was reminded of my honeymoon night in Cork city all those years ago. How innocent I was, we both were. At that stage I had never been outside of County Cork, yet nearly fifty years later, I felt like a seasoned traveller. I’d been across the whole Atlantic Ocean on a ship to another country and back again on an airplane. Although the thoughts of getting back on that airplane and flying back across that huge ocean niggled at the back of my mind. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
The euphoria of the wedding still hung over us the next day. We had no plans other than to relax and enjoy the company of family. I went out for a walk with Beth and Conor. It triggered so many happy memories of when I was a girl and Da brought us for walks along the river.
As we neared Knockrath Manor I stared up at its façade, finding it hard to believe that it was still standing. The morning sunshine bathed its granite exterior in soft warm hues belying the secrets it kept. The magnificent lawns swept down to the river, bordered by mature plants in shades of pinks and purples that attracted bees and butterflies. I fell silent, remembering the original owners.
“What were they like, Gran?” Beth asked.
Her voice startled me out of my reverie. It was as if that child could read my mind.
“The Haughtons?”
“Yes, I saw him yesterday at the hotel. He looked like a tramp.”
I laughed at that. She was right. Ralph Haughton looked like he bought his clothes in a jumble sale. He looked frail, undernourished, as if he had never had a proper meal.
“The Haughton family were very rich, immensely powerful people. They owned all the land around here. Yet they lived in England. They only came to the Knockrath estate during the summer months.”
Beth looked puzzled. “He didn’t look like he had money.”
“He doesn’t. The family lost all their money. They’re all dead now, apart from Ralph.”
“Where did you live?” Beth asked.
“Primrose Cottage.”
An image of the cottage sprang into my head. Smoke rising from the chimney pot, the half door framed by clambering roses. The sound of my mother’s voice singing as she baked. Memories of happy days, singing, dancing days. I had forgotten those days. The happy times before Maggie. I felt as if my life was divided into before Maggie and after Maggie. The division black and white, night and day. That huge event that changed our lives.
Beth’s voice cut into my thoughts.
“Can we go see it?”
“See what?”
“Primrose Cottage,” Beth said.
My feet stuck to the path. My first reaction was, no way would I go anywhere near the cottage. Ralph lives there now. In my childhood home. But slowly the thought formed that maybe I should pay the cottage a visit. Maybe that’s what I needed to exorcise my ghosts. After all, I had been in the manor house. If I could visit the Haughton residence, then surely, I could visit my home.
“Okay, why not.”
I led Beth and Conor back the way we came and around the back of Knockrath Manor. As I neared the cottage, I could feel my heart rate rising. My palms were sweaty. I inwardly scolded myself for being so silly. It was only bricks and mortar.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Even though Jimmy had told me that Ralph took care of Primrose Cottage, I think I expected it to be run-down but it wasn’t. The exterior walls were whitewashed, the roses scrambled around the door. Although the door was closed. In my childhood the half door was always open, always welcoming. The biggest difference was the forest. It was slowly reclaiming what once was its terrain, the brambles cloaking the walls as if trying to swallow our little cottage whole. The stone wall my father built was still standing, the stones polished from generations of wind and rain.
On the light breeze I imagined I could hear the laughter of my family as they danced around the kitchen table while my father sang in his molasses-rich voice.
“Is this the family home?” Beth asked. “Looks like it brings back good memories to you.”
“Some lovely memories, Beth, some not so good. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about them.”
“Ah, Gran. You can’t make a statement like that and expect me to let it go.”
She’s right of course. It all happened so long ago. For years I’ve told myself to put it all behind me, that nothing good can come of raking up the past. With hindsight I now understand that our future is built on our past. We cannot lock it away indefinitely. Instead, we need to deal with the events that shaped us so that we could learn from it. But I wasn’t ready to talk to Beth about Maggie.
“Lizzie?”
His voice was deeper than I remembered. Then again he had been little more than a boy himself at the time. I felt myself stiffen as I stared at the figure in the doorway.
“Is it really you?” he asked.
I remained silent, every nerve ending in my body on edge.
“Gran?” Beth put her hand in mine.
I felt her puzzlement at the change in me. Conor stepped in front of me as if to protect me from any advancement by this strange man. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” I said, and I turned back to the path, moving as quickly as I could without making it obvious that I was running away.
“Lizzie, Lizzie, come back.” I ignored Ralph’s calls, kept my head down and my feet moving.
Beth walked beside me with Conor behind us, checking every so often to make sure we weren’t being followed. I didn’t say another word until we got back to the village. Kate was in the kitchen and leapt to my side when she saw my face. Despite my best efforts, my distress must have showed.
“What is it? What happened?”
“Oh, Kate, don’t mind me. I’m being stupid,” I said. “Nothing a good cup of coffee wouldn’t fix.”
Beth busied herself making coffee while Kate sat beside me, holding my hand. I took long breaths trying to get my heart rate back to normal. What had started as a lovely relaxing walk had culminated in what? Why did I run away? What was wrong with me that I couldn’t confront my past?
Chapter 51
Maggie
“Lizzie, you’re never going to believe this.”
It was the following day. I had recovered my equilibrium and was putting two loaves of soda bread in the oven, enjoying the rare time alone. Beth and Lori had gone shopping with Kate. Michael was driving them into the city. Jimmy had gone into work early and I wasn’t expecting him back until the evening. They had a group of American fishermen staying at the hotel and Jimmy’s expertise was in demand. I was quite surprised to see him back so early.
“What am I not going to believe?” I asked, matching Jimmy’s beaming smile with one of my own. Until I saw who stood beside him. Ralph Haughton, not ten feet away from me.
All the air deflated out of my lungs, and I sat heavily. Jimmy immediately sprang to my aid, but I waved him away.
“What is he doing here?” I said, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice.
“I invited him. He has news for us that you are going to want to hear.”
“I’m not interested in anything that man has to say.”
“Lizzie, I have to talk to you,” Ralph said.
I withered him with a look. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Listen to me. I’m sorry, so very sorry but I was only a child myself. I paid for what I did. I saw what George did to Maggie. It was me that pushed him that day. It was all my fault.”
It was so odd to hear Ralph finally admit that he was the one who had hurt George. Our Maggie was sent to prison for something he had done.
“It’s too late now. Maggie’s dead because of you.”
“I know and I am so sorry. I will make it my life’s work to make amends.”
There was something in his tone that reminded me of the old whiny Ralph, the coward who allowed his brother to bully him. Who let my sister take the blame for hurting him when we all knew she wasn’t physically capable of it.
“Ralph, tell her about Maggie’s baby.” Jimmy looked annoyed, but his excitement couldn’t be contained.
“What?” This change in the conversation floored me.
“Ralph. Tell Lizzie what you told me,” Jimmy said, but before Ralph could answer him, he couldn’t contain himself. “Maggie’s baby…”
“You do realise that the baby would be at least fifty-three at this stage,” I said.
“Of course, I know that. She found us, Lizzie. Maggie’s child found us. And it turns out we’ve known her for years.”
My mouth fell open. The question was there on the top of my tongue, but I couldn’t ask it.
Ralph spoke up. “We’ve compared the paper trail. Confirmation came through this morning. It turns out she has been looking for her birth mother for nearly as long as we were looking for her. She didn’t know she was adopted until after her mother died. Her father told her the truth and gave her what little paperwork he had. She has been looking ever since.”
Ralph looked at Jimmy for confirmation.
“It’s true,” Jimmy said. “This morning I had a long chat with her. She found us, not the other way round. It’s amazing. You can see the family similarity. Her daughter is a real McCarthy. She looks like you.”
I remained speechless as my mind churned over what Jimmy was saying. The young woman behind the reception desk in the hotel. That’s why she looked familiar. She looked like us, like me and Jimmy, like my da. My eyes widened and my mouth formed a perfect O as the implication slowly dawned on me. The young receptionist was Teresa Dennison, daughter of Evelyn Dennison, née Boyle.
“Evelyn Dennison is Maggie’s daughter?”
“Yep.” Jimmy nodded so enthusiastically I thought his head would fall off.
“Evelyn Boyle Dennison. She has the paperwork to back it up. Robert and Dorothy Boyle adopted a baby girl from Our Lady’s in May 1914. The nuns told them that her mother died in childbirth. They even gave the Boyles Maggie’s real name.”
“But… why now, after all these years? If she always had Maggie’s name.”
“They were told she died in May 1914, but Maggie didn’t die until September 1916. They couldn’t find a death certificate until they widened the search, thanks to the information that Ralph Haughton unearthed.”
“But still… all these years.”
I found it difficult to process this information. We knew Evelyn. Angela had worked for her for the past twenty years, so had Jimmy for that matter. I had only met her once and thought she was very likeable. A smart intelligent woman. Is that the type of woman our Maggie could have been?
The thought struck me then, that she would ask who the father was, if she didn’t know already.
“Did she ask who her father was?”
Jimmy exchanged glances with Ralph. “No, not yet. I think she’s still stunned to find out that her mother lived on the estate. But she will ask, as soon as she assimilates the information she has already.”
“That’s why I’m here, Lizzie,” Ralph said. “There is no paper trail to the father… to George. We could tell Evelyn about him, but does she need to know that she was the product of rape?”
Jimmy interjected. “I don’t think we should say anything about him at all. She might never ask but if she does ask us, we can say we don’t know.”
Another conundrum. For years we had wondered where Maggie’s baby had been sent. Now we knew who she was, where she was but we now worried about how much to tell her about her conception. I remembered a letter Angela had sent when she first settled in Ireland.
“You might not have a choice on any of that. Irish people have long memories. Angela heard the rumours years ago about Maggie. Only the story Angela heard was that the master of the house got Maggie pregnant, then when he refused to marry her, she lost her mind and killed herself. And we all know that was not what happened.”
“But even if she’s heard that rumour, she may not connect it to Maggie.”
“She will. Evelyn Dennison is one smart cookie. Once she finds out how Maggie died, she’ll put two and two together.”
Ralph had looked thoughtful up to that point, listening to me and Jimmy. “I think it would be best to say we don’t know. She doesn’t need to know.”
“That is so typical of you. Don’t allow anything to sully the Haughton name but it’s okay for Maggie’s daughter to believe that her mother somehow seduced the master of the big house, then killed herself when he refused to marry her. What type of person does that make Maggie?”
Ralph shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“What?” I asked, for I could see there was something else he knew but wasn’t telling us.
“The day Maggie came to the manor, the day you were there, Lizzie. She was so brave that day. You would have been so proud of her,” Ralph said.
I was so confused. The memory of that day never left me. Maggie broken and keening like the child she was.
“She confronted George. Told him off for the bully he was. Her courage made me brave, so I spoke up, told Mother what I saw, what George had done to Maggie, how he had laughed at me…” Ralph gulped, staring at a point somewhere around my feet. “I told Mother that I was the one that pushed George, that Maggie had nothing to do with it.”
Silence fell, like a blanket cutting off all other sound. The Haughtons knew Maggie was innocent, yet still they persisted in having her arrested. I shook my head in disbelief.
