A Mother’s Spirit

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?’