The Ballroom Café (15 page)

‘It is nice to see it being used. Usually it is a lonely old bench looking across at a sad, grey house.’

Ella sat down with a sigh. Shoulders almost touching, they sat looking across the sweep of land to the far-off mountains. A blackbird sang out loud above them. At the pond, one duckling was pecking another fiercely on the back.

‘I hope the rain holds off or we will get drowned,’ Ella said, flicking petals off her cardigan.

‘There was no need to follow me.’

‘I couldn’t see you upset.’

Debbie jumped up and began to kick small tufts of grass. ‘I just don’t understand why it has to be so complicated. I never intended to cause all this trouble.’

‘I know that, but we can’t always pick the set of circumstances we live in; we just have to deal with it.’

‘Like you and your sister.’

‘In a way.’ Ella stood up, flapping her hands across her clothes to dislodge the petals.

‘You don’t like them?’

‘I planted this tree in memory of Carrie and I find I can never come here. There is no comfort in the petals as soft as a baby’s touch, the beautiful flowers that remind me of her innocent smiles. There is no comfort in seeing the way the wind can ravage the beauty of the tree, like the sea destroyed my daughter. I never knew when I planted it, it would cause me so much pain.’

‘Can’t you knock it down?’

Ella stamped her feet and took a deep breath. ‘That is the greatest pain: I cannot bear to think of it not being here. I can’t bear not to be reminded.’

‘I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago, but the pain is as hot as ever.’

‘What happened to Carrie?’

Ella looked alarmed. In all the years, nobody had asked her that question. Nobody mentioned Carrie: it was like she never existed; the daughter she had brought into the world and brought home was treated as a child nobody ever knew. She felt Debbie’s arms come around her and she moved in and let herself collapse into her, sobs wrenching through her, snorts of pain breaking from her across the grass. Pushing her head up, she said she was a show, but Debbie hushed her.

‘I will be all right in a while. It just comes over me.’

Sitting up, she clasped her hands together on her tweed skirt.

‘Carrie drowned at the harbour; a gust of wind blew the pram into the water. An accident. She was out for a walk with my sister and my husband.’

Debbie reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘You don’t need to say any more.’

Ella sighed loudly. ‘I don’t think I can.’

Sheets of grey rain advanced on them.

‘We’d better hurry back or we will get soaked.’

They got up and walked at a smart pace across the grass. When they got to the fountain, Ella faltered.

‘I am going to my room for a while, just to get myself together. Why don’t you do the same? Most of the women are gone anyway.’

‘I think I should go back and apologise for my outburst.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Ella said, as she made for the back stairs. She waited until she got inside her bedroom to buckle like an old soft toy discarded on the floor.

Mother Assumpta stirred an extra sugar into her tea. After the visit of the Order administrator and solicitor, she needed something an awful lot stronger, but extra sugar would have to do. She had been told very sharply to sort this mess out, and she had no idea how she was going to do it. Every day brought new and ludicrous rumours. She knew she had to take measures to quell the rising hysteria that had attracted so much comment. Consuelo, the last time she interviewed her, was both aggressive and belligerent.

Assumpta cursed the competitive drive in her, which had seen her push for this position against more senior members of the community. She was paying the price for her past naked display of raw ambition, for sure. To think she turned down a transfer to the Italian house three years ago because it did not fit in with her long-term goal. Curse her stupidity, Assumpta thought, because it had landed her in this very hot water.

The civil servant leading the inquiry was unhelpful and even turned down an offer for tea in the drawing room. The administrator’s final words as she made her way through the hallway were ringing in her ears still.

‘Assumpta, you have let this get way out of hand. You need to come up with something fast, to limit the damage being done to our sisters all over the world as a result of this nonsense. There are rumblings in the Bishop’s Palace: be warned.’

A slight tap on the door and she rose to ready herself, even though she had not even touched her tea.

‘The car is here, Mother.’

‘Thank you, Marguerite. Tell the others to keep a low profile while I am away.’

Mother Assumpta buttoned up her raincoat and, carrying a small handbag, she slowly made her way down the curve of stone steps to Gerry O’Hare’s car.

‘It is a nice day for an outing, Mother,’ he said, and she nodded, smiling that Gerry O’Hare should think this trip was one of leisure. In her handbag was the letter she had got in yesterday’s afternoon post. She tried not to dwell on the contents, but she knew it was very troubling.

Sea Road,

Malahide,

Co. Dublin

Dear Mother Assumpta,

My name is Frances Rees, née Murtagh, from Bridge Street, Rathsorney. My sister was Mary Murtagh of the same address who gave birth to a baby on April 15, 1959 at Wicklow General Hospital.

I write to you on a matter of serious concern. My sister was told her baby had died and she never recovered from that loss. However, she insisted the baby did not die but was stolen from her. She died in a mental institution, almost twelve months to the day after the birth. She always insisted her baby had been taken from her, and now that I hear Deborah Kading on the radio, I am wondering was she in fact correct. We were never told where the baby was buried; Sister Consuelo said she would take care of everything.

I wonder even at this late stage, would it be possible to unravel this mystery. I intend also to try and make contact with Deborah Kading. I hope you can help.

Yours sincerely

Frances Rees.

Gerry O’Hare knew better than to put talk on her and she nodded off for most of the journey to Moyasta. When he pulled in to the old convent, O’Hare coughed loudly, so she woke up with a start.

‘I am going to get a sandwich in the village and have a doze in the car,’ he said, and she nodded, saying she would get the sisters to send out a pot of tea.

Consuelo had spent the morning in the cellars, rummaging through boxes of files in what was once the old pantry and grain store. Sweat pooled on her temples as she heaved box after box onto a table and emptied out files contained by thick brown elastic bands. The Kading file was in the fourth box. She remembered Agnes Kading well; pushy and insistent. That baby was one of the luckiest; the Kadings’ income alone guaranteed a cushy life and more than likely a university education. Who could say she had done the wrong thing? The young mother was loud, screaming for her baby, but they all thought that would pass. Was it her fault that the parents could not make her see sense and grab a second chance at some sort of life where nobody knew her?

A flutter of nervous excitement ran through her when she heard Assumpta’s cold voice. Straightening her skirt and checking her blouse was tucked in, with no gaps showing between the buttons on the front, she grabbed the Kading file and made her way upstairs.

Consuelo rushed into the hall to help Mother off with her coat. ‘You need not have come all this way, Mother. I would have gladly come to you.’

‘We both know that could not be, Consuelo.’

For a moment, Consuelo stopped what she was doing and looked at Assumpta. ‘My conscience is clear, Mother. I won’t be told I did not do right for those children.’

‘Let’s leave it at that, until we are in private,’ Mother Assumpta snapped.

Consuelo did as she was bid, leading the way to the drawing room overlooking the rose gardens, which was normally reserved for receiving important visitors.

As they sat and waited for the tea to arrive, Consuelo attempted some conversation. ‘Has it caused a lot of disruption at the convent in Ballygally?’

Assumpta shifted uncomfortably in her seat, conscious Consuelo was attempting to lead the conversation so she could have the upper hand. ‘Quite a bit, as you can imagine, with the world press practically at the gates.’

Her tone was deliberately stiff and sour, so that Consuelo sat back on her chair and folded her hands on her lap.

Sister Angela, when she brought the tea tray into the drawing room, felt the disagreement between the two women and as a result flapped unnecessarily, offering Mother sugar and milk and a plate of rich tea and chocolate biscuits. Her polite enquiry as to whether Mother had enjoyed the car journey was met with a one-word answer. When Sister Angela self-consciously bustled out of the room, Assumpta placed her cup of tea on its saucer.

‘First things first: have you the Kading file?’

Consuelo waved the folder in the air. ‘I got a fine home for that child; the papers prove it.’

Assumpta moved to the edge of her seat and stretched to take the brown folder. ‘I have decided in the extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in, we will help those who come forward to us: mothers who have given up their children for adoption and those children who wish to trace their birth parents.’

Consuelo elaborately folded her arms across her chest.

‘Deborah Kading will have a long wait; the birth mother is dead.’

‘Mary Murtagh?’

‘Killed herself a year or so afterwards. Tell me I did not do the right thing for that child. I gave her a loving family environment; she was never going to get that from young Mary Murtagh.’

‘Mary Murtagh’s sister has started asking questions, says the girl insisted all along the baby was stolen from her, that she was only told it was dead.’

The statement had the devastating effect she hoped for: Consuelo looked stricken. ‘Holy divine Jesus, you don’t believe her. Tell me you don’t believe her.’ Consuelo crossed herself several times, muttering a Hail Mary.

‘I don’t know what to believe,’ Assumpta said.

Consuelo jumped up. ‘Mary Murtagh’s father was very clear: the baby was to go for adoption and she was to be told it died. The poor man only wanted to save her the longing. As God is my witness, I did the right thing, helping a desperate father with a wayward daughter.’

‘It may be viewed differently today.’

Consuelo snorted. ‘Hindsight is a great thing. Her own father handed the child to me; tell me what I should have done.’

‘It is a bit late for that.’ Assumpta clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘We have to deal quickly with this sorry mess. The file and all the others will have to be handed over. This thing about two sets of books, it is not going to go away. Bishop Lucey is furious.’

Assumpta walked to the window. Outside, two sisters were weeding and pruning, chatting as they worked. No doubt discussing the purpose of my visit, thought Assumpta, as she turned to face Consuelo.

‘I will take all the files you have. Tell the sisters to put them in the boot.’

‘You should have brought a lorry; I helped a lot of children.’

‘Consuelo, do you give me your word it was all above board?’

‘You don’t expect me to dignify that with an answer, do you?’

‘They are saying there were two sets of books. We have one set of records at the convent. Will it be different from what I find in those files?’

Consuelo sighed loudly. ‘Mother, look at the end result. Isn’t it the bottom line that always matters? These children got wonderful homes and lives the rest of us could only dream of. I did everything to protect both sides, and if that meant telling people who came nosing for information there was none, then I am guilty.‘

‘What of birth mothers who had requested contact?’

Consuelo snorted loudly. ‘I ran an efficient system, the same as every other convent. Best that the files were closed and no contact encouraged.’

‘You know I have to hand over these files to the inquiry.’

‘I know they are looking for a scapegoat; it might as well be me. I hope that the inquiry asks how these children were given passports and visas, if the adoptions were not above board.’

‘That is not our concern.’

Consuelo fiddled with a lace doily, her fingers pushing into the small holes of the crochet. ‘It was not so long ago, Mother, when you did not want to know the details.’

‘Unfortunately, Sister Consuelo, the situation has shifted considerably, and if we don’t revise our strategy, we may find ourselves unable to extricate ourselves from the soup.’ Assumpta flicked through the Kading file. ‘We will have to deal with each case as it comes up; it is not going to be easy.’

‘I can stand over everything I did; I don’t mind telling anybody that.’

Assumpta snapped the file shut. ‘You will do no such thing.’

‘You are treating me, Mother, as if I did something wrong.’

‘Let’s face it: we never treated those young women right and we seemed to find homes based on the income of the adoptive parents and nothing else. It smacks of selling children for gain. If I can see that, as sure as God is in heaven others will come to that conclusion as well.’

Consuelo jumped up, her face blotching red with anger. ‘All the work I put into finding good homes for those ungrateful children; tell me what should I have done: let them stay in institutions to be the playthings for all sorts?’

‘Consuelo, quieten that tongue of yours.’ Assumpta stood up, tucking the Kading file under her arm. ‘I will send Gerry back for the rest of the files in the morning. Please do not discuss this situation with anybody, not even the other sisters.’

Consuelo nodded, her face pale.

‘I will be in touch,’ Assumpta said as she made her way to the hall, where Sister Angela was loitering, hoping to take away the tea tray. ‘Sister, get the car around please.’ Assumpta’s voice was sharp and urgent. As she walked to the front door, she turned to Consuelo. ‘I will meet Miss Kading; she must know of her mother.’