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Chapter 13

Later that night, Ellen brought them to an upstairs chamber which contained straw mattresses for the whole family. She apologised so many times that Bridget eventually had to be quite stern in her insistence that their accommodation was altogether satisfactory, even though she discerned Emily’s and Rory’s downcast faces at being obliged to share a room with Emily’s parents and brothers. To be fair, it was not an ideal scenario for any of them, but privacy and personal comfort were secondary concerns when others had greater needs.

This was a principle which they fully embraced over the next few weeks, devoting every waking hour to any task, big or small, that would contribute to the improvement of the estate and the lives of its tenants. They used the money they had brought as wisely as they could, purchasing more food, bedding, medicine and seeds, and distributing these among the tenants according to the sizes of their families. They assisted the people in making their homes habitable again, helping to repair ramshackle roofs and walls and planting seeds on their plots of land. They ensured that the local doctor, Dr Lynch, had all the supplies he needed to continue tending to patients still suffering from the effects of fever and malnutrition. Although it would be a long time before life at Oakleigh resembled the way it had prior to the coming of the blight, they would reclaim it little by little.

Bridget and Cormac made the conscious decision not to shield Jack and Gus from either witnessing the deprivation nor participating in the toil. While they didn’t think that their more humble living situation back in Boston had faded from the boys’ memories just yet, it was prudent to remind them that their comfortable lifestyle at Bewley Hall was a privilege that shouldn’t be taken for granted, and that it also came with its own obligations. Cormac articulated this one morning as the family rode along the lane leading to the village of Ballydarry, carrying provisions for the villagers in their saddlebags.

‘Tenants are supposedly meant to serve their landlords,’ he said, ‘but it’s more appropriate that landlords serve their tenants by seeing to their welfare. Nothing on the land will thrive—neither the estate nor the people—if the roots are not well tended.’

Jack and Gus nodded intently. Emily and Rory were listening closely too; after all, the responsibility of Oakleigh would someday be theirs.

Emily was the only one of them who looked ill at ease atop her mount. John Corbett had made sure to give her the most docile animal from Oakleigh’s stables, but Rory still kept his own horse close beside her for her reassurance.

Their first sight of Ballydarry was its two church spires, which came into view as they began to descend the lane’s gentle slope towards the village. St Canice’s, the Church of Ireland establishment, was the larger of the two and they passed it first when they entered the small settlement. This was where the funerals of each of Bridget’s parents had taken place. After a moment of indecision gazing up at the steeple, she resolved to bring Emily, Jack and Gus to visit their grandparents’ grave before the summer was through. She supposed that her mother’s spirit might not welcome the presence of the illegitimate boys at her graveside, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that, were he still alive, Lord Courcey would have doted upon all of his grandchildren, no matter their scandalous origins.

They carried on through the village to the crossroads where the Roman Catholic church, St Mary’s, stood. Its sombre facade stirred further memories of lost family members whose graves they would also visit, though these were on Cormac’s side: his father and brother buried in the church’s graveyard, and his sister Mary lying in unconsecrated ground beyond the wall. Sadly, there were two absent from their number – Cormac’s mother and his sister Margaret had perished in Dublin but, in desperate need of money, Tess had given their bodies to medical men whose lackeys frequently prowled the city’s tenements seeking corpses upon which they could practise their skills. Bridget shuddered as her mind unwillingly conjured up gruesome images of what must have happened to them. She banished them again as quickly as she could.

A stooped figure emerged unsteadily from the church’s porch, accompanied by a much younger man. Bridget was surprised and glad to recognise the older one as the priest, Father Macken – he had to be eighty if he was a day, so the fact that he was still alive at his age and in these impoverished times was a marvel. He dipped his trembling fingers into the holy water font by the church door and feebly flicked them over the head of his companion, who was easily distinguishable by the medical case in his hand. Dr Lynch accepted the sprinkling of water without objection, although Bridget thought she discerned a hint of discomfort in his stiff posture.

Father Macken squinted past the doctor, caught sight of the family and commenced a slow, shuffling walk down the church path towards the road. They halted on their horses; Emily pulled rather too abruptly on her reins but her placid mount didn’t startle. Dr Lynch followed the priest, keeping to his pace and eyeing him warily as he shambled over the treacherous cracked stones of the path. They reached the family without incident, and Father Macken’s wrinkled hand quivered as he made the sign of the cross in the air before them.

‘May God bless you and keep you,’ he said, his voice thin and shaky, ‘for your kindness to the people here. You bring hope where it’s needed most and the Lord sees your good deeds.’

They bowed their heads respectfully, while Bridget privately noted that the priest was being quite selective about her and Cormac’s deeds – after all, they had committed adultery and they shared two illegitimate children, both grievous sins in the eyes of the Catholic Church. Perhaps he felt that resources were too scarce to spurn their goodwill and so he chose to turn a blind eye instead.

Dr Lynch cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on his medical case. ‘Remember what I said about resting, Father,’ he said. ‘You don’t want that cold to turn into influenza. Your parishioners need you healthy.’

Father Macken shot the doctor a remarkably piercing look, given his otherwise frail state. ‘I’ll heed your advice,’ he said, his tone just short of sullen. ‘ After I’ve called into The Pikeman.’

It might have seemed incongruous for the priest to declare his intention to visit the local drinking house, only for the fact that The Pikeman had become a meeting point for the distribution of provisions to the villagers. Having sent word in advance, it was where the family were now heading.

Undeterred by Father Macken’s defiance, Dr Lynch said, ‘How fortunate—that is also my next destination. Allow me to accompany you there.’

The Pikeman was almost directly across the road from the church so they would not have to walk far, but Bridget sensed Father Macken’s resentment and wondered what was afoot between the two men to cause their palpable tension.

‘Who is in need of your services?’ she asked the doctor with some apprehension. Though outbreaks of fever had become far less frequent among the estate’s inhabitants of late, she dreaded every day that she would hear of another poor soul who had succumbed.

‘Annie Bracken. She’s not ill as such, but she’s got an anxious sort of nature, especially since her mother passed last year.’ He waved his free hand in a nonchalant manner. ‘It’s nothing to be concerned about. Ben just asked me to look in on her.’

Bridget gave a sympathetic nod, understanding the doctor’s trivialising of the situation. She had been told in confidence by Ellen that Annie Bracken was in actual fact prone to bouts of hysteria, but it would do her no good at all if word of that got out – women who suffered from such an affliction were usually carted off to the asylum. It was a mark of Dr Lynch’s compassion that he chose to quietly treat her instead of exposing her condition, and Bridget was glad the estate finally had the aid of such a decent doctor. If the supercilious Mr Abbott, who had once served Bridget’s mother, had deigned to minister to Annie, he would have sent her away without a second thought.

Bridget gave Dr Lynch a smile that she hoped conveyed her gratitude and urged her mare backwards a few paces to allow him and Father Macken to cross the road in the direction of The Pikeman. Then she and the rest of the family followed, almost immediately passing the two men who were hampered by the priest’s slow progress. They stopped in front of the drinking house and proceeded to dismount. As they tied their horses to posts and removed their saddlebags, she endeavoured not to think about the frightening incident that had happened to her here many years before, when several of The Pikeman’s unsavoury patrons had intimidated her on account of her English blood. Thankfully, those men no longer lived on Oakleigh land and the tenants who remained did not espouse the same abusive sentiments – at least, not to her face. She was not so na?ve as to believe that every single person on the estate welcomed her presence, but they surely had to put their grievances aside when she was in a position to offer substantial assistance during the current crisis. Her close connection to Cormac, a local man born and raised on Carlow soil, was also advantageous in swaying the wider community’s opinion of her.

The doctor and the priest finally reached the building too and made their way inside. Cormac led the family after them, stepping beneath the sign of a man wielding a pike and pushing on the heavy wooden door, which creaked as it opened wider, revealing the dim interior where knots of villagers huddled around.

Ben Bracken stood behind the bar, his weather-beaten skin still a prominent feature of his appearance, despite the fact that he was now the proprietor of the drinking house instead of a labourer on the land. His expression lifted at their entrance and, wiping his hands on a rag, he came around the end of the bar to shake Cormac’s hand. Cormac returned the gesture with sincerity, which was no wonder, for he owed Ben more than he could ever repay – it was Ben who had given him the crucial information that had helped him to locate his lost family after Lady Courcey had thrown them all off the estate.

Now, Ben pressed a leathery palm to his chest and said, ‘We’re most obliged to ye for coming here today.’

‘We hope we’ve brought enough,’ Bridget replied, her gaze sweeping the room. More had come than she’d expected: there were mothers with children clinging to their skirts, a pair of ginger-haired lads who looked barely out of adolescence as they shuffled their feet in embarrassment, a solitary girl with her palm resting protectively over her pregnant belly, and a few elderly men hunched in the corner. Father Macken had joined this last group and was murmuring something to them, but Dr Lynch was nowhere to be seen.

The family began to unload the provisions from their saddlebags, setting them on the surface of the bar, and the villagers came forwards eagerly. Bridget and Cormac divided up the rations of beans, salted meat and apples (the first of the season from Oakleigh’s orchard) and passed them to Emily and Rory, who moved through the crowd to hand them out, subtly prioritising the most vulnerable among them. Jack and Gus, keen to help, followed their lead. As they distributed all the food, it became clear that what they had brought on this occasion was not going to be sufficient. The villagers stared at the dwindling supply with hollow eyes, and Bridget felt a sharp pang of remorse that their efforts were falling short.

Jack and Gus came back to her side, their hands empty. Jack’s forehead was furrowed; he dithered for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small parcel of bread and cheese. Gus eyed it with concern.

‘That’s your lunch,’ he reminded his brother in an alarmed whisper.

Jack chewed on his lip. Then he stepped back into the crowd of milling villagers and handed the parcel to the pregnant girl, who accepted it dumbly. When he returned, he shrugged at Gus’s horrified expression.

‘Isn’t it better to give it to others who need it more?’ he said in a quiet voice that only Gus and Bridget could hear. ‘I don’t mind being hungry for a few hours. These people know what it’s like to be hungry for a lot longer than that.’

Gus’s face fell. He curved his palm defensively over the bulge in his own pocket.

‘Do I have to give mine away as well, Ma?’ he asked in dismay.

‘That’s entirely up to you,’ she said.

As he struggled with the decision, she spotted Dr Lynch descending a rickety stairs at the far end of the drinking house, a woman ambling in his wake. Annie Bracken was only a wisp of a thing, her skin as smooth as her brother’s was weathered. She plucked nervously at the worn material of her skirt as she trailed after the doctor, who made his way over to Ben and handed him a small bottle. Ben pocketed it with a solemn nod of thanks.

A resigned sigh drew Bridget’s attention back to her sons. With an effort that seemed to require all of his willpower, Gus extracted his parcel of food from his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, crossed the room to Annie, and placed the parcel in her hands without a word. She gaped at him with startled eyes before giving him a timid smile. He offered her a formal bow, which he had undoubtedly learned from Mr Humphrey, and then trotted back across the room, looking noticeably less gloomy than when he had set out.

After they had dispensed the last of the provisions, the family bade farewell to the villagers and remounted their horses. They proceeded onwards to McKinty Farm, where they had made a prior arrangement to assist Farmer McKinty in clearing a plot of land that had fallen into neglect. Cormac and Rory helped the gentle farmer to remove rocks and break up the soil, while Bridget and Emily joined the farmer’s wife, Maisie, in planting neat rows of vegetable seeds in the freshly turned earth, and Jack and Gus followed behind, using trowels to cover the seeds with soil. Throughout their labours, Bridget kept a surreptitious eye on the flirtatious Maisie, but the woman did nothing more than throw Cormac a few teasing winks, which he pretended not to notice. Bridget thought that the McKintys had a number of children but there was no sign of them anywhere on the farmstead and she hesitated to ask after them, lest it transpire that they had perished from the fever.

Much later, when they had finished toiling on the farm and were riding back to the manor, Bridget surveyed her two boys, who drooped wearily in their saddles, their cheeks streaked with dirt.

‘You both did fine work today,’ she said, ‘but most especially when you acted with such selflessness at The Pikeman. I’m proud of you.’

Gus’s stomach rumbled loudly in response and Cormac threw a worried glance over his shoulder. ‘I think we’re being hunted by a pack of ferocious lions,’ he said in alarm.

Gus giggled. ‘It’s only my hungry belly!’

‘In that case, you’ll be pleased to know that Mrs Kavanagh has stocked her pantry well with the funds we gave her,’ Bridget said. She leaned conspiratorially towards Gus. ‘We’ve insisted upon continuing to eat simple fare on the whole, but I may have mentioned to her that I know someone who is particularly fond of mince pies.’

Gus’s eyes widened. ‘Mince pies?’ he repeated in beatific anticipation.

Bridget smiled as they carried on down the road and the imposing manor came into view on the horizon.