Page 23 of Hidden Daughters (Detective Lottie Parker #15)

Lottie showered, unsurprised at the low water pressure. The house was old and situated on a hillside after all. Grace had shown them the plans for their new house, and Bryan had promised to bring them to the site to look at the progress being made. She no longer had any interest in seeing it.

She pulled on light-blue jeans and a white cotton blouse as Boyd came into the compact bedroom.

‘Have you time now to tell me what went on?’ he asked.

‘Sorry about rushing up the stairs like that, but I had to wash the stench of death out of my hair. I needed to decompress.’ She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her damp hair. ‘It was so harrowing. It was as if someone scalded that poor woman to death.’

‘Is that the official line?’ He sat on the bed beside her.

‘No, she may have died of a heart attack from the shock of being doused with boiling water. Whichever way it’s ruled once the post-mortem is conducted, it’s obvious to me that she suffered. Suffered horribly.’

‘Who was she?’

‘They say the cottage was rented by a documentary-maker Imelda Conroy, and Mooney, the detective in charge, is running with that. He strikes me as diligent, so I’m sure he will conduct a proper investigation.’

‘Sounds shocking,’ Boyd said. ‘And for it to happen in such a beautiful place – you don’t expect that.’

‘I wouldn’t expect it anywhere, to be honest.’

‘Do you know what the woman was working on?’

‘No idea.’ She left the brush on the bed, giving up on her hair. ‘But I’d love to find out.’

‘Now, Lottie.’ He held her hand and turned her round to face him. ‘It’s not your case. You’re here for my sister’s wedding. Leave the murder to the local team.’

‘I offered to help.’

‘What? You have no jurisdiction here.’

‘I can assist, can’t I?’

‘Stop.’ He stood. ‘I don’t want you to ruin this for Grace.’

‘I’d never do that, Mark. Honestly.’

He eyed her sceptically. ‘Dinner is ready. Come down and eat.’

‘I don’t think I can stomach food.’ She caught his look, one that said Grace would be insulted if she declined. ‘Go ahead then. I’ll be there in a minute. Have to dry my hair first.’

‘Five minutes, then I’m coming to get you.’

‘Sure.’ She kissed his cheek.

Then she was alone. With her thoughts. With the images from the cottage. With the horror of what that woman had gone through. She knew she couldn’t walk away from it.

After a cordial dinner, Bryan decided he couldn’t talk to Grace’s brother.

It was obvious he was very close to her, so instead he decided to have a word with Lottie.

She seemed interesting. A little intimidating, if he was being truthful, but he was used to dealing with stubborn animals, so she should be easy to handle.

He felt himself blush at the thought, wondering if it was inappropriate.

Getting her on her own was the problem. He could hardly ask her to come out and corral the sheep with him. Or could he?

In the end, Lottie was happy to accompany him outside, leaving Boyd helping Grace with the dishes.

‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’ Bryan said as they walked around the rear of the house. Tess, his dog, led the way.

Lottie could still hear the waves crashing on the shoreline not too far away. The sound swathed them like they were in an echo chamber.

‘I know you’ve had an eventful day,’ he said, ‘but there’s been something on my mind that I hope you can help me with.’

‘Go on,’ she said, looking at him from under her eyelids.

Bryan was a tall, handsome man. A bit rugged and square-jawed, if she was being picky, but then again, it added to his farmer image.

Dressed in a clean light-blue shirt and dark denim jeans, she thought the wellingtons kind of ruined his image.

‘Grace can’t know about this, and if she is to be kept in the dark, her brother will have to be kept that way too.’

‘Oh.’ She wondered where the conversation was leading.

‘Do you agree?’

‘I need to hear what you have to say first.’

He ran a hand through his thick greying hair. ‘I suppose I’ll have to accept that.’

They’d reached the boundary wall, with a vast barren field before them.

‘What is it you want me to do?’ Lottie asked.

‘Listen to me first of all. Then see if you can help.’

He leaned against the old stone wall and folded his arms. She felt awkward standing beside him, but was intrigued to hear what he had to say.

‘When I was a boy, I was sent to a place called Knockraw. One of those industrial schools. I was only a young teenager at the time. It was an all-boys institution, run by the Christian Brothers and a couple of priests. It’s closed down now, could even have been demolished, but it remained open until the late eighties, maybe even into the early nineties.

Anyhow, it’s been said that over a hundred boys died there and at the infamous Letterfrack industrial school. ’

‘I’ve read about Letterfrack. And you were in a place like that?’

‘Aye, I was. Whipped raw, I was. There was physical and sexual abuse, and death. Aye, too many boys died. No words for it other than it was barbaric treatment.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She felt genuine pity for the boy this weathered man had once been.

‘Not your fault.’

‘Why were you sent there?’

‘My mother died, and then didn’t my father take to the drink.

My other brother didn’t want to have anything to do with me, so I was left to my own devices.

I was always starving with the hunger and started stealing.

Mainly food and cigarettes. But that sort of carry-on landed me in Knockraw.

I thought when my mother died that it was my worst nightmare.

But the real nightmare began the day I was led through those doors.

I was subjected to all sorts of abuse for three years. ’

‘That’s terrible, Bryan.’

‘When I got out of that hellhole, the country was in the middle of a recession, so I took a few jobs to get enough money for a plane ticket to America. Wanted to make my fortune there. A pipe dream. But I worked hard on the building sites in and around New York, and when I’d made a good few bob, I came back. ’

‘What has all this to do with me?’

‘It’s complicated, and I don’t want Grace to know about this. Not yet, anyhow.’ He patted Tess, who was circling his legs in silence.

Once the dog was settled at his feet, he went on.

‘I had been seeing this girl. Mary Elizabeth O’Dowd.

She was younger than me, might have been sixteen, a gentle soul, and we had a connection of sorts.

Long story short, I got her pregnant. It was around that time that I was packed off to Knockraw.

I heard she was sent to a convent, one of those horrible laundries.

That place was nothing more than a Knockraw for young girls.

I never saw nor heard from her again. I don’t know what happened to the baby, or if Mary Elizabeth is even alive.

Maybe they both died in that place. I’m sorry for putting you to trouble, and say no if you want to, but would there be any way you could find out what happened to them? ’

She knew she should say no, walk away, but it was not in her to do that. ‘Where was this convent?’

‘Not far from here. People talk about the laundries in Dublin and Cork, but this one was in Galway. They did the laundry for all the hotels and businesses in the city, and for the industrial schools at Letterfrack and Knockraw, if you can believe it.’

Lottie was puzzled by his request and also his need for secrecy, which worried her a little.

‘Bryan, there’s been a commission of investigation into the industrial schools and the laundries. I’m not sure what you want me to do.’

‘I want to know what happened to that girl and what happened to our baby. He or she would be an adult now – that’s if they’re not buried in an unmarked grave somewhere.’

‘Have you tried to find them yourself?’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start. I fled to America and tried to forget about that time in my life. But now I need your help. I’m getting married and this secret is weighing heavy on my heart.’

Against her better judgement, Lottie felt inclined to help him. Mainly because she was intrigued by his story. ‘Tell me about this convent.’

‘It was a big building with a massive basement where the equipment was housed. You know, the old-fashioned washing machines and rollers for drying linen, but on an industrial scale. I’ve seen the photos online. You can check them out.’

‘Is the place still standing?’

‘Yes, though it’s been abandoned and neglected. Not far from here at all and not that far from Knockraw either, as the crow flies. The graveyard is still there. You can see it for yourself. But I believe a lot more died who didn’t get a headstone.’

‘A dark time in our history,’ she said, feeling some of that darkness fall as a cloak around her shoulders. She shuddered. ‘What was the convent called?’

‘It bore the name of the order of nuns that ran it. Sisters of Forgiveness. If you can get your head around that.’

‘And you haven’t told Grace any of this?’

‘No. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.

I had put it all behind me and hadn’t thought of it in years, but then Grace started saying she’s still young and wants to have a family.

The thing that haunts me is that I might already have a child out there somewhere, and if he or she is still alive, I want to know about them.

And if they were born and died there… I also need to know what happened. Do you get me?’

‘I do, but I’m not sure what I can do for you. As I said, there have been investigations, commissions, reports. Have you read those?’

‘A little. But they didn’t help me. You could look for the records. I read how you uncovered what happened to your brother in that St Angela’s place in Ragmullin. How you found his bones buried on that land. You could find out what happened to Mary Elizabeth and our baby.’

‘Bryan, I think you have to speak to Grace about this.’

‘I will, maybe. First, though, I need to know that you’ll help me find out what happened.’

‘I can’t promise you a good result, but I’ll see if I can dig up anything.’

‘That’s good enough for me. Go raibh míle maith agat. Thank you.’ He shook her hand, formally, as if they had sealed a deal, then turned and walked slowly back to the house.

She looked over the wall at the fields falling away to the sea below. A massive seagull swooped over her head, its huge webbed feet and harsh squawking causing her to duck reflexively.

Was that an ominous warning?

She hoped not.

She knew full well what happened when you stoked the fires of the past. Usually it wasn’t good.