Kilpara (10 page)

The next four days followed a set pattern. I
found I really did need Maureen’s help. She organized the movers
and made sure boxes were labeled correctly. They were to be
transported to a depot in New York where they would remain until I
boarded ship. As Clara’s party approached, the apartments took on a
deserted look, as if I had already left. I telegraphed Stonebridge
and told Mother to have Seamus meet us at the railway station in
Hagerstown early Tuesday afternoon.

Sunday arrived, and we prepared for Clara's
party. Maureen spent hours on her appearance and emerged dressed in
a deep blue gown that lay softly against her skin. The bodice fit
snugly around her waist and the neckline hovered temptingly above
her breasts. With regret, I thought, if she were a debutante some
rich young beau would be proud to ask permission to court her. She
must have sensed my mood for she said, “I feel like an
imposter.”

“
And a lovely one, too,” I
chuckled. Maureen giggled.

I took her wrap, put it around her shoulders
and gave her an encouraging squeeze. I opened the apartment door
and waited for Maureen to pass through. She paused momentarily,
inhaled, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she took my arm
with the determination of an actress about to woo her audience. I
led her to the waiting carriage. She was going to make the most of
this moment because soon there would be Eileen and Seamus to
face.

The afternoon was mild as Shanley drove the
carriage south along the Washington Road toward Oakhill, Emmons’
estate. After nine miles or so, we turned into a large oak-lined
drive that wound toward the white-columned house with large
porticos. We walked up a long pathway bordered by unfolding boxwood
to the front steps. Magnolia trees were scattered throughout the
smooth lawn. Beneath them white wrought-iron seats invited rest.
The ballroom where the party was being held faced to the back of
the house, with an outside balcony and wide steps leading the way
to immense gardens filled with flowering trees and
shrubs.

Servants escorted us to the ballroom where
Emmons, Eloise, and Clara stood in a receiving line. I kissed
Clara’s hand, who then turned to Maureen and hugged her warmly. She
looked paler than usual in a pink dress chosen to show her
sweetness. Instead it emphasized her bony neck and shoulders,
making her look crow-like. Her brown hair piled on top looked wispy
as it hung in limp curls. She had been introduced as a debutante
three years ago, and Emmons had used every opportunity since then
to try and marry her off. I was certain he planned to snare some
gullible young man at this party into accompanying her to some
important function that he excusably could not attend himself. In
previous instances, those chosen to accompany Clara had dutifully
indulged his requests out of good manners. But after escorting her
to a couple of engagements, they purposely claimed prior
commitments and disappeared from the horizon. Thus, the quest to
find a husband for Clara was a continual source of frustration for
Emmons.

We moved among the guests, mingling and
sipping white wine while the orchestra played softly. Maureen
curtseyed and used the rehearsed comments I had taught her: “How do
you do? Pleasant weather for this time of year.” Having assisted
with functions at Stonebridge, she easily imitated what she had
observed during those occasions.

A butler announced that a light supper would
be served, and we followed the ushers into the dining room. I could
feel Maureen’s fingers tense against my arm and saw fear enter her
eyes when we were separated. I was guided to one side of the table,
Maureen to the other. Clara sat on my left, Mrs. Travers on my
right. Jim Armstrong took up residence next to Maureen and Mr.
Travers was seated on her opposite side. From this arrangement, I
suspected an appeal had been made by Maureen during her outing with
Clara to be seated among people she had already met. Maureen's face
relaxed when Mr. Travers beamed at her. Within moments their
dialogue became lost in the chatter that circled the table. This
was interrupted only by the occasional guffaw rising above
conversations. Throughout the light meal of green salad, roast
duck, vegetables and a delicious sherbet, knives and forks clinked
as they were modestly raised and lowered.

After supper the orchestra struck up a waltz,
an indication the hosts would begin the dancing. Emmons led Clara
onto the dance floor and was followed by Eloise in her father’s
arms. Other family members joined in and when the music ended,
there was loud applause.

Maureen was familiar with most dances, music
having been a big part of happier times at Stonebridge. Father and
Mother celebrated many occasions, with one obvious difference,
Irish fiddles and banjos were blended into the entertainment. The
family, along with Eileen and Seamus, performed Irish set-dancing
for guests. Formality was often abandoned at these gatherings,
considering Stonebridge was miles from its nearest neighbor and
music often depended on the availability of instruments and their
owner’s versatility.

This evening was much more elaborate. As the
orchestra played, Maureen stood in awe of what she called “sheer
elegance.” She would have been content to stay in the same spot all
evening, never moving a muscle, taking in everything, and etching
each detail in her mind. But several young men noticed her and
claimed her for dances. After each dance, she and Clara huddled
together and giggled.

At one point, while dancing with Clara, I
spotted Maureen twirling between couples with Emmons. It didn't
matter if he became suspicious now, he would have no time to
investigate the truth; we were leaving in a day’s time. Later, when
I danced with Mrs. Travers who talked on about her children, I
searched the room for Maureen. Scanning the guests for her familiar
blue skirts, I found she wasn’t visible anywhere. Then I noticed a
servant come in from outside and look intently at the dancing
figures. He moved around the room to inspect the crowd
better.

I didn’t pay particular attention at first,
until his eyes locked with mine and he hurried toward me. His look
caused my heart to freeze. Mrs. Travers noticed his approach, as
did Clara who was dancing nearby with Jim Armstrong.

The servant quietly asked me to follow him. I
went, a small entourage trailing behind me. We walked quickly
toward the balcony and down the steps into the gardens. There under
a magnolia tree sat Maureen, her hair disheveled, her dress ripped
and torn, partially covered by a man’s shirt. A bare-chested young
man hovered close to Shanley who stood brushing off dirt and dead
leaves that lingered on his clothes. He winced and rubbed his jaw
where he had received an obvious blow.

I went to Maureen and knelt beside her. “Are
you all right?” I asked, gently pushing hair from her eyes. She
whimpered and turned her face away. With her head hung and eyes
diverted, large tears spilled onto her once pretty blue skirt. I
looked from Shanley to the young man. “What happened here?” I
demanded, anger welling in my chest, my fists clenching
automatically.

“
The name’s Tom Townsend, sir,” the
young man answered firmly. “I was tending horses over there, sir.”
He pointed beyond the gardens to the stables next to where
carriages stood hitched. “I happened to look this way and saw this
here gentleman grab that there lady.” He pointed to Shanley and
nodded toward Maureen. “She seemed to be struggling, sir, and then
she screamed. I came to investigate and found this man shoving her
into the bushes and tearing at her clothes. I tried to pull him off
her, sir. He shouted it was none of my business and wouldn’t let go
of the lady. So I punched him. I had trouble getting the lady to
tell me who she was. All she kept saying was to go get Ellis
O’Donovan. I found a houseboy and sent him to find you, sir.” The
young man stated the situation like a soldier reporting facts
before a commanding officer.

During this explanation, Shanley’s lips formed
a thin smile that never reached his dull eyes. He addressed me
quietly. “You know she’s no lady.” He pointed a finger at Maureen.
“She’s nothing more than a whore—a wretched bitch brought here to
cater to your whims. Caused all this commotion, she did, with her
screaming and struggling. The common tramp tempted me. Smiled that
bitch smile. Hiked up her skirts and held onto my hand. She knew
what she was doing.”

The world had gone still. I found myself
unable to speak. The young man who had rescued Maureen stood apart
but within earshot. He moved into a stance and looked ready to
pounce on Shanley. Uncontrollable fury overtook me, partly from the
shame I had brought upon Maureen, but mostly fueled by the sly,
arrogant smirk on Shanley’s face. I leaped forward and hit him,
sending his glasses flying as he stumbled and fell backward. The
young man moved to stand over him. “One word,” he said, “one word,
and we’ll finish this right here.”

“
Tom!” Travers, who had been some
distance away, moved closer and addressed the young man sternly.
Tom continued to stand unmoved, glaring at Shanley, his fists
folding and unfolding as he fought for control.

Travers put a hand on Tom's shoulder. “This is
a matter for the authorities,” he said firmly.

“
No!” Maureen burst out in a terse
whisper. “No authorities. I just want to go home.”

Travers stared at Maureen for a moment, then
nodded and turned to Tom. “Take these people home and fetch the
doctor,” he ordered.

Shanley rose to his feet. He stumbled away
from me out of striking distance and went over to Emmons who had
come on the scene but had yet to say anything.

“
You understand don’t you, Mr.
Emmons—sir?” he pleaded. He put on cracked glasses and squinted.
“She’s a whore, nothing more. Just like your Miss Lacey. That's
what you always call her. Not our people, you say, no manners, no
class, whores, beggars. Latch on to decent men, you say. You know
what I mean don't you, Mr. Emmons?”

“
Hold your tongue for God's sake,
Shanley!” Emmons commanded.

“
Say you understand, sir.” Tears
spurted from Shanley’s eyes as he clutched his jaw.

“
Get on home now,” Emmons insisted.
Shanley nodded reluctantly and shuffled away. Emmons followed the
man's slow movements, scorn twisted on his face. He looked around
to see if their discourse had been overheard. But most of the
attention had been centered on Maureen with the occasional
contemptible look sent Shanley's way. Only Clara, who had been
comforting Maureen up until now, looked curiously at her
father.

Emmons' wife knew something was amiss in the
gardens, but she had been told to keep the party going and not
allow guests to wander out.

Tom, who I later learned was the Travers’
groom, led the way to the carriage. Maureen pressed tightly against
my chest as we went; Armstrong and Travers following along behind.
Armstrong offered his carriage, but Tom had already opened the door
to the Travers’ carriage and was helping Maureen inside.

“
Don’t worry about us, Tom,”
Travers said. “Just take care of these people and then report to me
when you arrive home. I will look in on you tomorrow, Ellis.” He
patted my arm, and I settled across from a dazed Maureen. As the
carriage moved away, Emmons watched us depart, unmasked disgust in
his eyes.

Back at the apartments, Maureen sat limply on
the divan. I fixed stiff drinks and pressed one into her hands. She
drank automatically, pausing only to make a face as she swallowed
the liquid. Afterwards, she stared into space until Tom arrived
with the doctor. Dr. Mellott introduced himself to Maureen and then
unlatched his medical bag. He set about examining her while I
waited in the library. He joined me there when he finished and
reported that Maureen had suffered a terrible ordeal, but she was
young and would recover.

“
She needs to put the incident
behind her as quickly as possible,” he stressed, “otherwise she
could suffer complications. Encourage her to talk to a confidant or
minister. It will hasten her recovery.” He handed me a sleeping
draught and explained how to administer it. “This will help her
sleep through the night,” he said. He left then with a promise to
return the following day.

I had thought about Astelle during this whole
episode, and how comforting it would be to place Maureen in her
capable hands. On impulse, I wrote a hasty note and sent Tom to
fetch her.

She arrived looking concerned and immediately
began asking me pointed questions as I helped to remove her cloak.
I took her to Maureen who whimpered and reached her arms out to the
older woman.

“
There, there,” Astelle said,
hugging Maureen and smoothing her hair. “Tell me what
happened.”

I retreated leaving the door slightly ajar, so
I could listen. Maureen began to blurt out how Shanley had followed
her into the gardens where she had slipped away for a moment to
reflect on the evening's excitement. She had wandered farther away
from the house than she intended, lured by the beauty of the
flowering shrubs. That's when Shanley accosted her, placing his
hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. He dragged her to a
dark corner behind some thick bushes and attacked her. In the
struggle, she had managed to get out one scream and it was enough
to summon help.