Daughter of Mine (23 page)

‘It’s what happened, Father.’

Lizzie didn’t imagine the look that came over the priest nor the curl of the lip. Incensed, she leapt to her feet. ‘I’ll show you, Father,’ she cried, and she ran to the room to fetch her coat. ‘I brought it especially to show you.’

By the time she returned, her mother had put two earthenware mugs of orange-coloured tea on the table and some buttered oaten cake and barn brack and the priest was helping himself. ‘Delicious, Catherine,’ he said as he finished the slice of barn brack and licked the butter from his fingers. ‘The sign of a good woman, eh, Seamus?’

‘Aye, Father. I’ve a good woman and I try to be a good husband and father. That’s why I can’t understand this trouble brought to my door.’

‘Daddy, I couldn’t help it. Will you look, Father? The place where the knife went in has been darned, but you can see it clearly.’

But the darn had been expertly fixed and the fibres had begun knitting together. The priest gave a wry smile. ‘Such a mark could have been made by many things. But, d’you see, Lizzie, this changes nothing. The result is the same. You are having a baby, and though you are married this child is not and cannot be your husband’s. Your mother says you want nothing to do with it after it’s born?’

‘No, nothing,’ Lizzie said dejectedly, knowing it was
useless to protest any more. If she tried to show them the scar the knife had left, the priest would probably be shocked at her exposing herself in such a way. And the cut in the coat could have been caused by anything. None of them would listen, they weren’t interested enough to listen, and in a way the priest was right. At the end of the day, the way the child was conceived was immaterial.

‘I know of a place the other side of Sligo,’ the priest went on. ‘Thank God, this is a rare occurrence, but I have had occasions to use this home in the past. It is run by the Sisters of Charity and when the woman or girl is delivered of the child, a good Catholic home is found for it. This is presumably what you want?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Well then, Elizabeth, if you will collect your things.’

‘My things, Father? Surely you don’t intend me to go now?’

‘Aye.’

‘No, no, I can’t do that,’ Lizzie said. ‘I can’t, d’you see. I…I mean…It’s Niamh, she is taking her First Communion in just a few days now. She wants me here. I’ve heard her catechism every night since I arrived.’

‘Surely you are not suggesting sullying your wee daughter’s special day by attending it in such a sinful condition.’

‘What exactly are you saying, Father?’ Lizzie was aware of a feeling of dread stealing over her.

‘What I am saying, Elizabeth,’ the priest said sternly, ‘is that there is no way you will be allowed into the
church to see your daughter make her First Holy Communion. And I might say I am astounded that you seem determined on this course of action and that you are not bowing your head in shame.’

‘You can’t prevent me from attending chapel.’

‘Believe me, Elizabeth, I can, ‘the priest said, his voice rising in anger at Lizzie’s defiant tone. ‘And I will.’

Seamus stood looking at Lizzie as if he hated her, but surely her mother would understand and back her up. It was only a few more days, for pity’s sake. ‘Mammy?’ she said in appeal.

‘Will you not listen to the priest, Lizzie?’ Catherine said sharply.

‘Come, come, Elizabeth,’ the priest said impatiently. ‘We’ve wasted enough time.’

And then Lizzie saw what the Church was capable of and knew she had no power to stand against it, and knew too that neither of her parents would put out a hand to help her. Yet she tried once more. ‘Father, please? I have done no wrong.’

‘The state of you belies that, Elizabeth.’

‘But, it wasn’t my fault.’

‘Even if that were true,’ the priest said, and by his very tone Lizzie knew he didn’t believe she’d had no hand in it, that perhaps she’d even welcomed it, invited another man’s attentions. Christ Almighty!

‘My dear Elizabeth, would you risk bringing further shame upon your parents? You say you have done no wrong. What wrong have they done, pray, that you must insist on this course of action? By your own admission this distressing incident happened in February. Next week is the second week in July. You are five
months pregnant. Any at that ceremony could guess, and if then you disappeared suddenly they would put two and two together.’

Even in the midst of her confusion and distress, Lizzie realised that a lot of what the priest said was right. Seen sideways in certain clothes it was noticeable; she’d checked in the dressing-table mirror in the room.

‘I do see all you say,’ she said to the priest. ‘But surely I haven’t got to go right now? I must at least say goodbye to my children. Please, Father, you can see that, can’t you?’

‘What I see,’ the priest said coldly, ‘is a defiant and shameless girl, who even now is making demands. This is not your decision alone, Elizabeth. I have telephoned the nuns and they are expecting you and I am giving up my very valuable time to drive you there. We must go now and speedily, for it is a fair distance away.’

Lizzie took a gulp of tea. This couldn’t be happening to her; she was not to be shunted away in the priest’s car without a word of explanation to her children. She remembered how happy they were to see her and she felt tears sting her eyes.

‘Both children will be told your mother-in-law is ill and you had to return home, and that’s what we will tell any others that ask. They are but children and will get over any disappointment.’

‘People will not believe that. The postmistress knows I’ve had no letters or telegrams.’

‘Yes,’ Father Brady said. ‘That’s why I will say I received a call from the hospital and came straight down to fetch you. Then, if any have spotted my car at the head of the lane, it is explained.’

‘You’ve thought it all out,’ Lizzie said bitterly.

‘Someone had to, girl, when you drop us in the shit,’ Seamus snapped. ‘Beg your pardon, Father. Will there be any charge for this place?’

‘No, Seamus,’ Father Brady said. ‘The nuns see to it all out of the goodness of their hearts and as a way of serving God. The place was set up in memory of Mary Magdalene, who was turned from a life of prostitution by our Good Shepherd himself. The girls are also encouraged to work while they are there, for isn’t it true that the devil makes work for idle hands?’

‘Aye, that’s true enough, Father.’

‘Lizzie’s no stranger to work at least,’ Catherine said with a sigh. ‘What manner of work is it, Father?’

‘Well, as I understand it, they keep the place clean and help cook the meals, and then they take in laundry from the places around and the convent is paid for that, and that pays for the girls’ keep, you see? In fact, it is known as a Magdalene Laundry.’

To Catherine and Seamus the place sounded ideal, and in time this whole ordeal would be just an awful memory. However, Lizzie didn’t seem to see it that way. She sat in her seat stunned, making no effort to move, and suddenly Seamus was so angry with her, the cause of potential shame on him, on the whole family, that he had the urge to shake her till her bones rattled. He was mindful of the priest, however, and he just growled out, ‘Go on, Lizzie, will you, for Christ’s sake. Get your things gathered up and out of my sight, before I forget myself altogether and take my belt off to you, big as you are.’

Lizzie turned and looked at her father as she got to
her feet and saw how he was struggling to restrain the anger sparking from his dark eyes, and she shivered.

She turned her gaze to her mother and said, ‘Can I come back, Mammy?’

‘Not at all, child. You go back to England when you’re out of that place. People will wonder if you come back here. Come back next summer.’

‘Next summer?’ Lizzie cried. ‘I’m not to see the children for a whole year?’

‘Think yourself lucky we’re allowing you back at all,’ Seamus said. ‘Some people would disown their daughters totally.’

‘Catherine,’ the priest added, ‘time is pressing. Could you make up some refreshments for the journey?’

‘Oh, certainly, Father, no problem,’ Catherine said, and Lizzie knew she’d lost—lost everything—and she went into her room.

Her belongings were few, for most things were tight on her now, and she was back in a few minutes. ‘Well, bye then,’ she said bleakly.

She would have welcomed a hug or kiss, an assurance that she’d always have a place there, but she got none of these. Her father just gave a grunt and Catherine said, ‘Be a good girl now, Lizzie,’ and Lizzie gave a nod as she followed the priest out of the door and up the lane.

Sometime during that long journey down the country way past Sligo, Lizzie and Father Brady must have talked, but all Lizzie’s memories of the journey were wiped out when she saw the grim, grey building in front of them surrounded by a high brick
wall and knew they were heading straight for it.

Her knees began to tremble and she turned panicky eyes on the priest. ‘Oh, Father.’

‘Easy, Elizabeth, easy now,’ the priest said as they drove in through the wrought-iron gates, which he explained had been left open for him. ‘It’s the only way and it’s only for a wee while.’

Of course it was. A few months was all. Lizzie forced herself to take deep breaths, to try and calm herself as the priest got out to close the gates again, but the high wall surrounding the whole place didn’t help her feel at ease. It was ten or maybe twelve-foot high. Too high to climb over anyway, and later Lizzie was to hear about the shards of broken glass that were mortared into the top of it.

The priest pulled the car to a halt on the gravel path. There were five grey steps to the front door made of solid wood, reinforced with steel bands, with the words ‘
St Agnes’s Convent
’ on a brass plaque above it. A nun opened the door and Lizzie blinked, for she hadn’t been aware the priest had rung the bell. ‘Come in, Father. Sister Jude is waiting for you.’

She made no greeting to Lizzie, but led the way down a long, wide corridor, the floor patterned in squares of black and white. Every day, every floor was scrubbed on hands and knees and then mopped dry, and Lizzie was to have her share of it, but the girls at that time of day were all working in the laundry to the back of the building.

They were brought to a halt before a door with ‘
Sister Jude
’ on yet another brass plaque screwed to the front of it. ‘Wait here,’ the nun said curtly to Lizzie,
and then she gave a knock and at the answering call put her head around the door and said, ‘Father Brady.’ Then she smiled at him and opened the door wide. ‘Go in, Father.’

Father Brady had carried Lizzie’s case in from the car and he said now, ‘Shall I leave this with Elizabeth?’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Clothes, I imagine. Bits and pieces.’

‘She has no need of clothes,’ the nun said, casting an eye over Lizzie as if she was a slug she’d just found beneath a stone. ‘All is provided. I’ll take them, Father.’

The priest handed the case over and the nun went off with it and the priest entered the room. With the door closed behind him, Lizzie felt very isolated. She wondered where all the other girls and women were. Surely she wasn’t the only one there, in that great mausoleum of a place. Her boss at the munitions works in Birmingham always said women never stopped talking; like chattering magpies, he’d said they were. But here there was a grim, forbidding silence.

And then, suddenly, the door was opened and the priest said, ‘You can go in.’ He pressed Lizzie’s arm as he passed. ‘Be a good girl now.’

Lizzie didn’t want him to go, though he’d brought her here, for he was her link from home. ‘Father, can you stay?’

‘It would serve no purpose, child,’ the priest said, shaking his head. ‘Go on now. Don’t keep the good sister waiting.’

It took all Lizzie’s courage to step into that room, close the door and face the nun across the desk. Her skin was the colour of putty with eyes of hardened
steel that glistened with malice, and she had a long, beaked nose and a mean, cruel mouth.

‘So you are Elizabeth Gillespie, and you are a married woman who can’t keep her legs together, even though your husband is risking his life daily? You have let down your entire family, your parents, brothers and sisters, and even your own two wee children. You are a sinner, Elizabeth Gillespie, and I hope you are aware of it?’

Something snapped in Lizzie, the shock of it, her parents’ reaction, the way the blame was laid at her door, and the mention of the two wee children she’d seen for such a short time, especially Niamh away at school all day.

She leapt across the room and shrieked into the face of the startled nun, ‘I’m no sinner, you mean-faced bugger. I know full well who the sinner is in this, the foul monster who attacked and raped me. He’s the sinner.’

The power of the first slap across her cheek caused her head to spin; the second to the other cheek sent her reeling into the bookcase dislodging the books.

At the commotion two nuns rushed in. One held Lizzie’s arms tightly and the other rushed across to ask, ‘Are you all right, Sister Jude?’

‘Perfectly,’ the nun said in clipped tones. ‘But our new guest needs a lesson in manners. Fetch me the birch cane.’ Lizzie had felt the strength of the nun’s arms in the slaps she’d administered and she expected the caning to hurt. There was nothing to be done by resisting, except to enrage Sister Jude further, so she pulled up her dress as the nuns directed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the cane raised and the nun’s arm flexed, her face contorted. She braced herself as it whistled through the air, but couldn’t prevent the gasp that escaped her as the cane sliced through her cotton knickers. No more, she vowed, clenching her teeth. She will never make me cry out again.

The power of the next stroke of the cane caused her body to bounce, and the next, and by the time the nun struck her for the fourth time she swayed on her feet and saw black spots before her eyes. She was terrified she would faint, that she would show weakness before this woman, this heinous excuse for a human being that was trying to beat her into submission.

She bore the next two strokes valiantly, fighting with waves of sickness, and although the pain was extreme she made no sound.