The Orphan's Daughter

by Sandy Taylor

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

Ireland, 1924. For 13-year-old Nora Doyle every day is a fight for survival in Ballybun, the rural Irish village she calls home. Each night, as she feels the cold wind blowing through the cracks of her family’s cramped cottage, Nora longs to escape the poverty surrounding her and find her place in the world. When she meets Edward, from the grand house that looms over her tiny village, she feels an unlikely kinship that is impossible to explain and as she grows from an impulsive child into a beautiful woman, Nora spends every moment she can with him. But Edward holds the key to a devastating truth about Nora’s own family that will change her life forever, leading Nora away from the village, to the bright, dazzling lights of Dublin and the charming baker Joe Lynch. But sorrow is never far away for an Irish village girl and when tragedy strikes, Nora must return to Ballybun and face up to the truth that drove her away. There, she faces an impossible choice. Can she deny her roots, or will she always be the girl from Paradise Alley?

Release date: February 5, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Me and my best friend Kitty Quinn were sitting on the graveyard wall watching Mr Hoolahan’s last journey to meet his maker. The mourners were led by Father Kelly as they followed the cart towards the poor man’s final resting place. Kitty took the little jotter out of her pocket and licked the end of the pencil.

Me and Kitty attended as many funerals as we could and we marked them out of ten for…

The rending of garments was my idea; I thought it sounded desperate and sort of romantic. Kitty wanted to add ‘throwing themselves on the coffin’, but I thought that was a bit overdramatic for Ballybun.

‘They’re all wearing clodhopping boots,’ said Kitty, screwing up her nose.

‘Except Mrs Hoolahan,’ I said. ‘She’s still got her slippers on.’

‘That’ll be because of the chilblains,’ said Kitty. ‘She’s a martyr to them.’

Mr Hoolahan was a miserable old man who’d done very little good in his life apart from adding to the population of Ballybun by producing thirteen children.

‘Is Teddy over from America?’ I said, scanning the line of mourners.

‘I can’t see him,’ said Kitty, straining her neck to see over the crowd of people.

‘That’s a shame,’ I said. ‘It would have added some dignity to the proceedings if he’d shown up.’

‘A mark of respect,’ nodded Kitty, writing down ‘Teddy’ then crossing a line through his name.

We sat on the wall until the coffin was lowered down into the ground.

‘Can you hear any wailing?’ I said.

‘Not a squeak,’ said Kitty, ‘and definitely no rending. I think it’s time we got rid of the rending bit, Nora.’

‘You might be right; I think we’d need to go into Cork City for that.’

‘They might even throw themselves on the coffin in Cork City,’ said Kitty, with a dreamy look on her face.

‘Now, wouldn’t that be the pinnacle of our funeral watching?’

‘Jesus, Nora, what sort of word is that?’

‘It means the height of stuff.’

‘Where did you learn a word like that?’

‘From Grandad Doyle. He’s a fierce reader, Kitty, and he gives me a new word every week.’

‘What other words do you know?’

‘Well, last week he gave me “grandeur”.’

‘What in all that’s holy does that mean?’

‘I think it means posh.’

Kitty chewed the end of the pencil. ‘Like the Honourables up on the hill?’

‘Exactly,’ I said.

We jumped down from the wall and watched the mourners drift away from the graveside. Me and Kitty made the sign of the cross as they passed us. Mr Hoolahan might have been a miserable old sod but in death he deserved a bit of respect.

‘How many points, Kitty?’ I said.

‘Only two, it was a poor turnout and not one to be remembered.’

‘What was the two for?’

‘Biddy Quirk was carrying her good handbag.’

I nodded. ‘That was worth a two alright, and didn’t I see Patricia Hoolahan with a ribbon in her hair?’

‘Did you?’

‘I did, and it was black. I thought that was very dignified.’

Kitty crossed out the number TWO and wrote THREE in its place.

We walked across to the grave and watched Mr Dunne and Dooney the Unfortunate shovelling dirt onto the coffin.

‘It makes a grand sound, doesn’t it, Mr Dunne?’ said Kitty, staring down into the hole.

‘It does, Kitty, I always think there’s a feeling of finality about it.’

‘Well, we’ll leave you to your business,’ I said. ‘Goodbye, Mr Dunne, goodbye, Dooney.’

We started to walk towards the gate when Kitty stopped and stared at me.

‘What?’ I said.

‘I have something to tell you, Nora.’

‘That sounds serious.’

‘Not so much serious as—’

‘Thought-provoking?’ I said.

‘Grandad Doyle?’

‘The very man. It means, something that is yet to come, something mysterious.’

‘I think it could be all those things.’

‘Tell me then.’

We sat on the wall and I waited for Kitty to speak.

‘Have you ever been to Bretton Hall, Nora?’ asked Kitty.

‘I’m not allowed, my mammy says I’m not to go near the place.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m guessing that something bad happened when she worked there. Anyway, I’m not to go there. Why? Have you?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Are you intending to then?’

‘If I tell you something, you won’t tell a living soul, will you?’

‘I won’t even tell a dead one, Kitty.’

‘I’ve found a way in.’

‘Into the Hall?’

‘Not the Hall itself, but I’ve found a way into the gardens. There’s a broken-down bit of fence round the back that looks big enough to squeeze through.’

‘And how did you discover that?’

‘I was on my way to see my Aunty Pat when a fox darted out in front of me. It scared the bejeebers out of me, Nora.’

‘It would scare the bejeebers out of me too, Kitty, but sure, he’s one of God’s creatures and has as much right to be going about his business as anyone.’

‘You’re right, he has. Anyway, I investigated where he’d come from and that’s when I saw the opening. What do you think?’

‘What do I think about what?’

‘Will we see if we can get in?’

‘I just told you I’m not allowed anywhere near Bretton Hall.’

‘Did your mammy say anything about the garden though?’

I thought about it. ‘I don’t suppose she thought she had to, Kitty.’

‘We could just take a peek,’ said Kitty. ‘What harm can a peek do?’

I had a mind to see the gardens of Bretton Hall as much as Kitty did. Surely Mammy wouldn’t mind me seeing the gardens? ‘Alright, we’ll take a peek,’ I said, ‘but not today. If I’m to call in at the cottage to see Annie, I’ll be late for my tea.’

‘Tomorrow then?’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow.’

I felt bad about not telling Mammy that I was going to Bretton Hall with Kitty, but I had a fierce mind to go and, as Kitty had said, she hadn’t mentioned the gardens.

Me and Kitty had just turned thirteen. Kitty was beautiful; she had black hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes. The Irish seemed to fall into two categories. Some had red hair and freckles and others, like Kitty, were blessed with exotic looks. Grandad Doyle said that was on account of the Spanish, who had invaded Ireland’s shores and left behind them a whole pile of dark-haired children. I didn’t fall into either of these two types, for my hair was brown and curly and I looked like no one else in my family. We went to school at the Presentation Convent and we were taught our lessons by Sister Mary Immaculata, who was very beautiful indeed. No one knew what colour hair she had, because of the black and white wimple she wore, but I had a feeling that she was dark-haired like Kitty, for her skin was like alabaster and her eyes were blue. She swept through the corridors, her black veil flying behind her like one of God’s angels.

‘Do you think she’s an angel, Kitty?’ I said, as we were walking towards our classroom the next morning.

Kitty was about to answer when Orla Mullan, who was walking behind us, started laughing.

‘Jesus, aren’t you a couple of eejits though,’ she sneered.

‘What are you blathering on about, Orla Mullan?’

‘You’re eejits if you believe in angels,’ said Orla. ‘Don’t you know it’s all just a fairy tale?’

‘May the devil cut your tongue out, Orla Mullan,’ shouted Kitty. ‘It’s you that’s the eejit, for everyone knows that we all have a guardian angel looking down on us. Nora even knows the name of hers, don’t you, Nora?’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘And she’s called Nora Foley and she’s my namesake, so stick that up your bum.’

Orla was going red in the face. ‘I’m going to tell Sister what you said.’

‘And we’ll tell her that you don’t believe in God’s holy angels and Father Kelly will read your name out at Mass on Sunday and shame your whole family,’ I said.

That shut her up and she flounced away down the corridor.

‘I think we won that argument,’ said Kitty, ‘but you’ll have to confess the bum word to Father Kelly when you make your next confession.’

‘It was worth it,’ I said, grinning. ‘And when I explain the circumstances, I’m sure he’ll forgive me.’

‘He’s bound to,’ said Kitty. ‘You’ll probably just get the one Hail Mary for your penance.’

I was thinking that Orla Mullan was probably still put out about the day before, when we’d had a lesson about the meanings of our names. Mine wasn’t too bad – Doyle meant ‘dark foreigner’, which I thought sounded romantic. Kitty was delighted when Sister Immaculata said that Quinn meant ‘wisdom’. But poor Orla Mullan was only mortified when Sister announced that Mullan meant ‘bald’. We all had a great laugh at Orla’s expense and were told off for being unkind. The biggest surprise was when we learned that the name MacDermott meant ‘free from jealousy’, when everyone knew that Brigid MacDermott was so jealous that she begrudged you your breath.

The afternoon dragged; all I could think of was sneaking into the gardens of Bretton Hall. I couldn’t even eat my potatoes at lunchtime.

‘You have to eat them,’ said Kitty. ‘My daddy’s daddy lived through the Great Famine and it’s a sin in our house to waste a potato, unless you’re stricken down by some desperate illness. We all eat our potatoes and we give the skins to Henry.’

Henry was the Quinns’ old pig, who lived his life very happily snorting about in their bit of a yard behind the cottage.

‘Why do you have a pig?’ I said. ‘He’s a grand feller alright but as my Grandad Doyle says, he’s neither use nor ornament.’

‘Daddy bought him as a wee small one, from a tinker who was passing through the town. The idea was to slaughter him and make him into rashers of bacon but little Breda got terrible attached to him and cried for a week and called Daddy a murderer, so he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’s like one of the family now and sure, he does no harm to anyone, even though he smells like shite when the weather gets hot.’

When the bell went for home time, me and Kitty grabbed our coats and raced through the town to Kitty’s house.

‘May God bless all in this house,’ we chorused, as we dipped our fingers in the holy water font.

‘Amen,’ said Mrs Quinn, smiling at us. ‘Are you stopping for your dinner, Nora?’ she said, kissing the top of baby Sean’s fat little head and placing him in a basket by the fire.

‘Just a sip of tea,’ I said. ‘Me and Kitty have a mind to go out the Strand.’

‘Can I come with you?’ asked Breda, crawling out from under the table.

‘No, you can’t,’ said Kitty. ‘Tell her, Mammy, she can’t come with us.’

‘Sure, why not?’ asked Mrs Quinn.

‘Because she can’t keep up,’ said Kitty.

‘I can,’ said Breda. ‘Can’t I, Mammy? I can keep up.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Breda,’ I said. ‘Next time we go out the Strand you can come with us and we’ll walk all the way and buy you a grand ice cream from Minnie’s.’

‘Okay so,’ said Breda, crawling back under the table.

‘I don’t know why you don’t put her bed under there, Mammy,’ said Kitty. ‘She’s under there more than she’s in the room.’

‘I like it under here,’ said Breda from under the table.

‘She likes it under there,’ said Mrs Quinn, smiling.

I drank the tea, and we headed out towards the Strand. There was a cold wind blowing in off the sea, but the blood was pumping through my veins from all the running and I was as warm as toast. As we neared Bretton Hall, Kitty stopped.

‘It’s around here somewhere,’ she said.

We walked along by the fence, looking for the broken bit.

‘This is it,’ said Kitty.

‘What if someone sees us?’ I said, looking around.

‘Stop your worrying,’ said Kitty. ‘Okay, I’ll go first.’

I watched as Kitty disappeared through the gap in the fence and I had no choice but to follow her.

‘Jesus, it’s dark in here,’ she said.

Kitty was right: it was black as night, with tall trees blocking out the light. A small grey squirrel stared at us for a moment then raced up a tree. It stopped halfway, then stared at us again, as if to say, ‘What are you doing here?’ I was wondering that myself and I was all for turning back. I knew I shouldn’t be here; I knew I was going against Mammy’s wishes and I felt guilty, but there was a little bit of me that was excited.

We got down on our hands and knees and pushed through the thick brambles.

‘Jesus, my knees are ruined,’ cried Kitty.

‘So are mine,’ I said, pulling brambles out of my good coat. ‘Mammy’s going to go mad when she sees the state of me.’

‘Your mammy never goes mad about anything, Nora, but mine’s going to kill me.’

‘She is not, but your father might.’

‘Thanks, Nora Doyle, I needed to hear that.’

‘You are very welcome, Kitty Quinn.’ I grinned into the darkness.

After much scrambling about, we came out into the daylight and there in front of us was Bretton Hall, perched on the top of the sweeping lawns. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It dazzled in the bright sunshine, making it look as though the bricks were made of gold.

I stared up at the house, at the rows of windows and the grand steps leading up to the front door.

‘Isn’t it mighty, Nora?’ whispered Kitty.

But I didn’t answer her. I suddenly wanted to be alone. It was as if this moment was mine alone and too precious to be shared with anyone, even with my good friend Kitty. As I gazed up at the house, I wondered what it would be like to live in such a place. I knew it would be grand – grander than any house I had ever been in – but I could imagine it as if I’d already been inside those rooms. There would be a sweeping staircase and a drawing room. The bed would have white sheets and plump pillows and a quilt and when you stepped out of bed, your bare feet would sink into a soft rug. There would be long drapes at the windows and when you drew them back, you would look out onto the beautiful grounds. Someone would cook your meals and launder your clothes; you wouldn’t have to lift a finger for yourself, it would all be done for you without even asking. I loved Paradise Alley and the Grey House and had no desire to live anywhere else, but I couldn’t help imagining what that other life would be like.

‘Isn’t it, Nora? Isn’t it mighty grand?’ Kitty went on.

I wished in that moment that I was invisible. If I was invisible, I’d take off my shoes and feel the cool grass between my toes, then I’d run through the yellow daffodils that tumbled down the hill like gold dust and I’d open the big door and walk through the rooms and up the staircase.

‘Jesus, Nora, have you gone entirely deaf?’ said Kitty.

‘I was just looking at it,’ I said.

‘And why would looking at it render you speechless?’

‘Gotcha!’ said a voice behind us.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ screeched Kitty, falling against me.

I turned around to find myself staring into the eyes of a boy of about my own age.

‘Run,’ said Kitty, catching hold of my arm. ‘Run for your life, Nora!’

We pushed back through the thick brambles, towards the opening in the fence.

‘Wait,’ called the boy.

‘Keep going, Nora,’ said Kitty, catching hold of my hand. ‘He’s trying to trick us.’

‘Don’t go, please,’ he called again.

I stopped and looked back at him.

‘For God’s sake, Nora,’ said Kitty, pulling at my coat.

‘I’m not going to tell on you,’ said the boy, coming closer.

‘Why should we believe you?’ shouted Kitty.

‘Because I said so,’ said the boy.

For some reason, I felt that I could trust him. Kitty grabbed hold of my hand again. ‘I think it’s okay,’ I said to her. She loosened her grip and we both stared at the boy. He had brown curly hair that fell over his eyes like a dark curtain.

‘We’re doing no harm,’ said Kitty.

‘I never said you were.’

‘We were just taking a peek,’ I said.

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with taking a peek,’ said the boy, grinning at me.

‘Do you live here?’ asked Kitty.

The boy nodded.

‘Are you an Honourable?’ she said.

‘No, I’m a Dishonourable,’ said the boy.

‘And very rude,’ said Kitty. ‘I asked you a simple question that called for a simple answer, not the words of an eejit.’

‘My father is the groom. Happy now?’ he said, grinning at Kitty.

‘You’re still being rude,’ said Kitty, glaring at him.

‘Please forgive me,’ he said sheepishly. There was something about the look on his face that made me think that he wasn’t sorry at all, but it seemed to satisfy Kitty.

‘I accept your apology,’ she said solemnly.

‘Will you come again?’ he said.

‘We might, if the humour is on us,’ she said.

As I followed Kitty towards the gap in the fence I looked back. The boy was still standing there. He brushed his curly hair back from his face and winked at me. I smiled at him, then pushed through the brambles after Kitty’s retreating back.

Me and Kitty ran through the town and out towards the Strand. We ran everywhere, even when we were supposed to be walking. It was grand to feel the wind in our hair, and anyway, we got to our destination quicker. We raced past a few people but still found time to smile and say hello. Mammy said it took no time at all to wish people the time of day and it showed everyone that I had been brought up well. We ran as far as the lighthouse, then rested on the wall.

‘Shall we go and say hello to Annie?’ I said. ‘As we are in the vicinity.’

‘Is that another one of your grandad’s fancy words?’

‘It is. It means “in the area”.’

‘Your grandad must be a mighty clever man, Nora.’

‘Oh, he is, Kitty, he knows everything. My daddy says he could have been a teacher.’

‘Well, you should be very proud to be related to such a clever man.’

‘I am, Kitty, I give thanks to God for him every day.’

‘Do you think Annie will be there?’ said Kitty.

‘I’d say we’re about to find out,’ I said, taking Kitty’s hand and running across the road to Minnie’s café.

My mammy and Annie used to work up at Bretton Hall looking after the Honourables. Poor Annie was an orphan, with neither kith nor kin. Mammy told me that all Annie had ever dreamed of was a little cottage to call her own and a grand turf fire to sit beside. When we moved into the Grey House, she had given Annie the little white cottage in Paradise Alley, along with Mrs Foley, who’d taken care of her in the workhouse.

We opened the café door and the bell tinkled above our heads, bringing Minnie in from the kitchen. It was lovely and warm in the café and it smelled of cakes and biscuits and sausage rolls and meat pies, making my tummy rumble.

‘Hello girls,’ said Minnie, smiling at us. ‘Have you come for some tea?’

‘We’ve no pennies for tea,’ said Kitty, looking longingly at the pink iced buns on the counter.

‘We’ve come to say hello to Annie,’ I said.

‘Mrs Foley is sick to her stomach today, Nora, so Annie is staying indoors to look after her.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Minnie,’ I said. ‘I’ll call in on my way home.’

‘Take this bread with you,’ she said, reaching under the counter and wrapping a loaf in a sheet of newspaper. ‘And here are a couple of buns for the pair of you. They are yesterday’s, but I’d say you won’t be minding that.’

‘Not a bit of,’ said Kitty. ‘We’ll be glad to take them off your hands.’

‘Say hello to Mrs Foley for me, Nora, and tell her I’m sorry for her trouble. And be sure to tell Annie to stay at home as long as she’s needed.’

‘I will, Minnie, and thank you.’

We ran back across the road and down onto the beach, where we settled ourselves on some rocks.

‘Aren’t these the best buns you ever tasted?’ said Kitty.

‘They are indeed,’ I said. ‘And all the better for being yesterday’s.’

‘How old do you think Minnie is?’ asked Kitty, licking the sticky icing from her fingers.

‘I’d say she’s a good age. My mammy used to come here when she was a young girl, so I’d say she must be fifty, if she’s a day.’

‘She doesn’t look it though, does she?’

‘Mammy says she hasn’t seemed to age one bit.’

We sat in silence for a while, filling our mouths with the sweet pink icing and watching the sea running over the sand. I looked along the beach to the town. Rising above it was the tall spire of the church and, beyond that, the grey walls of the workhouse, where my mammy had been born.

We ran back through the town and parted company at the bottom of Kitty’s lane. I carried on running through the town, past Biddy Quirk’s sweetie shop and past the bottom of the hill that led up to the workhouse. Sometimes when I thought about my mammy living in that gloomy place I felt like crying. But Mammy says she had a great time in there, with her best friend Nora, and she wasn’t to be pitied at all.

Suddenly I doubled over with a stitch in my side, which often happened when I ran too fast. I sat down on the wall outside Toomey’s, the cobbler. I put the loaf of bread down beside me, then rubbed my side and took a few deep breaths.

Just then the Honourables’ posh car went by, driven by Dooney the Unfortunate’s uncle, Paddy Lamey. He winked at me and I winked back. I liked Dooney’s uncle, who was a good man with no airs about him, even though he was the Brettons’ chauffeur. Dooney lived in the workhouse and Mr Lamey often took him out for a spin. I thought that was decent of him, as poor Dooney hadn’t a clue who he was and the ride in the posh car was wasted on him.

There was a lady in the back of the car – she caught my eye and seemed to stare at me. I stared back at her until she was out of sight. The stitch had passed, so I jumped off the wall and carried on running, past the undertakers and under the stone arch that led into Paradise Alley. I tapped on Annie’s door and walked into the little room. I dipped my finger in the holy water font just inside the door. ‘God bless all here,’ I said, making the sign of the cross.

‘Amen,’ said Annie, smiling at me.

‘Minnie said to give you this.’ I passed her the loaf of bread. ‘I think it’s yesterday’s, but there’s still good eating to be had.’

‘That was nice of her,’ said Annie. ‘And I’m sure we’re glad of it. Mrs Foley likes to dip it in her tea and suck on it, as she has only one good tooth left in her head.’

‘Where is she, Annie?’

‘She’s asleep in her bed; she’s a martyr to her bowels.’

‘Minnie said to tell Mrs Foley that she’s sorry for her trouble and that you can take all the time off you need.’

‘Minnie’s a good woman,’ said Annie, unwrapping the bread and folding the newspaper carefully into squares.

‘Would you like to take the paper for your grandad, Nora? I know he likes to read about what’s going on in the world.’

‘I will, Annie. I’m sure he’ll be glad of it.’

I looked around the little room that Mammy had told me so many stories about. She told her stories in such a way that I felt as though I lived them myself. I imagined her grandaddy sitting hunched over beside the fire and how my mammy had thought he was the devil himself when she’d first laid eyes on him.

‘He was fearsome, Nora,’ she’d said. ‘And I was frightened to death of him. You see, he didn’t want me there because I had been born in the workhouse, but we grew to love each other. It was him that gave me my little dog Buddy for Christmas. My happiest memories were walking the fields together, with Buddy running ahead of us. I missed him terrible when he was taken up to Heaven and I still miss Buddy, he was a lovely old dog. I like to think of the pair of them running around Heaven together.’

‘I wish I’d known the grandaddy, Mammy,’ I’d said.

‘He would have loved you, Nora. Oh, how he would have loved you.’

I sat beside Annie’s fire, and breathed in the smell of the turf that filled every corner of the room. This little cottage had always felt like another home and I loved it here.

‘Were you and Mammy happy working at Bretton Hall, Annie?’ I said.

‘It was hard work, but I was lucky to have the job, for I had nowhere else to go.’

‘And was my mammy happy working there?’

Annie got a knife out of the drawer and started to slice into the bread. ‘Mrs Foley is going to love this,’ she said.

‘Was my mammy happy working there?’ I said again.

‘I’d say she was happy enough.’

‘Was I born here, Annie?’

‘Jesus, Nora, you’re full of questions today,’ she said, smothering the bread with thick yellow butter.

‘Grandad says I have an inquisitive mind.’

Annie handed me the bread and then s. . .