A Mother’s Spirit

The fact that Gloria made no comment about this was not lost on her father. ‘Lean against me, my dear,’ he suggested, ‘and close your eyes. That was a dreadful and frightening thing to happen to you, but we will have you home and comfy in no time at all.’

Joe was waiting for them, excited at the thought of riding in a taxi, for he had never done that in the whole of his life before, but as he climbed in he noticed the pallid face of the child, Gloria, as she cuddled up to her father and he said, ‘I hope you are not too uncomfortable, miss?’

Gloria sighed as if the effort of speech was too much for her and it was her father who answered. ‘Battered and bruised and in shock, I think,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the doctor look at her when we are home.’

‘Have you heard how the coachman is, sir?’

‘No,’ Brian said, ‘only that the poor fellow was unconscious and taken to the hospital, but my factory manager, Bert Clifford, is going to see how he is as soon as he can, and he will send me word. I hope that he will be all right. Tim is a fine man and a good worker, and has been with me for years.’

Joe, though, doubted that the man could have escaped without serious injury because he had caught the full power of the frantic rearing pony’s hoofs.

But it wouldn’t help to say that. Anyway, he was soon distracted by his first journey in a taxi through the traffic-filled streets of New York, and he turned his head this way and that, taking in all the sights of the city. He was awed by the sheer size of some of the buildings, so high they did indeed appear to scrape the sky.

Brian watched his amazement for some time before he asked with a smile, ‘Glad you are here, Joe Sullivan?’

‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It has long been a dream of mine to come.’

‘It wasn’t my choice originally,’ Brian said. ‘It was my father’s. I was twelve years old when we first arrived in America. We came here after the death of my mother.’

‘And how did you like America, sir?’

‘I liked it well enough when I came to terms with the fact that I would never see my mother again,’ Brian told him. ‘Though America then, or New York at least, was a different place altogether. There were not that many fine buildings, but a great many ruffians, and the city was ruled by the gangs roaming the streets. My father, though he had a factory in the city, would not live there and so he bought a plot of land in an area to the north called Queens and had a house built that he called Stoneleigh. Then it was all countryside, but the city is creeping towards it now. You’ll see it for yourself in a minute.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Joe answered. ‘But I am a bit concerned about my sponsor, Patrick Lacey. He will be wondering if I do not call, for he knows I was arriving today.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Brian said. ‘When we get home, if you give me his address, I will dispatch my man to tell him you are dining with us tonight.’

‘Dining, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Brian said. ‘It’s the least I can do, and just a small measure of my gratitude to you.’

‘But won’t your wife mind my just turning up like this?’

‘My boy,’ Brian said confidently, ‘after she hears how you saved Gloria in the way that you did, there is nothing you can do that will annoy my wife, though she might not be as pleased to see me.’

Before Joe was able to form any sort of reply, the taxi suddenly turned through ornate gates and down a gravel path. Even in the descending dusk, the magnificence of the Brannigan residence could be plainly seen. The only large house that Joe had any experience of at all was the one that his sister Nuala worked in. Even so, he knew that the Brannigan house was in a league of its own. It was built of honey-coloured brick and had more windows and chimneys than Joe had ever seen in his life. He trembled in apprehension at even entering such a place.

The taxi drew to a stop before the house, the wheels crunching on the gravel, and Joe was alarmed to think that he was going to go up those marble steps and in at the front door as if he was someone of importance.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man in some sort of livery ran towards them.

‘My butler, Planchard,’ Brian said in explanation to Joe as the man reached them.

Gloria had fallen into a doze in the taxi and only murmured drowsily as Brian gathered her into his arms.

The butler’s eyes were full of anxiety as he cried, ‘What’s happened, sir? Can I help you at all?’

‘There was a bit of an accident in the town, concerning the carriage,’ Brian said, ‘and I left it there. Pay the driver, will you, like a good chap? My hands are rather occupied at the moment.’

‘Do you want help with Miss Gloria, sir?’ Planchard said as he paid the driver, picked up his master’s bag and cast a curious look at Joe, who had climbed out of the taxi and was looking around, not quite sure what to do next.

‘I’m all right,’ Brian said as they walked towards the house. ‘There is no weight to Gloria. But you might look after this brave man here beside me. Name of Joe Sullivan, hailed recently from one of the immigrant ships from Ireland. He will be staying to dinner tonight.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said, dutifully enough, and yet in the light spilling out from the hall Joe caught the man’s surprised eyes alight on him speculatively as he bent towards Joe to take his case.

Joe hid his smile, for he guessed that New York was full of people from immigrant ships from all over the world, but none of them had been brought to the Brannigan house for dinner before. He also knew that he would probably be the talk of the place by morning.

‘Now, Joe,’ Brian said as they reached the house, ‘Planchard will take charge of you, while I get Gloria sorted out.’

Planchard nodded in Joe’s direction and, leaving his case in the hall, he said, ‘If you leave your bag next to the case, sir, I will show you into the drawing room.’

‘And when you have done that,’ Brian said, ‘perhaps you will tell your mistress what has happened and inform her that I am taking Gloria straight to her room. Summon Tilly too, for Miss Gloria may have need of her, and someone had better go for the doctor urgently.’

‘I’ll attend to it all directly, sir,’ Planchard said.

Brian began to mount the ornate staircase, still with Gloria in his arms, while the butler said to Joe, ‘If you would follow me, sir …’

Joe smiled ruefully because it was a novelty being called ‘sir’ and it had happened twice. Wondering what sort of room a drawing room was, he left down his bag and followed the butler, who crossed the black-and-white-tiled hall and opened cream double doors to a low and elegant room with a carpet so thick Joe’s feet sank into it. ‘If you will just wait here, sir,’ the butler said, ‘I am sure that Mr Brannigan will be with you shortly.’

Left alone, Joe glanced around the room with interest and a little fear, for he felt totally out of his depth. The room was lit with electric lights set around the walls and in a huge glass chandelier, which hung from the patterned ceiling. A gold suite was drawn up in front of the white marble fireplace where a welcoming fire blazed in the grate. Joe delicately ran his hands over the brocade pattern of the upholstery and wondered if he would ever dare to sit on one of those chairs.

He glanced at the small ornate clock on the mantelpiece. It was made of gold, which sparkled in the firelight, and had a glass front so the swinging pendulum was visible. ‘Almost six o’clock,’ Joe said to himself and, looking out where the silken curtains to either side of the large window had not been drawn, he saw the evening was as black as pitch.

He crossed the room and stood for a long time peering out at the grounds surrounding the house, marvelling at it all. He thought back to his many, uneventful years in Ireland. He knew that when he thought about his new life in America he could never have imagined the chain of events that had landed him in a house such as this, as the invited guest of such an obviously prominent and wealthy man. He tingled with excitement for he just knew that his life would take off from this point.

He wished no harm at all on the beautiful young lady he had rescued from danger and yet he couldn’t but thank his lucky stars that her father was a factory owner. He just knew that Brian Brannigan could shape his future in America.

‘Ah, there you are, my boy.’

Joe swung around from the window. Brian was standing in the doorway arm in arm with a lady whom he introduced as his wife, Norah. The resemblance to Gloria was marked. Joe guessed that once the older woman’s hair had been just as strikingly blonde as her daughter’s, but now it was much duller and tied from her face in a sort of fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She had the same high cheekbones, and the same-shaped eyes, though Norah’s were plain blue. Behind them Joe saw the resentment and he knew that Mrs Brannigan didn’t want the likes of him sitting down at her table.

When Brian had told Norah of the accident and of Joe’s part in it and went on to say that he had invited the man to dinner, she had looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. She had been up to see Gloria, and she was distressed and worried, and now this other bombshell.

‘You have invited that man to dinner, here?’ she’d repeated.

‘Aye,’ said Brian. ‘I did.’

‘And why, pray, did you do that?’

‘Do what, my dear?’ Brian had asked mildly.

‘Oh, don’t be so obtuse, Brian,’ Norah asked. ‘Why ask a common workman to dinner?’

‘Didn’t I explain what he did, and that if he hadn’t been there—’

‘Of course you have explained,’ Norah snapped. ‘Though if you had acted as a proper father and refused to take Gloria to such an unsuitable place then she would have been in no danger whatsoever. But whatever he did I’m sure the man would hardly have expected to be asked to dine with us. Why didn’t you thank him sincerely, as I am prepared to do, offer him a sum of money and send him on his way? Find him a job if you must, but to ask him to dinner is madness. Surely you can see that he is bound to feel out of place and uncomfortable.’

‘It was done in the heat of the moment,’ Brian admitted. ‘However, he is here now and you must accept it, my dear.’