Little Girl Lost (48 page)

Sylvie glanced down at her feet, then smiled brightly. ‘It’s a lovely fine day, so I thought . . . but if these won’t do, there’s bound to be a shop somewhere which can sell me something sturdier.’

Brendan sighed; this did not augur well for the day ahead. Then he brightened. Perhaps, after he had proposed marriage and she had accepted, she would no longer wish to visit Uncle Sean and his family. So he smiled down at her. ‘We won’t do no buying until we’re sure of what we want to do,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down to the market first and then see how your feet feel after we’ve been round the stalls.’

Late that night, when Maeve was putting Kitty to bed, Kitty voiced the thought that she suspected both of them had been harbouring. ‘We talked an awful lot about our day, didn’t we, Maeve? But Brendan and Sylvie said barely a word. Oh, I know Brendan said that they’d had to come home early because Sylvie’s shoes weren’t suitable for country walking, but even so, it seems really peculiar that neither of them wanted to talk about what they did.’

‘Yes, I thought it were odd meself,’ Maeve said. She chuckled. ‘Mind, when I saw that pale-coloured coat and them shoes, I thought mebbe they’d changed their minds and were off to see a play, or a picture show, which weren’t suitable for the two of us. But never you mind, alanna, only three more days and we’ll be back on the ferry to Ireland.’

‘Two of us, or three of us?’ Kitty said. She had washed and was clad in her long white nightgown, and now she sat on the edge of the bed so that Maeve could give her hair the customary one hundred strokes of the brush.

Maeve smiled. ‘Before today, I’d have thought maybe only two, but after today . . . well, I reckon it’ll be three.’

Kitty nodded contentedly, then squawked as the brush caught her ear. ‘Go steady, Maeve,’ she said. ‘Do you really think Brendan will be coming home with us? ’Cos if so, I’ve had an idea, only . . . could you help me? I don’t believe I can do it by myself. You see, I feel awful sorry for Sylvie . . .’

When Maeve had finished brushing Kitty’s hair, heard her prayers and tucked her up, she made her way down the stairs, intending to go straight into the kitchen, for she had taken on the washing-up of the glasses and the later it got, the more work would be awaiting her attention. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone stepped out of the shadows and put a restraining hand on her shoulder. She drew in a breath to scream and then suddenly knew that it was Brendan, and gave a small husky giggle. ‘How you frightened me! I didn’t see you standing there and for a moment I thought it was some drunk who had managed to get in. I’m sorry I’m late, but . . .’

‘Come with me,’ Brendan muttered, towing her towards the side door. It was always kept locked and bolted at night, but opened easily beneath Brendan’s hand and Maeve guessed that he had dealt with it earlier. He pulled her out into the gathering dusk, but when she began to ask him where they were bound he placed a finger across her lips. ‘Tell you in a minute,’ he whispered. They walked on in silence, hand in hand now, and crossed to the nearest dock. ‘Ah, this will do nicely,’ he said, sitting on a wooden seat and pulling Maeve down beside him. ‘Maeve, you little witch, do you know you’ve enchanted me since the first moment we met? This afternoon, Sylvie asked me to marry her. I felt real ashamed, because I knew she was waiting for me to do the asking, but I couldn’t do it . . . well, all of a sudden I realised that I – I loved someone else, so I told Sylvie no.’

‘Was she very surprised?’ Maeve said timidly. ‘She’s been so sure of you . . . she must have been terribly upset.’

‘That’s the odd thing,’ Brendan said slowly. ‘I don’t think she was. I think she was almost relieved. Of course I promised never to tell a living soul that she had been the one who did the proposing, so you’d best forget it.’ He turned to face Maeve and took her by the shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. ‘Did you hear what I said, alanna? That I loved someone else, I mean?’

‘I heard,’ Maeve said steadily. ‘Then hadn’t you better ask her if she’ll marry you?’

Brendan gave a snort of laughter and took Maeve in his arms. He began to kiss across her face and down her neck, then homed in on her mouth and Maeve, who had never expected to have a boyfriend, let alone a husband, returned his kisses and thought she was probably behaving shamelessly and found she did not care in the least. But presently they drew apart and Brendan put out a gentle hand and stroked the hair back from her hot face. ‘Will you marry me, Maeve Connolly?’ he said quietly. ‘I’m hopeful that you like me at least a little bit, though I did wonder, when you were so furious the first time I kissed you.’

‘I was furious because I did love you. I knew – or thought I knew – that you couldn’t possibly love me,’ Maeve told him. ‘The only thing is, Brendan, that I’m a city girl and know almost nothing about farming. Shouldn’t you wait a while and maybe choose someone who could really help you?’

She had hated making the suggestion, but Brendan gave her a little shake, then stood up, took both her hands, and pulled her to her feet. ‘You’re a daft wee thing, so you are,’ he said robustly. ‘You can’t turn love on and off like turning a tap, you know. Besides, it’s years since I farmed meself, so I reckon we’ll learn together.’

He put an arm round Maeve’s waist, pulling her close, and they set off back towards the Ferryman. They had crossed the dock road and were heading for the jigger when Maeve gave a squeak and pulled him to a halt. ‘Brendan, we can’t tell them, you know; everyone expects you to marry Sylvie, even her mam. And Sylvie’s got her pride. I think we ought to pretend tonight never happened. When we’re back in Dublin, it will be different.’ She glanced up at him, smiling wickedly. ‘The O’Keefes may all think you’re as mad as a hatter, but that’s not important. What is important is that we mustn’t hurt Sylvie any more than she’s already been hurt.’

‘Sure and aren’t you the kindest, sweetest creature?’ Brendan said. ‘And you’re right, of course. But how I shall manage to hide me feelings I don’t know.’

‘Nor me,’ Maeve said contentedly. ‘But we’ve only got to do it for two more days, darling Brendan. Oh, it’ll be wonderful to go back to Ireland and to know we’ll be together for always.’

Sylvie stood on the quayside and waved them off; she was glad to see them go, for though Brendan and Maeve had done their best to hide the way they felt about one another, Sylvie had been doing the messages up and down the Scotland Road when she saw a familiar couple coming towards her. It was Brendan and Maeve, and Brendan had had an arm possessively about Maeve’s shoulders, and had been looking down at her with great tenderness, whilst Maeve had been looking up at him, and there had been something in her look which told Sylvie that this was no casual friendship, but the real thing. She had shot into the nearest shop, aghast and amazed, for to have crippled young Maeve preferred to herself had been a bitter blow indeed. But thinking it over, she had realised that Maeve was no longer either a child or crippled, and had also realised that the younger girl was both pretty and engaging. Besides, it was foolish to wonder what one person saw in another. She had better start learning to live alone, for she had no intention of making another mistake and marrying the wrong man again. She had always been fond of Brendan, was convinced they could have had a good life together, but he had chosen someone else, and now, making her way back to the Ferryman, she told herself that, in a way, marrying Brendan would have been to cheat him, since she could never feel for him the true love which she had felt for Sam.

But Sam was dead and must be forgotten, and I’m lucky I’ve got Mam and Bertie to help with the business, and though Kitty insisted on going back to Ireland she’s going to come again for Christmas, bless her, so one way and another I won’t be entirely alone.

She returned to the Ferryman and spent a hectically busy evening trying to serve in the bar, wash up the glasses, and do everything else which, until today, either Brendan or Maeve had taken on. By bedtime she was exhausted, and went to her room confidently expecting to go straight to sleep, but instead she kept thinking about the future, the bleakness and loneliness of it, and the contrast between what she had, and what Brendan and Maeve would enjoy. Towards daybreak, she fell into a restless doze and was rudely awoken by her alarm clock, which seemed to be screaming right into her ear. She lay for a few minutes longer, trying to pull herself together, then got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash, seeing her bedraggled hair and pale face in the mirror and not caring, for once, what she looked like.

Alone, alone, alone, her mind kept repeating, alone, alone, alone.

The compartment in which Sam Trescoe sat was full of seamen, but he had managed to squeeze himself into a corner seat. He was looking forward to going home for he had not been back for three months and knew how his parents looked forward to his rare visits. The man next to him was reading a newspaper, and Sam remembered the last time he had come into port and read, in black and white, the news that had caused him more pain than anything else in his whole life. He had gone to London to catch the train for Liverpool and had bought a copy of the
Daily Post
, had skimmed through the news, and as he had turned the page had spotted the name Dugdale, and there it had been, in black and white:
A well-known publican, Leonard Dugdale, and Mrs Dugdale, along with their daughter Rebecca, are the latest victims to succumb to the influenza. Their funeral will be held at St Anthony’s Church, next Tuesday, at 11.00 a.m. When the public house re-opens it will be run, for the time being, by a manager from the brewery, but the loss of the Dugdales will be sadly felt by their friends and customers.
Sick at heart, he had abandoned his journey and gone straight back to Southampton.

Now, Sam tried to fix his mind on his homecoming, tried to forget that his beloved Sylvie was gone, that he would never hold her in his arms. But it was a futile exercise, so to take his mind off his loss he leaned a little sideways so that he could read his neighbour’s paper. It was today’s issue of a west country paper, and even as he looked the man flipped over the page and, to his astonishment, Sam saw his own name. Intrigued, he leaned a little closer until he could read the entire advertisement, and then his heart gave an enormous bound and he felt tears of happiness rush to his eyes. He checked the date of the paper again, then re-read the announcement, incredulity giving way to belief:

For a moment, Sam simply sat where he was, reading and re-reading the magical words, but then his neighbour spoke. ‘Like the personal column, do you?’ he said. ‘I always turn to it first go off, even before the hatch, match and despatch section. Hang on a minute, and you can have the whole paper.’

Sam smiled at him, but shook his head and began to scramble to his feet, though this was not easy for the men were jammed in like sardines. ‘Thanks, but I won’t trouble you,’ he said, a trifle breathlessly, heaving his ditty bag down from the rack and slinging it across his shoulder.

He made his way into the corridor and a seaman from his ship, seated upon his own ditty bag, greeted him cheerfully and scrambled to his feet so that Sam might get past. ‘Headin’ for the lavvy, are you?’ he enquired. ‘I’m tellin’ you, there’s a queue a mile long and if you leave your seat for a second some other bugger will grab it. Can’t you hang on till we reach the next station? It’s no more’n ten minutes off.’

Sam grinned at him but shook his head. ‘I’ve just discovered I’m travelling in the wrong direction,’ he said. ‘So I’m getting off at the next station and headin’ back the way we’ve come. I’ve got a rendezvous to keep!’