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  Sarah had gone for a few job interviews, but one look at her hands made sure there would be no offer of other employment. Peggy had pleaded with her to wear gloves to these interviews, but Sarah had said that that would be dishonest, and so she had remained at Goldman’s.

  ‘I brought fruit cake for ye and a few biscuits,’ Peggy said, changing the subject so as not to upset Sarah – Mrs O’Connor had made her take one of the rich left-over fruitcakes to her friend.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, thank you, Peggy,’ murmured Sarah, her eyes soft and gentle.

  ‘Thank Mrs O’Connor,’ said Peggy, taking a sip of the tea.

  ‘Will I cut some of the cake now?’ enquired Sarah.

  ‘Not for me! I’m sick of all that stuff left over after the wedding,’ said Peggy. ‘Save it for yourselves later.’

  ‘Very well, for when we’re having our meal. It’s a lovely day outside, Peggy, will we take a stroll in the sun?’

  Peggy was about to say no, not in the blistering heat, when she realised that Sarah badly needed a few hours away from this building and street. ‘Aye! It’s grand outside. Come on.’

  Sarah fetched her best shawl and Peggy made her put on her lightest bonnet. John smiled at the two of them as they went off in high spirits. Linking arms, the girls made their way downstairs and out into the bright daylight of the street.

  ‘Let’s go to the Common!’ suggested Peggy. It was one of her favourite places in Boston.

  There were crowds of people walking – families, fine gentlemen and their good wives, romantic sweethearts. Peggy and Sarah walked amongst them all. In the distance a band played, the lively tune drifting through the air. Peggy and Sarah giggled as two groups of young men lifted their hats to them and tried to engage them in conversation. There wasn’t an empty park-bench in sight, so the two of them sat on a patch of grass in the dappled sunlight under the shade of an elm tree.

  Sarah was breathless after the walk and was trying to cough discreetly into her handkerchief.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ enquired Peggy.

  The other girl stopped, as if considering, and stared into the distance where swan-shaped boats were gliding silently across the lake. ‘Actually, Peggy, I went to Doctor O’Connor down near the factory. James and John made me go. They said that they were fed up of my being sick.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well … he said he wouldn’t recommend me to continue on working at the factory. He said the fibres and dust were giving me lung infections …’ she trailed off.

  ‘What’ll you do?’

  ‘James and John have great plans. They want to leave the city. They have both saved money from their wages and they think the time is right now for them to purchase land and stake the Connolly claim.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They want to join one of those wagon trains heading out west, and they want me to go with them!’

  Peggy let out a gasp of amazement. ‘You wouldn’t go, Sarah, would you?’

  ‘That’s just it, Peggy, I will! I don’t want to stay here in Boston without my brothers. It’s all right for you – you have Kitty and the Rowans and Miss Whitman and Mrs O’Connor to share everything with. If James and John go, I’ll have nobody!’

  Peggy sat very still. A wobbly heat-haze seemed to have made the people on the path and around her shimmer, their voices coming and going.

  ‘Peggy! Peggy!’ Sarah gripped her friend’s arm, excitement lighting up her eyes. ‘I wish you’d come with us! James and John said there would be space for you. We could all share the work and …’ But Sarah stopped. Peggy didn’t seem to be listening. Obviously, it was not to be.

  Peggy tried to collect herself. There was no point in telling Sarah that Kitty had gone and how lonesome she felt already. Sarah’s health was breaking down, it was only sensible for herself and the brothers to go in search of a place of their own. She herself would carry on working – polishing and washing and cleaning and pressing clothes and helping Mrs O’Connor serve meal after meal. She was just a maid and that was her station in life. She had a good job and was earning good money.

  Every month the bank collector called to the back-kitchen door and she would give him another small deposit from her wages. Mr Keane would sit at the kitchen table and fill in the amount in the small black bank-book she kept hidden under her mattress. He would stamp it with the mark of the East Coast Savings Bank before joining herself and the rest of the staff who saved with him for a cup of tea and a chat. Usually, he would tell them that business was booming and how their money was growing and accumulating. It did her good to listen to him. When he was gone she would run her eyes up and down the columns of figures, mentally totting up her savings. This was her independence.

  Peggy came back to the present. The mid-west was so far away – some people called it the wild west. Oh why did Sarah have to go so far away?

  ‘Peggy,’ said the other girl, tapping her shoulder. ‘What do you think?’

  To be honest, Peggy didn’t know what to think, but when she looked into Sarah’s pinched, white face and thought of the factory where tomorrow she would spend every daylight hour working, Peggy knew that leaving the city and moving into the open countryside would mean salvation for Sarah, and a fresh start.

  ‘I think it’s grand, Sarah! Honestly I do,’ said Peggy hugging her friend, ‘and by the time you all get settled, they’ll have built the railroads and I’ll keep on saving every dollar and dime and in no time I’ll have enough money to come and visit you.’

  Sarah clapped her hands softly. ‘Oh Peggy! That would be great. But I’ll really miss you. I do wish you would come with us.’

  The rest of that sunny afternoon was spent strolling through different parts of the park, chatting and laughing and giggling. Peggy gave Sarah a blow-by-blow account of Roxanne’s wedding and Sarah told her all the latest gossip of the factory. They watched as a group of young men played football together. They counted the growing young ducks and cygnets on the lake, and admired the latest styles worn by fashionable ladies who promenaded with their parasols.

  ‘Come on, Peggy! We must go home and get something to eat,’ urged Sarah finally, adjusting her bonnet.

  With great reluctance, Peggy stood up from the park bench where they were sitting, realising that this was probably the very last time that she would spend her day off with her friend.

  Sarah busied herself cooking a meal once they got back to the apartment. James and John were both there, and they were full of excitement telling Peggy of their future plans.

  ‘We’ve enough put by to buy acres and acres,’ said James proudly, ‘and, God willing, John and I will build a fine house of wood for all of us.’

  ‘We’ll have to clear the land, break the soil. It’ll all be new,’ John joined in. ‘Imagine, Peggy, we won’t be tenants like we’d be back home, we’ll own our own land. What we claim will be ours! This is surely a great land of opportunity for Irishmen and Irishwomen.’

  Peggy helped Sarah drain the potatoes and slice the boiled beef. Then they all pulled up their chairs, and said Grace before they began to eat.

  The food was good but Peggy couldn’t eat. She tried to smile as she listened to all the exciting plans.

  ‘When are you going?’ she asked finally.

  The others were silent for a few seconds.

  ‘We have things to organise,’ James explained. ‘Horses and a wagon to buy, business to wind up here, but all going well we plan to leave within the next two to three weeks. We must go while the weather is good so we’ll be settled by winter.’

  They talked on and on for hours. Peggy was very reluctant to leave, aware that she could not guarantee another Sunday off before they departed. But Sarah was getting sleepy, her eyes closing heavily.

  ‘Sarah! You must go to bed,’ said John. ‘You’ve a long day’s work tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ sighed Sarah. ‘I’m such bad company. At the moment I seem to be t
ired and sleepy all the time.’

  Peggy stood up. ‘I should be getting back to Rushton. I’ve stayed far too late.’ She tried to hide the sadness in her voice. ‘I’d best be going, Sarah, I have a long walk home. Luckily, it’s a grand night.’

  ‘When will I see you again?’ asked her friend.

  Peggy considered. ‘I’m not sure, but I’ll be bound to get an hour or two off or a half-day soon. I’ll come and see you before you go, I promise.’

  As she bade them goodbye, she noticed that James had disappeared. She was surprised to find him waiting below, outside on the street, with the delivery cart he and John used for work and one of the horses.

  ‘Let me drive you home, Peggy!’ he said, helping her up on the front seat beside him.

  They drove through the almost deserted city. James was silent, lost in his own thoughts. He was the quieter of the two brothers, more serious and reserved than John. As they drove through the dark countryside he began to tell Peggy about his dreams of the prairies and plains, of the rolling blue skies, of fields of wheat and corn, of the herds of buffalo and of the log cabin they would build. ‘There’ll be a polished wood floor and a kitchen where the sun will shine through all day long,’ he said excitedly, ‘and a stove for cooking and warmth, and store cupboards to hold provisions that will last for months – they say the winters are hard there and you can be snowed in – and a fine, big, solid, wooden table for family and folks to sit and eat and talk at.’

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ said Peggy dreamily.

  ‘Come winter, there’ll be a blazing log fire and some comfortable chairs close by, and a table to hold a lamp and shelves for books.’

  He had slowed the horse down so it was almost walking. Peggy could feel his grey-blue eyes staring at her – lucky it was too dark for him to notice her blush. James was handsome, with a narrow face and kind eyes. His hair was jet black like Sarah’s, and always seemed to need a trim. He was tall and rangy and kind of clumsy. He was a hard worker, his hands rough and calloused from heavy labouring. She had known him since they had sailed on the Fortunata from Queenstown over six years ago. He’d always been around. They’d gone to mass together, talked about the old days back in Ireland, strolled around Boston, had snowball fights and skated on the river in the cold winters, danced a jig in the front room of Mrs Byrne’s at the céilí – he was, after all, Sarah’s brother, and a friend.

  ‘Peggy …’ he said, ‘Peggy, I want to ask you something.’

  Peggy lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

  ‘Will you come with us?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Come with me, I mean? I need a partner.’

  She let out a wobbly kind of gasp.

  ‘Will you marry me, Peggy, be my wife?’

  Peggy didn’t know what to say. James was actually proposing to her. She couldn’t believe it!

  ‘You and Sarah are close friends. You’d be companions for each other. We would all be able to help each other to build a new life out west.’

  Peggy closed her eyes. He only wanted a partner, someone to help plant the corn and feed the cattle and cook the meals. That’s all it was. He was just used to her, to having her around.

  ‘What do you think, Peggy?’ he said reaching for her hand.

  ‘James! I don’t know. I was talking to Sarah earlier. I told her that when you’re all settled, maybe the railroad will have reached wherever you have gone to, and I would just love to come and visit you …’

  He held her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘I’m rushing you. I suppose it’s not fair to just spring it on you like this, especially when we’re leaving so soon …’

  The night air was heavy and still, the closeness wrapping itself around Peggy, the scent of magnolia and jasmines escaping from the gardens they drove past. It all made her feel almost dizzy as the cart bumped along the narrow laneways.

  James slipped his arm around her and she sat rigid, trying to resist the temptation to snuggle close to him while they jostled along. She was lost in a storm of confusion as they came in sight of Rushton.

  They came to a halt near the large gateway. The driveway and hedges gleamed in the moonlight. He sat silent, waiting for her answer.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘James, I am very honoured by you asking me … by your proposal … I don’t know what to say. You know I would love to be with the three of you, stay part of your lives. It’s just that …’ she whispered feebly, ‘I have my job and my life here,’ she said gesticulating wildly at the large house.

  ‘I see,’ said James politely.

  Peggy sat, miserable. She didn’t want to leave him like this. ‘Can’t we be friends, James, and I promise to come and visit you …’

  ‘Friends it is then,’ he replied stiffly.

  Suddenly he leaned forward and, catching her unawares, tilted up her chin and kissed her. Her mind told her to pull away but instead she savoured the warmth of his full lips and soft breath against her own. Then he lifted his head, a tuft of dark hair falling forward over his brow.

  ‘Friends!’ he said bitterly.

  Dazed, Peggy let him help her down and walk her towards the gate. The Rowans would object to strangers appearing in the driveway late at night and to members of their household staff keeping company at such late hours.

  ‘Goodbye, Peggy!’ called James, as she began to walk away from him.

  ‘Good luck!’ said Peggy, anxious to escape the temptation she had to fling her arms around him and beg him to kiss her once more. All she wanted was to get in that kitchen door, up the back stairs and into her room. For once she was glad that Kitty wasn’t around, because all she wanted was peace and quiet and a chance to bawl her eyes out.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Big House

  NOBODY COULD SAY FOR SURE HOW IT STARTED, but only a few days after the harvest home festival, the big house caught fire. Lord Henry and his family were all in their beds and the household staff fast asleep when, like a thief in the night, the first flame jumped through the broken window, catching the wooden frame and shutters. It chased its way across the heavy, century-old damask curtains, the dry fabric splitting and igniting. It raced downwards to the polished floorboards, then across the hand-crafted chairs and upwards over the pelmet to the beautiful plasterwork ceilings.

  Finn, the great lumbering Irish wolfhound, Lord Henry’s favourite of all his dogs, began to howl as he tried to escape from the huge, smoke-filled hallway. By now an inferno was raging in the elegant drawing-room and its curving bay window blew out onto the lawn.

  Hearing some sort of commotion, Lord Henry roused himself, pulled on his silk dressing-gown and went to his bedroom window to see what was going on. But there was nobody outside. Suddenly he noticed the vivid orange flames reaching up over the bedroom windowsill and smoke seeping through the open cracks between the floorboards. Then a great roar came from the chimney at the side of the room, as if some enormous bellows were pumping air up it.

  Lord Henry ran to the bed. ‘Wake up, my dear! We must leave the house immediately.’

  ‘What is it, Henry?’ his wife asked crossly.

  Passing her a dressing-gown he implored her to rouse herself as there was ‘a bit of a fire’.

  Lady Buckland began to scream for the children and servants, while her husband shoved the jewels on her dressing-table into his pocket. In an instant, the two girls stood in their nightgowns outside their bedroom doors. They stared, terrified, across the banister where they could see huge flames sweeping up the broad staircase.

  ‘We must keep calm, my dears,’ ordered Lord Henry.

  Finn jumped amongst them, barking madly, and growling down at the encroaching fire. At the same instant they all began to shout. ‘WAKE UP! THERE’S A FIRE!’

  The housekeeper appeared immediately, her hair wrapped in tight rags and clutching a leather valise. ‘My valuables,’ she stated firmly.

  ‘Rouse the household!’ yelled Lord Henry, praying that the butler heard him. ‘We must
go down the servants’ stairs!’ he said, leading the way through the small wooden door up on the half-landing. ‘Make haste. These old houses are like tinderboxes.’

  A smell of smoke permeated the small, enclosed space as they all hurried down the stairs, the large dog shoving ahead of them all and barking madly at the encroaching fire. The line increased rapidly as the rest of the staff filed down behind them. Half-afraid, Lord Henry shoved the door at the bottom of the staircase open, and stepped out into the tiled passageway, conscious of the loud cracking roar close by.

  ‘Hurry up! Do hurry up!’ he ordered curtly, and they all rushed out into the large kitchen. Bernard Delaney, the butler, now back in his own territory, busied himself unlocking the heavy door, trying to look in command of things, despite the fact that he was wearing only a pair of knee-britches.

  ‘Hurry up, man!’ ordered Lord Henry.

  ‘Are all the servants up?’ asked Lady Martha anxiously, regaining some of her composure.

  ‘Where’s Lizzie?’ wondered Mary Keating, Lady Martha’s personal maid, ‘and that new girl?’

  Mercy Farrell, who stood beside Mary, gasped. Lizzie Collins and the new girl, Dolores, slept right up at the very top of the house. Lizzie would sleep through anything after her long day’s work and had been banished to the furthest room because of her loud snoring, and Dolores, who spent her whole time scouring out pots and pans and washing in the scullery, was half-simple, and mightn’t know what was going on.

  ‘They mustn’t have heard us!’ Mercy wailed.

  The whole group stood silent as the plight of the young girls in the upstairs attic dawned on them.

  ‘I’ll run up and get them!’ volunteered Mercy, ‘they’re my friends.’

  ‘Are you sure, my dear?’ asked Lady Martha, not certain it was wise to risk the life of another of her servant girls.