Page 141 of The Missing Sister
‘That woman never ceases to remind me of Mrs Danvers in Daphne du Maurier’sRebecca,’ Ambrose sighed. ‘And you’re right, my friend, I must be off.’ Ambrose stood up. ‘Will you telephone me as soon as your thoughts on Mary have coalesced?’
‘I will, and please try not to fret. I won’t be letting your beloved girl’s brain stultify,’ he said as he followed Ambrose out of the study and to the front door. ‘May God take care of you until we meet again.’
‘And may you take care of Mary,’ Ambrose muttered under his breath as he climbed into his Beetle, ready to drive through the West Cork rain and home to Dublin.
James left the conversation he needed to have with John O’Reilly for another two months. In that time, he consulted with Miss Lucey at Merry’s school, who was also anxious to see her star pupil continue to blossom.
‘She’s a gifted child, so, Father,’ Geraldine Lucey said, as James sat in her parents’ parlour eating what he considered (and he had extensive knowledge of the subject) to be excellent brack cake made by Miss Lucey’s mother. He understood now why all seasoned priests were carrying extra weight.
‘She’s still coming to school with her little brother Bill, but she looks like a ghost. I’d say she’s taking on extra chores at home, because her homework is never done. That’s all right for now, Father, she’s ahead anyway, but if she stops school in June to help on the farm full-time, all her potential will be wasted.’
‘Yes, it would be tragic,’ James agreed.
Geraldine shook her head and exhaled in agitation. ‘I understand how it is here, but... this is 1961, Father! The dawn of a new decade. You should see some of the pictures in magazines of what the girls are wearing in London, and even in Dublin! Trousers, and skirts above their knees! Emancipation is coming, it truly is, and I believe that Merry O’Reilly has the makings of a fine school teacher in her, and perhaps more. She has a brain that needs stimulation.’
‘I agree, Miss Lucey, but emancipation has yet to reach the south-west of Ireland. Well now, perhaps I could help for the foreseeable future.’
‘How? As I mentioned to you before, Merry’s after reading through every book in the school library.’
‘I’d be willing to lend you some from my own library. I’ve Lamb’sTales From Shakespeare, some Austen and Brontë. And what do you think of introducing her to some modern poetry? T. S. Eliot, perhaps?’
‘I’d say she was ready for it, Father, and I would, of course, take great care of them, and lock them up in my office after Merry has read them.’
‘I’d only be able to do this if the books were to be offered to every other child in her class.’
‘They would be, Father, but there is no eleven-year-old who’d want to take them; most of them are still struggling to put their words into a sentence. Other than one boy: Bobby Noiro is as bright as a button, but what a troubled soul he is,’ Miss Lucey sighed.
‘He comes from a troubled family, as you know. Anyway, regarding the books, there’s no harm in offering them to the other children at least.’ James gave Miss Lucey a smile. ‘Now, I must be off, but I’m grateful for your support and your discretion on this matter.’
Climbing onto his bicycle, James rode away from the gaily painted house that stood halfway up the hill along the winding streets of Timoleague. Looking at the steep slope and then down at his bulging stomach, he pedalled with determination up the rest of the hill to home.
Ambrose arrived for his monthly visit, bringing all kinds of books to help further Merry’s education.
‘She must learn of the world around her,’ he said, as he stacked the last of several leather-bound volumes onto James’s desk. ‘This is the full set of theChildren’s Britannica, only published last year. They are for children aged seven to fourteen – an offshoot of the adult encyclopaedia – and I had them sent from Hatchards in London. They cover most subjects and will help feed Mary’s enquiring mind.’
James studied the title and gave Ambrose a wry smile. ‘I’m not sure the word “Britannica” will go down well around these parts.’
‘Goodness, James, this is the most comprehensive compendium of collective knowledge it’s possible to read in English! Surely no one need worry about its nationality? The Irish have their republic now, and they still speak the same language after all!’
‘I shall leave it up to Miss Lucey’s discretion. Perhaps she can keep them in her office, and the children can read them when they wish.’
‘Whatever you and Miss Lucey think best. Now then, how is Mary?’
‘Still devastated by her mother’s death, as is all the family. Last time I saw her, she told me that school was all that was keeping her going. At least the older sister Nora is back fulltime at the farm, because the shooting season is over and she’s no longer needed to help in the kitchens at Argideen House. And... I did hear something that may be of use. Bridget O’Mahoney, who’s a classmate of Merry’s, is being sent to boarding school in Dublin next September. Her mother is originally from Dublin and went there herself. The family is wealthy and they want Bridget to have the best education money can buy.’
‘Ah...’ said Ambrose as he sat down in James’s study and looked up at his friend expectantly.
‘Now, the fees are exorbitant, but the school does offer scholarships to bright Catholic girls from poor backgrounds.’ James looked at Ambrose. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think... I think that you may have just solved the problem, James. You are a genius!’
‘Hardly, Ambrose. For a start, Merry has to win the scholarship. Added to that, she herself must want to go. And then there’s the issue of her father agreeing to it, although the fact Bridget will be attending will help enormously. The O’Mahoneys are very well respected around these parts.’
‘As I said, you’re a genius, James. So, what happens next?’
A week later, James had gone for his regular visit to the school. Afterwards, he’d summoned Merry into Miss Lucey’s office. The child looked exhausted and had lost weight, so her huge blue eyes stood out in her pale, gaunt face.
He explained the idea to Merry, and watched her expression go through a gamut of emotions.
