Sister's Trio Squad

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

'No, I'm not. And I'll damned well please myself where I go and who with,' she'd yelled, incensed by his sarcas tie tone.

Then don't come running to me if your fine friends land you in trouble, because they will, if you're not careful. You're out of your depth, Nancy.'

'I won't. And I'm not "out of my depth" as you put it.

I can take care of myself,' she'd flung back at him before

she'd stormed out to meet Helen.

Leaving Mrs Weston, Nancy went up to her room and kept her coat on while she lit the gas fire, then she opened the letter. As she read it she began to smile. So Margaret had found herself a husband, but what a husband! He might own half of Walton-on-the-Hill and have a thriv ing business, but he was so old. Still, if that was what Margaret wanted. Nancy grimaced. If she couldn't do better than Lewis Vannin, she wouldn't bother at all! But then she had no intention of getting married, not for years and years. Then she, too, remembered what she'd said to Margaret on the deck of the Connaught and she laughed. She'd said make sure he's rich, she hadn't mentioned old!

She scanned the letter again. Next Friday at 3 pm. Howwas she going to manage that? She'd have to miss Friday night's performance and Friday was always a good night. And if you went sick you stood the chance of having someone else step in for you and sometimes they stayed! Perhaps she could get Edward to speak to George Christy, the Producer, with whom he seemed to be on very friendly terms. Edward had met Margaret, of course, so perhaps he would go with her? She decided against that. He would tell them all that she was only in the chorus when she'd told them she was Miss Heysham's understudy. No, she'd have to go alone. She'd write Edward a note.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them, then began to search for the writing pad. She couldn't miss her own sister's wedding, and probably Lisa would come from Glasgow and maybe Ma and Matty would come over. Suddenly, she realized just how much she'd missed them all. No, she couldn't miss this chance to meet up again and they'd all see how well she was doing, how well she looked, how smart her clothes were and wouldn't they all be so impressed that she now numbered a Lord and two 'Honourables' amongst her friends!

Rain as straight as stair rods had been falling from skies the colour of gunmetal all day and although a good fire burned in the hearth, Sarah felt that the dampness had seeped into the house. 'It's the stone walls,' she muttered to herself. Either that or she was getting old. Her joints ached these days, especially when it was damp and wet, and it seemed to be just that most days, now that autumn was on them.

She was glad they'd moved out of town. There had been other incidents to parallel the burning down of Feehey's and now people eyed each other with suspicion. Bernie O'Hagan's eldest brother had been caught with a pistol under the arches of the old bridge. The Army had taken him and they'd heard later that he'd been shot. Without a trial. He'd always been a villain, she thought, but Dear God, even he had the right to a trial! They were getting as bad as the "Tans' had been. 'Letter for you Ma, from Margaret by the

postmark." She hadn't heard Matty and her brother, Richard, come in, but she took the letter and laid it on the shelf above the range as the envelope was damp. Then she turned her attention to getting their sodden clothes off and placing a bowl of hot, boiled potatoes, another of carrots, and a baked ham on the table for them. 'Get that down you both, you'll need it to keep the cold out while you're milking." She watched them tuck in hungrily, and only then did

she take the letter and open it.

Matty, chewing slowly on the ham, put down his fork. 'Ma, you're crying! What's the matter? Are those three all right?"

Sarah nodded emphatically and wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. 'She's getting married! Margaret's getting married to a fine, Catholic gentleman with his own house and business!'

'Who? Where did she meet this paragon?' 'Mr Vannin, the gentleman she's been keeping house

for. We're all invited. She's sent us the fare and we're to stay with her. She's plenty of room for us all, she says. And Lisa will be down and Nancy." Sarah forestalled any remarks Matty might make about Lewis Vannin by chattering on. What did it matter at all if he was as old as herself? If he was good to Margaret and she was fond of him, that was all that mattered. 'Oh, won't it be wonderful, the whole family together again!' she finished.

'And when is it to be then?"

*Next Friday at three o'clock. She says we can get the Thursday night boat and stay until Sunday or Monday even, and she says their crossing was so desperate that she'll not have us herded into the common Saloon. We're going to get a berth - whatever that is - so we can get some sleep.'

'Has she forgotten that it's a farm we're running and not a hotel? There's animals here that have to be fed and watered and milked.'

Don't you want to go to your own sister's wedding?' Of course I do, but I don't see how we can all go.'

You and Sarah go, Richard put in. 'I'll stay here. I managed on my own for long enough, I can cope for a few days and besides, Sarah can't go alone, not with the way things are all over the country and especially in Dublin!"

Matty looked at his uncle with resignation, knowing there was no use arguing or trying to find excuses. He'd just have to grin and bear it and wear his best suit and collar and tie every day, now that Margaret was going up in the world.

She'd almost got used to the idea. Almost, but not quite. Margaret still didn't really understand herself why she'd accepted his proposal. They were tually rs, but dimly she realized that part of her had agreed to it for Ellen's sake and part for pride's sake and in the rare moments when she had time to think at all, she hoped she wouldn't regret it. 'Pride cometh before a fall' as Ma said. But he wasn't giving her time to think, to contemplate or reconsider. They were to be married in church, but by Special Licence, as it was to be a quiet wedding. That did away with the formality of having the Banns called. And suddenly she'd found herself in a frenzy of activity. He'd stopped calling her Miss O'Maxwell and was making

every effort to please her. They had a new girl in the kitchen, one she'd chosen herself, and d**k had been most formal towards her since the news had been leaked out by Ellen. Ellen had been almost delirious with joy, and as the child had recovered it had been as much as Margaret could do to keep her quiet. But there was one person to whom the news was anathema and she had firmly declined Lewis's offer to tell his elder daughter himself. She told him that now she was to become his wife, she must try to find some common ground between herself and Elizabeth. They had wanted to tell Elizabeth first, it being only right and proper that they did so, but Ellen had already told half the street and so Elizabeth already knew, although she had not acknowledged the fact, which was why Margaret had invited her over this afternoon.

She was nervous and glanced at her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror over the mantel in the front parlour. She still refused to have her hair cut, but she had adopted the new style of dress. She adjusted the long rope of pearls around her neck, they had been an engagement present from him, and smoothed the skirt of her dress. It was of a fine wool crepe in a light, coffee colour, with a dropped waist and a softly pleated skirt that reached mid-calf. It had been purchased from Cripps in Bold Stret, as had her other two dresses. Her wedding dress, or rather the Ensemble, as it was called, consisted of a matching coat and dress in ivory, merino wool, edged with russet brown velvet ribbon. That had been bought from Gladys Drinkwater's, as had her ivory, wide-brimmed hat which sported a large cream silk gardenia. It had given her some satisfaction when Miss Drinkwater herself had fitted her, helped her choose the hat and gloves and asked 'Modom's name?' She had replied 'Miss O'Maxwell. Miss Margaret O'Maxwell. I think you met my sister, Lisa?' Miss Drinkwater had looked blank. The one with "that accent". She came for a position with you and was turned away.' As recollection dawned, she had smiled at the woman's discomfort. There was nothing Miss Drinkwater could say; not at the price she was paying for the Ensemble!

Margaret poked the fire, then plumped up the cushions on the sofa. She wished this were all over and done with, she certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

'Hasn't she come yet? She's going to be hateful, I know she is! Lizzie is always hateful!'

'Ellen, will you go away! If you hadn't blabbered every thing to the whole neighbourhood, she wouldn't need to

be "hateful" as you call it. You know your Pa is still cross with you and you're supposed to be recovering. Do you want to be going down with something else and be ill for the wedding?' Undaunted, Ellen came into the room and peered

through the lace curtains. Margaret pulled her away. 'Ellen, put that curtain down, don't you know how rude that is! Now go upstairs or I'll tell your Pa!'

Ellen grimaced. When can I call you Ma?' Margaret laughed.

Pa says I have to wait until after the wedding, that I've got to call you Miss O'Maxwell until then, but he's so stuffy and old-fashioned!' Realizing what she'd said she clapped a hand over her mouth.