The Magdalen (15 page)

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Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna

BOOK: The Magdalen
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“W
here's that Rita one got to?” enquired Sister Josepha angrily. “Have you seen her, Esther?”
“No, Sister.”
“Well, will you go and have a look for her!” she ordered crossly. “I haven't seen her for an hour. She's up to no good, that one!”
Esther set down the basket of wet sheets and walked across the centre part of the laundry. Rita was nowhere near the rows of white enamel sinks or the huge steel machines and heavy iron mangles. The Maggies were engrossed in work, and none had seen Rita. Perhaps she was out in the sorting room or the delivery area. A sixth sense guided Esther towards the laundry
yard, where the vans were delivering their Tuesday load.
“Morning, love!” chorused the men as she passed. Esther spotted Jim Murray and a lad of about fifteen carrying the huge baskets from the boys' school in Blackrock. “Morning, Esther! That's a cold one!” Jim Murray always made a point of saying hello to the Maggies, unlike most of the other delivery men, who ignored them or sneered at them. She supposed it was because he was older, about thirty-five or so, and had a family of his own.
“Have you seen Rita? Sister Josepha wants her.”
The van driver seemed to hesitate. “You could try over by that storeroom on the right, but you know you shouldn't be out in the yard without a coat or something warm. You'll get a chill.”
She smiled at his kindness in worrying about her.
The yard was icy as she crossed the cobbles, and she pulled her cardigan round her, moving awkwardly, silently cursing Rita. It would be her fault if she fell! “Rita! Rita!” she yelled as she approached the pebbledashed storeroom. The door was closed, the narrow window too grimy to see through. The wooden door pushed in easily, at least it was a bit warmer inside. Battered baskets with gaping holes, rotten and mildewed, were stockpiled in one corner. Rusting clothes mangles, broken ironing boards and leaking tin buckets covered the floor area. There was someone else inside, she could sense it. Down the very back of the room Rita was clutching Paul, one of the van drivers, to her. He was breathing heavily, his trouser belt loose, his buttons open. The two of them were at it. Rita's overall skirt was hitched up around her hips, her knickers thrown on the
ground, as Paul pulled her on to him, sliding himself easily into that dark-covered patch between her legs. Mortified, she watched as Paul, the handsomest and sexiest of the drivers, pushed into her friend, who was groaning aloud with pleasure, egging him on.
Esther stumbled noisily back towards the door. Rita must be stark raving mad! What if one of the nuns had come along and caught her in the act? The lovers were finishing up. Deliberately she made some noise, kicking at one of the buckets.
“Christ! There's someone there!”
Paul pushed past her, busy tucking in his shirt and fixing his trousers. Rita stayed inside, sitting on one of the baskets, lighting up a cigarette that Paul had left her. “I'm having a smoke, Esther, if it's any concern of yours!”
“Are you gone mad, Rita? Sister Jo-Jo could have been the one that walked in on the two of you! She sent me to look for you. What would you have done if she'd caught you?”
Rita shrugged, inhaling the cigarette smoke deeply. “She'd have seen something that she ain't seen before,” she chuckled, “wouldn't she?”
“I think you're crazy! Do you love that fellah?”
Rita spluttered with laughter. “Love! That's nothing at all to do with it! He's just a man who wanted a good fuck and I gave it to him. Once a week I come out here and we have a good time.”
“But why?”
“‘Cos I do, that's why! He makes me feel good and he brings me packets of ciggies and sometimes a baby bottle
of whiskey or gin. We have fun, a bit of a ride, and it's nobody's bloody business!”
“What if you end up having another baby? Or if the nuns find out!”
“Patrick's my baby, Esther! You know how much I love him. Anyways Paul uses a rubber.”
Esther couldn't think what to say. Rita was so beautiful and sexy, men were bound to fall for her and want to have sex with her. She was embarrassed discussing such things, even with someone as brazen and outspoken as Rita.
“Do you want a smoke? Though I suppose you'd better not, Esther, till after the baby. I tried to give them up when I was carrying Patrick, but I had to have one every now and then. The same goes for fucking, some days I just have to do it, d'ya know what I mean? You must have felt the same way about your fellah!”
Esther blazed: “I loved Con! That was totally different!”
“If you say so! Though your fellah obviously didn't bother using a rubber,” giggled Rita, “or you wouldn't be stuck in this kip with the rest of us.”
“Conor loved me!” she tried convincing herself, realizing how little she knew about the boyfriend who had fathered her child. Sex and physical attraction had been the main ingredients of their relationship.
“Well, whatever you call it, Esther, we're all only human. That's what landed most of us in here. It's only the nuns and halfwits that don't understand the whole man-woman thing. It's just that I'm more honest than the rest
of you.” Finishing her cigarette, Rita bent to retrieve her knickers, fixing her overall as if nothing had happened, Esther realizing just how coarse her friend could be.
“Well, what does Jo-Jo want me for anyways?”
“I don't know.”
Two or three of the drivers whistled as the girls appeared outside, Rita tossing back her mane of black hair and strutting like Marilyn Monroe. Esther was furious with her.
“See ya, boys!” Rita called, crossing the yard. “Don't look so shocked, Esther! They're only a crowd of men.”
Sister Josepha was waiting at the door. “Don't give me any of your cheek, Rita. I'm not interested! Where were you? I'm waiting an age to get heavy pressing done and I'm fed up of you skiving off and leaving others to do your work. You're lazy out!”
Esther watched the nun. She was in bad humour and gave out sharply to Rita. “This afternoon I'm reporting you to the Mother Superior.” She turned to Esther. “There's a pile of restaurant linen that needs starching, Esther, you can attend to that!”
Esther watched as Rita followed the nun upstairs to the office. It was so strange that on her own Rita was the best in the world, but when men came into it she utterly changed.
 
 
“Get off!” screamed Sheila. “Get her off me!”
The two women rolled around in the narrow corridor outside the laundry.
Rita had grabbed Sheila by her short ginger hair and was all but swinging out of her.
“Mind your own shagging business in the future, Miss Know-it-all. You got me into trouble with Jo-Jo today and I ended up being hauled up in front of Gabriel too.”
“I did nothing!” screamed Sheila. “I only asked Jo-Jo if someone could help me with some pressing.”
“You sent a bleeding search party out for me!”
“Why, where were you anyways?” The other girl smirked.
Rita let go of her hair, shoving her towards the others as she turned to walk away.
“She were with a fellah,” jeered Kathleen. “I saw them out in the yard.”
“Up to her usual tricks.”
“Take that back!”
“Why? I bet it's the truth! Everyone here knows what you are.”
“Go on then!” screeched Rita, grabbing at Sheila again, almost tugging the hair from her scalp.
“You're on the game! You're a bloody slut and everybody knows it!”
“How dare you, you ginger-haired bitch!”
“Men pay you to have sex with them! It's filthy and disgusting!”
“Listen to Miss High-and-mighty. She couldn't get it quick enough herself, had to get a train up to Belfast after the American soldier boy, a right Yankee-doodle-dandy. He gave you that and all, your Yankee soldier, before he pissed off back to his wife in Alabama or Texas or wherever he was from!”
“You shagging tart! It wasn't like that, it was a wartime romance. His unit was posted here during the Emergency. He was a good man, handsome, kind, 'twas nobody's fault that he were posted overseas. He was a soldier, and he had to follow orders. We loved each other, but it was just the war, everything was different then.”
“Leave her be, Rita!” cautioned Bernice.
“At least I get paid when I drop my drawers,” jeered Rita. “I'm not stupid, like some—”
“Ah, will ya stop that fighting the two of you!” pleaded Detta. “You're getting on my nerves! Everyone in this place has got secrets and there's no use going around calling each other bad names! It doesn't do one darned bit of good! We are all doing our penance as it is.”
Esther agreed with Detta, and tried hard not to be judgemental, no matter what she heard or saw. After all, she was in no position to look down on anyone or call them names. The Maggies were all here for the same reason. No one else gave a damn about them.
T
he dark green van drew up outside in the cobbled yard.
Stretching her arms and shoulders and rising from the narrow window seat, Esther ran out to open the door for the driver. Damp clung to the windows as outside it was a freezing cold December morning. The man's breath came in cloudy patches as he heaved the huge baskets inside, one after another, counting them. “‘Tis a full load today!” he called.
“Aye, so I see.”
“They're all starting to get ready for Christmas; it's almost as bad as spring cleaning!”
Esther tried to push the more urgent baskets to the front. Sister Josepha said that hotels and restaurants
and business ones took priority. Jim Murray went back outside for more. He was a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, with a kind heart, and was always polite to the Maggies. Esther never saw him in bad humour or giving out like the rest of the drivers, who often jeered at the women and belittled them. Detta had told her that he had been delivering to the laundry for about fifteen years and that he was equally liked by the nuns and the women.
“I'm early today, as my young one isn't well and I want to bring her down to see the doctor in the clinic.”
“I hope she'll be all right.”
“Aye. She's had a cold that won't shift. The teacher sent home a note last night, so it's best to get her sorted. She's a star, is my Sally.”
“Would you fancy a cup of tea? Bridey's giving them out inside.”
“‘Tis cold enough to freeze the … pardon my French.” He shrugged. “But a cup of tea would sure warm me up. My fingers are frozen!” His large hands looked raw, red, and stiff.
“Milk and sugar?”
“A bit and two spoons.”
Pushing into the steaming centre room, where the women crowded around the tea trolley, she grabbed two mugs, carrying them back out.
“That's a grand cup of tea!” He warmed his hands on the mug. He was actually quite handsome she supposed, in a mature kind of way, totally relaxed and interested in everything around him, with kind eyes, a generous mouth and a good sense of humour. Esther took the opportunity
to sit down again. Of late she found if she stood for too long she'd get a bit dizzy.
“When's your baby due?”
“Early March.” She reddened.
“That's a fine time of the year to have a baby. Our eldest was born in March, almost seven years ago.”
She watched as he drank his tea, supping it quickly. She could sense his wanting to finish up and get home to his wife and children. “There are two deliveries waiting to go.”
Tomorrow was the big home-delivery day usually, but there were always some finished baskets ready. He ambled out along the passageway, where wire stands supported the baskets of freshly laundered clothes and wrapped brown-paper parcels of sheets and pillowcases. They were divided into sections: the city, the suburbs, and Howth, Bray and Greystones. He studied the labels. “City centre, the Central Hotel, Phelan Bros. I'll do that before I go home.”
She watched as he lifted the heavy baskets and parcels out to the van, holding the door open for him.
“No rest for the wicked!” he joked. “You take care of yourself, Esther!”
She watched as he drove away, two more vans pulling in after him. The next hour was spent sorting out all the clutter of brimming laundry baskets. She only stopped during the midday lunchbreak, the meal even more disgusting than usual.
After lunch Sheila was assigned to work with her. There wasn't space to turn in the receiving-area as there were so many baskets. She always liked working with
Sheila, as she was the type of girl who always pulled her weight, and didn't mind explaining things, having been in the laundry since the Emergency when she'd had a baby by an American soldier with whom she'd fallen madly in love. She loved all things American, especially bubblegum and Cary Grant.
“Jasus, Esther! What's that disgusting smell? Open the window!”
The crowded room was pervaded by a heavy, sickly-sweet smell. It emanated from the baskets but they couldn't tell which one. They became more cautious as they opened the lids. It was disgusting when customers sent in vomit- or shit-covered sheets, towels, or blankets. There was nothing worse than putting your hand into it. Lifting the lid of a dark straw basket, Esther drew back as the awful smell hit her. It was full of towels and sheets; gingerly she lifted them out. The sheets seemed heavier than they should, weighed down. They didn't appear that soiled. Unwrapping the bundle of sheets, she sensed something solid inside them. Sometimes people left a boot or a shoe or a book bundled up in their washing by accident. She unfolded it. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Oh Jesus!”
Sheila stopped what she was doing and came over. Esther, leaning on an unopened basket, pulled back the sheet to show her. Lying across her lap was a baby, a tiny boy, a little boy blue, for that was his colour, his skin a dark purple-blue, his small body stiff, his blackened fingers curved in.
“Ah! The poor wee man!” cried Sheila, almost choking on her gum. They both stared at the small dead baby, his face asleep. “I'll get Sister.”
Sheila ran through into the laundry, screaming for the nun. Esther sat waiting, the baby lying so stiff and still in her arms, like a tiny rigid doll! How did this happen? Her mind swirled with unbidden memories and she thanked God that her brother Tom had been the one to interrupt her plans to harm her own unborn child. They'd both be dead by now otherwise. What did this poor child's mother do in a moment of desperation? Or had he been stillborn? The poor little pet.
Sister Josepha arrived all in a fluster, almost falling over the baskets in her haste, a crowd of girls at her heels. Grim-faced on seeing the baby, she ordered Sheila to run and fetch Sister Gabriel.
The nun leant forward and made the sign of the cross on the infant's forehead. “He's been dead a while, Esther. Could have been a stillborn, or suffocated. God between us and all harm, what poor girl was driven to do this?”
Tears welled in Esther's eyes.
“Here, give him to me, child! You shouldn't be upsetting yourself like this. I'll take him.”
Esther was relieved to hand over the grisly bundle into the nun's arms.
Sister Gabriel arrived, pushing her way through the waiting crowd. “Sheila! Take Esther into the kitchen and get yourselves a cup of tea! You've both had a shock. Then I suggest you both have a rest.”
Esther stood up shakily. She wanted to get out of the room, away from that baby.
Maura hugged her as she passed by. “It's all right, Esther. Your child is fine.”
Ina and the kitchen girls flapped around her, making
her and Sheila sit down. They were all curious to hear about their gruesome discovery.
“Is it true that the baby was still alive when you found him?” quizzed Ina.
Esther shook her head. She felt tired. She was in no mood to talk. Sheila was sitting on the table, regaling them all with the gory details. Esther slipped away upstairs to lie down.
It was dark when she awoke. She felt disorientated. She turned on her side, plumping her pillow, her belly like a water-filled jar, her baby stirring, kicking its foot against the wall of her stomach. How could she have ever wished her own child dead, wished to be rid of her baby, and do away with herself? She lay becalmed in guilt, dreading the thought of joining the others for tea.
Detta appeared with a mug of tea and two slices of bread for her. “I sneaked this up for you. I thought you mightn't feel up to coming down tonight and having them all quizzing you, Esther.”
Relieved, Esther sat up, her hair standing on end. “Aye, thanks, Detta.”
The old woman was always so kind to her, looking out for her. She ate slowly and awkwardly, terrified that one of the nuns would appear and they would both get into trouble.
“How are you feeling?”
“Awful! I keep thinking of that little baby and what must have happened to him. Why didn't his mother tell anyone, ask for help?”
“The poor girl. God knows what kind of a family she
came from. Maybe she was frightened that she'd end up somewhere like here.”
“What will happen now?”
“There will be an inquiry. Sister Gabriel had to call the guards. It's upsetting for the whole house, something like this. They took the poor child away to be examined by the coroner.”
Esther closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sight of the child.
“They have to try and determine where the little boy came from. Ina heard that the sergeant was trying to imply that the child must have been born here, that one of our girls did such a thing. Gabriel told him that the baby was found in one of the delivered laundry baskets. The nuns have the customer list and will be able to trace it back. There'll be an investigation, you know.”
Esther was worried. What if they tried to blame her, or say she had something to do with it all?
“Don't be upsetting yourself, child. Sister Gabriel told him that you would talk to them tomorrow.”
“Oh, Detta, why do all these bad things have to keep happening?”
“Esther girl, that poor baby dying had nothing to do with you. You have your own child to think of. You can't be going blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens. People live and people die, that's the way of the world, and if we're lucky, in the next life we get to heaven and our just reward. You're young, you want everything to be good for everyone; in time you'll learn to just accept things.”
Esther sighed. Detta was right. She was wise and
always seemed to know the right thing to say to comfort her. Turning in the bed, Esther could feel a ripple of movement as her baby moved and kicked again in her stomach.
“Ouch!” she squirmed.
“Is it the baby?” Detta asked, concerned.
“Aye!” she smiled, taking the old woman's hand and placing it on her stomach.
“Well that's the kick of a good strong child, Esther, be thankful to the Lord for that.”
Esther finished off the tea, passing the cup and plate to her.
“I'd better bring these back down to the kitchen, child,” offered Detta. “I'm doing an hour's vigil in the chapel at half-past seven. You rest easy there and I'll say a few prayers for the both of us.”
She pretended to be asleep when the others came to bed. They all seemed subdued, switching off the lights almost at once, leaving her in peace.
 
 
Sergeant Brian Dawson leant on the mantelpiece in the parlour. He checked his reflection in the glass-framed painting of “Jesus in the Garden.” He always felt uncomfortable coming to the convent. His visits generally entailed bad news of some sort or other. Sister Gabriel had gone down to the laundry to fetch the girl. He pitied the poor wretches that worked here.
This latest thing was an awkward business: the discovery of a foetus or a dead child in a home for fallen women and unmarried mothers was morbid. He'd had to bring the small corpse to the morgue himself. That place
gave him the creeps. They told him that the child had been dead for a week or more, judging by the extent of putrefaction. Bill Kenny, his inspector, had warned him that it was probably one of the sly bitches in the convent that had hidden the dead infant in the laundry. Having talked to Sister Gabriel, he had to agree that such an act would make no sense.
“Our mothers are supported. We already know that they are pregnant. That poor child was from outside!” the nun insisted.
Sister Gabriel ushered a young woman into the room. “This is Esther Doyle, Sergeant Dawson. She found the baby yesterday.”
The garda began to write down some details. The unwed girl looked only about nineteen or twenty. Her birthday was in March. She'd have had her own child by then. He noticed that she had not bothered to place a brassy fake wedding ring on her finger like some of the women did. Dark smudges shadowed her eyes, and with her hair drawn back it only served to highlight her pale face, long neck and fine features. She was pretty, and he supposed if she wasn't pregnant he might have even said beautiful. A country girl with a soft, lilting accent.
In her own words, she took her time telling about helping the van driver with the baskets, and how busy they were yesterday, and about the cloying sweet smell of decay. Her voice broke as she described to him the unrolling of the sheet and her discovery. He took note of everything she said.
“That's fine for the moment, Esther. I'd like to have a word with your friend Sheila too.”
Relieved, Esther stood up to go.
“I'll be back in touch with you again, Miss Doyle, should I need your assistance.”
She nodded, glad to be out of the room. Sheila was waiting outside, and was called in straight away. Jim Murray was sitting on a narrow mahogany chair with spindly legs, waiting too.

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