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Gloria’s answer was in the smile she gave her father, as she kissed him on the cheek before climbing into the carriage without another word of complaint. Macy’s afternoon teas were not to be sniffed at.
She watched her father hurry away towards Bert. She knew there was no reason for him to do this himself, as her mother had said the previous evening. Bert Clifford was an honest and trustworthy man and she couldn’t understand why Brian didn’t just leave him to it.
‘Because it is my business, not his,’ Brian had said. ‘And I want to count those supplies coming off the boat myself, and that is the end of the matter.’
Her mother hated the thought of her husband consorting with common sailors, considering it so unnecessary and degrading. Gloria understood, however, how much her father liked the vibrant clamour and bustle of the docks. He was now lost to her sight in the crowd, and she turned her attention to the immigrant ship just in time to see the gangplanks lowered.
Joe couldn’t wait to explore the place. Those on Ellis Island had changed his money to the American currency before he left, and he jingled the coins in his pocket and thought of the wallet packed with dollar bills, pleased that he had so much of it left. He had been careful and taken part in none of the card schools so many of the other men seemed hooked on. His father had never approved of cards and none had been played in their cottage to while away the winter evenings.
‘A fool and his money are soon parted,’ Thomas John had said when Joe had queried this. ‘Gambling can get a grip on a body. I have seen more than one bet his whole wages on the throw of the dice or a card game, and lose the lot. However did they explain that to their wives and hungry weans when they got home? I often wondered about that and decided a long time ago that gambling wasn’t for me.’
It wasn’t for Joe either because his brother, Tom, still back on the farm in Buncrana, had sold a field and the sheep in it so that Joe could have this chance in America. It had been incredibly generous, and he had been extremely grateful, but he knew there would be no other money if he was to squander this. Although officially Tom was owner of the farm, now that their father had died, their crabbed, spiteful mother held the purse strings. Joe knew he would never get a penny piece from her, and he didn’t know how long the money he had would have to last him until he landed himself a job.
He hoped, though, that Patrick Lacey would help there. Joe’s sponsor had said he would offer him lodging, at least until he got himself straight, and Joe intended looking him up as soon as possible.
The gangplank was down, a cheer went up, and the passengers moved slowly forward, hampered by their cases. Joe’s attention was taken by an altercation on the dockside between a well-dressed man and a sailor over a cask that the man seemed to be demanding the sailor open.
Once it was open, the man withdrew a piece of linen or cotton that had obviously been used as packing. He waved the material aloft, and as he examined the contents of the barrel he started berating the sailor, who appeared to be foreign and was opening his arms helplessly.
It was causing great amusement amongst the disembarking passengers, until suddenly a gust of wind whipped the material out of the man’s hand. It swirled and danced in the air for a while, before settling across the nose and eyes of the pony coupled to a small carriage.
With a shriek, the pony reared on its back legs. The coachman made an abortive dive for the pony, but was struck on the temple by one of its flailing front legs and fell to the ground. Then the pony made a headlong dash for the exit and the main road beyond, people scuttling out of its path.
Inside the carriage, Gloria tried to see what was happening before she was cast to the floor of the carriage where, tossed from one side to the other, she began screaming her head off.
Joe, nearly at the end of the gangplank, spied a face briefly at the carriage window, and realised that it wasn’t empty, as he had supposed, but that there was a child inside. He dropped his bag and case, leaped to the rail, vaulted over the two people in front of him, hit the ground running and took off after the pony. His father always said he could run like the wind and it was true that he could always beat Tom in a race and he ran that afternoon like the very devil.
As he was drawing level with the pony, he wondered how to get it to stop. He wouldn’t be able to hold it by the reins; the panicked pony would just pull him over and drag him along the ground. There was only one thing for it. Joe knew he had just the one chance and he thanked God that the pony was not large. As he drew almost level he made a superhuman leap and landed on the pony’s back, remembering how, as a game, he and Tom had tried leaping onto their old horse at home.
This, however, was no game. If he was thrown from the pony he would be crushed by the carriage. His heart thumped in his chest as, for quite a few moments, he thought that might happen, as he was at the back end of the frightened and panicky animal, which was desperately trying to dislodge him. His relief when he managed to catch hold of one of the reins was palpable, and he began to pull himself towards the pony’s head.
The animal was scared witless, but Joe began to stroke its mane gently and rhythmically, talking to it softly as he had done to their own horse at home when it had been spooked by something.
At first, he wasn’t sure he was doing any good, and he was only too aware how near they were to the main road. He could hear the traffic and knew if he didn’t stop the pony before the road, it was highly unlikely any of them would survive.
However, though his mouth was dry with fear, he kept the panic out of his voice and hands as he continued to stroke and talk as gently as he could. Gradually, he felt the pony begin to respond and to slow slightly. Then people came forward to hold him. He was eventually brought to a halt only a couple of yards from the road. He stood with his head down, his sides heaving and gleaming with sweat. Joe slid from his back, ran to the carriage door and opened it.
Gloria was lying curled in a ball on the floor of the carriage, certain she was going to die. She had begun to uncurl herself stiffly as the carriage stopped, though she still shook.
Joe climbed inside the carriage and lifted the child gently to her feet. Her bonnet had become dislodged and her hair was tousled around her head, and although her face was brick red, it didn’t detract from her beauty at all.
‘Are you all right, miss?’ Joe asked solicitously.
Gloria opened her mouth to speak, and began to weep in fear and relief. She put her arms around Joe’s neck, and he didn’t protest, knowing that she probably needed the comfort of another human being. She cried into his shoulder as he lifted her in his arms and carried her from the carriage.
They were still clasped together like this when Brian reached them, red-faced and panting. From every side people told him of the bravery of the young man, newly arrived in the country, who, without a shadow of a doubt, had saved the life of young Gloria Brannigan.
Brian knew that without being told. He had died a thousand times as he pounded after the careering carriage, and even as he watched the young man from the immigrant ship leap on to the back of the terrified pony, he feared he would not be able to stop the pony in time.
He peeled his still distraught daughter from Joe’s arms as he said to him, ‘I owe you a debt that it will take a lifetime to repay. Brian Brannigan is my name, and this is my daughter, Gloria.’
‘Joe Sullivan, sir,’ Joe said. ‘And as for what I did, I am just glad that your daughter is unharmed.’
‘Thanks to you,’ Brian said, looking Joe up and down. He liked what he saw. Joe was a handsome man, with expressive dark eyes. He stood straight and tall, and looked fully in command of himself, and only his tousled brown hair and his rumpled suit were evidence of his act of bravery. ‘None but my coachman, Tim Walsh, tried to stop the pony,’ Brian went on, ‘and now the poor man is lying comatose on the ground awaiting an ambulance. Everyone else kept out of the way.’
‘You can’t blame them, sir,’ Joe said. ‘I would say the pony was too panicked to stop in any way other than the one I tried, and even I wasn’t sure that it would work.’
Gloria was looking at Joe with a sort of awed expression. ‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘Leaped on the pony’s back, that’s what,’ Brian told his daughter. ‘And in doing so saved your life and risked his own.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ Gloria said. ‘Thank you, I suppose, but that doesn’t seem very much really.’
‘It isn’t,’ Brian agreed, ‘but here is a better offer.’ He turned to Joe. ‘You have just come off the immigrant ship?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Have you a job?’
‘No, but I have a neighbour looking out for me.’
‘Well, I own a factory and I sure could use a brave young fellow like yourself. How d’you feel about that?’
Joe couldn’t believe his luck. In payment for saving this man’s daughter, he was being offered employment. And though the man was still red-faced and breathless from his unaccustomed exertion, he looked to be honest and straightforward.
‘I feel grand about it, sir,’ Joe said.
‘Are you looking for that sort of work?’
‘I am looking for any kind of work that pays a wage, sir,’ Joe said. ‘But I have to tell you that I have never done work in any sort of factory before.’
‘Are you willing to learn?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘That’s all I wanted to hear,’ Brian said. ‘Now I have to find out what is going to happen to my coachman and sort out stabling for the pony, because I will leave him and the carriage here tonight. And I dare say you have to collect your belongings. Let’s say we meet back here in about half an hour and we will go home by taxi.’
‘Home, sir?’ Joe repeated.
‘Yes, home, Mr Joe Sullivan,’ Brian said, clapping Joe on the back. ‘Where my wife, Norah, will, at the very least, want to shake you by the hand.’
TWO (#ulink_59484733-9d09-5984-9896-a222da633ba0)
‘We must go straight home, my dear,’ Brian said, as he helped his daughter into the taxi. ‘It would never do for your mother to get wind of your mishap before I have a chance to tell her. I am afraid we will have to forgo tea at Macy’s.’
‘I don’t mind that, Daddy,’ Gloria said plaintively. ‘I ache everywhere, to tell you the truth, there is a pounding pain in my head and everything is wavy before my eyes.’
Brian felt guilty. He saw that Gloria’s face was as white as lint and that her eyes seemed to stand out in her head and were glazed slightly with pain. By giving in to Gloria’s demands that afternoon, he knew he had put her life in danger. ‘That’s not to be wondered at, my dear, after the way you were thrown about in that carriage,’ he said gently. ‘You are probably suffering from shock too. As soon as we get home, you are going to be tucked up in bed and I am sending for the doctor.’
The fact that Gloria made no comment about this was not lost on her father. ‘Lean against me, my dear,’ he suggested, ‘and close your eyes. That was a dreadful and frightening thing to happen to you, but we will have you home and comfy in no time at all.’
Joe was waiting for them, excited at the thought of riding in a taxi, for he had never done that in the whole of his life before, but as he climbed in he noticed the pallid face of the child, Gloria, as she cuddled up to her father and he said, ‘I hope you are not too uncomfortable, miss?’
Gloria sighed as if the effort of speech was too much for her and it was her father who answered. ‘Battered and bruised and in shock, I think,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the doctor look at her when we are home.’
‘Have you heard how the coachman is, sir?’
‘No,’ Brian said, ‘only that the poor fellow was unconscious and taken to the hospital, but my factory manager, Bert Clifford, is going to see how he is as soon as he can, and he will send me word. I hope that he will be all right. Tim is a fine man and a good worker, and has been with me for years.’
Joe, though, doubted that the man could have escaped without serious injury because he had caught the full power of the frantic rearing pony’s hoofs.
But it wouldn’t help to say that. Anyway, he was soon distracted by his first journey in a taxi through the traffic-filled streets of New York, and he turned his head this way and that, taking in all the sights of the city. He was awed by the sheer size of some of the buildings, so high they did indeed appear to scrape the sky.
Brian watched his amazement for some time before he asked with a smile, ‘Glad you are here, Joe Sullivan?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Joe said. ‘It has long been a dream of mine to come.’
‘It wasn’t my choice originally,’ Brian said. ‘It was my father’s. I was twelve years old when we first arrived in America. We came here after the death of my mother.’
‘And how did you like America, sir?’
‘I liked it well enough when I came to terms with the fact that I would never see my mother again,’ Brian told him. ‘Though America then, or New York at least, was a different place altogether. There were not that many fine buildings, but a great many ruffians, and the city was ruled by the gangs roaming the streets. My father, though he had a factory in the city, would not live there and so he bought a plot of land in an area to the north called Queens and had a house built that he called Stoneleigh. Then it was all countryside, but the city is creeping towards it now. You’ll see it for yourself in a minute.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Joe answered. ‘But I am a bit concerned about my sponsor, Patrick Lacey. He will be wondering if I do not call, for he knows I was arriving today.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Brian said. ‘When we get home, if you give me his address, I will dispatch my man to tell him you are dining with us tonight.’
‘Dining, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Brian said. ‘It’s the least I can do, and just a small measure of my gratitude to you.’
‘But won’t your wife mind my just turning up like this?’
‘My boy,’ Brian said confidently, ‘after she hears how you saved Gloria in the way that you did, there is nothing you can do that will annoy my wife, though she might not be as pleased to see me.’
Before Joe was able to form any sort of reply, the taxi suddenly turned through ornate gates and down a gravel path. Even in the descending dusk, the magnificence of the Brannigan residence could be plainly seen. The only large house that Joe had any experience of at all was the one that his sister Nuala worked in. Even so, he knew that the Brannigan house was in a league of its own. It was built of honey-coloured brick and had more windows and chimneys than Joe had ever seen in his life. He trembled in apprehension at even entering such a place.
The taxi drew to a stop before the house, the wheels crunching on the gravel, and Joe was alarmed to think that he was going to go up those marble steps and in at the front door as if he was someone of importance.
Suddenly, the door opened and a man in some sort of livery ran towards them.
‘My butler, Planchard,’ Brian said in explanation to Joe as the man reached them.
Gloria had fallen into a doze in the taxi and only murmured drowsily as Brian gathered her into his arms.
The butler’s eyes were full of anxiety as he cried, ‘What’s happened, sir? Can I help you at all?’
‘There was a bit of an accident in the town, concerning the carriage,’ Brian said, ‘and I left it there. Pay the driver, will you, like a good chap? My hands are rather occupied at the moment.’
‘Do you want help with Miss Gloria, sir?’ Planchard said as he paid the driver, picked up his master’s bag and cast a curious look at Joe, who had climbed out of the taxi and was looking around, not quite sure what to do next.
‘I’m all right,’ Brian said as they walked towards the house. ‘There is no weight to Gloria. But you might look after this brave man here beside me. Name of Joe Sullivan, hailed recently from one of the immigrant ships from Ireland. He will be staying to dinner tonight.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the butler said, dutifully enough, and yet in the light spilling out from the hall Joe caught the man’s surprised eyes alight on him speculatively as he bent towards Joe to take his case.
Joe hid his smile, for he guessed that New York was full of people from immigrant ships from all over the world, but none of them had been brought to the Brannigan house for dinner before. He also knew that he would probably be the talk of the place by morning.
‘Now, Joe,’ Brian said as they reached the house, ‘Planchard will take charge of you, while I get Gloria sorted out.’
Planchard nodded in Joe’s direction and, leaving his case in the hall, he said, ‘If you leave your bag next to the case, sir, I will show you into the drawing room.’
‘And when you have done that,’ Brian said, ‘perhaps you will tell your mistress what has happened and inform her that I am taking Gloria straight to her room. Summon Tilly too, for Miss Gloria may have need of her, and someone had better go for the doctor urgently.’
‘I’ll attend to it all directly, sir,’ Planchard said.
Brian began to mount the ornate staircase, still with Gloria in his arms, while the butler said to Joe, ‘If you would follow me, sir …’
Joe smiled ruefully because it was a novelty being called ‘sir’ and it had happened twice. Wondering what sort of room a drawing room was, he left down his bag and followed the butler, who crossed the black-and-white-tiled hall and opened cream double doors to a low and elegant room with a carpet so thick Joe’s feet sank into it. ‘If you will just wait here, sir,’ the butler said, ‘I am sure that Mr Brannigan will be with you shortly.’
Left alone, Joe glanced around the room with interest and a little fear, for he felt totally out of his depth. The room was lit with electric lights set around the walls and in a huge glass chandelier, which hung from the patterned ceiling. A gold suite was drawn up in front of the white marble fireplace where a welcoming fire blazed in the grate. Joe delicately ran his hands over the brocade pattern of the upholstery and wondered if he would ever dare to sit on one of those chairs.
He glanced at the small ornate clock on the mantelpiece. It was made of gold, which sparkled in the firelight, and had a glass front so the swinging pendulum was visible. ‘Almost six o’clock,’ Joe said to himself and, looking out where the silken curtains to either side of the large window had not been drawn, he saw the evening was as black as pitch.
He crossed the room and stood for a long time peering out at the grounds surrounding the house, marvelling at it all. He thought back to his many, uneventful years in Ireland. He knew that when he thought about his new life in America he could never have imagined the chain of events that had landed him in a house such as this, as the invited guest of such an obviously prominent and wealthy man. He tingled with excitement for he just knew that his life would take off from this point.
He wished no harm at all on the beautiful young lady he had rescued from danger and yet he couldn’t but thank his lucky stars that her father was a factory owner. He just knew that Brian Brannigan could shape his future in America.
‘Ah, there you are, my boy.’
Joe swung around from the window. Brian was standing in the doorway arm in arm with a lady whom he introduced as his wife, Norah. The resemblance to Gloria was marked. Joe guessed that once the older woman’s hair had been just as strikingly blonde as her daughter’s, but now it was much duller and tied from her face in a sort of fancy bun at the nape of her neck. She had the same high cheekbones, and the same-shaped eyes, though Norah’s were plain blue. Behind them Joe saw the resentment and he knew that Mrs Brannigan didn’t want the likes of him sitting down at her table.
When Brian had told Norah of the accident and of Joe’s part in it and went on to say that he had invited the man to dinner, she had looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. She had been up to see Gloria, and she was distressed and worried, and now this other bombshell.
‘You have invited that man to dinner, here?’ she’d repeated.
‘Aye,’ said Brian. ‘I did.’
‘And why, pray, did you do that?’
‘Do what, my dear?’ Brian had asked mildly.
‘Oh, don’t be so obtuse, Brian,’ Norah asked. ‘Why ask a common workman to dinner?’
‘Didn’t I explain what he did, and that if he hadn’t been there—’
‘Of course you have explained,’ Norah snapped. ‘Though if you had acted as a proper father and refused to take Gloria to such an unsuitable place then she would have been in no danger whatsoever. But whatever he did I’m sure the man would hardly have expected to be asked to dine with us. Why didn’t you thank him sincerely, as I am prepared to do, offer him a sum of money and send him on his way? Find him a job if you must, but to ask him to dinner is madness. Surely you can see that he is bound to feel out of place and uncomfortable.’
‘It was done in the heat of the moment,’ Brian admitted. ‘However, he is here now and you must accept it, my dear.’
