The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

Anna nodded. “Mrs. Mainwaring was furious too when she found that Maureen had run off. She’s not normally an emotional sort of woman but she was in a right state, I can tell you—stomping about and calling her ungrateful. I suppose she felt that Maureen had put her on the spot when she had to hire another nursemaid at such short notice. Poor Maureen—in the end her religion probably made her see it was better to give up the child rather than risk it all happening over again.” She put a tentative hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. This has obviously been a shock to you. Were you close to her?”


“Not really,” I said. “Only a distant cousin, but she was well loved by the family back in Ireland. I only hope I have some way of finding her now. Nobody seems to know where she might have gone. You don’t have any idea at all where she might go if she chose to run away? Did she ever talk of going off somewhere? Any friends she might have gone to?”

Anna thought about this, then shook her head. “She hated New York City. Too much noise and bustle for her after coming from the quiet of the Irish countryside, so I don’t think she’d have gone back there.”

“No young man then?”

“Who has a chance to meet a young man when we’re stuck at a place like this? There’s only the gardeners and the groom and they’re old and married.” She met my eye with a look of concern. “I’m sorry, but I can’t think where she might have gone.”

“I see,” I said. “Look, is there anyone else here she was close to? Anyone else she might have secretly contacted or confided in?”

“I can’t think who that would be,” she said. “Maureen and I shared a bedroom. I’m the head parlormaid. She was under-parlormaid. Apart from us there’s the lady’s maid, who’s a real snooty old cow, the master’s valet, who’s not interested in girls, if you get my meaning. And then there’s the cook, the scullery maid, and the butler. That’s it.”

I tried to think what else I might ask. It was all horribly clear now. Poor little Maureen, at the mercy of the master while his wife was quite happy to turn a blind eye as long as he didn’t bother her. No wonder she didn’t want to return to the house, especially when her religion was so important to her and she felt that she had committed a sin for something that wasn’t in any way her fault. I toyed with the word “religion.” Anna had stressed it several times. And a new thought came to me.

“Anna, is it possible that she decided to stay in the convent and become a nun?” I asked.

She thought about this. “Stayed and become a nun?” She frowned, considering something that hadn’t occurred to her before. “I suppose it is possible,” she said. “I wouldn’t put something like that past her. Like I told you, she was very devout. Always on her knees praying and she remembered every kind of saint’s day and holy day. And no meat on Fridays. All those kinds of things mattered to her.”

“Then it’s possible she didn’t leave the convent at all,” I blurted out. It all made sense now. The abandoning of the little statue and her hairbrush. She had renounced her worldly goods when she went into the novitiate. Perhaps she had even taken a new name, which was why the novice at the door didn’t know who she was. The only strange thing was why the nuns claimed that she had run away—unless they had promised Mrs. Mainwaring she would return to be nursemaid of her child, and she had begged the nuns to hide her. It had been easier to slip Maureen into the convent and then claim that she had run away.

“Thank you, Anna,” I said. “You’ve been really helpful. I think I might have a good chance of tracing Maureen now.”

She looked pleased. “If you do find her, would you give her my best? I was real fond of her and I worry about her.”

“I will,” I said.

She glanced around again. “I’d best get back to work before someone sees and I get an earful.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad I had a chance to talk to you. If I had listened to other people I’d have believed she’d run off to New York.”

“Not Maureen. Never.” We broke apart as one of the workmen came toward us. “Can you fill up the water jug again for us, miss?” he asked. “It’s hot work today.”

“Of course.” Anne glanced across at me. “Mrs. Mainwaring has taken it into her head that she wants a summer house.” She hesitated as if she might want to say something more, but then added. “I hope you find Maureen and she’s all right. Tell her Anna sends her kind regards.”

Then she went inside to refill the water jug, while I made my way unseen to the front gate and back down the hill to Irvington Station.





Twenty-two