Daughter of the Waves

The Stolen Child

Here is how it happened: Things went along as usual for the next six months and nothing much untoward happened, except that I occasionally got the feeling of being watched. Da told me I was being silly when I told him, and, thinking he always knew best, I chose to believe him. I still worked hard with my mother and spent a lot of time with Sean. 

One rainy day, however, Sean decided to stay indoors and help his mother with the chores, rather than go swimming with me. I was a little hurt, but decided not to show it and resolved to go swimming anyway, despite the drizzle and the ominous skies, promising even heavier storms to come. 

I spent a glorious hour ducking and diving beneath the waves, ignoring the dark figure I glimpsed from time to time standing on the shore when I came up for air. Then the rain began driving harder, and it grew too cold even for me. I came back to the beach, near some smooth rocks where I had seen the figure. I was drying myself off when I was grabbed from behind, and a large hand was clamped over my mouth. 

"I have you now, you little devil's spawn!!" It was Father Kelly. No one will hear you scream over this storm, so don't bother!!" He spat. My whole body filled with dread. What was he planning to do with me? He drew a length of rope from under his cassock and roughly tied my hands and feet with it. He picked me up and swiftly carried me to his house, where Bridie was waiting with a horse. 

He slung me over the horse and then mounted himself. I was beside myself with terror. Through the driving rain, he spurred the horse faster and faster until we reached a tumbled down old cottage many miles from my village. Father Kelly pulled me roughly down from the horse and with a nod, indicated that I was to enter the miserable dwelling. 

Inside was not much better than outside. There was sparse furniture, offering little comfort for a terrified 12 year old girl. There was a fireplace, but no wood to light it with. I sat down on a rickety old chair and with all the confidence I could muster, demanded of the priest: "Why have you done this?! Where are you taking me?" The priest stood with his back turned to me, and for a long time I thought he would just continue to ignore me. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice full of a controlled menace. 

"I'm taking you somewhere where those unnatural parents of yours will never find you... and I am doing it because for many years now that witch of a mother of yours has tormented me, defied me, and turned people against me. Now is my time to pay her back."

It was then that I began to cry in earnest. I could think of nothing worse than never seeing my parents again. He sighed with irritation at my weeping, and moved to stand and look out the door. He seemed to be looking for something. from where I was seated I could not see out the door, but soon, over the force of the storm, I heard a sound. The clatter of horse hooves and the jingle of reins. Someone was coming. 

A large man with a bald head and a powerful build entered the room. He could have overpowered the priest, who was a big man himself, but instead he treated Father Kelly deferentially, doffing his cap and calling him "Sir". They spoke only briefly, the priest asking only if the man understood what he was to do, to which he replied he did. The priest then took a pouch of money out of his cassock and gave it to the man. Then the strange man approached me and hauled me roughly out of the chair. "Here, you're coming with me!" was all he said. 

He took me outside and I was again loaded onto a horse. It was still raining, which I did not mind so much, as like my mother I seemed to be impervious to the cold, but I was beginning to feel faint with hunger. I began to struggle, and I demanded he tell me what he was going to do with me, and who did he think he was? to my surprise, he answered me. "My name is McCarthy, and I'm taking you to the big house, we're you're going to live from now on and be a servant to the magistrate, Sir Crispin Lockwood. He's an important man." 

I began to struggle even more wildly now and yelled at him that I was not going to be a servant and I was not going with him, aiming a kick at his thigh which was conveniently within reach. He only laughed, and pulled up the horse. He turned around and tied a dirty hankie over my mouth and nose, preventing me from speaking, and tightened the ropes on my wrists, before dismounting and tying my ankles together too. 

The rest of the ride was a blur, as the dirty rag tied over my face made my breathing shallow and forced. I could not recognise any of the countryside we were passing through. I was farther from home than I had ever been before. I saw cottages much like mine but no people seemed to be about. The one time we encountered another rider and horse, McCarthy pulled off the road and hid me until he had passed. In my distress, I fancied that he had spotted me, and my heart rose, but my head told me I was probably imagining things.

As dusk fell I saw a large house in the distance, and realised this was the house McCarthy had been referring to. It did not look welcoming, but grand and cold, not at all like our humble but happy home. 

He guided the horse to the stables and finally took me down and untied me, commenting that it wouldn't do for the new scullery maid to be seen entering the house bound and trussed. After swiftly unsaddling the horse and giving it a cursory rub down he grabbed my arm and half guided, half dragged me to what I was later to learn was the servant's entrance.

We entered a kitchen that was bigger than Eilish's whole cottage. It was occupied by a rotund woman with a sour face who was standing stirring something in a large pot. It smelled delicious, and my stomach growled. 

"Who's this then, McCarthy?" She demanded. "Another mouth for me to feed?" She did not seem pleased at the prospect. "This here is Mary. She's the new scullery maid. She's an orphan." McCarthy offered before I could speak. "Didn't know we were to expect a new maid," growled the cook with an ill grace, "But who am I to question his lordship's decisions?" 

"She'll need feeding, said McCarthy, her stomach has been rumbling louder than the storm we rode through all the way here." 

With a sigh the cook turned to a different pot and ladled up a bowl of gruel. It did not look very appetising, but I ate it in a few gulps, I was so hungry. During my unappetizing meal McCarthy disappeared, and I was left alone with the large woman. As soon as I was finished the cook handed me a candle. "You start work in the morning, 5am sharp. Your room is at the top of the stairs, first on the right. You'll share with Orla, the other maid. Mind your own business and work hard and you'll do all right." 

I took the proffered candle and followed the cook's directions up the stairs. I found myself in a cheerless little room with two beds and a narrow window. One bed was neatly made and had a little photograph on the small table next to it, so I assumed this was Orla's. I lay down on the other one, pulled the rough blanket over me, and cried myself to sleep.