The Lost Bookshop(70)

Chapter Thirty-Seven





OPALINE





Dublin, 1923


The journey seemed to go on for hours. We travelled unfamiliar roads that jolted the back of the car and me with it. I cradled my belly, instinctively protecting my little one within. It was dark when he’d pulled me from my bed and even though I knew what was happening, and had long been expecting it, it felt like an out-of-body experience. As though it were happening to someone else.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked again, and again Lyndon ignored the question. ‘Are you taking me to see Mother?’

I assumed that, having found me in the family way, I would have to face the wrath of a formal excommunication from the family.

‘In case you didn’t notice, I have a business to run. Surely the man you had following me told you that? The one who stole the letter? Mr Ravel. I cannot leave the shop unattended and swan off to England.’

‘We’re not going to England.’

He spoke with a calmness I found even more disconcerting than if he had shouted at me. All I could see were the leather gloves he wore gripping the steering wheel and the side of his face. The bad side, that seemed to melt downwards. I thought perhaps we were driving south, to take the ferry from there. But now that I focused on the road signs, I realised we were driving west.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I asked again, turning and looking out the back window. ‘Lyndon, stop the car now and let me out!’

Still, he made no sound.

‘Lyndon!’ I said and began shaking his arm.

I didn’t anticipate his quick movements. He swung his arm back and elbowed me in the face. The pain rendered me silent. I cupped my nose as it began to bleed. I had no tissue and had to use my sleeve.

‘We’re almost there, at any rate,’ he said, as though we were having a casual conversation.

I didn’t speak again. Didn’t trust my voice not to quiver. I wouldn’t let him see that I was afraid. The landscape outside was dull and brown – bare trees, dying grass on the verges. And then, out of nowhere, two stone pillars and a wrought-iron gate. A man appeared from the trees, it seemed, and opened it. The car rattled over the cattle grid and sped up a short drive which led to a square grey building. It looked like a monastery, with a small church off to the left. There were two black cars parked near the entrance and Lyndon pulled up beside them.

He got out and opened my door for me. I did not move. After a moment he grabbed my arm and pulled me out. There was a woman in a nurse’s uniform waiting for us at the door. I looked askance at Lyndon, who still had hold of my arm. I had heard about mother-and-baby homes in Ireland – a place where unmarried mothers were sent to have their babies in secret by their families. More often than not, the child was taken away and adopted by a respectable family. I pulled away from Lyndon, but the nurse saw this and grabbed my other arm.

‘No, no!’ I screamed. It was all I could say. A primal demand for escape.

I was bundled into a room. A man was sitting behind a giant mahogany desk. He looked friendly, or so I thought, and I began pleading with him immediately.

‘Please, you must understand, I am a woman of means. I own my own business and the baby’s father left an income,’ I said. ‘My brother has brought me here against my will.’

‘Opaline, let’s not entertain this charade any longer. Doctor, the bastard child was conceived out of wedlock and this husband she speaks of is a pure fabrication.’

I was stunned into silence. The man walked out from around his desk and shook my hand politely.

‘Please, Miss Carlisle, just take a seat and rest. Polly, can you bring the Carlisles some tea? They must be tired after their journey.’

The nurse disappeared and Lyndon sat down in one of the straight-backed chairs. I wanted to run out of there, but I didn’t stand a chance with two men blocking my way, and so I also took a seat.

‘Your brother has informed me that you haven’t been feeling well recently, not quite yourself. Would you agree?’

‘Absolutely not. I have not seen my brother in years and his sole interest in my affairs is borne of malice and jealousy.’

‘As you can see, Doctor, she is still suffering from these delusions,’ said Lyndon in the most sympathetic tone I had ever heard him employ. ‘It has been clear to me for some time that she is not capable of managing her own affairs and so I shall be taking over the little shop with immediate effect.’

My head whipped around and my eyes burned at the sight of him.

‘You read about the manuscript in the letter, didn’t you? You know its worth. That’s why you’ve come for me now. You couldn’t care less about the baby. You are a jealous, spiteful little man—’ I turned back to the doctor. ‘He is determined to destroy everything that I have worked for, to ruin my reputation and claim what’s mine!’ I spoke so fast that there was spittle at the corner of my mouth. I had to make this man understand who Lyndon truly was.

The two men merely exchanged knowing looks.

‘Wait a moment, who are you and what is this place?’

‘I am Dr Lynch and this is the Connacht District Lunatic Asylum.’

I was sure I had misheard.

‘I don’t understand … Lyndon?’

My brother stared straight ahead of him. Doctor Lynch leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, making a steeple of his fingers and resting his chin on the tip.