Secrets of the Lighthouse (3 page)

Ellen let her aunt drag her suitcase across the hall. She was quick to notice her sturdy lace-up boots and the thick brown trousers she had tucked into shooting socks. Aunt Peg lived in a bog
after all, Ellen thought despondently. Judging by her coarse, weathered hands, she no doubt chopped her own firewood and did all her own gardening as well.

‘You’re not at all like Mum,’ she blurted before she could stop herself.

‘Well, I’m much older for a start and we’ve always been very different,’ her aunt replied, without a hint of displeasure. The two women hadn’t spoken in
thirty-three years, but Aunt Peg did not look like the sort of person to hold a grudge. Ellen’s mother, on the other hand, was the sort of woman for whom a grudge was a common complaint.

Lady Anthony Trawton was not a woman to be crossed. Ellen was well acquainted with the thinning of her lips, the upturning of her nose and the little disapproving sniff that always followed. It
didn’t take much to incite her disapproval, but being the ‘wrong sort’ of person was the
worst
sort of crime. Ellen had been a rebellious teenager, unlike her
golden-haired sisters who were paragons of virtue at best and bland at worst. They hadn’t needed moulding, because for some reason they had come out just as their mother had wished: obedient,
pretty and gracious, with their father’s weak chin, fair hair and slightly bulging eyes. Ellen, by contrast, had a wild and creative nature, exacerbated by her mother’s unreasonable
objection to her independence, as if striking out on her own would somehow turn her into the ‘wrong sort’ of person. With her raven-coloured hair and rebellious disposition, she was the
quirk in what might otherwise have been a picture-perfect family. But Ellen was hard to mould; her mother had tried, pushing her every which way through the hole designed for proper aristocratic
young ladies, and for a while Ellen had acquiesced and allowed herself to be pushed. It had been easier to surrender and give up the struggle – a relief, almost. But a woman can only go
against her nature for a limited time before unhappiness overwhelms her and forces her into her own shape again. Ellen couldn’t determine the exact moment when she had decided she had had
enough, but her flight to Ireland was the result of a lifelong struggle for freedom.

Aunt Peg hadn’t attended either of Ellen’s sisters’ weddings, even though Leonora had married an earl and Lavinia a baronet – anything less would have provoked a
substantial snort from their mother – and her name was never mentioned. Ellen had picked up enough snippets of conversation over the years to know that there was some sort of estrangement.
The Christmas cards and letters that arrived from Ballymaldoon every year were met with a disdainful sniff and promptly tossed into a bottom drawer in her mother’s study. Unable to restrain
her curiosity, Ellen had once or twice leafed through them and learned that her mother had a secret past, but she knew better than to ask her about it. The cards had always aroused her interest,
and sometimes, when she caught her mother staring sadly into the half-distance, she wondered whether her wistfulness had anything to do with them. Perhaps, like the nostalgic smell of burning
leaves in autumn, the letters gave off a fragrance that seeped through the drawer and pulled her back to her past. Now, when Ellen had needed somewhere to run, the letters had given her all the
information she needed to find her aunt, thanks to the little address stickers stuck to the top of the page, which included her telephone number. Excited and a little afraid, she knew she was about
to discover what her mother had hidden away all these years. She didn’t dwell on the terrible consequences were she to be found out. She looked down at Peg’s rough hands and thought of
her mother’s smooth white fingers and perfectly painted nails. Her mother had married well, Peg had not. Their lives were clearly very different. But why?

‘You surprised the devil out of me when you telephoned,’ said Peg. ‘But it was a lovely surprise. It really was. Of all the people to call out of the blue, it was you!
I’d never have believed it.’

‘I hoped you wouldn’t mind. I just needed to get out of London. It’s far too busy and noisy there to think.’

‘Not the right environment for a budding novelist, I agree. I can’t wait to hear all about your writing. What a clever girl you are.’

Ellen had always loved words. Every time she looked out of the window she felt compelled to describe what she saw. She filled journals with poems and stories, but it wasn’t until very
recently that she had decided to change the course of her life, realizing that happiness only comes from doing what one really loves, and that if she didn’t try to write a novel now, she
never would. Her mother ridiculed her aspirations of becoming a ‘scribbler’, but Ellen’s desire to express herself was stronger than her mother’s desire to snuff out her
creativity. Connemara would be the perfect place to be true to herself.

‘I’m not just here to write, Aunt Peg. I’d like to get to know
you
. After all, you
are
family,’ Ellen added kindly. The rate at which her aunt was
talking gave her the impression that she wasn’t used to company.

‘That’s very sweet of you, Ellen. I don’t imagine you’ve told your mother you’re here.’

‘No.’

‘I thought as much. So, where does she think you are, then?’

Ellen pictured the note she had left on the hall table, beneath the oval mirror where her mother arranged her hair and make-up every morning before going out to her ladies’ lunches and
charity meetings. She would have found it by now. No doubt it had aroused a monumental snort. She wondered what would have upset her more: the fact that Ellen had disappeared without telling her,
or the fact that she had said she might not marry William Sackville after all. Her mother might have needed to sit down after reading
that
line in the note. Although William was neither
baronet like Lavinia’s husband, nor earl like Leonora’s, his family was very well connected and owned a large grouse moor in Scotland. Her mother insisted that they were very distantly,
but quite discernibly, related to the late Queen Mother. ‘I told her I was going to stay with a friend in the country,’ she lied.

‘Ah, you’re a bold little devil,’ said Peg. ‘Now let’s see if I can remember where I parked the car.’

After scouring the rows of shiny vehicles, Peg cheerfully made for the dirtiest car in the building. It was an old Volvo, designed like a sturdy box. ‘Excuse the mess,
but it’s usually just me and Mr Badger.’

‘Mr Badger?’

‘My sheepdog. I left him at home. You’ll have the pleasure of his company later.’

‘Oh, good,’ Ellen replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. Her mother had a tiny Papillon called Waffle, which looked more like a toy than an animal, although its neurotic yap was only
too real and very irritating. Leonora and Lavinia insisted on buying little dogs at Harrods, which they could carry around in their handbags, not because they liked dogs, Ellen thought, but because
they were fashionable accessories like Smythson diaries and Asprey leather key rings. If they could have bought their babies at Harrods, she imagined they probably would have.

Peg climbed into the car and swept the newspapers off the passenger seat. Ellen noticed the dog hairs clinging to the leather. ‘Where do you live?’ she asked, all hope of a civilized
town with elegant shops and restaurants now fading at the sight of the mud on the mat.

‘Just outside Ballymaldoon, a delightful town near the sea. You’ll find it very peaceful to write your book.’

‘Is it
deep
countryside?’

‘Oh, yes, very deep. I have lots of animals. I hope you like animals, Ellen. You might have noticed my country attire. It gets very cold there on the west coast, and damp. Did you bring
any other boots, pet?’

‘No, just these.’

‘They’re very elegant, Ellen, but you’ll ruin them in a day. Luckily, I have a spare pair you can borrow.’

Ellen glanced at Peg’s sensible leather ones and baulked. ‘Thank you, but I’m fine. I probably won’t go out that much.’

Peg frowned at her then laughed heartily. ‘Now that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.’ Ellen wondered whether her mother had fallen out with any other relations
who might perhaps live in Dublin.

‘So, how
is
Maddie?’ Peg asked once they were on the road. Her voice was steady but Ellen noticed that she gripped the steering wheel tightly and kept her
eyes on the way ahead.

‘Maddie?’

‘Your dear mother?’

Ellen had not heard her called by that name, ever. ‘She’s Madeline to her friends, you know, and Lady Trawton to everyone else . . . ’

‘I bet she is. She always was rather grand. I suppose she still speaks like a duchess?’

Ellen was too impatient to hide her curiosity. ‘Why did you two fall out?’

Peg squeezed her lips together. ‘You’d better ask your mother,’ she replied tightly.

Ellen realized she had to tread more carefully. ‘I’m sorry, it must be painful to talk about it.’

‘It’s in the past.’ Peg shrugged. ‘Water under the bridge.’

Ellen thought of the letters and cards tossed thoughtlessly into her mother’s bottom drawer and she felt sorry for her aunt. She had an air of loneliness. ‘It must sadden you not to
see your family.’

Peg flinched. ‘Sadden
me
not to see
my
family? Jaysus, child, what’s the woman been telling you? It should sadden
her
not to see
her
family,
though I don’t suppose it does. We haven’t heard from her in over thirty years.’

Ellen was stunned. She had taken Peg for a spinster. ‘Oh? I thought . . .’ She hesitated, not wanting to cause offence. ‘Do you have children, Aunt Peg?’

Peg faltered a moment and her profile darkened, like a landscape when the sky clouds over. ‘I have three boys, all in their thirties now, working. They’re good boys and I’m
very proud of them,’ she replied softly. ‘Maddie and I have four siblings. I don’t suppose you know that?’

Ellen was astonished. ‘Really? Four? Where are they?’

‘Here in Connemara. We’re a big family; a close family. You have loads of cousins.’

‘Do I? I never imagined. I’ve only ever heard Mother mention you and that’s when I wasn’t supposed to be listening! And you send Christmas cards every year.’

‘Which I suppose get thrown in the bin!’ Peg added bitterly.

‘A bottom drawer.’

‘Well, Maddie and I were once very close. We were two girls in a family dominated by boys, so we stuck together. But it was her decision to leave Ireland and break with her kin, not the
other way around, and in so doing she broke our mother’s heart. I don’t feel it’s wrong to tell you that. The boys never forgave her.’

‘I never met my grandmother.’

‘And sadly, you never will.’

‘She’s dead, is she?’

‘Yes, she died ten years ago.’

‘I don’t suppose Mother made peace with her before she died.’ Peg shook her head and drew her lips into a thin line. ‘And my grandfather?’ Ellen asked. ‘Do I
have a grandfather?’

‘He died in a car crash when we were small. Mam took over the farm and raised us single-handed. Maddie hated getting her hands dirty, but I’ve always loved animals. When Mam died,
Desmond, our oldest brother, took over the farm. I made a little farm for myself. It’s the only thing I know how to do. Do you mind if I smoke?’ She suddenly looked exhausted, as if the
excitement of meeting Ellen had taken the energy out of her.

‘You smoke?’ Ellen asked, suddenly feeling more optimistic.

‘I do, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to quit but I think I’m just too old to learn new tricks.’

‘Smoking is a dirty word in our house. I have to sneak about and lean out of the bedroom window for a puff.’

‘It’s a dirty word everywhere nowadays. The world is a duller place for all the policing. The best parties are the ones on the pavements.’

‘Oh, I so agree with you. I’m always standing freezing, puffing away, but in the very best company. Although I acknowledge I’d be an idiot not to try to quit. I just need a
good reason to stop.’

‘Have a look in my handbag and you’ll find a packet of Rothmans. Help yourself and then light one for me, there’s a good girl.’

‘Don’t tell me you still live at home, at your age!’

‘I’m thirty-three.’

‘Much too old to be living with your parents.’

‘Well, I didn’t always live with them. I went to Edinburgh University, then when I came back to London I lived with Lavinia before she got married. Mother persuaded me to return home
when I got into financial trouble. It seemed silly to turn away the offer of free accommodation, especially when the house is so big and they were both rattling around like a couple of beans in a
box. Mother’s been trying to marry me off for years.’ She thought of William and cringed. She had sent him a text but hadn’t dared turn on her iPhone to see if he had replied.
‘It seems rather outdated to mind so much about marriage.’

‘Well, Prince William’s gone so Maddie must be very disappointed. Though there’s always Harry, of course.’

Ellen laughed. ‘You’re not wrong, Aunt Peg!’ As she rummaged around in Peg’s carpet bag she told her about her sisters’ excellent marriages. ‘In
Mother’s eyes, you’re not a “proper person” until you’ve married well. Lavinia and Leonora are both extremely “proper” now.’

‘Good heavens, Maddie must have been beside herself at that result!’

‘I don’t think she’s too happy about me, though. I’m the eldest, so, technically, I should have married first. Trouble is, I’m not sure I want to marry the sort of
man my mother wants for me.’

‘Follow your heart, pet, and you’ll always be happy. Large estates and titles don’t mean anything in the light of true love. In fact, I think they only bring trouble. A lot of
hard work and responsibility. Life is better when it’s simpler.’

Ellen lit a cigarette and handed it to Peg, then lit one for herself. She opened the window a crack and the smoke snaked its way out into the soggy February air.

‘So, is there a Mr Peg?’ she asked, inhaling deeply and feeling the tension in her shoulders melt away.