A Daughter’s Secret. Anne Bennett

kept hard at it.

      His doubt was reinforced when his mother said to Aggie, ‘And don’t you look so pleased with yourself. If we allow you to go to this dancing it will be on top of your duties, not instead of them, and the same goes for you, Tom, and the tunes you learn.’

      ‘Don’t you be giving out to Aggie and Tom before they have done anything wrong, Biddy,’ Thomas John chided. ‘Neither are slackers, but there is no point in Aggie learning the dancing and Tom the tunes if they are not given time to practise. Haven’t I Joe to help me – and we mustn’t forget Finn, of course,’ he added, ruffling the hair of his youngest son.

      Biddy said nothing more. Really, she expected she would have a houseful of sons by now – not that she was keen on children herself, not even her own, but she knew sons were essential on a farm. But she had gone six barren years after the birth of Joe before she produced Finn. She had really thought her childbearing days were over.

      Thomas John couldn’t understand why she worried over the lack of sons. ‘What is the problem?’ he would ask, in genuine bewilderment. ‘You have a daughter to help in the house, a wee one to dandle on your knee and gladden your heart with his smile, while I have two fine, strapping sons to help me about the farm. Many would be satisfied with far less.’

      Biddy never answered this, but both Tom and Aggie could have told their father that their mother was easily dissatisfied and discontented. The two of them, and to a lesser extent Joe, had borne the brunt of her ill humour time and enough, meted out by the stick that she kept hanging up to one side of the hearth.

      In the New Year the dancing lessons were held each Saturday afternoon in St Mary’s church hall, the older ones going to the later class. The church had had to be put at least a mile outside the town, as decreed by the British, who had controlled Ireland at the time it was built. It was in a district called Cockhill. The Sullivans’ farm was also in Cockhill and a little over a mile away from the church so it was no problem for Aggie to get there.

      McAllister owned a gramophone, a magnificent thing with a big golden horn. It was his pride and joy, and when he put records on it and lifted the needle over, tunes came out of it. Aggie and the other girls were enchanted, for they had never seen anything like it before in the whole of their lives.

      ‘I thought he would play the tunes on the fiddle for you,’ her father said when she told her parents about the gramophone, ‘or, indeed, the tin whistle, for he has a fine hand with them both.’

      ‘He said he couldn’t play and teach us properly, and using the gramophone is better,’ Aggie said.

      ‘And you enjoy it?’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ But much of Aggie’s enjoyment was down to the fact that she had been attending the classes only a little time when she fancied herself in love with McAllister.

      ‘I can’t understand why his wife complains about him so much,’ she said to Tom one day, after she had just come from a lesson. ‘She should be grateful to be married to such a handsome man and one that seems to be in good humour all of the time.’

      ‘Maybe that good humour is Guinness- or poteen-induced?’ Tom suggested with a grin, and added, ‘That’s what Daddy said, anyway.’

      ‘Tom,’ Aggie said angrily, ‘how can you say such a thing? Isn’t he doing a grand job with you and the tin whistle? And what’s wrong with a man taking the odd pint of Guinness or nip of poteen anyway? Our own daddy does the same thing now and again.’

      ‘I was only repeating what Daddy said.’

      ‘Well, don’t!’ Aggie retorted. ‘Isn’t the man giving up his time freely?’

      It wasn’t exactly freely, though no money changed hands. However, as he taught Irish dancing to the butcher’s daughter he got his payment in kind, and he had similar treatment from the newsagent for teaching his daughter so that he had all the tobacco he needed. The various farms around provided him with other produce and so, with their own grocery store as well, his wife was well enough pleased.

      The teaching of the tunes was done in the children’s own homes and the payment for this was usually in the shape of a bottle of poteen, which was distilled in the hills of Donegal. It never seemed to affect McAllister’s ability to teach, however much he drank, and he rode from farm to farm on the horse that was also used to pull the cart for the shop.

      Philomena once said to Biddy that half the time she didn’t know how he made it home and it was a good thing his horse knew the way. She wouldn’t be at all surprised to find him fallen into a ditch somewhere one day, having slid from the horse’s back.

      Biddy knew exactly what Philomena meant, for the man had often been well away when he left their house. If she ever complained about this, however, Thomas John would always maintain there was no harm in the man, that he just had a terrible thirst on him.

      Aggie thought there was no harm in him either. In fact she thought him wonderful and strove in all ways to please him. With her love of dancing she soon progressed, and after she had been at it a year McAllister declared her a gifted little dancer. Soon after this, he asked her and Cissie to go for extra lessons on Wednesday evenings, to which Thomas John readily agreed.

      He was delighted with McAllister. Tom had got on so well with the tin whistle that Joe had asked to learn too, and Tom had begun to learn the fiddle. Each week, McAllister would listen to them playing the tune he had taught them the previous week, which he expected them to master before he would teach them another. They soon had a fair collection of material and would often entertain their parents in the long winter evenings. They would play for Aggie too, and she would roll back the rugs and dance on the flagged floor of the cottage, her brown eyes flashing, her dark brown plaits bouncing to each side and her feet fair flying along. Afterwards her cheeks would be flushed and pink, and Tom realised with some surprise one day that Aggie was very pretty.

      Afterwards, those pictures would often come back to haunt Tom. They were a time of innocent pleasure that would never return – before his life and Aggie’s were touched by evil.

      As Aggie began to develop, her infatuation for McAllister grew stronger. In her own home, as he taught her brothers, she was able to study everything about him, like his fine head of hair, so black it sometimes shone blue in the lamplight. He had wonderful masculine hands too, with a dusting of hairs on the backs of them, and long and very flexible fingers with square nails. She watched the movement of his mouth, with his fine, full lips, listening to the lilting timbre of his voice and the way he threw his head back when he laughed, as he did often.

      Tom wondered if Aggie knew that her eyes went all dopey and dreamy in this scrutiny of McAllister. It worried him slightly, though he barely knew why, and he hoped that the man himself had never noticed.

      But, of course he had, and it pleased him greatly to have a young, nubile girl lusting after him. As yet she was but a child, anxious to please him and do things for him. When she was a little older, maybe he would see just how far she would go in pleasing him, for she was turning out to be a very fetching little thing.

      Not long after Aggie had passed her fourteenth birthday, Biddy announced to the family that she was having another baby. She was unaccountably excited about this pregnancy, different from the way she had felt about the others. At first she said Aggie had to give up the dancing for she would need her full help in the house. It was Thomas John who said she needn’t do that.

      ‘Sure, it is the only place she goes, unless you count Mass. It doesn’t take her out of the house much all told, and the girl needs some distraction.’

      Biddy never argued with Thomas John, the only person that she ever listened to and took heed of. Aggie knew that, and she gave a sigh of relief at her father’s words and hugged herself with delight.

      Her little sister was born on a blustery day in February 1900 when the wind howled so fiercely around the cottage, it sounded like a creature in torment. It rattled the windows and caused the fire to splutter and smoke. All that ceased to matter to Aggie as she held in her arms the little sister that she had helped the midwife bring