Sebastian Barry - The Secret Scripture

I was disappointed, I must confess. I think I hoped that Roseanne's denial would have proven correct. But there it was.

'I suppose that was the same man,' said Percy.

'It's not a very common name.'

'No. And then I was looking again at what we had besides the very quaint account of that Fr Gaunt fella, which I re-read. You were concerned that she had killed her child, wasn't that

it?'

'Well, not concerned as such. Trying to establish the truth of it, because she denies it.'

'Oh? That's interesting. What does she say about it?'

'I asked her what became of the baby, since Fr Gaunt had mentioned it, and it was no doubt the crowning reason she was committed here, and she said the child was in Nazareth, which didn't make a whole lot of sense.'

'Yes, well, I think I know what she is trying to say. The orphanage here in Sligo was called Nazareth House. It doesn't have orphans any more, it's mostly an old persons' home now, but I try to refer people there if I can, rather than… You know.' 'Oh, I see, well, that fits all right.'

'Yes, it does. And, I must say, it would have been very unfair, unlawful even, of Fr Gaunt, to suggest something so terrible if he knew it to be untrue. I am searching in my mind for an interpretation of his words. I can only conclude that he meant killed it spiritually. In those days of course the illegitimate child was thought to carry the sin of his mother. This may have been what our enterprising cleric meant. Let us be generous in retrospect. That is, if it turned out she didn't kill the child of course.'

'Do you think I could go over to Nazareth House and ask them if they have any records?'

'Well, I think you could. They used to be very closed of course, about these matters, unless you knew how to prise them open. Their instinct I am sure is still to secrecy, but like many of these institutions, they have been assailed in recent times with accusations of one sort and another. There are many Nazareth Houses, and some of them have been accused of rather terrible cruelty in the past. So you may find them more helpful than you might have expected. And they're used to dealing with me. I find them always very helpful. Nuns, of course. They were a mendicant order originally. A noble concept, really.'

Then he said nothing for a bit. He was 'cogitating' as Bet used to say.

'There was another thing,' he said. 'In the interests of openness on my own part I think I can tell you. Unfortunately it was part of our confidential records. Internal inquiries, you know, that sort of thing.'

'Oh, yes?' I said, gingerly enough.

'Yes. In regard to your patient. There was a man here called Sean Keane, an orderly, a bit funny in the head himself apparently, to use layman's terms for a moment, who made a complaint against another orderly. Now, this of course is long ago, in the late fifties even, I didn't even recognise the name of the man keeping the notes, Richardson was his name. Sean Keane accused this other man Brady of menacing and I fear molesting your patient over quite a long period. She is described as a person of 'quite exceptional beauty', if you don't mind. You know, William, I could tell even from the scurry of the writing, that the notemaker was reluctant to write any of this. Not much has changed, I hear you say.'

But I had said nothing. I nodded to encourage him.

'Anyway, I think it was decided at this point to move your patient to Roscommon, and let the dust settle over the matter.'

'What happened to the alleged molester?'

'Well, that was rather tragic, because he stayed here till retirement, I could trace his presence quite plainly right to the end of the seventies. But, you know.'

'I do know. It is all very difficult.'

'Yes,' said Percy. 'The boat is always in the middle of a storm and one tries not to rock it further.'

'Yes,' I said.

'Not too surprisingly also, Sean Keane disappears with Roseanne Clear from the records, so they must have let him go. Richardson no doubt opting for peace of a sort.'

The two of us sat there then, contemplating this, maybe both of us wondering if indeed anything much had changed.

'Her mother died in here. Did you know that? 1941.'

'No.'

'Oh, yes. Severely deranged.' 'That's very interesting. I'd no idea.' 'It's funny that our hospitals are so close and we never see each other,' he said then.

'I was just thinking that as I drove over.'

'Well, such is life.'

'Such is life,' I said.

'I am very glad you came over today,' he said. 'We should try and make a habit of it.'

'Thank you for looking into this for me. I'm really grateful, Percy.'

'All right,' he said. 'Look, I'll give Nazareth House a ring and tell them to expect you, and who you are, and whatnot. All right?'

'Thank you, Percy.'

We shook hands warmly, but not all that warmly, I thought. There was a hesitation in both of us. Life, indeed.

The part of Nazareth House I was directed into was new, but still seemed to have acquired a certain institutional grimness, if not as grim as the old asylum. When I was a very young man I thought places for the sick and mad should be made very bright and attractive, given a sort of festiveness to alleviate our human miseries. But maybe these places are like animals and cannot change their spots and stripes no more than leopards and tigers. The keeper of records was a nun, like me in advanced middle age if not old age, wearing her relaxed modern gear. I had half expected wimples and robes. She said good Percy had already rung and given her details of names and dates and that she had some information for me. 'News', she called it.

'But you will have to go to England if you really want to pursue this,' she said. 'England?' I said.

'Yes,' she said, with her unplaceable country accent which I placed nonetheless as maybe Monaghan, or even further north. 'There is a reference here all right, but all the documents relating to these names are in our house in Bexhill-on-Sea.'

'What are they doing over there, Sister?'

'Well, I don't know, but as you are aware these are old matters, and you may find out more in England.'

'But is the child still alive? Was there a child that came here?'

'There is a reference against the name, and it was the particular case of one of our sisters in Bexhill, Sr Declan, who was from here of course. She is dead now, may she rest in peace. Of course, Dr Grene, she was a McNulty. Did you know old Mrs McNulty was with us here in old age? Yes. She was ninety when she died. I have her records in front of me, God rest her. God rest them both.'

'Is it possible for you to telephone them?'

'No, no, these matters are not matters for the phone.'

'It was Mrs McNulty's daughter that was a nun in England?'

'That's exactly it. She was a great friend of the order. She had a bit to leave and she left it to us. She was a very great lady and I remember her well. A tiny little woman with the kindest face you ever saw, and always trying to do the good thing by everybody.'

'Well, I am sure,' I said.

'Oh, yes. She wanted to take the veil herself but couldn't do it while her husband was alive, and then didn't he live till he was ninety-six, and then of course there were the sons. They mightn't have liked it. Do you mind me asking if you are a Catholic, Dr Grene? I think by your accent you're English.'

'I am a Catholic, yes,' I said, easily, without embarrassment.

'Then you will know how odd we are,' said the little nun.

I drove back here in a strange state of mind. I thought how curious it was how people leave a few traces as they go, that can be looked at and puzzled over, but whether ever properly understood, I doubted. It seemed Roseanne had indeed suffered greatly, as I had feared. How terrible to lose her child, however that had happened, and then to be subjected to the attentions of some miserable bastard who looked on her merely as an opportunity for his pleasure. I could suspect also that having been parted from her baby, or having lost it, or even killed it if Fr Gaunt is accurate after all, she might also have finally been parted from her wits. Such traumas might very well have brought on quite a radical psychosis. She would have been well nigh a sitting duck for any unpleasant element among the staff, with her 'exceptional beauty'. God help her. I thought of the sere old lady in the room here in Roscommon. Professional man though I am, I confess to feeling very sorry for her. And retrospectively, rather guilty. Yes. Because for one thing I would probably have been inclined to do the same as Richardson.