Chapter 21
January 1828
House of Mercy
Dublin, Ireland
Our ministry quietly celebrated the turning of autumn to winter and welcomed the joyful season of Advent alongside dozens of new residents and students. By the time Mr. O’Connell blessed us with a whole pig to roast for our Christmas Day celebration, the butterflies in my stomach had settled in to rest.
That is, until I picked up the newspaper one morning. My cheeks grew increasingly flushed with each line I read. That man had some nerve. And in the Irish Times nonetheless!
“Charity is a noble effort that is to be lauded, make no mistake about that. Our city suffers from an overpopulation of beggars, prostitutes, and other criminals who need to be dealt with in one way or another. But I am certain that drawing them into our most wealthy neighborhoods is not the answer.
“Yet, this is exactly what Miss Catherine McAuley has been doing for the last four months. And what gain have we seen from such activity? An increase in crime and vagrancy, for one. For another, the residents of this area—of which I am one during the season—cannot go about our daily lives and activities without being accosted by the women of this house. They beg us for employment, money, food, just about anything they can think of. If they do not get those things under Miss McAuley’s roof, what is the purpose of her building?
I have personally interviewed several of them and can say from experience that they are woefully unprepared for working in service. Many only use the House of Mercy as a night shelter and spend the daylight hours clogging our streets and doorways. In short, they are a menace. Rather than helping improve Dublin’s vagrancy problem, all Miss McAuley has done is ruin one of the few safe areas left. In my opinion, her House should be shut down, or at the very least moved to another part of the city where such people gather.”
I laid the paper down and gazed out the carriage window. We were close to Baggot Street and I had to be prepared to address this anonymous editorial. Though it was unsigned, there was little doubt who penned it. It was mid-morning already, so there was no way Grace and Kate hadn’t already seen the paper. No doubt they were as troubled as I. This was one of the downsides of traveling back and forth between the hospital, Coolock House, and Baggot Street each day. So often, by the time I arrived at one place, something had already happened. If I could only complete my duties as executor of my sister’s will, I could move out of the hospital. Then I could sell Coolock House. If I lived at the House of Mercy full time, I would be able to address things as they occurred rather than spending the rest of my day trying to catch up.
The carriage slowed, then stilled, and I got out. As soon as I stepped over the threshold, Anna Maria was there, flinging the newspaper down in a fit of temper.
“He has gone too far this time,” she exclaimed.
“Good morning to you, too,” I responded, amused by her uncharacteristic outburst.
Grace followed us, taking my coat, gloves, and bonnet as I shed them, years of experience rendering the gesture automatic.
“How dare Lord Montague speak ill of our women like that?” Anna went on. “He can say what he likes about us, but they are innocents. If this keeps up, no one will want seek help here.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calmer than I felt.
“I would,” Kate chimed in, handing me the morning mail.
“As would I,” Grace said. “Lord Montague is a powerful man.”
“But he’s not the only one. As infuriating as this is, I doubt it has much to do with us,” I said.
“How do you figure?” Kate asked. “He mentioned you by name.”
“Be that as it may, he is simply upset that Kate and Betsy O’Connell have agreed to be daily helpers here. Grace, you know more than anyone about his odd acquaintance with their father. If I didn’t know Daniel so well, I’d say he encouraged his daughters to volunteer their time just to upset Lord Montague.”
Grace laughed. “I only know Mr. O’Connell from afar, but he does have quite a sense of humor, I’ll grant you that.”
“So, what are we going to do about it?” Anna wanted to know.
I looked up from the envelopes. “We will do nothing.”
At least not now. I longed to give that man the tongue lashing he deserved next time I laid eyes on him.
“We will continue our ministry as though we never saw his editorial. He is merely posturing to try to win the favor of the Lords in the upcoming Parliamentary election. What we do here depends not on any man; it is God’s work. Always remember that. God is charge and will do as he wills. Our only responsibility is to the women and children who need our help.”
“I wish I had your faith,” Kate muttered.
I patted her on the shoulder. “It will come with time. I was not always this confident, and there are days still when I doubt everything.”
I handed the unimportant letters back to Anna to handle, holding back two I wished to address myself. One was from Mr. O’Hanlon at the Carmelite monastery, and the other from Father Blake, who had been helping me establish rules for our way of life.
“I will be in my office if anyone needs me,” I announced, headed for the large winding staircase at the center of the first floor.
Once situated at my desk, I glanced over to the oil lamp to ensure it was burning as it should be—why I worried, I don’t know; Grace had made it her personal mission to tend the lamp in memory of Margaret, wherever she may be—and said a silent prayer that anyone who needed help would put more stock in its welcoming light than in Lord Montague’s vile words.
I opened the first letter, from Mr. O’Hanlon. He inquired as to our welfare and then asked how the Carmelites might help us. God bless him and all his nuns. They did more for us from inside their enclosure than most of Dublin’s wealthiest did in the fullness of their freedom. I removed my leather-bound ledger from the desk drawer. The school children already numbered in the hundreds, and that wasn’t counting their mothers and the other women who sought shelter here. As we faced the depths of winter, they all needed new clothes, heavier coats, and new stockings and shoes. Perhaps the Carmelites could help us organize a fund drive or donations for them.
Or maybe it would be more prudent to ask for their help in recruiting volunteers who could then solicit funds or donations themselves. Lord Montague’s scathing assessment of our ministry echoed again in my mind. I shook my head to clear it. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, grant me peace of mind. Holy Ghost, inspire my heart with the will of God.
I stared out the window, my eyes gazing on the Bank of Ireland but my thoughts far, far away. All that money in one place, yet our children shiver and suffer in the cold. How was that fair? But then again, Jesus wept over the city of Jerusalem and he had the power to heal all ills. Who was I to assume I could do anything more? And God had just blessed us with two new volunteers. There would be more to come; where Daniel O’Connell’s daughters went, others followed. We already had more than doubled our daytime staff, taking on a few of the girls from my old Coolock House school, although Kate, Anna, and Grace remained the only ones who lived in the building overnight. It was small progress, but it was better than nothing.
I turned to the second envelope. Father Kelly, originally a supporter of the House, had been growing more disgruntled with our operations—or maybe just with me—since we opened. Like Lord Montague, he did not approve of my decision to begin this ministry without Church approval—something I was sure I had not heard the end of yet.
He also wanted to know what rules had been established for our volunteers. In truth, there weren’t many. We all wore the plain black dresses, but that was more out of a sense of egalitarianism than anything else. We didn’t want the wealthier volunteers to show up in their finery and jewels and unintentionally intimidate those seeking our help. The volunteers also lived at home, but eventually, as the rest of the House was completed, that would change for those who desired. Compassion and charity were to be foremost in our minds, and every woman promised to treat each she met as though it was Jesus himself.
But Father Kelly wanted more. What was our daily schedule? When did we pray? When did we eat? At what times were the ladies away from the House? Who was our custodian? Our cook? Did one woman hold that role, or did we rotate duties? Honestly, we had been so busy setting up the school and tending to the needs of our wards, we hadn’t had the time to sit down and discuss such formalities. We simply did what needed doing.
But I couldn’t put Father Kelly off forever. I named Anna Maria my assistant and the head teacher, with Kate acting as her protegee; Grace as the teacher of women seeking domestic training, a job she had taken on happily; and several other women to fulfil the needs of the House. I was just beginning to draw up a sort of schedule when a soft tapping at my door interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes?” I called.
Grace poked her head around the door. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“No, of course not. Please, have a seat.”
Grace sat down tentatively, perching on the edge of the chair as though she were afraid to commit to sitting or standing. At my inquisitive look, she took a deep breath.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what Lord Montague said in the paper.”
“Don’t pay him any mind. I understand how what you have been through with him might make you skittish, but I assure you I have faced more formidable men than he.”
Grace rubbed the back of her hand, where the brand of a dove had been set into her skin. “When you so kindly accepted me into this place, you told me that any woman or child who was in need was welcome here. Did you really mean that?”
“Of course. Certainly, you have seen that for yourself by now.”
Grace nodded vigorously. “Yes, I meant no disrespect. I only ask because he complained so vigorously about the character of the women here.” She cleared her throat. “I only ask because I have had word from the other Doves. They are still in hiding from Lord Montague, and I was hoping the House might be their way out of danger.”
I mentally went over our ledgers in my mind. “There are, what, six of you?”
“Five, including me. I know where they are all hiding, except for Bess. I’ll keep looking, but she’ll likely have to come us.”
I steepled my hands in front of me. “We are a shelter, yes, but you know we don’t offer security. I cannot guarantee their safety.”
“They have a much better chance here than on the streets.”
“I still have to interview them, but I’m sure they will all be candidates to join our educational program or maybe even work in the House itself.”
Grace reached across the desk and placed her hands over mine. “Thank you so much. You have saved our lives.”
I smiled, embarrassed at the high praise. “I will do all I can for them.”
With another thank you and a wave over her shoulder, Grace departed.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Picking up my pen, I added to the list for Father Kelly, “Anyone is welcome at the House of Mercy, be they volunteer or asylum seeker, provided they learn a trade so they are able to provide their living expenses. We do not count a person’s past or present against them. Their poverty, illness, crimes, or reputation are of no concern to us, provided they do nothing illegal on our grounds. As for any sins, it is God’s job to judge and forgive; we merely tend to the body and mind so the soul may grow and flourish.”
Let him do with that what he willed.