A Girl Called Eilinora: A Short Story

By Nadine Dorries

This is the story which sets in motion the events of Nadine Dorries's brilliant new novel Ruby Flynn.

It is 1846, famine is gripping Ireland and nowhere is it crueller than in Mayo on the west coast. Owen FitzDeane of Ballyford Castle is a good landlord, but even he is powerless to save all his tenants. When he comes upon a half-dead girl beside the road, he insists on taking her back to the castle, to see if they can save her. But Eilinora is no ordinary girl and soon superstition and fear begin to swirl around her, while Lord FitzDeane of Ballyford falls deeper under her spell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Sep 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781784974732

Nadine Dorries

The Rt Hon. Nadine Dorries grew up in a working-class family in Liverpool. She spent part of her childhood living on a farm with her grandmother, and attended school in a small remote village in the west of Ireland. She trained as a nurse, then followed with a successful career in which she established and then sold her own business. She is an MP, presently serving as Secretary of State for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport, and has three daughters. The Rt Hon. Nadine Dorries grew up in a working-class family in Liverpool. She spent part of her childhood living on a farm with her grandmother, and attended school in a small remote village in the west of Ireland. She trained as a nurse, then followed with a successful career in which she established and then sold her own business. She has been MP for Mid Bedfordshire since 2005, and previously served as Secretary of State for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport. She has three daughters, and is based in Gloucestershire.

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Ballyford Castle, Mayo, 1846

‘What’s that on the road ahead, why are the dogs barking so fiercely?’ Owen FitzDeane shouted to his land agent, Shevlin, who had already noticed a suspicious looking bundle on the verge and had ridden on ahead to take a look for himself.

It appeared at first glance to be a mound of rags, lying close to the entrance of an apparently abandoned cottage. Each one they had passed so far on their journey had been derelict and neither man had dared dismount to look beyond the wind beaten, clattering, open doors, for fear of what they would find within.

‘You keep back m’lord,’ shouted Shevlin. ‘I will take a look. It’ll be nought but rags and pots, which a tenant found too heavy to carry when leaving, I’m guessing. Poor beggar, probably hoped it would be safe under the hedge until he came back for it.’

The sky darkened and Owen saw that dark clouds had moved swiftly inland from the Atlantic. His horse, unhappy that Shevlin’s had gone on ahead without him, spooked and skittered about, its shoes scraping on the rough road, sending up clouds of dust.

‘Steady Aghy, steady,’ shouted Owen. His face gleamed with moisture from the damp air and the effort of controlling the spirited, grey gelding. His hat became dislodged in the struggle to remain in the saddle and now lay in the middle of the road. At last Aghy reluctantly obeyed his master and stood four square, his eyes bulging with anxiety and blowing white clouds of steam as he snorted his unwillingness to stand still. ‘Good boy, steady,’ whispered Owen, patting Aghy’s neck, fearing that at any second, he would rear up. In the battle between man and horse, Owen was only just winning.

Owen saw that the foreboding clouds had settled over a gap in the hills and heavy, black, vertical rain was pouring down onto the village of Mulranny, covering the village in a shadowy veil. Owen shivered as a cool breeze, caught between the hills suddenly whipped down the road.

‘Jesus,’ he whispered, shortening his reins.

‘What is it, Shevlin?’ He was afraid to shout too loud, in case he set the horse off again, but a feeling of wanting to be away had overtaken the need to calm a spooked horse. He didn’t like this road and he trusted his horse. If Aghy was nervous, there would be good reason.

Shevlin was standing still and the dogs, who had run out with them that morning, were investigating the bundle, half concealed by the hedge. They began to circle around, barking madly. Almost in a frenzy.

The cottage door stood ajar and an air of decay loitered close to the outer walls. No welcoming plume of smoke rose from the central chimney as it would normally have done on such a miserable day.

‘Stay back, m’lord,’ Shevlin shouted over his shoulder, as he kicked on his own horse into a trot. ‘We should ride on. The cottage is abandoned, it will only be vermin infested. Don’t come near! Away now.’

Shevlin was newly arrived at Ballyford. Owen’s previous land agent had left for America as quickly as the famine and typhus had arrived in Mayo. They were off to Cobh faster than the time it took for news of their desertion to reach the FitzDeanes’ town house in London.

There was not a land agent in all of England who would set foot in Ireland during these days of disease and hunger. The second potato crop had failed and there was devastation everywhere. The air was filled with the overpowering stench of decaying vegetation and the streets were filled with people travelling among the dead, with no place to go. They carried meagre belongings, tied with string, and rags on stooped backs, desperate to reach somewhere they could offer work in exchange for food.

At Ballyford they heard that soldiers on horseback, armed with bayonets, were heading towards Mayo in an attempt to maintain order.

Owen had estates in Lancashire, Scotland and Ireland. Moreover, as a member of the British Parliament, he had been requested to compile a report on the effect of the famine upon the peasants. It was felt that a report from one of the landed gentry who had farming interests in the worst hit areas, would be more readily believed by Parliament than the findings of the scientific committee.

Before the famine began, Owen had left his land and his tenants in Ireland in good shape. He resented having to leave his family in London to return to his estate alone, but Owen was a man of principle and if the prime minister desired his considered opinion, it was his duty to ensure it was provided in full.

Since news of the first crop failure had arrived in London, he had dedicated his time to the needs of the country where he felt most at home. He argued with his fellow landowners for the repeal of the Corn Laws and for the British Government to ban imports from Ireland, so that the country could become self-sufficient. He had even made a speech to that effect in Parliament.

‘What is the use of establishing