"Jane? Jane, are you all right?" The coach started running towards her as she sat up and brushed some dirt off her clothes. She wasn’t hurt at all, just surprised at Beatrice. The horse had never behaved like this before. Jane looked at the ground where Beatrice had stepped, and saw the corner of a little, rusty metal box poking out of the dirt. Quickly, she grabbed it and hid it under her jersey before the coach reached her and helped her to her feet.

"I’m okay," she assured him as she grabbed the reins and led Beatrice back to the stables. She was curious about the box and wanted to examine it closer in privacy. Perhaps it contained something valuable?

Beatrice in the meadow

Back in her room at home, Jane put the box on her desk and scrutinised it. It was about the same size as her father’s cigar box, but rusted and corroded beyond recognition. Jane tried to open the lid, but it seemed to be stuck. She went downstairs to fetch a screwdriver she could use to pry the lid open, when she heard a knock at the door and went to open it. Jane blushed slightly as she saw the tall, dark-haired boy standing outside. It was John, her boyfriend for the last three weeks. He liked to be called "Tarzan", and the fact that he had found a girlfriend named Jane had become somewhat of a joke around school. 

But Jane seldom paid any attention to gossip, and certainly not when it concerned someone she cared for. Now she gave John a quick smile, and asked him to come in. While he took off his jacket, Jane fetched a screwdriver from her father’s toolbox in the closet and headed up the stairs. "What are you doing with that?" John asked. "You’ll see," Jane smiled. "It’s a good thing that you came when you did," she added. "You can help me with something." 

Up in her room, the sight of the rusty, old box on the desk far from impressed John. "That’s ancient!" he moaned. Jane rolled her eyes at him. "Exactly," she said. "It must have been buried out there for ages. Maybe there’s some kind of treasure inside it. Go ahead, open it!" John sighed loudly, but took the screwdriver and jammed it inside the small crack at the front of the box. He tried to bend it, but it wouldn’t budge. "I’ll break the screwdriver, he warned Jane. "Who cares," she replied. "Just open the box!" John pressed at the screwdriver with all his force, and all of a sudden the lid gave in, and with a loud creak the box came open. Jane gave a small cry of excitement, and rushed forward to examine the contents of the box. "Forget it," John said dryly. "It’s just some old papers." "Not just any papers, stupid!" Jane snapped at him. "They’re letters! Look, how old they are!" She examined the brittle, yellowish old envelopes; then she picked out a frail piece of paper from one of them with trembling fingers. When she saw the date on top of the paper, she gasped. "It’s three hundred years old!" she cried. "Look, it’s dated 1685!" "Who cares," John replied. He was already tired of the letters, and went over to Jane’s CD-rack to see if she had bought any new ones lately. "Play the new A1 album," Jane told him as she sat down at her desk. "I want to listen to it while I read these letters." John moaned again, loudly this time. "You must be joking!" he exclaimed. But the stern glance Jane gave him, told him she wasn’t. He gave in and put on the CD, but at the same time he plugged in the headphones and put them over Jane’s ears. She gave him a wry smile, but didn’t say anything. Then, she absorbed herself in the contents of the letters.

For the next half-hour, she was dead to the world. She read the letters, one by one, while John played some games on her computer and generally looked bored out of his skin. But finally, Jane put away the last letter and removed the headphones. "That was amazing," she whispered, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. "You’ll never believe it." "Believe what?" John asked curtly. He was a bit annoyed at the fact that Jane seemed to be more interested in those stupid letters than in him. Jane leaned forward in her chair and looked earnestly at John. "I found the box when I was out having a riding lesson," she began. "Before they turned that place into a riding school, it used to be a farm. Mum says it was one of the oldest farms in the area." John still wasn’t interested. "So what?" he asked. Jane pointed at the letters. "A woman named Cecilia Boyne wrote these to the cook at the farm back at that time, one Molly O’Brien. The first one is dated September 9^th 1682, and the last in March 1700. Apparently, Molly helped Cecilia out at a difficult point in her life – when she gave birth to a daughter – and after that, Cecilia kept on writing to her. She told Molly everything that was happening in her life – but also about the life she’d had before she and Molly met."

Jane stood up and walked around the room a bit. "I had to sort the contents of those letters in chronological order to understand everything," she continued. "But now I have it all figured out, from the moment of Cecilia’s birth in 1664 until her last letter in March 1700. You know, there’s a whole, complete story here." John pulled a face at her. "And I’ll bet you’re going to tell it to me!" he replied sarcastically. "I’m going to tell it to a lot of people," Jane retaliated. "You should consider yourself lucky to be the first one to hear it!" "All right, all right, I’ll listen to your friggin’ story! John flung his arms out." "Just promise me we’ll go and see a movie afterwards, okay? I’d like to do something fun this afternoon!" "You just pipe down and pay attention," Jane said, as she brought the letters over to her bed and propped herself up against the headboard. Then, with a vivid voice, she started to tell John all about the fascinating story of Cecilia Boyne and her daughter Mary.

In a small, dusty attic in the great city of London, a young woman laid back in a heap of pillows, sweat dripping from her thin, pale face. It was the summer of 1664, and she had just given birth to a child. The midwife wiped the little child – a girl – clean, and carefully handed her over to her mother. Then, she swiftly walked across the floor and opened the door, looking at the tall, nervous man standing right outside of it....

The midwife packed up her equipment and went to the door. She turned and watched the little family on the bed, a faint smile on her lips. It had been a difficult birth, a draining experience for both mother and child, but the baby seemed both healthy and strong – a real survivor, the midwife thought as she closed the door behind her. Little did she know at the time how much that baby girl, who was going to be named Cecilia, and even Cecilia’s future daughter, would have to survive of troubles and hardship later on in their lives.
 

A year later, the bubonic plague was ravaging through the streets of London, bringing terror and death to thousands and thousands of people. Plague-ridden houses were marked with a cross, and the sinister calls from the body cart drivers were echoing between the walls:

"Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!"

It was in this warm August month of 1665 that little Cecilia Boyne became an orphan. She and her mother were visiting Anne’s sister and her husband in the little village of Whitfield near Oxford, when word came that Michael Boyne had been taken ill with fever. Anne hurried to London to be with him, leaving little Cecilia with her relatives. But Michael had died before Anne could reach him, and by the time she had arranged for his body to be buried, she herself was infected with the plague. There was nothing that could be done to save her, and so it happened that little Cecilia lost both her father and her mother in the course of a few weeks. The only possession that was left for her, was a small medallion with a picture of the Virgin Mary on it. It had belonged to Anne, which had been very adamant in her insistence that it should be given to none other than Cecilia. That little medallion was now young Cecilia’s only possession in the whole wide world.

Cecilia had no other living relatives except her aunt and uncle in Whitfield, so there was little doubt about where she now would live. It was not a happy decision, though – Cecilia’s aunt and uncle were gloomy, callous people who couldn’t stand children – which was the reason why they had never had any of their own. Cecilia’s life with them was anything but happy. She had to take part in the tough household chores from a very early age on, and was often sent to bed without any supper. 
 

If she dawdled or misbehaved in any other way, her uncle would not think twice about giving her a good beating, or lock her up in the coal cellar for hours – even days – at a time. Cecilia spent many a night crying herself to sleep, but through it all she kept clenching her teeth and trying to make herself as invisible to her aunt and uncle as possible, while she dreamed of the day when she could leave her wicked relatives for good.

That day didn’t come until Cecilia had turned 14, when the chance to work at a local farm right outside of Whitfield presented itself. She would perform various kitchen duties, milk the cows, and otherwise do odd jobs around the house. And, best of all, the job came with a small room in an outhouse near the barn, meaning she could move away from her aunt and uncle for good. Cecilia didn’t hesitate to accept the job, and for the next three years, she continued to work as hard as she could – but this time in relatively pleasant surroundings, and for a modest wage. She flourished on the farm, and her new-found pleasure showed in her appearance. Cecilia had grown into a pretty young woman, with flourishing, round cheeks, long, auburn hair and a ripe figure, which attracted many of the young men in the village. Cecilia didn’t find any of her suitors interesting, however, and kept them at a distance. Most of them accepted her aloofness, but one – the new farm hand, who worked in Cecilia’s proximity nearly every day – kept on leering at her, letting his desire for her shine clearly through.

Then, one autumn afternoon, in Cecilia’s seventeenth year, she went out into the barn to collect some wood for the kitchen stove, when all of a sudden a shadow fell over her. She looked up, and met the lustful gaze of the farm hand. He was a few years older than her, strong and muscular, but with an unkempt appearance which made him resemble a wild animal. Cecilia stood up and tried to pass him, but he grabbed hold of her and refused to let her go. She tried to struggle, but he was far too strong for her. She tried to scream for help, but he covered her mouth with one of his large hands. With the other, he tore her dress apart and pushed her to the ground, then throwing himself upon her. Tears running down her face, Cecilia realised there was no way she could stop him from taking her with force.

The entrance to the barn where Cecilia was molested

After the assault, it seemed that he had had enough of her. He kept at a distance, leaving Cecilia to cope with her own troubled memories. It didn’t take long for her to notice that something inside her body had changed, and to her great fear, she realised she had become pregnant. She was in despair, not knowing what to do or where to go. Indeed, she had nowhere else to go. It soon became clear to her that she had to keep her pregnancy a secret, if she were to hang on to her job at the farm. The farmer would never accept an unmarried, pregnant woman – or later a woman with an illegitimate child – working for him. So, Cecilia strapped her growing belly in, wore coarse, baggy dresses and did her best to hide her condition from the world.

She was almost completely successful in her efforts. Only Molly, the large-breasted, warm-hearted Irish cook, saw that something was wrong with the young girl. One night, Molly knocked gently on Cecilia’s door, sat down with the girl and took her hands between her own. Cecilia couldn’t keep from confiding in someone, and under the kind gaze of the cook she blurted out her whole, miserable story. She had only now started to realise, of course, that once the baby was born, it would be impossible to keep it a secret any longer. Molly opened her arms and pressed Cecilia against her huge, warm bosom. "Don’t worry, my child," she whispered. "We’ll find a solution to this, don’t you worry."

And indeed, when the time came for Cecilia to give birth, Molly had arranged everything for her. Cecilia was to travel to the city of Cork in Ireland, where Molly’s sister worked for the wealthy O’Sullivan family. Mrs. O’Sullivan had just given birth to a baby herself, and was in dire need of a nurse who could breastfeed the little girl. Upon the condition that the origins of Cecilia’s child were kept as secret as possible, the O’Sullivans were willing to take Cecilia in and give her the position. And so, it was with some sense of relief that Cecilia, tucked away among the hay in the most distant corner of the barn, could give birth to a healthy, little girl with surprisingly thick, black hair and a strong pair of lungs. That very same night, Molly placed an exhausted Cecilia and her daughter in a carriage, paid the driver in advance, and told him to drive to Bristol, where a ship would take mother and child to their new life in Ireland. Inside the carriage, Cecilia bent over her daughter who was tucked to her breast.
 

"My mother named me after my grandmother, so I’ll do the same for you," she whispered gently to her baby. "I’ll name you Mary."At the same time, Cecilia clutched the medallion that hung around her neck, with the Virgin Mary on it. "And one day, this will be yours," she added, before she fell back against the seat, her eyelids growing heavy. Within seconds, Cecilia was fast asleep.

Mary Boyne’s first memories of her childhood were the endless corridors in the O’Sullivan family residence, situated in the most fashionable part of Cork. Cecilia had begun her work with her new employers in the same fashion she had always carried out every other task in her life – vigorously. The little O’Sullivan girl, Emily, was a true delight – fair-haired and good-tempered, and she and Mary soon became good friends. Emily was the O’Sullivan’s second child – they had a son, George, who was eight and had already been sent away to boarding school. Mrs. O’Sullivan first frowned at her daughter playing with a servant girl, but they both got on so well with each other that it seemed a pity to break them up. And anyway, they only played together inside of the house, where nobody could see them. Once they came outside, Mary soon learned to walk behind Emily and her mother, and be careful not to address either of them unless she was spoken to.
 

As for Cecilia, she enjoyed her new position, and she took great delight in seeing her daughter grow up in safe, happy conditions. But the rumours about how Mary was conceived soon began to spread, and before long "everybody" was gossiping about Cecilia’s illegitimate daughter. Cecilia was officially shunned by the community, and received only contempt wherever she went. As a result, she refused to go outside with Mary. On her own, Cecilia could handle the accusing looks, the snide remarks and even the occasional clot of spittle. But she didn’t want Mary to see how her mother was treated – she didn’t want to tell her daughter about her origin until she was sure Mary was old enough to cope with it. So Mary went outside with Emily and her nanny or Mrs. O’Sullivan, but never with her own mother.

The O’Sullivan family residence in Cork, Ireland

The years went by, and both Emily and Mary grew. Cecilia went on from being Emily’s nurse to becoming a chambermaid, making beds and emptying chamber pots. The O’Sullivans hired a private tutor for Emily, who studied for several hours every day. Mary wasn’t allowed to participate in this, but Emily used to read her homework out loud to Mary, and show her the pictures and letters in her books. And so, with Emily’s help, Mary learned to read and write. When the time came, Mary started helping out in the household, and by the time she was fourteen, she worked full time in the kitchen, helping the cook prepare the meals, setting the table and doing the dishes. Emily, on her part, took French and elocution lessons, and learned to play the cembalo. In only a few years, suitors would be asking for her hand in marriage, and Mrs. O’Sullivan wanted her daughter to be well prepared for her future life as a "lady".

In the early summer of 1697, just before Mary’s fifteenth birthday, word came that Emily’s big brother, George, was engaged to be married to Fiona Flanagan, the daughter of one of Cork’s most influential bank managers. The wedding reception was to be held in the O’Sullivan residence, and Mary was to serve at the table. Mary had only caught glimpses of George when he was home on leave from the university where he was studying law, but she had seen enough to be attracted to him. George was tall and dark, with a handsome face and a winning smile, which he used far too seldom. When he brought his future wife to the house for a rehearsal dinner, Mary discovered why. Fiona was a shrew of a woman, constantly nagging George or putting her pointy nose in the sky. Mary could sense George's unhappiness, and she felt deeply sorry for him. The whole time she was serving dinner, she could hardly take her eyes off him, resulting in her spilling some sauce in Fiona’s lap and being given a fierce scolding by the snobbish young woman. Mary was embarrassed, but at the same time thankful that nobody had witnessed her long glances at George. But she was wrong – someone had indeed noticed.

That same night, Cecilia came into her daughter’s room and sat down on her bed. Mary looked at her mother’s grave face, and wondered what was the matter. "I saw the way you were looking at young Mr. O’Sullivan at dinner," Cecilia began. "And there is something I have to tell you about your past – before you get your hopes up." Mary didn’t understand. "What are you talking about, mother?" 

Cecilia hesitated, but realised there was no way to break the news about Mary’s father gently. Slowly, with a monotonous, subdued voice, she began to tell her daughter about that fatal day in the barn when the farm hand had molested her. Without her noticing it, large tears began to roll down her cheeks as her story came to an end. Mary stared at her mother, completely stupefied. "I thought...I thought my father was dead!" she stuttered. "That’s what you told me!"
"I know," Cecilia cried. "I did that to protect you. But it’s time you knew the truth now. Sooner or later, somebody is bound to confront you with it. Rumours have been flying for years. I’m surprised nobody has said anything to you yet." Mary suddenly realised how much her mother must have suffered through the years, and she threw herself in her arms. "Oh, mother!" she cried.

Cecilia looked gravely at her daughter through the tears. "Now you see," she said. "There is no point in you dreaming of becoming George O’Sullivan’s wife. You will find a good husband eventually – someone who can accept your past and love you none the less. But somebody with his background would never understand – never!" Mary hugged her mother hard again, but in her heart she wasn’t fully convinced that George wouldn’t understand and accept her – if only given a chance.

There was no stopping the wedding between George and Fiona, however. Only three days after the rehearsal dinner they were made husband and wife, and moved into a newly built house only five minutes from the O’Sullivan family residence. Every Sunday they would come to dinner with the rest of the family, and every Sunday Mary would wait on them, seeing the troubled look in George’s eyes – but being unable to do anything to help him. Instead, it was Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan who began having a troubled expression in their eyes as time went by and no grandchildren came. The marriage had been a financial success – joining together two of Cork’s most prominent families – but without any children to secure the future, something very important was missing.

One dark and rainy Sunday night in the middle of February 1699, Mary was clearing the table after yet another family dinner. Everybody else had gone to bed, and only a few flickering candles lit up the huge dining room. Mary had just finished piling the plates on top of each other when she heard a sound from the adjacent study. Before she could figure out what it was, the door to the dining room opened and George stood in the doorway. He looked confused and disillusioned, and seemed not to know exactly why he was there. Mary stepped forward and gave him a brief smile.

"May I help you with anything, sir?" she asked politely. He stared at her for a long time without saying anything. Then he slowly shook his head and sat down heavily in a chair. "I doubt it," he sighed. "My wife has just told me that..." He broke off, staring at Mary once again. "It doesn’t matter," he said in a low voice. Mary stared at the handsome, bewildered man and felt her heart leaping in her chest. Without really being aware of what she was doing, she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him, putting one hand on his arm. "Tell me what’s wrong," she said in a low whisper. "You can tell me anything!" 

It was as if she had let loose a flood. The words just started pouring out of him uncontrollably, and before long, Mary knew that George’s marriage was a big sham, that he didn’t love his wife, and that Fiona this very night had confessed to him that she was barren, and that she had known about it for years, deliberately keeping it from him. As his torrent of words came to an end, Mary started stroking his arm gently, trying her best to comfort him. George looked at the devoted young girl sitting opposite him, and for the first time he really noticed how stunningly beautiful she was. She had the thickest, darkest hair of any woman he had ever seen, her skin was as clear and smooth as if it were a baby’s, and in her pair of deep brown, almond-shaped eyes, he could see a passion that had eluded him for too long. For one long moment their eyes met, and before either of them knew what they were doing, they were in each other’s arms, their lips locked together and their hands touching every part of each other’s bodies. As he felt Mary’s ample body pressing against his, George knew that, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was happy.

In the following months, George and Mary saw each other as often as they could. George had his own law firm by now, and they used to meet there after hours, before Mary hurried back to her household duties and George went home to Fiona, who either didn’t understand what her husband was up to, or just didn’t care. But with such frequent rendezvous, and without any precaution, it was only a matter of time before Mary started feeling sick in the mornings. Under the utmost secrecy, George took her to see a doctor he knew he could trust. The doctor only confirmed their worst suspicions – Mary was indeed pregnant.
 

The garden

They sat together in the park of the O’Sullivan residence after they had received the news. The hot summer air blew through the trees and the birds were chirping with joy, but the look on Mary’s face was grave. "There is no way we can solve this," Mary exclaimed and met George’s worried gaze. "You know divorcing Fiona will be impossible – just think of what your parents would say!"  "I don’t care!" George shouted."I can’t be without you. Don’t you understand that?" Mary looked away. "You can’t be with me," she said harshly. "Not when you hear what sort of material I was made of."

"I know a solution," George said, looking out over the garden. "We'll elope! We'll run away from it all, and start a new life together somewhere else – in America, for instance. We can pack our bags and be on a ship by nightfall if we hurry."

"You’ll do no such thing!" A voice boomed from behind them. Mary gasped and turned around, looking straight into her mother’s eyes. Cecilia had obviously heard everything they had talked about. "Mother, I..." Mary began, but Cecilia cut her off. "You’ll go nowhere until the baby is born," she said in a firm voice. "Did you really think I would let you travel halfway around the world without seeing my grandchild at least once?"

Mary and George looked at each other and then back to Cecilia, who by now was smiling at them. "It’s not a perfect situation, I know," she admitted as she embraced her daughter. "But I see that you were right about him all along," she whispered into Mary’s ear.

"Then you’ll help us?" George asked uncertainly. Cecilia looked gravely at him. "Well, if anyone is supposed to help you cover up a pregnancy, it'd better be someone who has experienced it herself," she said with a touch of bitterness to her voice. Then she looked at Mary, and very slowly she grasped the little medallion hanging around her neck and lifted it above her head.
 

"It’s about time you had this," she said, handing the medallion to Mary. "My mother never got the opportunity to give it to me in person. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you. So here – you take it."

Mary’s hand closed around the medallion, and she lifted it up to look at the picture of the Virgin Mary. "She will be my guardian angel," Mary said as she embraced her mother once again. "And I promise you, when the time comes, I’ll pass it on to my daughter in turn." Cecilia held her daughter tight. "I know you will," she whispered.

Over the next months, Mary followed her mother’s example and wore wide, baggy dresses, which didn’t reveal how her belly was growing. Then, just after New Year's Eve, when the new century was at its youngest, Cecilia persuaded Mrs. O’Sullivan to give Mary an extended vacation. With George's money, Mary rented a little apartment where she stayed alone – except for the daily visits by her mother, and the nightly visits by George – until it was time for her to give birth.

In the early hours of March 8^th 1700, Mary’s first child – a daughter – was born. Mary immediately decided to name her Anne, after her grandmother. George gave Mary a few days to recover before he made the final arrangements for their journey to America. He went to the bank of his father-in-law and withdrew all of his money, and put it in a shiny leather bag. He had no other choice but to leave behind all of his other possessions – his house with all the furniture, his law-practice, not to mention the sizeable family inheritance – but the money in the leather bag would still be more than enough to give him and Mary a good start in their new country.

Night was falling and the rain was pouring down as George returned to the apartment to pick up his daughter and Mary. Cecilia was there to see them off, and she and Mary embraced each other vigorously. Mary knew her mother would be out of a job and out on the streets when the O’Sullivans discovered that their son had run away with the servant’s daughter, but Cecilia comforted her.

"I’ve survived many hardships in my life, and I’ll survive this too," she said assuredly. "I’ll find another job somewhere, don’t you worry. You just concentrate on making a good life for yourself and your family, come what may."

Mary kissed her mother goodbye for the last time, tears flowing from her eyes. Then she took little baby Anne in her arms, and with George by her side, she went out into the dark, rainy night to whatever the future would bring..."