Friends Indeed

by Rose Doyle

  'We're in a hurry and didn't see you.' Allie looked at him doe-eyed. She could be a peacemaker when she had to. 'What happened to your poor pig? How did it come to be in the canal?'

  'He got free.' The man nodded with such vigour he nearly fell over. His eyes were full of tears and his thin red hair long enough to plait. His belly, from the smell of him, was full of beer.

  'You'll know, I suppose, that the pig is an animal can't swim.' He moved closer to Allie. So did I. 'It's on account of the large toenails on the two short legs he has to the front. He paddles so fast with those legs that he cuts his own throat.'

  Allie gave a small scream and the man roared with laughter, doubling up and holding his sides. We tried to move on but he hopped in front of us, blocking our way with the hawthorn.

  'That was the biggest pig I ever reared.' He glared at Allie. 'I could've sold him to you, or the likes of you. You need fattening and from the looks of you you've got money . . .'

  'I'm sorry about your pig,' Allie said, 'but you'll have to let us pass.'

  'My family'll starve now the pig's drowned.' The man didn't budge. 'The price of that pig would be nothing to…'

  'Unless you want to end up in the water with your pig you'll get out of here, fast.' Dr Daniel Casey's voice was just loud enough to be dangerous. 'By the time I reach a count of three I want to see your heels along the path.' He grabbed the hawthorn from out of the man's hands. 'Go on, get out of here.'

  For a minute, as he glowered and muttered mutinously, I thought the man would fight for his dignity and the stick. But as soon as Dr Casey made a move towards him he swore, turned and disappeared at speed along the way we'd just come. He didn't so much as glance at his pig in passing.

  'Thank you, Dr Casey,' Allie said, looking at him in a dazed fashion, 'it was lucky for us you were nearby. Remarkable too.' I ignored the look she gave me.

  'Are you all right?' Daniel Casey took her arm. 'Do you feel faint? A hot drink is what you need. We're not far from a tea house.' He was leaning over her as he spoke, walking her towards the steps to the road. Every bit of him was absorbed in his concern for her.

  If I'd fallen into the water with the pig I doubt he'd have noticed. He was showing his hand too clearly and too soon. Allie, given her independence of mind and present resistance to doctors, would need to be wooed with more cunning.

  But there was nothing I could do about his lack of guile. I'd brought them together and what happened from now on was in God's hands.

  Or so I thought then. If I'd known what God had in mind I'd have moved heaven and earth to keep them apart.

  Allie, at the bottom of the steps, freed her arm and reassured Dr Casey. 'There's nothing at all the matter with me,' she shook the cloak's hood from her head and I saw Daniel Casey stare at how frail she'd become, 'except that I'm curious to know how you came to be by the canal. Do you have a patient nearby?'

  He was not a good liar. 'I was on the bridge. I saw what was happening . . .'

  'I asked Dr Casey to meet us,' I took him out of his misery, 'I was worried about your health and since you know Dr Casey I thought . . .'

  'That the canal bank would be a good place for a medical examination?' Allie gave me a hard look which I returned with an open-eyed one of my own.

  'A good place for a meeting of friends,' I said, 'and you haven't been too surrounded by those in recent times.'

  That quietened her. I went ahead of the two of them up the steps and on to the bridge. Dusk was falling fast. The sharp, icy air was full of the smell of burning wood and coal.

  'The tea house is at the hospital end of Baggot Street,' I began.

  'There are also five victuallers, three wine and spirit merchants, four apothecaries, a ladies' outfitting warehouse,' Allie counted on her fingers, 'I've heard enough about Baggot Street from my mother and Mary Connor to last me a lifetime. I'd like to visit the new Shelbourne Hotel. Could we not take our tea there?'

  With more fun than I'd have thought he had in him the doctor crooked his arms and invited us to take one each. 'The Shelbourne it'll be then,' he said.

  We walked quickly, through Merrion Square and into Merrion Row, out breaths going ahead of us in small clouds as we talked. Only once did Allie's incarceration come up, and then it was she herself who mentioned it.

  'My parents are fully intent on my marrying Dr Maurice McDermott,' she told Dr Casey, 'it seems that as a widower, most especially a widower who is also a doctor, he's in need of a wife. Have you got a wife, Dr Casey?'

  'I'm not married,' he said.

  Allie, for once, didn't pursue things further. We spoke instead about the great demands on the dispensary's services and about my own search for work. Dr Casey was more scandalised by my saying I might work for Beezy Ryan than I'd expected him to be. I changed to the subject of insurrection.

  'Archbishop Cullen has denounced the Fenians.' I was worried how this would affect the movement of soldiers. If the Fenians pulled back the extra soldiers in Ireland would be brought home to England. Jimmy might be included in their number.

  'Archbishop Cullen believes there's no hell hot enough, nor eternity long enough, for those who engage with the Fenian cause.' Dr Casey's tone was dry.

  'Are the Fenians likely to listen to him?' Allie asked the question I wanted to ask myself.

  'Not at all,' said Dr Casey, 'any more than they're likely to gain freedom for Ireland.'

  'Why is that?'

  'Because they're neither organised enough nor clear in their plans enough about what they should be doing,' he paused, 'more's the pity.'

  'You're a supporter then?'

  'I support the freedom and independence of all small nations.'

  'Liberty, equality and fraternity too?' Allie was quite spirited.

  'Those things too.' He smiled and I began to feel pleased with myself for having brought them together.

  The situation didn't last long. We were outside the Shel- bourne, admiring the bronze, female figures holding up their torch-shaped lamps, when Allie said, 'Do you think people should be free too, Dr Casey, to make choices about how to live their lives?'

  'My name's Daniel,' he smiled, as he did every time he reminded her of this. He was an infinitely patient man. 'And the answer is yes. Free choice is the right of everyone, so long as it doesn't endanger the greater right to safety and security for all.'

  'So you agree women are reasonable beings, able to develop their powers freely?'

  'Of course . . .'

  'Yet we're not allowed to vote,' Allie said, 'and nor do we have the same rights as men to places in universities.'

  'I believe all men and women are born equal and that the differences between them have to do with education. I don't agree with restrictive legislation against women, nor with refusing them an education.' Daniel Casey paused. 'But I'm equally an admirer of the great duties women fulfill in the home.' He sounded inflated, in the way all men do when they hold out views, good or bad.

  'So you wouldn't be for holding back women?' Allie, like a dog with a bone, was unaware that she stood in the way of people coming and going from the hotel. 'You would want

  them to have knowledge and to help themselves in any way they could?'

  'Within reason. I don't agree with women abandoning their children.'

  'Nor do I,’ Allie was impatient, 'and since we're so much in agreement, Dr . . . Daniel, there's something I would like to ask of you.'

  The way she smiled at him transformed the terrible thinness into a delicate beauty. Daniel Casey cleared his throat. 'If I can help I will,' he said.

  'I'd like to work as a nurse attendant in the dispensary,' Allie began quickly, 'I'm not asking to be paid. All I want in return is for you to pass on some of your medical knowledge to me. You said yourself, to my father at Mary Ann's grave, that I cared well for her. I've had some training too in the convent in Paris.'

  She looked disbelieving when Daniel Casey shook his head. 'You mean well, Allie, I know that,' he said, 'but I
couldn't take it on myself to expose you to contagion and to all that goes on in a dispensary. You'd be at terrible risk . . .' He paused. 'Every day . . .' He paused again. 'I wouldn't like that.'

  'You're at risk yourself. Is it only men who…'

  'I'm a doctor.'

  'Does that make you immune? You need help. I am not asking you to take responsibility for me. The choice is mine, not yours.'

  'You don't know enough about dispensary work to make such a decision.' He spoke patiently, as if to a child. 'It's not as it was in the convent. Or even as it was with Mary Ann. There are the worst of diseases and injuries in a dispensary, and suffering,' he paused, 'and too often too little which can be done.'

  'I've thought about all that,' Allie said, 'but I'll prove to you I can be useful. Will you allow me work there for a day, or two, as an . . . experiment?'

  'You want me to allow my patients to be the subjects of your experiment?'

  'The word was unfortunate. I would like to help.'

  'Help yourself first,’ he said with a shake of his head, 'you don't look well or strong to me.' He stopped and for a minute I thought he would produce his stethoscope there in the street. 'Eat. Sleep. Take walks. Get strong. Maybe in a month we can talk about this again.'

  'Maybe? You think I'll have forgotten this in a month, don't you?'

  Allie turned and walked quickly ahead of us through the doors. They were held open by a man in a maroon coat and as much gold braid as Archbishop Cullen on a Sunday.

  'I won't forget,' Allie said as we stood in the reception hallway.

  I'd never been in a place like the Shelbourne Hotel before and was woefully ill-dressed. Baleful glares and sidelong glances let me know it too. But I wasn't inclined to worry about the opinions of people I didn't know, and most likely never would. The three of us went on in and sat at a linen-covered table in the tea-rooms. A man wearing a large, evening-dress necktie played Moore's melodies on the pianoforte. All about us there were gilded mirrors and painted ceilings and brocade, tasselled curtains. I felt at peace and would have been happy to sit there for a very long time. I would have sat there forever if Jimmy Vance had been with me.

  Our tea came in an ornamented silver teapot. Allie poured it into delicate china cups. I followed by milking them. I was about to taste my own when a voice I recognised, but couldn't at once place, spoke above our heads.

  'How nice to meet you again, Miss Buckley.' The owner of the voice sank, uninvited, into the fourth chair at the table. 'I wouldn't have expected to meet you here, though it's said that if you spend enough time in the Shelbourne Hotel you will meet the whole of Dublin. I'm delighted to find it's even half true.' Smiling and very sure of his welcome Mr Ned Mulvey signalled the waiter for a fourth cup. 'You don't mind if I join you?' he said.

  'You're most welcome.'

  The warmth in Allie's voice surprised me. So did the way she was smiling, coquettishly and with her head to one side. The flush to her cheeks greatly minimised their gauntness.

  'You've been out of town, my father says.'

  'I've been back to London, and to Belfast with your father,' Ned Mulvey said as he placed a pair of cream-coloured gloves on the table. He was wearing a black coat with a cutaway front over a cream waistcoat.

  'My good and best friend Sarah Rooney you've already met.' As Allie made the introductions he acknowledged me with a nod of his head. 'And this is Dr Daniel Casey.'

  'Dr Casey.' Ned Mulvey extended a hand. Daniel Casey took and held it briefly. 'Are you also an old friend of Miss Buckley's?' Ned Mulvey asked.

  'Oh, I'm not particularly old, nor even as old as I look.' Dr Casey deliberately misunderstood him. 'Though it's true that dispensary work does age physicians ahead of their time.'

  'I'm sure it does,' said Ned Mulvey.

  The table fell silent as Allie poured a fourth cup of tea. When I didn't offer to milk it Allie did that too. There was something about Ned Mulvey I should have told her. But, because it was only a suspicion and I'd not proof, I'd kept it to myself. I was now sorely regretting my discretion.

  Ned Mulvey raised inquiring brows at Daniel Casey as Allie handed him the cup. 'You are lucky to be enjoying Miss Rooney's company, Dr Casey. She was anything but enamoured of physicians the last time I met her.'

  'Then I am indeed lucky,' said Daniel Casey.

  It was clear Ned Mulvey thought Dr Casey and myself a couple.

  'I was not enamoured of the ideas held by a particular physician, Mr Mulvey.' I hesitated. 'It wasn't clear to me whether you shared Dr McDermott's views.'

  Ned Mulvey gave a short laugh. 'As it happens, I don't share Dr McDermott's views.' He smiled at Allie. 'I was lost in admiration of your spirited defence of your friend's rights, Miss Buckley.”

  'They're not just Sarah's rights,' Allie pointed out.

  'True. You spoke for all women of the labouring classes.' He leaned forward, still smiling, his hands resting on the silver top of a black cane. 'Your father tells me that, notwithstanding your ideological differences, you've been entertaining Dr McDermott.'

  'My mother has been entertaining Dr McDermott,' Allie snapped. 'I've been enduring his company.'

  Ned Mulvey's laugh was loud. 'Dr McDermott is a lucky man to have the company, whatever the circumstances, of two women as beautiful as yourself and your mother.' He sipped his tea, very elegantly, looking over the rim of his cup at Allie.

  'Perhaps you will call some afternoon?' Allie said. Her quick glance at Daniel Casey gave her away. Her coquettish behaviour with Ned Mulvey was a revenge for the doctor's refusal to allow her to nurse in the dispensary. 'I don't have a great deal to occupy me at the moment,' she went on, 'and would welcome the company.'

  'I'd be delighted,' Ned Mulvey said. 'I'm in Dublin for the next while.'

  'I may not be in Dublin all that long myself,' Allie said, 'I plan to make contact with the Society for the Emigration of Middle-Class Women. They send women to the southern hemisphere, you know, to find work and begin new lives.'

  This too was for Dr Casey's benefit. She was telling him that she would go away if she couldn't do what she wanted to do in Dublin.

  'And what will you do in the southern hemisphere?' Ned Mulvey was amused.

  'I will teach French,' Allie said airily.

  'The society you speak of didn't have a lot of success,' Daniel Casey was dry, 'to the best of my knowledge it's been defunct for a good while now.' He stood. 'I must leave to call on a patient. Maybe you would allow me take you home in my cab first, Allie? It's dark evening outside.'

  Ned Mulvey got up too. 'Unless your patient is nearby it would be more convenient for me to take Miss Buckley home. I'm going in her direction,' he said. 'Miss Rooney will in any event be needing a cab to Henrietta Street.'

  I didn't like the way he said this. He made it seem as if I was fit company for Daniel Casey while Allie was not. Dr Casey, wrong-footed and awkward, stood frowning.

  'Will you travel with me, Miss Buckley?' Ned Mulvey asked.

  'Thank you,' Allie said, 'and please call me Allie.'

  'I will call you Alicia,' said Ned Mulvey.

  The two men stood waiting while the waitress made out the bill for the tea. Daniel Casey looked young, unformed, unsure and very plain. Ned Mulvey looked a man of the world, assured and handsome. Dr Casey, on the other hand, looked like a man to be trusted. Ned Mulvey did not and I wished, more than ever, that I'd told Allie my suspicions about him. It was unlikely she would agree with me but I should have told her anyway. I would tell her the next time we were alone together.

  I wasn't to know that the next time we met I would be engulfed by worries of my own. Allie's problems would seem as nothing by comparison.

  My wretched matchmaking came to an end with me sharing a carriage home with Dr Casey, Allie sharing another with Ned Mulvey.

  .

  CHAPTER TEN

  Sarah

  The army, near the end of November, sent Jimmy Vance away from me. One day he was there, th
e centre of my life, just a walk across the city when I wanted to be with him. The next day he was gone. It was as simple and as brutal as that.

  They didn't send him a great distance, only as far as the Curragh of Kildare. He might as well have been sent to India. I'd no way of getting to Kildare and, even if I had, Jimmy was in training and wouldn't have been allowed see me.

  His wasn't the only regiment sent to the great camp on the midland plains. All the newspapers had the story of how the army had dispatched several, overnight, as reinforcement troops to deal with the 'dangerous and revolutionary activities' of the Fenians.

  When I went to Beggar's Bush Barracks looking for him it was a sentry told me Jimmy's regiment was one of those sent off. That my fears of the months past were being borne out gave me no satisfaction at all.

  Jimmy left me no word, no note or letter of any kind. But he did leave something precious in the small silver locket he gave the sentry for me. His mother had given it to him leaving home. He'd carried it in his pocket, always.

  The locket was his way of saying he would be back for me. That he'd been given no time to say goodbye, or to write. It helped, no doubt about it, but the blow of parting was a hard one.

  I didn't even have Allie's company to console me. I hadn't seen her since the day in the Shelbourne Hotel. The fault this time was mine.

  I'd got a couple of weeks' sewing work in a house in Gardiner Row. I was there most days until after dark. We wrote to one another, my mother delivering the letters. From them I knew that she was getting strong again. She'd taken to walking a great deal and was, she wrote, 'reading all I can lay hold of about education and medicine and disease. The money you got for me in the pawn has gone to good use in the bookshops.'

  When the sickness began I put it down to loneliness. It was easier than facing what I knew in my heart was the real cause. But when nausea left me prostrate in the bed one morning I knew there was no point my denying the truth any longer.

  'What ails you?' My grandmother, dressed for the early markets, stood over me with a candle. 'I heard groans. Are you not well?'