‘Where is he?’ bellowed Michael McOstrich. ‘Where’s that blackguard? Where’s that rogue and knave, Timsy O’Leary?’
‘Now, Michael! You’ll frighten the children if you shout like that,’ said Constance, standing up to offer him her hand. The children looked interested rather than frightened. Ten minutes before, Flavia had entered the dining room, her tear-swollen eyes fixed on the open pages of Watership Down. She had scarcely touched her food, dabbing at her eyes and sniffing as she read. Now she was staring open-mouthed at Michael McOstrich. Flurry was motionless with a tinned carrot on his fork prongs and Liddy was smothering a giggle behind her napkin. ‘What has Timsy done?’ Constance asked. ‘Won’t you sit down, Michael, and take a glass of something? And there’s some delicious fish pie.’
‘Thank you, Constance.’ Michael McOstrich made a visible attempt to restrain his anger. ‘I’m not hungry. How are you, Maud?’ He favoured her with a stern glance before returning to his grievance. ‘I’ve lost a jennet. I heard in Murphy’s that it was Timsy O’Leary who cut her free from the hobble. I never interfere with other men’s property and I don’t expect anyone to interfere with mine. It isn’t by stealing and defrauding that I’ve made Ballyboggin the biggest farm this side of Galway. Every acre’s bought and paid for by hard work and honest dealings. Honesty’s a weakness with me, if you like. And I won’t stand for thieving.’ He glared around the room as though some of us might be contemplating dashing over to Ballyboggin to steal his furniture. ‘That ass is a champion. I reared her myself and there was a tag in her ear to say she was mine.’
‘It wasn’t Timsy who untied your donkey,’ I said into the pause that followed. My courage almost failed as the scorching light from his crimson eyes fell on my face. ‘It was me. Her legs were caught up in the rope. She might have been lying there all night, unable to move, without anything to drink or eat. I’m sure there must be a law against such cruelty. If you want to keep a donkey from straying you should put up fences.’
‘Fences!’ blared Michael McOstrich, coming round to me and putting his face so close to mine that his beard tickled my cheek. There was an overpowering smell of fresh cow dung from his shirt and trousers, which were held up by yellow braces. ‘And what, miss, do you know about fences? There isn’t a sturdier length of post-and-rail in the country than you’ll find at Ballyboggin! I put it up myself. Fences!’ He shouted the word, making my head ring. ‘Who but a woman would think to fence the mountains!’
He struck his thigh a blow that would have broken the femur of a lesser man and then, to my surprise, his face cracked into a smile. He put his hands on his hips, leaned back from the waist to laugh with a volume that could have brought down the precious La Franchini plaster. Everyone else laughed too, no doubt relieved to see good humour restored. Everyone except Maud, who pressed a handkerchief to her nose.
‘Now, Michael,’ said Constance, ‘let me introduce you to Miss Bobbie Norton. She’s come over from England to stay with us and I want you to—’
‘From England?’ He nodded his great red head. ‘I thought so. I said to myself, Michael, I said, this girl’s eyes flash and her mettle’s fiery. She’s not one of our gentle Irish girls. There isn’t much you can tell Michael McOstrich about women.’
There was something I did not like in the way he looked at me: as the cock of the yard might look at a young hen, newly introduced to the flock.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, getting up and finding the top of my head beneath his chin. ‘If you don’t mind I’d like to clear the table and bring in the pudding.’
Michael McOstrich stood his ground. ‘You’re a servant here?’ He frowned.
‘No,’ said Constance.
‘Yes,’ I said, attempting to move past him. ‘I’m the housekeeper.’
He looked down at me while stroking his wild wiry red beard. ‘You’re not my idea of a housekeeper. But then the Macchuins of Curraghcourt never did do things like anyone else. Too grand to dirty their hands, that’s the long and short of it. Though there’ve been McOstriches at Ballyboggin nearly as long, give or take a hundred years.’ He struck himself a violent blow on the chest. ‘And the Macchuins weren’t too proud to run to Ballyboggin for help when the O’Flahertys came calling with drawn swords.’
‘Really, Michael,’ said Constance. ‘You do talk such nonsense. Our families have been good neighbours for centuries. And my great-grandmother was a McOstrich of Ballyboggin. Pride doesn’t come into it at all. Of course we all know what a great success you’ve made of the farm.’
Michael grinned without taking his eyes off my face. ‘It’s true I could buy up any man in the county. I tell you what, Miss Norton. I’ve not been to England myself but likely property there’s to be had for the taking if it’s left lying around. You English have a habit of marching in and grabbing what you want without so much as a by your leave. I’m a fair man. Fairness is as natural to me as breathing and I defy any man here to say that’s not so.’ He looked sternly round the table. His eyes fell on Eugene, who nodded cravenly. Michael looked back to me. ‘If you’ll promise that you’ll not interfere again with what’s mine I’ll let bygones be bygones. No man can say fairer than that.’ He offered me his giant red paw.
The table collectively held its breath. I held mine in order not to be knocked unconscious by the smell of dung and put my hands behind my back. ‘I’m sorry to be disobliging, Mr McOstrich, but if I find any creature kept in conditions I consider inhumane I shall do whatever I can to relieve its suffering.’
‘Come now, Bobbie,’ said Eugene. ‘Shake the man’s hand. I expect the animal was worth a few pounds—’
‘I beg your pardon, Devlin, but I’ll be obliged if you’ll shush.’ Michael bent his hot eyes on Eugene, who shushed at once. ‘Now, miss,’ continued Michael, with something almost wheedling in his tone. ‘You’re a handsome girl – I don’t remember when I saw a finer – but you ought to consider a man’s feelings. I’ve climbed down in the presence of these others and you ought to do the same and take my hand in friendship.’
‘I don’t mind doing that,’ I said, ‘but I won’t promise not to do what I think is right.’
‘What entertainment!’ said Maud. ‘Like a Greek play but more amusing.’
Michael scowled and jutted a scarlet lower lip through the forest of his beard. Then to my relief he let out a diabolical laugh that rang about the room. ‘Ha, ha, ha! Lord save us, but you’ve as much pluck as I’ve ever seen in a female! You like to be ahead of the field and first over the ditch, I bet!’
‘Not particularly,’ I said coolly, though I relented so far as to hold out my hand.
He grasped it and shook it as though cracking a whip, nearly dislocating my shoulder. ‘Well, anyway, I like your spirit!’
‘There! Thank goodness that’s settled.’ Constance sounded relieved. ‘Now, will you stay to dinner, Michael?’
‘No, I’ll be going, Constance. I’ve a new bull just arrived. A Charolais sent over from France. I don’t believe there’s a finer bull in all Ireland. And there are the accounts to check. I’ve the best steward in Galway but I make sure of that by letting him know he’s under my eye and under my thumb. I’m as mild as milk if I’m treated right but cheating, lying and idleness I won’t stand for. That’s the character of the Master of Ballyboggin and I think that’s well known hereabouts! Good evening, all. Goodbye, Miss Norton.’
The model of mildness reached the door in two strides and turned to rest his eyes on me with something of puzzlement in them.
‘If it isn’t Michael McOstrich!’ said Sissy, coming in just then. She was wearing a bright red shawl over a full, flounced skirt and a black mantilla over her hair. ‘Are you stopping?’ She flashed her excellent teeth at him, raised one arm over her head, put the other on her waist like a flamenco dancer, wriggled her hips provocatively and stamped her feet. The effect was spoilt by Maria running out from beneath the table and fastening her teeth into the swirling hem. ‘Get away, you little so
d!’ Sissy kicked out angrily and there was a tearing sound.
‘Good evening, Sissy McGinty,’ said Michael, not even glancing in her direction. ‘No, I’m away.’ He was as good as his word. He seemed to leave an imprint of his blood-red eyes on the air which faded seconds after he had gone.
‘I don’t know how you dared stand up to him like that,’ said Constance as she helped me wash up after dinner. ‘Everyone round here is terrified of him. A few years ago he knocked a man clean through a window for winking at his sister.’
‘I think bullies ought always to be stood up to.’
I was wiping glasses with one of the half-dozen drying-up cloths I had bought in Kilmuree, having burned the existing ones, which were stained and ripped to filthy rags. Katty and Pegeen were slumped at the hearthside with the black bottle. Thanks to their efforts, the drawing room was now relatively clean, after the removal of the old newspapers, glasses, and scraps of food as well as sackloads of dust, so I had relented. Timsy had been made to wash the windows. He had worked his features through an extensive repertoire of grins, smirks and winks, in token of a wholly insincere admiration of me. Katty had observed this pantomime with a grim smile. He had eaten his supper and gone out again.
‘Michael’s a good man, though,’ said Constance. ‘When I was a little girl I used to sit next to him at school and he’d sharpen my pencils for me and protect me from the other boys. The McOstriches were as crippled, financially, as the rest of us until old Mr McOstrich died of drink and Michael took over the farm. He’s worked tremendously hard and put the EEC subsidies to good use and turned the land to profit for the first time in a century. Now he’s the richest man for miles around. It’s just a pity that he’s got a chip on his shoulder.’
‘Perhaps it was lack of imagination rather than downright cruelty. The donkey, I mean.’
‘All the farmers round here hobble their horses and donkeys. It’s been the custom from time immemorial.’
I felt a moment’s guilt at having interfered with an age-old tradition. But I was not an anthropologist bound to record unflinching the sacrifice of garlanded heifers or the circumcision of little girls. It had been customary at one time to throw Christians to lions but fortunately for Father Deglan there had been a change of heart.
I put down the spoon I was buffing. ‘Think how miserable you’d be with your legs attached to a weight you had to drag about all the time.’
Constance walked over to the china cupboard with a pile of clean plates, her gumboots making a soft clumping sound on the flagstones. ‘I’ve never thought about it before but you’re right.’
‘Constance …’
‘Yes?’ She turned and smiled sweetly. ‘What is it, Bobbie?’
‘That dog tied up on the doorstep.’
‘Osgar? Is there anything wrong with him?’
‘I don’t know. He’s so savage I can’t get near him.’
‘It’s a family tradition to keep a black dog tethered by that door, from the bad old days of the O’Flahertys.’
‘Does anyone ever take him for a walk?’
‘Oh, yes. Every morning Timsy takes him for a run.’
‘Well, he couldn’t have this morning. I looked for him high and low before I left for Kilmuree to give him a list of jobs. Katty and Pegeen wouldn’t tell me where he was but Flavia said he was asleep in the apple store until tea-time.’
‘Oh dear. I doubt Timsy’s the right person to have the care of him. He’s so unreliable. But we’re all nervous of Osgar, to tell the truth. So that’s why the cow’s complaining. The poor thing can’t have been milked this morning. Now the milk’ll be falling off again and she’ll get mastitis … the vet’s bills … Finn’ll be so cross. Really, it’s too bad!’ She flapped her drying-up cloth with irritation and dashed a cup to the flagstones where it broke into two. ‘Oh, damn! One of the pretty green ones. I’m so clumsy! I’m such a fool!’
‘Let me have the bits.’ I examined the fragile china shards that had so recently been a shell-shaped cup. ‘It’s Belleek. Worth restoring. If we can get hold of the right kind of glue I’ll have a go.’
‘Oh, would you? How clever! We’ve stacks and stacks of those cups in the attic. I just brought down a few because I love the little shell feet.’
‘Would life at Curraghcourt be drastically changed if Osgar were allowed to run about occasionally?’
‘Well, I suppose not. By all means, if you can rehabilitate Osgar, go ahead.’
‘Will Mr Macchuin mind, do you think?’
‘Finn? I don’t suppose he’d even notice. But you mustn’t take on too much, for your own sake. I’m frightened you’ll get fed up with us and go away and I couldn’t bear that. Bobbie’ – she clutched my hand – ‘sometimes I feel as though I’m struggling beneath an immense burden and every time I stumble I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back up again. I go on a bit lower, a bit more helpless and hopeless each time.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘The children are neglected, I quite realize. Violet’s sinking gradually, Maud’s getting more crippled. There isn’t enough money to repair the house. We’re going to rack and ruin and there’s no one but me to stop it.’ She buried her face in the drying-up cloth and began to cry.
I put my arms around her. ‘Things’ll look better in the morning. You’re exhausted. And a bit depressed. Let me take on some of that burden. Really, I want to. There was never any chance to make things different at home. My parents are resistant to change and my zeal for reform was frustrated at every turn. If you’ll promise to tell me when you think I’ve gone too far—’
‘You couldn’t!’ Constance lifted wet eyes to my face. ‘I trust you completely. Do whatever you think. I’ll help you all I can though I know I’m incompetent.’
I pressed Constance into a chair. ‘Sit there and I’ll make us some Horlicks.’ On impulse I had bought a tin of it in Kilmuree, knowing perfectly well that my current insomnia owed nothing to ‘night starvation’ but surrendering none the less to an effective advertising campaign. ‘It’ll take away the taste of sardines. And, Constance …’
‘Yes, Bobbie?’ Constance wiped her eyes and smiled wanly.
I glanced over to the fire. Katty and Pegeen had slipped further down in their chairs with their heads lolling over the backs, muttering as they dozed. ‘About Violet.’
TWENTY-FIVE
I could smell disinfectant from the top of the attic stairs. Keeping my eye on the bowl of stirabout and the glass of water, so as not to spill them, I edged round the door into Violet’s room. It was so dark that I walked into a chair left by the bed and only just managed to save the contents of the bowl and glass.
‘Good morning, Mrs Macchuin,’ I whispered, adapting my voice to the tomblike atmosphere. ‘It’s Bobbie. I’ve brought your breakfast.’
No answer, naturally.
‘I’ll help you to sit up.’
I slid my arm beneath her. She weighed almost nothing so it was easy to prop her against the stacked pillows.
‘Good. Now if you’ll open your mouth I’ll put a little in.’
I offered the spoon. Violet moved her head and the stirabout dripped on to the bedclothes.
‘Damn!’ I said under my breath.
When Constance had deputed to me the task of giving Violet her breakfast Pegeen had declared that Mrs Violet hated strangers and would refuse to eat. Constance had asked Pegeen how she knew this as I was the first person outside the family to attempt it. Now it looked as though Pegeen would be proved right. I tried a second spoonful with the same result.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I can’t see what I’m doing. I’m going to let in a little more light.’
I pulled the curtains back. The sun disclosed a carpet that was far from clean, ugly deal furniture and whitewashed walls now grey with strands of cobwebs. The fire had gone out and the room was cold as well as depressing. I returned to the bedside.
‘Violet,’ I said in my normal voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I call you that
? It’s a beautiful day. You can’t see much through the windows from here but you can see sky and the dust whirling in the beams. It’s really pretty. Apparently it’s like that in the sea: billions of minute swirling specks.’ I put the spoon between her lips. There was a movement of Violet’s throat as she swallowed its contents. ‘It’s called marine snow and tiny creatures live on it. But perhaps I’m telling you something you already know?’
Violet’s eyes remained closed. Her face was colourless, unlined and oddly flat-looking, as though the substance was gradually seeping out of her. Probably this was due to lack of muscle tone. Her lips were dry and cracked in the corners and her skin was flaky. I wondered if she was suffering from vitamin deficiency. As far as I knew her diet was unvaried. Stirabout, which was oats diluted with milk to a liquid consistency, four times a day. And always tea or water to drink.
‘Do open your eyes and take a look. From my bedroom windows this morning I could see for miles. Mountains, fields, forests and clouds. I saw the heron again, looking for breakfast in the canals. I was out on the roof feeding the cats. They’re starting to be quite friendly, the big ginger one specially. Flavia and I have called him Alexander as a tribute to his bullish desire for world dominance. There are thirteen of them living on the roof. When the sun warms the lead it’s baking hot and there’s plenty of rainwater to lap. I’m afraid there are rats. I discovered half a one beside one of the chimneys.’
While I was talking Violet swallowed until the bowl was more or less empty. Some of the porridge had transferred itself to my thumb. I licked it off. It was so bland as to be repulsive, like wet cardboard. I held the glass of water to her mouth. Some of it ran down her chin. A sound like a sigh escaped her and then a trickle of moisture, a tear, crept from the corner of one eye.
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