by Laer Carroll
"None whatsoever. My young assistant Mary McCarthy makes mathematics a hobby. That was her investment."
"A hundred pounds is a very expensive gift to just throw around. Did you authorize her to do this?"
"Mary is an outstanding assistant. Much smarter than most people, men included. If this makes her happy, and a better worker, it is cheap at the price."
"I hear that she also authorized a thousand pounds to add a road in front of the College directly to the Western Road, just to save a few students from the displeasure of a closer approach to the County Gaol."
"I gave her full authorization to use her judgment in financing improvements in the facilities of the College. She also authorized others in the medical facilities at the College. She was my commander on the spot. I back up my troops."
"A military metaphor? Is that the way you think about the people who work for you? "
"Any manager is in a war against accident, and laziness, and foolishness. I could have used an agrarian metaphor, or a maternal one."
"Speaking of maternity and femininity. I understand that one of your bequests is to find ways to deny men the ownership of their wives property."
"You have an interestingly nasty way of saying that. I highly approve of a nasty mind — as long as it does not go too far.
"But your information is correct. I find it highly unfair that if I were to marry —" She laughed, coughed, continued. "Not that that is too likely — that all I own would instantly be taken from me, never to return even if in the next instant my husband were to drop dead."
"You also gave a hundred pounds to add novels and poetry written by women to the College library."
"Yes." She grinned at him and said nothing. He had been too used to getting answers to each question. It amused her to put him off balance.
"Would you elaborate on that?"
"No."
"Your last name is de la Roche. Are you French?"
"Do I sound French? Is there even a hint of French accent in my voice?"
"Ah, no."
"Good."
For the moment Mister Downey had no questions. She took the opportunity to feed him some more information.
"I should add that Mary tells me that the medical facilities at the College are inadequate to the programs that I want to see started there. It will obviously be up to the College to decide if they want expanded facilities. But if they should decide they would, for instance, like a new building to house such programs, I would look favorably on investing a few thousand pounds to that end."
The reporter scribbled furiously for a few seconds. There. That should put a nice cap on his story. And stimulate much avaricious excitement at the College when they read the Examiner 's story.
"Now, I find my strength going. I really have to terminate this interview."
He rose and gave a little bow. "Thank you very much for talking to me, Dame Edith. You've been very candid."
"You think so?" she said, smiling. "Then you have not been listening as well as you should."
He quirked an eyebrow in appreciation of the jab, and exited.
Jane Willison entered a few minutes later. "He's gone."
"Thank you, Jane." She stood up and began to strip off the Dame Edith costume. The interview had interrupted a morning of Organization work with Jane. There was still much to do.
It would go on well into the night, as usual. She dispatched Jane and several others on business around Cork, and received others. Most comers and goers carried revolvers or knives — or both — along with their messages. None but Jane knew that Mary was the cat lady, however. The rest thought the beautiful young redhead was simply one link in an indirect line to the cat lady.
She also read a lot, of books and newspapers from Ireland, England, and the rest of the British Empire. She also read materials from the Continent.
She now read Latin and Greek, which she had learned in the orphanage in Kilrush but only mastered after arriving in Cork City. She also read French, which had come easily after Latin, and some German — harder but not that much, since English had evolved from Germanic languages. She also had just started studying Spanish and Italian. The latter two were fairly easy, being Romance languages and given her mastery of Latin and French.
"So, lass, what have ye been up to, that ye could tell a law-abiding person about?" Major Denis Leckie took out a long brown cigarillo and lit it. Mary caught just the edge of the harsh match smoke and burning tobacco on the gentle breeze.
They were sitting on one of several wooden lawn chairs scattered around the base of the huge old oak in the patio behind the house of the Major and his wife Elizabeth. Facing the south, they could see all the sizable garden which took up much of a big back yard. It was separated from a pasture by a dense hedge of gorse, also called furze, that had a wooden gate in it. Over the yellow-flowered hedge was visible the top of a mildly pitched red roof that shielded a barn for the several horses the Leckies owned. It being the middle of summer the days were long and there were still two or three hours before sundown. The gently rolling hills, at the very southern edge of Cork City, were clearly visible in slanting sunlight that had not yet acquired the golden light nearer sunset.
Denis Leckie had for many years faced danger in the military in foreign lands. Perhaps because of this it had taken the Major only minutes, or perhaps seconds, when the two of them had first met to know she was supremely dangerous despite appearances. It had taken well over a year before he'd come to trust her. He still remained somewhat wary, but nowadays only for surprises rather than danger.
She'd yet to figure out how he'd known this part of her nature. To look at then she was unusual only in her tallness. Otherwise she'd been just another red-headed Irish lass, unco pretty but not spectacular. Nor did she think her manner unusual, except in being confident and impertinent.
Still, if others could recognize that she was dangerous she must disguise its reason. So she'd learned to function in her Mary McCarthy persona as very strong, fast, and skillful, but only in an ordinarily human manner. She'd taken to carrying a knife in each boot top and a pair of throwing knives strapped to each thigh, quickly available through a nearly invisible slit in the sides of each dress. Lately she'd also taken to carrying a pistol in a holster built into her purse.
She grinned at him. She'd thought he might ask such a question.
She slapped one hand onto the purse hanging over one shoulder, pinning it to her body. With the thumb of her other hand she flipped open the flap that sealed the purse and put her hand onto the butt of the pistol. In an instant she had the revolver out and pointing at the sky. If the Major hadn't been expecting such a demonstration it would have seemed to magically appear in her hand.
"My new toy."
She snapped out the six-shot cylinder and handed it and the pistol to him. He examined it minutely, replaced the cylinder and hefted in his hand, then removed the cylinder and practiced pointing and aiming.
"Only good for pointing. What's the barrel length?"
"It started out as seven-and-a-half inches and I had it cut down to three."
"Not very accurate."
"Good enough for me. I can take out an eye at 15 yards, and decide whether left or right. "
The Major had thought her exaggerating the first time she'd made a similar claim. They went out into the pasture to the wood line of the forest that graced the hills beyond. There she'd proceeded to unerringly hit one-inch targets thrown into the air, starting out facing away from the targets. Even when he'd thrown several into the air. Then she'd done much the same with the throwing knives she kept hidden under her skirts. And that was the last time he'd taken any of her hard-to-believe statements as brags
He peered at the inscription on the barrel. "What is this 'Whitneyville'?"
"The home of the Eli Whitney company in Connecticut. He invented the cotton gin. His son makes weapons."
"I like the back strap. Much better than that Sam Colt revolver that doesn't have it. Makes it too weak. N
ot like my trusty Beaumont-Adams."
He patted the pistol in the holster on his hip that carried a five-shot heavy-caliber revolver like the pistols that he'd worn for several decades of his military service. He deferred to his wife in every other aspect of their home life but insisted on wearing his pistol everywhere, saying he'd feel naked without it.
Leckie gestured toward the purse and gave a "give-me" gesture. She unstrapped the purse and handed it to him. Inside he examined the built-in pistol holster for the nine-inch weapon. The three extra loaded cylinders had their own miniature holsters inside it so that they could be quickly found by touch and removed for fast reloading.
"Doesn't leave much room for feminine necessities."
Mary grinned at him. "I am not a heavy user of feminine necessities."
His reply was wintry smile. He returned her belongings to her and she guided the conversation into a discussion of lessons he'd learned while in the military. She was especially interested in lessons in managing groups of men, thinking of how she could adapt his wisdom to ruling the Organization. None of Denis's sons had been interested in a martial life, so he readily indulged her curiosity about his career.
More than an hour later the air had begun to take on a golden hue as the sun neared the western horizon. A child's glad shout interrupted their conversation. Turning toward the house they could see a sturdy three-year-old boy in short pants running toward them .
Behind him his mother was just emerging from the back door. She was short, sturdy rather than stout, and had long straight black hair that made a glossy stream from over one shoulder. This was Harriet, the Leckie's youngest daughter. She lived only a few houses away. A woman of decided and hard-held opinions, it had taken her a long time to accept the three usurpers of her place in her parents' home. She was close to Bridget, awed by Barbara, and puzzled by Mary.
Master Jackson threw himself onto his grandfather, who fended off his kisses with obviously faux distaste. Delivering a finally victorious smack to Denis's cheek he abandoned the man for a dive for Mary's lap. Then the tables were turned, as Mary wrestled to shower kisses on the boy's cheeks. Manfully allowing her to deliver one after a vigorous defense, he settled down in her lap.
"What did you bring me, Marry?" He'd misheard Mary's name the first time he'd heard it and had ever since stuck to his version of it.
"You know I only bring presents to good little boys on special occasions. Hello, Harriet. Has Jacko been a good little boy?"
The black-haired woman straightened from a kiss on her father's cheek. "He's been a terrible boy. And this is not a special occasion."
"Jacko wants a present!"
"I'll give you a present." Mary started tickling him. In the ensuing struggle he forgot the subject of presents.
The moment she'd touched his skin she'd checked his health. All was as it should be. Absent-mindedly she eased the itching under the scab on one of his knees. Such was usually a sign it was time for an injured person to scratch loose a scab, but his body was being a little too optimistic.
Harriet strolled over to ruffle her son's hair. "Are you and Papa talking about some horrid war tale?"
Mary smiled and nodded. "You're looking well. Glowing even. Do you have some happy news to report?"
Harriet smiled back. "I think I might be pregnant."
Mary already knew she was. A dozen subtle visible signs said Yes, and when the woman had come close enough Mary had flicked an invisible hand through her middle to be sure.
Harriet picked up her son and Mary touched the woman's arm as she stood up and surrendered Jacko. This gave her more detailed knowledge and more quickly than her invisible hand could .
"I guessed you were. I've seen that look on women before."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"
Mary smiled. "I am just guessing, you know."
"And, if you had to guess, do you think it's going to be a girl?"
It would be. Harriet had so often said she wanted a daughter that Mary had ensured she would, and an especially healthy one. Which was why it had taken three years to become pregnant despite sharing a lusty sensuality with her husband. The right potential child had not come about earlier.
"Just guessing. But yes."
Harriet squealed and hugged Mary so hard that she squashed Jacko. He complained, wriggled free of the two women, and went to join his grandfather, who put an arm around the boy's shoulders.
"That's right, soldier. Us men have to stick together."
Naturally Harriet could only wait until the table was set with food and a blessing said to impart her good news.
"Mary says I'm going to have a little girl!"
Passing gravy down the table Mary smiled and shook her head. "Now let's have none of that Healer nonsense again. I only said I guessed you were pregnant and with a little girl."
Everyone at the table gave that nonsense the attention it deserved: none. Even Jacko knew "Marry" could "kiss it and make it well." And the rest of the Leckies' extended family knew something of her abilities. They all considered her a true Healer in the Irish tradition, but only spoke of it guardedly and among themselves. The English scorned the idea that there was any truth to tales of the extranatural.
Mary knew the overlords weren't quite correct. Perhaps one of every thousand humans had a healing touch, though it was like a candle next to the blazing sun of Mary's ability. These "natural healers" were maybe two or three times more often women but some men had the power too. Bridget had the touch, as did the Major, who'd developed it while giving rough-and-ready first-aid on the battlefield.
After enduring a half-hour of feminine discussion of the new coming baby and the proper preparations for it the Major spoke up.
"I'm pleased for you, Harriet. But let's hear what others have been doing, shall we? My dear Elizabeth, what have you been up to that the girls haven't heard about?"
Mrs. Leckie proceeded to talk about her musical doings. They had always been numerous but were even more so since word had gotten around that she was the tutor of the Kilrush Thrush. From there it was natural for Barbara to talk about her doings. She'd recently begun performing with the Cork City Municipal Opera, starting with bit parts and building toward better roles. A perfect mimic and a dramatic genius, she soon had all of them laughing with a four-way argument between the head of the Opera (who insisted that he be called il Maestro ), a soprano, a baritone, and meek ingnue Barbara. Much humor flowed from that latter portrayal, everyone knowing that Barbara was about as meek as a tigress.
That took them through dessert. In the spacious parlour they retired for drinks of various kinds, ale for the Major, a white wine for his wife, tea for the younger women, and milk for Jacko, who nestled comfortably in Barbara's lap. He fought none too hard to stay awake but was soon dozing.
Bridget's news was all of fabrics she'd begun to buy from the several Italys for her clothing manufactory. She'd brought swatches of fabric to pass around. She was well-read and -spoken. Normally quietly regal, when her imagination was caught she could be very eloquent. Thus was she that evening.
Florence, she said, had for centuries been known for woolens and innovation. She showed them several swatches that combined silk and finely-combed wool. The strength of the wool let the fabric be quite thin and the silk gave it a pearly luster, and it was much cheaper than pure silk. Other swatches were of cloth woven in unusual ways. One of them produced a miniscule checkerboard of raised and lowered fabric. The effect, close up, was of tiny slightly iridescent spots that shimmered subtly when the wearer of cloth made from it moved.
The Major, next in line in the circle they formed in the parlor, passed. Saying he'd nothing of moment to report he turned his attention to Mary.
"I am now M. F. K. McCarthy, Honorary Doctor of Medicine."
This brought a chorus of questions from the womenfolk and a raised eyebrow from Denis Leckie.
"It's only Honorary. I can't practice medicine."
"How did this happen, dear?"
Elizabeth asked.
"It's because of Dame Edith. You know I'm her go-between with the Cork University. Well, they noticed that I sometimes influence what money goes where. So the School of Medicine thought if they honored me I'd be influenced to give them more money."
"And does it work?" said Harriet.
"No."
"And you can't officially practice medicine?" Harriet very slightly emphasized "officially." She knew that Mary had worked her (as she thought it) Healer magic on all the Leckie's children and grandchildren. Her mother had ensured that all of them had visited her and her husband. She'd lost two infant sons and a very young daughter, which was usual in Ireland nowadays. Thus she'd allowed none of her living three sons and four daughters excuses that kept them from visiting their parents at least once, and had ensured each brought their family. Mary had discreetly let Elizabeth (and thus her husband and Harriet) know that she had in fact worked her magic upon them all.
"Yes. But in a year's time I'll twist their elbows so that I can take the medical exams and become a doctor officially. I expect a fair amount of fuss when I pass them all. Especially the dissection exam."
The idea of "her girl" doing dissections horrified Elizabeth and she said so.
Bridget, normally quiet, laid a hand on her semi-adopted mother's arm. "Hush, now. You of all people going on like this. You, with such a deft hand at carving? I'd wager that women know more about this than men do."
Elizabeth, much struck by this view, took on a thoughtful look.
Barbara took the near-empty glass of milk from Jacko's lax hand. He was fully asleep now. She finished off the glass and set it on a nearby table.
"Mair, are you going to go further with this medicine business?"
"As soon as I pass the exams I'm going to apply for a license to practice."
The Major uncrossed his legs and re-crossed them in different position. "Isn't that cutting off more than you can chew? Perhaps you should be prepared for a rejection."
"Oh, no. I'll have a license within —" Her eyes went vacant for a few seconds while she reviewed the process and the pressures the Organization could exert on the various officials involved. "— Within four months. By then Dame Edith will have set up a charitable clinic for poor people. Once or twice a month I'll spend a full day on their more difficult cases."