by Ann Bridge
“And how does she get back?”
“She walks it” said Mrs. MacGarry again.
“No nonsense about school buses here!” Gerald said, laughing at Julia’s aghast expression. “They’re just starting them in one or two very ‘with-it’ places, but not here, thank Goodness! We walk it, and ‘in our feet’ at that—that’s the way we get our constitutions.”
A small boy, one size bigger than Elisabeth, with very dark hair and eyes, and bright-red cheeks, now came up to Julia, pushing the little girl roughly aside—“Want to shake hands with the lady,” he pronounced truculently.
“Don’t be bold, Shamus” his mother rebuked him.
“Jealous is what he is” Gerald said, drawing Shamus towards him and giving him a light slap on the cheek. “Say ‘sorry’ to Elisabeth, and then p’raps the lady will shake hands with you” he said.
“Sorry, Elisabeth” the child said perfunctorily, and again advanced on Julia, with outstretched hand.
“How do you do, Shamus?” she said formally, taking his hand. “How old are you?”
“I’m five last Patrick’s Day. I can spell,” he announced. “Elisabeth can’t spell.”
“She will when she’s your age” Julia said. “I have a little boy of five” she added.
“Can he spell?” Shamus asked.
“A little” Julia said, smiling; she was thinking that this tough little creature would be an admirable companion for small Philip.
“Be off out with you now, the lot of you” Mrs. MacGarry told the children. “It doesn’t rain any more.” And with a good deal of noise they obediently trooped out. When they had gone—“Shamus is much darker than any of the others” Julia observed to his Mother. The rest had fair or mouse-brown hair.
“He is, well—Shamus is the blackest, and the crossest” Mrs. MacGarry said resignedly.
“Can he really spell, Agnes?” O’Brien asked.
“Yes, he’s very quick, the schoolmistress says.” She smiled to herself. “He says such funny things sometimes” she said, rather shyly, to Julia. “The other day the mistress was preparing them for their clerical”—she stumbled a little over the word—”examination; when the priest comes to see do they know their Catechism. She asked Shamus—’How many persons in God?’ ‘Three’ says he. ‘Can you name them?’ says she. ‘I can’ says Shamus—‘The Father, the Mother, and the Gossoon.’ (Mrs. MacGarry pronounced it ‘gossen.’)
Gerald burst out laughing. “That’s great, Agnes!” he said. He turned to Julia. “The gossen is the little boy” he explained.
“How sweet” Julia said to the proud mother, who was still smiling, shyly, and blushing a little. “It’s a charming idea of the Trinity—and such a natural one, for a child.”
“I wonder what Father Macarthy said” Gerald speculated.
“Oh, the mistress’d never tell him that!” Mrs. MacGarry said, looking horrified. “She put Shamus right at once. But I thought it was funny.”
“It was, very funny” Gerald said, getting up and patting her shoulder. “Don’t worry—I won’t tell the Father. Come on, Julia; it’s time I was taking you back.” They made their farewells and left.
“What a sweet family” Julia observed, as they walked back to the house. “They’d be ideal for the Philipino.”
“I’m glad” he said.
“But Gerald, why in the world does that dear, nice Mrs. MacGarry let the children drink tea? Even that tiny little Elisabeth was drinking tea.”
“What would she drink?” he asked, surprised.
“Milk, I should have thought. Surely all young children drink milk, or ought to?”
“But if the children all drank it, there wouldn’t be enough for the butter” the man said, looking rather worried.
“Do you mean she makes their butter? Couldn’t she buy it?” asked ignorant Julia.
“Buy butter? Here, on a farm? What would be the point of that?”
“To let the children drink milk, at least until they’re ten” Julia stated roundly.
“Oh, you’d never get them to do that” Gerald O’Brien said. “They’d think you were mad to suggest it. Why do they want to drink milk, anyhow?”
“To stop them getting rickets. That little Shamus has got slightly bandy legs, and so have one or two of the others.”
“Oh my dear, all children here have bandy-legs, or bowlegs.” He began to laugh. “The old people say their legs straighten out when they get the whiskey into them” he said.
“Can that be true?”
“Well, you don’t see many bow-legged or bandy-legged men about, do you?”
“No” Julia admitted. She began to laugh herself, a little reluctantly. “And if the men aren’t, I don’t suppose the women are, though one can’t see. But it seems fantastic to think that whiskey can have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t suppose it has. But it’s what they say. Something straightens their legs, anyhow, when they grow up.”
On the Monday Julia paid her visit to old Lady Browne— “to get it over,” as she said. She knew the way to Lough Sayle: through Martinstown, and on westward by the inland road; Ponticum Cottage was not marked on the map, but Lady Helen showed her where it was, close to the road at the north-east end of the Lough. It was a fine sunny day—Mayo was having a wonderful spring that year, Julia reflected, as she drove down the broad, grassy valley towards the mountains; she drove into them, drove through them, and emerged into more open country again, where Lough Sayle lies in a wide shallow trough, with low wooded hills on one side, and beyond, across the water, quite high mountains, rounded and pale, though blue with distance; one of them sparkled like crystal in the sun, and Julia remembered that Lady Helen had told her that it was full of mica, and so bore the name of “Diamond Mountain”—that must be it. A handing-post at a turning to the right indicated the road to Lettersall; it appeared, as Terence had said, to have quite a good surface.
Just beyond this turn Julia had to slow down because the road was occupied by a flock of donkeys, ten or a dozen of them, in the fairly incompetent charge of two small boys armed with long willow-rods; a large white American car, coming fast in the opposite direction, startled the asses, which began galloping about wildly. Julia pulled up, fearing lest the frightened animals should damage the wings of Helen’s car; she tried to see who was driving so recklessly past livestock on the road, but the driver, a woman, was wearing dark glasses and a head-scarf, and anyhow Julia was trying, by waving out of the car window, to shoo the creatures away from her own vehicle—she couldn’t pay much attention. Eventually the donkeys calmed down, and she was able to pass them, and drove on to pay her visit.
She had decided not to give any notice of her coming, on this occasion. Ponticum Cottage stood off the road, on a little promontory in the lake; a short drive, with abundant clumps of the hideous plant which gave it its name on either side, led out to it. Owing to the ponticums Julia couldn’t see if there would be room to turn the car, so she left it on the road, and walked down the drive. It was a windy day; all down the lough little waves, white-capped, sparkled in the sun. Close to the cottage the rhododendrons ceased, and there was, she saw, ample turning-space in front of the low one-storey building; a window in a room on the right was open, and Julia was just thinking what a lovely view it must have when there came a sudden gust of wind, and out of the window poured a shower of pieces of paper, some coming right to her feet. Julia stooped to pick them up; short-sighted as she was, it was only when she had them in her hand that she realised what they were—£5 notes! At least a couple of dozen £5 notes! As she ran to and fro, picking them up—the wind, circling in front of the building, blew them this way and that—the window was slammed down; a moment later the door opened, followed by a fresh volley of currency, and storm of oaths in colloquial French, of which Merde! was the mildest. Julia, rather out of breath, began to laugh, while she continued to pick up the fivers; the door was slammed to again—when she had collected all she could see s
he went up and rang the bell.
It was opened by old Lady Browne. “Have you got them all?” she asked at once.
“Yes, I think so” Julia replied.
“Well come in, before they start blowing again” the old lady said; as Julia stepped into the passage she slammed the door after her, saying “This pernicious wind!” She led Julia into a room on the right, which went the whole depth of the house; another window on far side gave onto the mountains beyond the lough. This was open and had obviously caused the through draught which sent the notes flying; Lady Browne closed it with an angry slam, waved Julia to a chair, and seated herself at the desk in front of the other window, on which lay several bundles of £5 notes with elastic bands round them. Julia noticed this detail with slight surprise. She was familiar, in films, with the sight of notes in banks or stolen from banks, and they were always held together by narrow paper bands.
“Now, how many have you got there?” the old lady asked.
“I’ll count them” Julia said, and did so. “Forty-three” she pronounced.
Lady Browne meanwhile had begun counting some notes in a loose pile on the desk. “And I’ve got fifty-seven here” she said. “Does that make a hundred?”
“Yes, exactly—seven and three are ten, forty and fifty are ninety” Julia said, childishly doing the sum aloud, “And the odd ten makes a hundred.” She handed over her forty-three notes, and now at last the old lady said “Thank you; thank you very much.” Then, with a sharp glance—“Who are you, and why have you come here?” she asked.
“I’m Julia Jamieson, whom you met at tea at the Fitzgeralds; you said you had a fur coat to sell, and kindly invited me to come and look at it—so here I am” Julia replied readily. But she was doing another sum in her head. Each of the bundles of one-hundred five-pound notes represented £500; beside the one round which Lady Browne, with gnarled and knobby hands, was trying to put an elastic band there were five bundles lying on the desk—£3,000 pounds!
“Oh yes—the mink coat. Well I’m not sure that I’ll bother to sell it now” Lady Browne said.
“You said you wanted to buy a new pony” Julia remarked —“with the money from the coat.”
“Yes, I did; but you see I sold something else instead. Some land I didn’t really want, to someone who does really want it.”
“Oh, how nice for you” Julia said politely.
“Yes, and nice for her, too. She said she wanted it terribly. She’s going to pay much more than this”—Lady Browne waved her hand at the bundles of notes—“this is just a deposit. But she wanted to get the document today,” the old woman went on, garrulously.
Today! The word knocked on Julia’s mind, recalling the woman with dark glasses in the white American car, who had driven so recklessly past the donkeys, coming up the road from Lough Sayle, really only a few minutes ago. She made a guess, and chanced it.
“Oh, is your buyer pretty Mrs. Martin, from Achill?” she asked.
“Yes—isn’t she pretty?” Lady Browne said. Then she caught herself up. “That is—I’m not sure that her name is Martin. Why do you want to know?” she asked sharply.
“I don’t!” Julia said, with a laugh. “Only I met Mrs. Martin on the road just now, as I was coming down; she’s one of the few people round here who have money to spend on this scale”—and she in her turn waved her hand at the notes. “Is she a friend of yours?”
“No, not really. I found her very pleasant. I thought she would make a nice neighbour” the old woman said rather wistfully.
Julia was touched by this in spite of herself.
“Oh dear Lady Browne, did she tell you she was going to build a house, and come and live here on the land she’s bought?”
“Buying, you mean—she hasn’t bought it yet. I told you this is only a deposit” the old lady said brusquely. “No, she didn’t say that in so many words. But what else does one buy a piece of land for?”
Julia hesitated. She was wondering whether to say what she guessed, and believed, to be Mrs. Martin’s object, and possibly thus discourage Lady Browne from completing the sale?—she would certainly be very reluctant to sell if she knew that O’Rahilly had anything to gain from the purchase! She decided to wait, and try to learn more first.
“No, I suppose that is the usual reason” she said. “I wonder why she wanted the document in such a hurry, though? Land doesn’t run away!”
“I think she wanted to have something signed to raise the rest of the price on” Lady Browne said, looking rather crafty. “She had the description of the land, and the acreage, all typed out ready—and the price, of course—and my agreement to sell; and I just wrote in the receipt for the deposit, and signed at the foot of the paper.”
“Did she give you a copy of that paper?” Julia asked.
“No—what do I want that for? I’ve got the money!” Lady Browne looked craftier than ever as she said this.
“I hope you’ve got a safe to put it in” Julia said earnestly, “till you can get it to the Bank.”
“Oh, I’ve got a safe place to put it in” the old lady said, with a complacent little smirk. “Not a safe—burglars blow safes open! Somewhere much safer.” She gave a little dry cackle of laughter.
“I’m just a bit surprised that you don’t mind making a big sale like this without a lawyer to advise you” Julia ventured to say.
“Oh, lawyers! What good do they do? Generally try to stop one from doing anything at all, and charge a big fee for being troublesome!” She looked rather sharply at Julia. “You know Gerald O’Brien, don’t you? I remember Richard Fitzgerald saying ’twas he who brought you to Kilmichan. Well, he’s my lawyer. Did he tell you to come and see me?”
“No, he didn’t.” Julia was thankful to be able to say this with truth, since in fact the suggestion had come from Terence White. “And I don’t believe he would ever charge you a fee he hadn’t fully earned,” she added stoutly.
“Nor do I” Lady Browne said. “He’s a most honest, generous creature—I’ll grant you that. Far too generous to make much of a living as a lawyer! But he might have tried to stop me” she added pugnaciously. “Now don’t you tell him! Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise you he shan’t hear it: from me” Julia said readily—it was a promise she could give fairly honestly, for she had already settled on her next move.
“Good woman! It would only worry him for nothing, and make him waste time and petrol coming over here.”
Julia got up. “I must be going” she said. “I’m sorry not to see the coat, though.”
“You’ve wasted time and petrol, eh?” the surprising old party said, cackling with laughter again.
“Oh no—the drive was lovely, and it was nice to see you” Julia replied politely. “I wish I could drive you in to the Bank, but it’s too late today,” she added, with a glance at her watch.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I shall be all right,” the old lady said. “Come again one day.”
“I will” Julia said. “But do put that money in your safe place at once, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will. You’re a kind girl” she said, as she opened the front door. “Goodbye.”
That last remark of Lady Browne’s caused Julia some compunction as she drove back to Martinstown, but not enough to deflect her from her intention of seeing Terence White as soon as possible. She parked her car in the Mall outside one of the little town’s two hotels, went in and ordered tea, and then rang up Gerald at his office and asked the name of the lawyers’ firm where Terence worked.
“Walshe and Walshe, in the Mall” he said. “Are you in Martinstown?”
“Yes—in the Mall, at the pub.”
“Oh well, that’s easy—they’re on the opposite side, about the middle. How did you get on?”
“Oh, so-so. Be seeing you.” She rang off, determined not to get involved in any questioning which might jeopardise her keeping of her promise to old Lady Browne. The porter, from the hotel steps, showed her Walshe &
Walshe’s office —“That light grey house is the one”—and Julia nipped across one of the pretty bridges, went up to the dignified grey house, rang the bell, and asked to see Mr. White. An elderly man, who looked more like a clerk than a servant, led her up to the first floor, opened a door, and said—“A lady to see you, Mr. White.”
Rather to Julia’s dismay, Terence rose from one of four desks in the room, and came over to where she stood at the door.
“Hullo—come in” he said.
“Could you possibly come out for a minute?” she asked. “My business is rather private,” she added, for the benefit of the occupants of the other three desks.
“Raftery, is there anyone in the waiting-room?” Terence asked the elderly man.
“Only three or four, Sir.”
“Oh, let’s go outside—there are seats under the trees” Julia said, distressfully. “Won’t that be all right?” She put on her doves’ eyes, and turned them first on Terence, then on the elderly man.
“Raftery, tell Mr. George I’ve been called out for a minute” Terence said, and went downstairs and out into the street with Julia.
“Sorry if I’ve come at a bad time, but I thought you ought to hear this at once” Julia said. “Actually I’ve got tea waiting at the hotel, and I could do with it! What about you?”
“Oh yes, I’ll come across—what’s the odds?”
There were not many people in the hall of the hotel, and Julia caused a waiter to move her tea to a table in an alcove, and to bring another cup and more cakes.
“Now what goes on?” Terence asked, as she poured out.
“Well, she’s got what she called the ‘deposit,’ a first instalment, in cash—used fivers.”
“She has, has she? How much?”
“Three thousand pounds.”
“Golly! Did she tell you that?”
“No, I counted it.” Julia went on to describe her arrival at the cottage, and the bank-notes blowing about the driveway. “And when she let me in—she more or less had to, as my hands were full of her money!—there were five other bundles of five-pound notes lying on her desk, with elastic bands round them.”