The Dolocher

by Caroline Barry

  ‘Really, miss?’ Janey Mack was on her feet, waving her arms again. ‘Rovin’ the rollin’ waves looking for Johnny Barden and you found him strollin’ along with his lady gay, and ye took out a brace of pistols that ye had at yer command and ye shot him with his lady at his right hand.’

  ‘I found him in Liverpool.’ Merriment couldn’t suppress the strange joy of watching Janey Mack utterly enraptured. The little girl’s huge blue eyes popped, she stood with her fingertips touching, waiting for every morsel of exotic information that dropped from Merriment’s lips. ‘I found him in Liverpool, thirteen long years after we had first parted.’

  ‘Thirteen years, miss.’

  ‘I saw him walking down a street, as casual, as inconsequential. If you were looking on, you’d never have guessed, you’d have seen a woman in breeches carrying a medicine bag glancing over at a man in a frock coat, leading a fine mare.’

  ‘Janey Mack, he wore a frock coat and owned a handsome horse.’

  ‘He had long given up the sea. He’d escaped and settled in Liverpool.’

  Janey Mack gasped, genuinely shocked.

  ‘He never came back to Ireland to look for ye and tell ye he was all right?’

  Merriment lowered her eyes and shifted in her chair.

  ‘He had become an ostler and he looked well. I’d have known him in a crowd. I did know him in a crowd. He was broader than I remembered. He had filled out and he had a beard now. But I recognised him immediately.’

  ‘And did he see you, miss?’ Janey Mack swallowed.

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And did he drop the mare and come rushing to sweep you up in his arms?’

  Merriment shook her head.

  ‘He didn’t know me.’

  Janey Mack bounced back. ‘Didn’t he, miss?’ Then looking at Merriment’s boots, she said, ‘Must have been the breeches, miss.’

  ‘I followed him.’

  Janey Mack slid down to the trunk, her little face pale and washed out.

  ‘Did ya, miss?’ she whispered. ‘And did ya kill him on account of him not recollecting ye?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him.’ Merriment half frowned and half smiled. ‘I followed him home. He was married with three children.’

  ‘Ah, Janey Mack.’ The little girl flung her arms in the air, and then, remembering Maggie dead in the bed behind her, she hoarsely whispered, ‘That’s awful so it is, miss, and you nursing a broken heart this thirteen years and for what? A man that dropped ye like a hot potato. That’s very disappointing, so it is.’

  ‘That’s the thing.’ Merriment removed the thong that tied her hair back and shook her tresses free, letting them tumble over her shoulder in a long auburn sweep. ‘I wasn’t disappointed.’

  This revelation astounded Janey Mack.

  ‘Weren’t ya?’ She frowned, her forehead creasing, drawing her thin brows into little zigzags above her eyes. ‘Had he got fat, miss?’

  ‘No.’ Merriment stroked the ends of her hair, loosening out the knots. ‘What I’m trying to say is, somehow, in the middle of all my travels, through all my friendships and training and all that I had learned, I had changed.’

  She paused, giving a little sigh.

  ‘If things had been different. If life hadn’t intruded, if . . .’

  ‘If ifs and ands were pots and pans there be no need for tinkers,’ Janey Mack rhymed off stoically.

  ‘That’s the thing exactly, Janey, exactly.’

  Merriment looked strangely beautiful in the firelight, her fragile skin had a delicate glow, her freckles appeared more pronounced, and her hair sweeping in a long tide over her shoulders reminded Janey Mack of the picture of a lady in the clouds embroidered on a chair she’d once seen in a shop window.

  ‘We all like to think we make our own destinies, but the Romans had it right.’ Merriment smiled gently.

  ‘Did they, miss?’

  ‘Fortuna – fate – the gods decide our lot in life.’

  ‘Oh.’ Janey Mack wasn’t satisfied with that notion.

  To cheer her up Merriment finished her romantic story.

  ‘I was made a ship’s commander, though.’

  ‘Were ye, miss?’

  ‘For a short period, when the commander got very sick and I had to take over for a night. After that I was promoted to ship’s surgeon, earned my living that way. Made enough money to set up my practice here and take on an assistant.’

  ‘And a lodger.’

  Merriment nodded. ‘And a lodger.’

  Janey Mack stood up and wandered over to Maggie again.

  ‘Where do you think Sol is?’

  Merriment shrugged, doing her best to look indifferent. Truth was she wished he would come home. The beadle had yet to be informed about Maggie and arrangements had to be made to bring her to Saggart.

  ‘Do you think the Dolocher has him, miss?’

  Janey Mack could barely breathe, her huge eyes were wide, staring anxiously, no longer distracted by Merriment’s sea tales.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Merriment smirked. ‘He’s in a chophouse, having supper. He had a bit of business to do with some man,’ she lied.

  ‘Did he, miss?’ Janey Mack nodded uncertainly. ‘Maggie told me he was to marry.’

  ‘Solomon?’ Merriment’s heart jumped. Janey Mack’s head bounced back and forth.

  ‘A girl called Eliza May had her sights fixed on him. She flung herself in the river.’

  Merriment’s lower lip dropped, a small gasp escaped. She looked away, trying to conceal her shock.

  ‘Do ye think Eliza May found out Solomon’s secret and drowned herself on account of it?’

  Merriment stood up, not knowing where she was going, and moved for the door. She stopped herself, feeling trapped by the needs of a corpse and an eight-year-old girl.

  ‘Who knows why Eliza May did what she did.’

  ‘And then he ran off with Sally Loftus and where is she now? Not with him. What do you suppose he did with her, miss?’

  ‘Nothing. Honestly, Janey. I think we should go downstairs.’

  ‘No, miss, Maggie won’t like it.’

  Janey Mack moved to the foot of the bed and looked at Maggie lying in repose, propped up on pillows, her dead face white as chalk and grotesquely marred by two huge pennies staring darkly from her sockets.

  ‘Will ye have another baby, miss?’ Janey Mack whispered.

  ‘I’m too old, I think.’ Merriment felt a curious pain, a dull, dragging sensation in her heart. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I wanted to keep the baby.’ Janey Mack looked at her fingers, pushing them along the twisted moulding that decorated the end of the bedstead.

  ‘The one you lost?’ Merriment stepped beside her, gently stroking the back of the little girl’s head.

  ‘He was very sick.’ Janey Mack’s voice faltered. ‘He went quiet as a mouse, but I got some milk for him.’

  The little girl stared at her scarred hand, looking for the telltale signs of guilt, for crimson pinprick spots. She stared a moment at Maggie, before gazing beseechingly up at Merriment and asking, ‘Do you think God let the devil out, miss?’

  Merriment snorted a quick, derisory laugh.

  ‘No. What do you mean?’

  ‘The Dolocher, miss, to catch sinners and drag them to hell.’

  Merriment reassuringly touched Janey Mack’s hand.

  ‘No. Sure, what did poor Maggie do, or Gertie? They were good people. Good people who were unprotected . . .’

  ‘But what if they did something bad and we didn’t know it, but the Dolocher did and he was told to fetch them to hell?’

  Merriment scratched her head, sighing impatiently. ‘Listen to me.’ She brought Janey Mack back to the chair and sat the little girl on her lap. ‘There is no devil out there, there are only bad men, bad men who want money and . . .’

  ‘The devil’s real.’ Janey Mack started to cry.

  ‘Come on, we’re going downstairs.’ Merriment had had enough.<
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  ‘No.’ Janey Mack’s whole body trembled.

  ‘What is this about?’ Merriment tried to hold the little girl’s face.

  Janey Mack wailed, obviously distressed.

  ‘What if he comes to get me?’

  Merriment’s mouth swung open. She was shocked and confused.

  ‘Why would the Dolocher want you?’

  Janey Mack refused to speak; instead she trembled and wrung her hands and sobbed, her whole body convulsing with terror.

  ‘Janey, come on now. It’s all right, you’re all right. Tell me what all this is about.’ Merriment stroked the little girl’s back, anxious to calm the child down. ‘Is it about the baby?’

  Janey Mack nodded, slipping from Merriment’s knees.

  ‘What is it about the baby?’ Merriment asked softly, her heart stuttering in her chest, her breath shallow.

  Janey Mack pinched her lips together, her face streaked with tears. It took her a long time to answer. She stared at the fireplace, too afraid to speak. Merriment stayed rubbing her back, trying to ease the words up from the pit of the little girl’s stomach.

  ‘What about the baby?’ Merriment repeated.

  Janey Mack started sobbing again. She cried so much her face turned bright red and snot dribbled from her nose.

  ‘Ye won’t like me,’ she bawled, afraid that this one confession was going to tear the house down. ‘Ye’ll give me back. I shouldn’t have taken him to Hoppy John. I should’ve hid him like I intended.’

  ‘What happened to the baby?’ Merriment struggled to keep her voice neutral.

  ‘I killed him.’

  Merriment’s hand stopped moving, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, she felt faint, her fingers floated away from the little girl’s spine. And the break in contact snapped Janey Mack in half. Grief-stricken, the child crumpled to the floor and cried and cried until Merriment dragged her up onto her lap and hugged her tight.

  ‘There now,’ she hushed the little girl. ‘There now. Tell me everything.’

  Merriment felt sick; she rocked Janey Mack back and forth, wishing desperately with all her heart that this wasn’t happening. The world was turning on its head and dragging her with it and all she wanted was to go below deck, batten down the hatches, fling herself into her bunk and listen to the raging sea. A stormy night with a leaky hull was preferable to the stomach-churning situation she was now in. A corpse in the bed and a child murderer on her lap.

  Janey Mack pulled herself away from the comfort of Merriment’s arms and sat rocking on the sea chest. Merriment swallowed back the taste of bile in her mouth. She waited, watching Janey Mack muster up the courage to tell all.

  ‘I should have hid him,’ the little girl whimpered. ‘I argued with meself and thought maybe Hoppy John would let me keep the little mite. So I took him to Hoppy John and said look what I found in the scrap, and he pulled the baby away and flung it in the river and I watched it sink and I waited and waited for the little mite to come back up but it never did. And I kicked and punched Hoppy John and he shoved my hand in the fire and told me he’d slit my throat if I told anyone and now the Dolocher is out to grab me to hell because I knew Hoppy John would murder the baby and still I took it over.’

  Janey Mack started a fresh wave of tears. Merriment couldn’t suppress her relief. She exhaled loudly, pressing a hand to her heart as she slid onto the chest beside the little weeping girl.

  ‘You didn’t murder the baby, Janey. Hoppy John was the one who did the deed. Shh, now, shh, it’s not your fault. That baby didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘That’s not how it works, miss,’ Janey Mack sniffed. ‘God knows what yer thinking, and if ye know something will end badly and don’t try to avoid it, he punishes ye for not being vigilant.’

  ‘You didn’t kill the baby, Janey, and God is a bit more tolerant than you think he is.’

  ‘I brought the baby to its executioner. If I’d just hid him.’

  ‘That’s enough, you’re not to blame. The murderer is Hoppy John.’

  Janey Mack took in a long deep breath.

  ‘You don’t think my part in it . . .’

  Merriment shook her head. ‘You found a baby and cared for it as best you could. Night was coming and you knew you couldn’t leave it out in the dark and cold.’

  ‘I know, miss, but I could have found a little hidey-hole for it.’

  Glancing at the corpse in the bed, Merriment worked hard trying to convince Janey Mack that she was innocent.

  ‘You knew the baby would be lonely on its own the night long.’

  ‘I did, miss. No one likes to be on their own.’

  ‘You wanted to tuck him into bed, beside you.’ Merriment cuddled Janey Mack, giving the top of her head a little kiss. ‘So you asked Hoppy John for permission.’

  Janey Mack thought for a while.

  ‘Do ye think . . .’ She wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress. ‘Do ye think the Dolocher will catch him?’

  Merriment shook her head.

  ‘Janey, I don’t think anyone is going to hell.’

  ‘That’s ’cause yer a romantic, miss. I think Hoppy John should go to hell.’ Janey Mack looked sadly into the crackling fire. ‘Thing is, miss, I don’t get off scot-free. I knew in me gut, miss. I knew he’d do something to the baby and now God is callin’ on me to explain meself.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to God.’

  ‘To the Romans then.’

  Merriment laughed; a sudden ping of mirth bounced around the room.

  ‘Why do you have to explain yourself to the Romans?’

  ‘’Cause of what they said about fate making our destiny. I’ve to explain meself to someone.’

  Merriment snuggled into Janey Mack, squeezing her tight.

  ‘You are the most confounding little girl I ever met in my whole life.’

  ‘Ye’re not going to turn me into the magistrate then, miss?’

  ‘You tried to save a sick child from the rubbish heap, an abandoned little boy. That makes you an angel. Now, no demon is going to come and get you. You’re not going to hell. You are safe as houses here and you are going to grow up and marry and have children of your own. So, no more blaming yourself. You are a good girl, do you hear me? A good girl with a good heart.’

  Here, Merriment took a candle and went into her room. She rummaged for the little tin box shoved into the back of the drawer of her dressing table.

  ‘This is just for your peace of mind.’

  ‘What is it, miss?’ Janey Mack peeked in the door at her.

  ‘This is for you. You can wear this about your neck.’

  Janey Mack tiptoed in, glancing a moment over her shoulder, afraid that Maggie’s voice might call out after her to come back. She took the painted box and prised it open. There on a bed of folded lace was a simple crucifix.

  ‘On a gold chain.’ Janey Mack’s eyes popped incredulously. ‘Oh, miss, are ye sure? It’s the nicest necklace I ever seen.’

  ‘And it was blessed by a bishop,’ Merriment fibbed. ‘So no demon, even if he accidentally ran into you, could touch you on account of the power of this cross about your neck.’

  ‘Janey Mack, it’s the dandiest thing. That’s lovely, so it is. Are ye sure, miss? What about yerself?’

  ‘I’m safe as houses.’ Merriment smiled. She helped the little girl to put the crucifix on and tilted the table mirror for Janey Mack to admire herself.

  Her eyes flicked anxiously back out the open door.

  ‘He wouldn’t come to fetch the dead, would he, miss?’

  Merriment rolled her eyes and patted Janey’s head.

  ‘Come on, you need warm milk and sleep.’

  But Janey was having none of it, insisting on keeping Maggie company. They returned to their vigil. Janey Mack finally fell asleep curled up on Merriment’s knee while Merriment stared at the loose floorboard wondering where Solomon was and why he carried a rope.

  14


  The Apparition

  Solomon was uproariously drunk. He swept his arms around the blonde girl’s shoulder and said, ‘What are the four questions we must always ask if we want to know what something really is?’

  The blonde girl looked at her friend and giggled. She took another swig of gin and held up her empty glass. ‘Can I have another?’

  Solomon grinned. ‘Is that question number one?’

  When she nodded he called for the barmaid to bring them more gin. The blonde’s friend, a dark-haired girl with a pronounced mole on her chin, shoved her glass into the middle of the table.

  ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘You’re great craic, Solomon.’ Then, turning to the barmaid, she whispered, ‘Leave us the bottle, Molly, we’ve a live one here.’

  Solomon kissed the blonde’s pert bosom, one kiss on each breast.

  ‘No.’ He hauled himself upright. ‘There are four questions the philosopher Pyrrho always asked.’

  ‘Is that right?’ The dark-haired girl poured herself a generous glass of gin and, knocking it back in one gulp, leaned forward and whispered, ‘D’ye want to do it with us two?’

  Solomon froze, his head swaying, his brain washing the question back and forth. He smiled broadly and laughed. ‘You sirens, you bacchanalian beauties, you temptresses of flesh. Let me paddle my fingers.’ Solomon slid his hand under the blonde girl’s skirt and she gave a loud shriek, swatting it away.

  ‘Not here,’ she chided, looking coyly over at the two men sitting by the window muttering seriously to each other. ‘See if Molly has a room.’

  Solomon nodded. ‘Question number one.’ He waved a finger before the two girls. ‘We have to ask what things are and what are they made of?’

  The blonde girl giggled. ‘I’m a girl and I’m made of sugar and spice and all things nice.’

  When the dark-haired girl laughed her painted red mouth split wide open. She was having a good time.

  ‘Molly,’ Solomon bellowed. ‘Molly.’

  The barmaid strolled over, flinging the grey towel she was carrying over her shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’ she growled, folding her arms.

  Solomon leered at her enormous hips.

  ‘I need a room.’

  ‘That’ll be one and six up front.’ Molly held out her grubby hand. ‘And two and four for the drink.’