The Blacksmith's Wife

by Anne Doughty

  I think often of Annie and James: their devotion, their longing to be together and their joy. We are so much older, dear Annie is only just sixteen, but I see no reason why we too might not find that same joy and a place to be together, if we are patient.

  I shall be looking out for the letter that tells me you have completed your task and that we may find an opportunity to greet the new year together.

  Your sincere and loving friend,

  Sarah

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Arriving home on Thursday evening, Christmas Eve, laden with bags of coins and two bundles of clothes – the unsold residues from one more very busy day – Sarah’s first glance was to the kitchen table. It was bare and clean, as Sam and Scottie had left it after the midday meal she had left for them to reheat. On it lay the very best Christmas present she could have wished to receive, a white envelope with her name upon it, the hand unmistakeably Jonathan’s.

  She dropped her heavy bags of money gratefully on the table, carried the bundles of clothes into the sitting room, unwound her damp shawl and sat down by the fire, overjoyed by the hoped-for arrival.

  Though the letter was short, written hastily in an inn where they had stopped for some midday refreshment, she was not disappointed. It confirmed that Jonathan would be arriving in Armagh late on Tuesday 29th. He hoped she could join him at the Charlemont Arms on Wednesday morning and hopefully on Thursday as well, which was New Year’s Eve, if she was not committed to the market stall. It was perfectly clear he was hoping she might find someone to help Mary-Anne on the stall so they could have a second meeting before he left on the afternoon coach for Belfast.

  Knowing there was so little possibility of a letter reaching him before his return she began laying the table for supper, planning that afterwards, before she started counting money, she would bake a cake to take down to Mary-Anne. Her friend would be spending her evening plucking the goose and preparing to cook it, no easy task over an open fire. The goose would need basting regularly in her largest pot, but Mary-Anne would find a way. It was one of her most endearing characteristics: she would never admit defeat until she’d tried all the possibilities she could imagine.

  Sarah was sure the goose would be a great success and it was. Scottie, Jamsey and Billy tucked in so vigorously that Mary-Anne raised her eyes heavenward and said, ‘D’ye think maybe I shou’d ’ave asked fer two?’

  ‘Well, I for one could certainly get used to eatin’ it,’ said Jamsey with exaggerated politeness.

  ‘So, you think it’s “better than a blow of a stick”, as the saying is,’ said Mary-Anne.

  Sarah laughed and enjoyed the banter, but she knew her thoughts were with Jonathan; the only sadness in the happy day was the thought they might never eat a Christmas dinner at their own table.

  She pushed the thought away and joined in as vigorously as she could, knowing she must go home before darkness fell to count money and fill envelopes so Scottie and Jamsey could start delivering tomorrow. She was only too aware that they would be bringing money for food to women who may have dined on Christmas Day only on the customary bowl of porridge.

  When all the morning tasks were done on Wednesday 30th December, Sarah went upstairs to wash and change her kitchen clothes. With some help from Mary-Anne, she had at last managed to finish the new winter dress. The same pattern as the favourite blue dress in which she had driven for the first time to Castle Dillon, this one was a much darker blue in a heavier fabric, but Sarah was pleased when she tried to see herself in the starred and crazed glass of the mirror in the old wardrobe that stood in the bedroom.

  The day was cold and damp but there had been no more snow. The remnants of the last fall lay like white shadows below the hawthorn hedges, shrivelling as the morning moved on, when the roadside verges then began to reappear, damp and squashed but still a vivid green.

  Now that the long-awaited meeting was to happen, Sarah found herself anxious. Perhaps Jonathan would be delayed like last time when he’d encountered a gang of hungry men in the bread shop. Or perhaps the coach had been delayed by snowdrifts on one of the mountain passes. She checked herself. Oh ye of little faith, she said to herself. You must travel in hope.

  Their meeting was to be at noon and although she herself was ten minutes early, Jonathan was already there in the stable yard of the Charlemont Arms waiting patiently. He looked as if he might have been there for a long time, probably as anxious as she was not to be late.

  He came towards her the moment he caught sight of them, helped her down and took her in his arms, kissing her on both cheeks and holding her for a few moments. To Davy, the stable boy, who had his back towards them, he gave a coin and watched as he walked away with Daisy and the trap.

  ‘You look wonderful, Sarah,’ he said sheepishly, as he released her and they walked towards the entrance. ‘But I’m sure I’d still think that if you’d been doing your housework in your oldest clothes. I think I’m prejudiced.’

  ‘Then we both are,’ she said beaming. ‘Perhaps we must just confess all our weaknesses and hope we’ll grow out of them.’

  The dining room was already busy, noisy with men’s voices and steamy from damp clothing and the huge log fire. Sarah’s heart sank as she remembered the voices of some very loud men on their last visit. To her great surprise, Jonathan seemed just as distressed.

  ‘Would you mind waiting a few minutes? I really think we need somewhere quieter,’ he said, leading her to a reserved table.

  And that was how they came to have their meal in a Committee Room, as the head waiter called it, one of the many rooms they hired out for functions.

  The food was good and the quiet was blissful. They laughed at themselves and their reluctance to share their space with anyone else as they began to talk about Jonathan’s expedition and the news from Castle Dillon.

  There was sadness to be shared as Jonathan confessed how much worse things had become in Donegal since the last visit he had made. He was uneasy with the new government’s pronouncements about self-help and laziness, and the number of evictions taking place. Absentee landlords were using unpaid rent as an opportunity to evict tenants, taking away the possibility of cooking even the meagre rations handed out by various charitable bodies, as well as leaving them totally exposed to the weather. For her part, Sarah had to share the very sad news, just arrived from London, of the death of Sir George’s youngest son, his namesake, from scarlet fever at only two years and eight months old.

  They both wondered why Lady Emma had remained in London when Sir George had come to both Castle Dillon and Dublin, but the only reason that seemed to make sense was her concern for the children. Perhaps she feared the rampant fever which was not in any way confined to the workhouse or to people underfed and cold, but was also affecting doctors, schoolteachers, and other professional people who were not deprived of either food or shelter.

  A fire had been lit for them in the Committee Room and after their meal they sat in armchairs on either side of it. Sarah found herself thinking of Annie and James and their one-room home. This room was far bigger, warm and heavily curtained, but it was only a temporary shelter from the lives they were forced to lead, quite separately, with the width of long coach journeys and the dangers of the Irish Sea coming between them.

  ‘Did you bump your head?’ she said lightly, when she realised she had fallen silent.

  ‘Oh this,’ he said, touching his forehead and looking startled. ‘Does it spoil my beauty?’ he asked, trying to make her laugh.

  There was something in his tone that troubled her. He had suddenly become uneasy and his attempt to deflect her attention had reinforced her sense that the scratch – now showing up more clearly as a bruise – was not just a trivial accident.

  ‘What happened, Jonathan?’ she asked steadily. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  She knew he would have to tell her, but as the pause between them lengthened she became more anxious herself. What could possibly have happened that would have exp
osed him to even minor physical damage?

  He sighed and turned his face away from her, his shoulders drooping momentarily as he took a deep breath.

  ‘I had to go to visit The Retreat this morning,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t want to go but I consider it my duty and I know you’ll understand why I don’t speak of it. It is a duty I owe to my wife’s family even if the person who once held that position is no longer the woman I once knew.’

  He paused, unable to go on, until she leant forward, took his hand and said, ‘Just tell me, Jonathan. It can’t hurt you now. Or if it does, I’ll share that hurt with you.’

  He looked up at her, his eyes moist and said, his tone flat and featureless: ‘When she saw me, she flew into a rage, picked up a heavy vase and threw it at me. When I managed to avoid it, she then threw herself upon me, trying to scratch my face or my eyes, I don’t know which,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I must have lost my balance or caught my foot on the carpet and to fell to the ground. By that time, one of the attendants had seen my plight and came to my rescue. They told me afterwards they’re familiar with such outbursts and the attendant overcame her quite quickly, though he had to call for help to lead her away because she struggled and kept on shouting at me and clawing the air.’

  Sarah got up, knelt by his chair and put her arm round him.

  ‘Poor Jonathan,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll kiss it better,’ she said, bending towards him and placing a kiss firmly in the middle of the swelling bruise on his forehead. ‘You should have told me right away and we could have got a cold napkin for your forehead. There’s still a lot of snow in the stable yard if the hotel hasn’t got ice for its white wine,’ she said lightly.

  He smiled weakly. ‘I’m the man who wants to protect you from all harm and I have to be kissed better like a child,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Jonathan, we’re all children when we’re hurt or anxious, but don’t you think two children might be able to make one grown-up?’

  ‘You have a point, my love. I often think if I could have you by my side what wonders I could accomplish,’ he said, clasping his hand over hers.

  They shared the hours of the afternoon. Darkness fell so early that Sarah, now more at ease travelling in the dark, said she could stay for a light supper, but must not delay beyond that in case the temperature went down and the roads, so cold already, began to ice over before she reached Drumilly Hill.

  Jonathan agreed and said that however much he wanted to be with her, she was not to take any risks for his sake.

  ‘Not when we have tomorrow, my love, thanks to that kind woman, Sophie Lawson, taking your place on the stall.’

  ‘I’m very fortunate, Jonathan, I have good friends, but sometimes I long for my best friend of all,’ she said, as he walked with her to retrieve her shawl and rug in the cloakroom and collect Daisy from the stable yard.

  Their goodnight was brief in the cold air with people and traps coming and going around them in the stable yard, but he walked ahead of her up the cobbled entry leading to English Street so he could wave to her, as she turned right and moved slowly down the empty street on her solitary journey home.

  The night was cold and damp but there was no ice at this early hour – overnight might be a different matter. She arrived home safely and found Scottie waiting for her though it was nearly eight o’clock.

  ‘Oh Scottie, you should be away home long ago,’ she chided him gently.

  ‘An’ leave you yer lone to unharness Daisy and get her into her stable? Sure it’s been a long day for you and you up cookin’ since before breakfast,’ he said, as he helped her down, spoke to Daisy and began to unharness her in his usual expert manner.

  ‘Would you drink a mug of tea, Scottie?’ Sarah asked, wondering if he was feeling lonely.

  However well he was managing – living by himself and making some friends of his own – she had not forgotten how lonely she had been, night after night, when there was no John, neither a weary presence sitting exhausted by the fire, nor a tender companion often too tired to make love when he took her in his arms.

  It was those sheltering arms that seemed to make the hard work of every day entirely worthwhile, something to look forward to when the fire was smoored, the lights out and the house silent. However feeble Scottie’s old granny and how unable she was to shelter him, there was no doubt she loved him and was a presence in his life.

  Tired as she was and longing to sit quietly by the fire he’d looked after for her, Sarah was not surprised when he said, ‘Thank you. That would be very nice.’

  The kitchen was warm as he’d kept both inner and front doors tightly shut to await her coming. He put the kettle down, brought out mugs and the cake tin before she’d even unwound her shawl, beads of moisture on it glinting in the lamplight. He had trimmed and filled the lamp, topped up the coal bucket and the log basket and laid the table for breakfast, to save her one more small task before bed.

  She sat down gratefully, wondered what she might say that would be of interest to him, apart from asking about his work in the forge. He was easy with her, but was still not yet used to having someone to talk to, apart from Sam Keenan, the Halligan boys and Mr McMahon. That, perhaps, was the problem she reflected, as she made the tea. There were no women in his life: no mother, no sister, no aunt, not even some elderly female friend of his mother or father.

  But before she had settled herself in her chair and saw him take a bite of the cake she’d cut for him, he looked up at her and said, ‘D’ye think Annie and James have done the right thing, marryin’ other when they’re only servants?’

  ‘Why d’you ask, Scottie?’

  He was looking awkward and she realised that he probably didn’t know why he was asking. It was just something that had come into his world and he didn’t know what to make of it.

  ‘It’s hard to work out what the right thing is for other people. I think it’s right for them, they were both lonely and they obviously love each other. It might have been better to have waited a bit longer, but things sometimes happen that one isn’t expecting. The main thing is they really care about each other.’

  ‘Like you and Mr Hamilton?’ he said quickly.

  ‘Yes, indeed. We hadn’t known each other long, but we knew we loved each other, so we married,’ she said quietly, a little taken aback by the question.

  ‘And if there were someone you loved now, you’d marry them?’

  ‘Yes, I would, Scottie. Life is short at the best of times, if one is fortunate to find someone to love, who loves you, then you marry them.’

  ‘An’ you’ll marry the English man who comes to see you?’ he said, looking down into his mug of tea.

  Sarah paused. There was no point in asking how he knew about Jonathan, not in a small community like this. A chance remark, an easy exchange with the postman, a stable boy from the Charlemont Arms who came to the forge with a horse because he knew Sam, or Scottie, or had a difficult horse.

  ‘I can’t marry the man you speak of even if I do love him. He has a wife who is ill and won’t get better, but that means he isn’t free to marry.’

  ‘But you’d marry him if you could?’

  ‘Yes, I would,’ she said gently. ‘Would you mind if I did?’

  ‘I thought I would,’ he said promptly, ‘for I’ve no one belongin’ to me, but that’s not fair,’ he went on. ‘Why should you be on yer own if there’s someone you’d like to be with. An’ maybe one day I might meet a girl that liked me.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Scottie. She’d be a lucky girl.’

  ‘Why would she?’ he asked baldly.

  ‘Because you are kind and thoughtful and don’t think you’re the only person in the world that matters. Some men see women as housekeepers or mothers, not as women with thoughts and feelings and loneliness. But you’d understand about that and not think it was all about you.’

  ‘Aye, I know about being all on yer own. But it’s better than it was. When Mr Hamilton died, I thought I’d
got no one left but Granny, and then I found there was you, and Ben, and Sam Keenan. An’ now there’s Jamsey and Billy, an’ all those women we deliver money to. They always have a good word for me, an’ ask me how I’m doin’. It would put heart in you,’ he said, finishing his tea. ‘An’ I didn’t understand about that till now.’

  He stood up and she realised yet again how much he had grown. It looked as if he’d grown in other ways as well. She smiled at him as he stood looking down at her.

  ‘Jamsey says Sophie Lawson is helping his ma on the stall the morrow. Will ye be going to see yer friend?’

  ‘All being well, yes. He’s going back to England and won’t be back till April,’ she explained. ‘I’ll go mid-morning in the trap, have lunch with him and stay to see him off on the Belfast coach for the evening boat to Liverpool.’

  ‘Ach dear, that’ll be hard, him goin’ back an’ you fond of him,’ he said quietly. ‘I think Annie and James were quite right,’ he added firmly, as he stood up, pulled on his jacket and wished her goodnight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sarah sat down quickly after she’d seen Scottie to the door then shut it behind him for the night. Suddenly she felt quite exhausted; the headache that had come on as she’d sat talking to him was rapidly becoming a pulsing throb. All she could think of was getting to bed and lying in the darkness with her eyes closed.

  She hung her dress over the bedroom chair to avoid the effort of putting it on a hanger, shivered violently as she got into the cold bed and then fell asleep in minutes. Her sleep, however, was troubled and full of strange repeating images, particularly one of a woman who kept pursuing her and trying to scratch her eyes out. She awoke coughing before her usual early hour but couldn’t get back to sleep again, though she felt exhausted and knew she didn’t have to dress and get ready to go into Armagh until mid-morning.