Comfort Me With Apples

by Comfort Me

  ‘Not at all, you needed it,’ the priest said. ‘I’ll tell you now that your wife is not the only victim of that lady. The doctor has been worried but there’s no proof.’

  Michael hesitantly withdrew the package from his coat pocket. ‘This is proof, Father, but I don’t want my wife’s name drawn into it.’

  He felt embarrassed when the celibate priest opened the package, but Fr Doyle only said quietly, ‘This is what the doctor needed, Michael, but I won’t tell him without your permission.’

  ‘But wouldn’t you need to say where you got it?’ Michael said.

  ‘No. I would like the Commanding Officer to be involved too, but I promise you, you and your wife would never be mentioned. I would say it was given to me and I was told about Mrs Rafferty, but in confidence. Neither of them would ask me further questions.’

  ‘They’d think you were told in Confession,’ Michael suggested.

  Fr Doyle shrugged. ‘That might be the conclusion they might draw,’ he said. ‘Several women have had unexplained illnesses which left them very weak but they would never admit why. One bonny young woman nearly died and will never regain her strength. We can root out evil with this, Michael.’

  ‘Very well, Father. I’ll leave it with you,’ Michael said and the talk turned again to his relationship with Dorrie and the bitter quarrel of the night before. ‘I never want to see her or speak to her again,’ Michael said angrily. ‘She’s not the girl I married or perhaps this is her true nature. Anyway, I’m finished with her.’

  ‘You think it is all Dorrie’s fault. You are not to blame in any way,’ Fr Doyle said.

  ‘I’m to blame for being too gullible, that’s all,’ Michael said.

  The priest said quietly, ‘I remember her when she came here newly married. Tell me about the home she came from.’

  Michael described Dorrie’s family and her lifestyle in Liverpool and in spite of himself his voice softened when he spoke about those days.

  ‘So she came from a sheltered home, where she was loved and cherished, especially by her protective elder sister,’ Fr Doyle said. ‘An innocent young girl to come as a stranger among strangers with whom she had little in common. Did you cherish her as carefully, Michael?’

  ‘I did what I could,’ Michael protested. ‘I wanted to be with her. She knew that but I’d been detailed for the entertainments committee, quite apart from my army duties. We were all shaking down together at that time.’

  ‘The fact remains that she was alone quite a lot,’ the priest said.

  ‘I thought she’d make friends easily,’ Michael said. ‘She was so popular at home, so many friends and admirers. She didn’t sit at home like a mouse. They were involved in so much at the church and socials and dances and wagonette trips and bicycling in the summer.’

  ‘They! You mean she was always with her sister?’ Fr Doyle said.

  ‘Yes, but Anna was the quiet, reserved one. Dorrie was always popular,’ said Michael.

  ‘Think, Michael, of the change in her life here. Wouldn’t she be glad to clutch at any friendly hand?’

  Michael was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘I must admit, Father, I was glad at first when Mrs Rafferty looked after her. Showed her the ropes and that. I didn’t know what she was then.’

  ‘And neither did Dorrie,’ the priest said. ‘She was too innocent to realise that she was being manipulated but you should have been watching more closely, to protect her.’

  ‘I was just pleased that she was making friends,’ Michael admitted. ‘And we were together a lot of the time and she was happy.’

  ‘But she changed?’ the priest suggested.

  ‘Yes, even her sister thought she’d changed when we went to Liverpool and my mother when we went to Wicklow. I knew by then she was completely under that woman’s spell. Dorrie was upset about the gossip about my cousin, D’Arcy, but how would she know unless that one told her? No one would say it to her face.’

  They sat in silence while Michael thought, then he said, ‘I did what I could, Father. I suppose you know there was gossip about Dorrie too. I didn’t until the CO told me to control her. She was causing trouble, flirting with married men, but that one was manipulating her.’

  ‘And that was why you left the regiment?’ Fr Doyle said.

  ‘You know how hard it was for me, Father. How much the regiment meant to me but I knew I had to get her away from that woman. My mother said the same. She said marriage was for life and my first duty was to my wife. Fine thanks I got for it,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘You didn’t do it for thanks,’ the priest said. ‘You did it to protect your wife but that evil woman had a stronger hold over her than you realised. Did you tell your wife why you left?’

  ‘No. I said I had a good business opportunity, which was true. We have a good life now, Father – or had. Dorrie’s health is better and she’s happier and I’m making money hand over fist, but it was rotten inside.’

  ‘Nonsense. Think of Dorrie before she met Mrs Rafferty and think of your marriage vows. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. Think of this as a sickness in Dorrie which can be cured so she can become her old self again.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘I can’t, Father. I can’t forgive her for my son. And she deceived me, went on seeing that woman. I suppose, for her supplies.’

  ‘That’s what really irks you, isn’t it? The fact that you were taken for a mug. Your pride is what’s hurt and you don’t want to admit that you’re to blame in any way. You want to be the victim, the injured party,’ the priest said.

  Michael flushed. ‘I admit I should have taken better care of Dorrie and I should have realised what Mrs Rafferty was,’ he said, then he hesitated and said grudgingly, ‘And I suppose it is my pride that’s hurt but it’s such a fundamental thing to be deceived about, Father.’

  ‘I know, my son. I sound hard on you but I just want you to face facts. To see that your marriage can be saved.’

  Michael said nothing and the priest said gently, ‘You must show your wife respect as a person. Tell her what you are planning. If you’d told her why you were leaving the regiment and how hard it was then she might not have been cajoled into meeting Mrs Rafferty again.’

  ‘Oh, no. She’d have hated me for separating them,’ Michael said.

  The priest sighed. ‘You’re too hurt and angry now to see things straight, my son,’ he said. ‘But think about it. You have a good marriage. You love your wife. It wasn’t hurt pride that brought you here to find a solution without hurting her and you know that she loves you. The good, innocent girl who lived among good people for twenty-one years, that’s the real Dorrie.’

  ‘But she’s changed, Father,’ Michael said.

  ‘Yes, and she can change again, back to her real character. Remember, the Jesuits say, “Give me the child for the first seven years and I will give you the man.” But you must be very patient and considerate. Think of this as an illness and remember your marriage vows.’

  He stood up and laid his hand on Michael’s head, then blessed him. ‘I will pray that God will give you strength,’ he said, ‘but now I must take this package to the CO. Normally I would ask you to stay to lunch but I don’t want to alert that woman.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, Father. I’d rather go before I see anyone I know,’ Michael said and the priest agreed.

  ‘Let me know how things go. God bless and guide you.’

  Michael managed to leave without being seen by anyone he knew and walked for a while, thinking deeply. His rage against Dorrie had died as he turned the priest’s words over in his mind. Perhaps he was to blame. Perhaps he had made it easy for that one to get her claws into Dorrie and Dorrie did love him, he was sure, and she needed him.

  She should have been able to tell him she wanted to delay a family until they were away from married quarters. There were ways and means acceptable to the Church, Fr Doyle had told him. It was true they hadn’t talked about the things t
hat mattered and it was his fault. Dorrie was afraid of him. He groaned aloud at the thought and a passing man glanced at him then walked quickly away.

  His mind turned to Mrs Rafferty. The CO and the doctor would know how to deal with her after the padre had given them the evidence. They’d soon fix her without bringing Dorrie’s name into it or any scandal to affect the regiment.

  A savoury smell drifted from an open doorway and he realised that he had eaten nothing since the dinner party last night. Last night! It seemed a lifetime ago. He looked up at a sign for Charlie’s Chop House and went inside.

  Later, fortified by a good meal, he walked on, thinking of Fr Doyle’s words about his marriage vows and remembering the day he was told that Dorrie was flirting with married men and causing trouble. He knew she was only giving her flirty little looks as she always had. They meant nothing but that one had manipulated her and used her to pay off old scores.

  He dwelt on the picture the priest had drawn of Dorrie, innocent and vulnerable among strangers. My poor little love, he thought fondly. She didn’t have a chance between that faggot and me bumbling along, not looking after her or seeing what was under my nose.

  Even with the baby she hadn’t realised what she was doing. He recalled Fr Doyle saying to him, ‘It would just have been a word, miscarriage, to you if you hadn’t seen the foetus. The doctor probably suspected you and meant to shock you but he was wrong to do it.’

  I must put it all out of my head, Michael thought now, and we must start afresh. He took a cab the rest of the way home, wondering what had been happening since he left and feeling guilty and ashamed that he had left Dorrie in such distress.

  The house seemed quiet when he let himself in but the head housemaid came into the hall. ‘My wife…’ Michael began, but the woman said nervously, ‘The mistress left this morning, sir. I heard her tell the cabby to take her to the train station for Liverpool.’

  For a moment Michael was silent with shock then, as he saw the curiosity on the woman’s face, he made an impatient gesture. ‘So she went ahead alone. Is there a message?’

  ‘No, sir. She wore a veil and I think she’d been crying. She hardly spoke.’

  ‘Of course. Upset about her mother,’ Michael said. ‘I meant a telegram.’

  ‘No, sir,’ she said again.

  He picked up his hat. ‘They’ll have sent it to my office. I’ve been at the site office all day, arranging time off. Call me a cab, Jessie.’

  He went to the post office and sent a telegram to Dr O’Brien, asking about Dorrie and requesting a speedy reply. He also sent a wire to the couple he had remembered they were due to dine with, regretting their absence due to family illness.

  He went back to the house, suddenly exhausted, but feeling that he had done all he could to explain away Dorrie’s flight. He felt it was important if they were to make a fresh start. The housemaid came to take his coat and he said, ‘As I thought. Matters are not as bad as we feared.’ He smiled. ‘Mrs Farrell could have waited for me. I’m going to lie down. Call me if another wire comes.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Please, sir, Cook wants to know about dinner.’

  ‘I’ll be in but anything will do, tell her. I may travel tonight or it may be tomorrow morning,’ he said, then went upstairs. He had time only to notice that the bed was made and everything in the bedroom and bathroom neat and orderly before sleep overcame him.

  He was wakened for the telegram from Dr O’Brien, which said briefly, ‘Dorrie at my house. Will expect you tomorrow. Love from us both.’

  Michael decided to travel on the morning train and after a meal returned to bed and slept all night. Very early the next morning, after he had bathed and dressed, he packed a case with overnight necessities and left for Liverpool, telling the servants that he and his wife would return in a day or two.

  He also left his uncle’s address in case anyone needed to contact him. ‘We’re not entertaining anyone, are we, Cook?’ he asked.

  The cook, a large, gloomy woman, said, ‘No, not till next week, sir, but a lot of things are being cancelled because of the King’s death. Out of respect,’ she added accusingly. She wore a picture of King Edward, framed in black, pinned to the white apron covering her ample bosom.

  Michael left feeling rested and refreshed and ready to use any amount of loving patience to persuade Dorrie to make a fresh start and to put their marriage on a different footing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After Michael left, Dorrie crept under the bedclothes and drew them around her. She was shaking with cold and fright, unable to forget Michael’s rage or the way he had looked at her. He hates me, she thought. I don’t think he ever really loved me.

  Mrs Rafferty was right. She said he only cared about himself. When it suited him he could become a civilian but when we married he dragged me halfway across the country, away from everyone I knew, so he could play at soldiers.

  And all that wild talk about his son. I was only a few weeks late. He must be mad. She sobbed afresh as she thought of him storming out with her supplies, determined to make trouble for Mrs Rafferty. She could even go to gaol and she’s been my one true friend since I left Liverpool, Dorrie thought.

  If only I’d stayed there, among people who loved and admired me. I could have married anyone I chose if Michael hadn’t swept me off my feet. James Hargreaves, for instance. How changed he was from the plump, spotty youth dominated by his mother. The last time she saw him he looked entirely different. Slim and well dressed, with handsome features and a pleasant manner.

  He was unchanged in one way though, she thought, feeling happier. He was still fathoms deep in love with her and always would be, even though he had gone through a form of marriage to have a live-in housekeeper. How he would have loved and cherished me and how happy I could have been if only I’d married James and stayed in Liverpool, instead of throwing it all away for Michael.

  She lay crying and brooding on her wrongs until she heard sounds downstairs and thought in alarm that Michael had returned but then she realised it was only the maids doing the fires.

  One of the maids tapped on the door. ‘Are you ready for tea, madam, or do you wish for breakfast?’ she asked. She was a new girl and Dorrie said brusquely, ‘Just tea.’ When it came she stopped the girl from drawing up the blinds and from pouring the tea, keeping her face hidden and saying, ‘That will be all.’

  After drinking a cup of tea, Dorrie went to the bathroom and was alarmed to see how red and blotched her skin was and how swollen her eyes with crying. She bathed her face repeatedly in cold water, but it made little difference so she washed and dressed, then dressed her hair with an Alexandra fringe and tied a heavy motoring veil over her face.

  She hastily packed a case, then opened a locked drawer and swept some sovereigns into her purse before ringing for the maid to take her case down and call a cab.

  When she went downstairs Jessie met her, looking anxious. ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ she asked.

  Dorrie nodded. ‘Is the cab here? I must go right away,’ she said and Jessie carried her case out to the street.

  At the station a well-tipped porter purchased her ticket and installed her in a first-class carriage. She was wearing a black coat and hat, fashionable mourning for King Edward, and her veil, but it could have been for personal reasons so she was left undisturbed on the journey.

  She spent it brooding and indulging in fantasies and by the time the train reached Lime Street she had almost lost her grip on reality. She gave the cab driver the address of James’s house and was almost hysterical when she reached it.

  It was now nearly two o’clock on Saturday afternoon and Anna and James had just finished a leisurely lunch. They had heard the cab drive up and walked into the hall.

  Dorrie thrust a sovereign at the cabby, who hastily dumped her suitcase on the steps and drove rapidly away, while Dorrie stumbled weeping up the steps.

  Anna opened the door but Dorrie ignored her and rushed down the hall to fling herse
lf into James’s arms. ‘Oh, James, James, I’m so unhappy,’ she wailed. Instinctively his arms had closed around her and she dragged his head down and kissed him long and passionately.

  He pulled away and looked about wildly for Anna. She was still holding the front door wide, stunned with shock.

  ‘Anna,’ he mouthed frantically over Dorrie’s head but Anna closed the front door and walked into the drawing room.

  ‘James,’ Dorrie was moaning. ‘You won’t be cruel to me like Michael. You’ll love me and care for me, won’t you, James?’

  Stunned and embarrassed by the onslaught, he could only say helplessly, ‘Dorrie, Anna,’ thinking of nothing but the effect the scene had had on his wife.

  Dorrie still clung to him like a limpet, babbling words of endearment and visions of the future, and he managed to half drag and half carry her into the drawing room. Anna stood by the window, her face stony, and he begged, ‘Anna, help me,’ then he tried to pull Dorrie’s arms from around his neck and said to her, ‘Dorrie, you’re ill. I’m married to Anna.’

  ‘Not really,’ she screamed, ‘she’s only a housekeeper. Your marriage hasn’t been consummated. You’re free, James, free to love like you’ve always done,’ and she clung closer to him.

  A variety of emotions had gone through Anna’s mind since she opened the door but now she was consumed with hurt, anger and outrage. At the look on her face, James suddenly pulled himself together.

  ‘Anna, will you call a doctor? She’s not responsible for her actions. We’ll have to deal with this together. Please, darling.’

  She smiled at the unaccustomed word, ‘darling,’ and without a glance at Dorrie went into the kitchen.

  Julia stood by the table, her fingers over her lips and her eyes wide. It was clear she had heard something but Anna hoped not what Dorrie had said in the drawing room. She said calmly, ‘Julia, my sister’s having a brainstorm. Take a cab and go for Dr O’Brien. If he’s not in, ask Mrs O’Brien to come and leave a message for the doctor. Don’t bring Dr Hogan. Hurry, there’s a good girl.’ Julia seized her shawl and ran out of the back door.