The Curfew Circle

by Nina Dreyer

  ‘You’re pretending to be something that you’re not.’ Eilis tutted. ‘I feel like I’m in the presence of a dangerous mystery.’

  Marion felt her guts quivering. She tried not to jitter her foot.

  ‘Well you’re not to worry, because you’ve a friend and an ally.’ Eilis smiled and tapped the second card. ‘That’s probably me. You know I love you, don’t you?’ She wagged a finger. ‘And I’ll be very jealous now, if I find you’ve a better friend than me.’

  She turned to the third card, and her smile faded into an expression of mystified concern. ‘You’re like a sailor trying to return home through a storm. But you’re heading in the wrong direction.’

  Marion looked at her intently, willing her to see the blood on the floor, the gun in the hand of her own husband.

  Eilis drew another card, slapped it down over the others and frowned at it. ‘You’ve fallen in with dangerous company. There’s a bad influence in your life. But we already knew that, didn’t we.’ She looked up, arching her eyebrows. ‘I think we both know what this means.’

  Marion flinched and looked away. The gunmen. It was her own stupid fault. She had invited them in. Like vampires. She’d beckoned to them. She’d only wanted to save them from the English soldiers, she’d never thought-

  ‘The cards never lie,’ said Eilis. ‘I knew he’d come up.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Marion blinked. ‘Who? Is there a name? If there is a name, I don’t think you should speak it out loud, it’s better if I don’t-’

  ‘I’m talking about John, of course. Look,’ Eilis sighed, ‘I know you think he’s very… persuasive. I could tell by the way you looked at him the other night, when he was making all his grand pronouncements after dinner. You were practically mooning at him.’

  Marion blushed.

  ‘I don’t care how good-looking he is,’ Eilis continued, ‘and I’m frankly surprised you should let that distract you, Marion. He’s not got your best interest at heart. Don’t kid yourself that he’s a friend of yours now.’

  ‘Why not?’ Marion bit her lip.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure what it is he intends to do with you. Or do to you, perhaps.’ Eilis poured more tea, took a slice of lemon from a little plate and licked it with the tip of her pink tongue. ‘First he wanted to sit in on our seance the other night, out of the blue. He pulled me aside afterwards, saying how delighted he was with you, oh yes, very grand, very marvellous. He’ll try to lure you into something. He will. So you’d better mind yourself.’

  Marion said nothing.

  ‘You’re apparently all he can talk about now. There he was, hovering around for days on end at the Salon, waiting for you.’ Eilis frowned. ‘Where were you, by the way?’

  Marion put her tea cup down with a nervous clatter. ‘Nowhere. Resting.’

  ‘Resting? From what?’

  Marion felt a fevered shiver prickle her back. ‘Eilis, do you ever… read the cards for yourself?’

  Eilis paled. ‘Why? Why are you asking me that?’

  ‘Just, you know. These are hard times. So maybe…’

  ‘Look at me, pet.’ Eilis fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I’m looking out for you. This war is going to be over very soon, Marion. Very soon. And when it is, you should be able to hold your head high and say you did right by Ireland.’

  Marion knotted her fingers into the handkerchief. ‘But I am trying to do right.’

  ‘Right. Good.’ Eilis smoothed her hair back and breathed for a moment. ‘Well, as you know, Sid is stepping down. There’s going to be some changes around here, but I don’t want you to concern yourself with it. I have this in hand. John will never be director. He doesn’t have the right temperament, the right outlook, and Sid knows that full well. And everyone agrees with me.’ She poured more tea in Marion’s cup, stirring in a thick swirl of cream. ‘Now, the commencement ceremony is tonight,-’

  ‘I’m not going to the ceremony, Eilis, you know I’m not wanted.’

  Eilis fluttered her fingers. ‘Stuff and nonsense. If anyone says anything, just say you’re there as my guest. That’ll shut them up.’ Her eyes shone warmly. ‘It’s the best night of the year. Greater than Easter and finer than Christmas.’ She smiled. ‘And tonight will be even more special than usual.’ She patted Marion’s hand. ‘Very traditional. Goes right back to the ancient Celtic festival of the dead, you know. Samhain, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. An ancient festival of fire, the beginning of the dark half of the year.’

  Marion suppressed a chill. She thought of her own ancient traditions, bonfires and incantations and the black silhouettes of towering pines against a lightless sky.

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to it for months and months,’ said Eilis, her smile glowing, ‘this year is going to be even more magical than usual. I even went and bought a new gown, just for the occasion. Wait till you see it. Oh, Marion, it’s going to be so wonderful, so enchanting. I just can’t wait.’

  Marion lowered her head and tugged at her lip. If she told Eilis about the wounded man, about Liam, then that would ruin everything. Eilis wouldn’t have a magical evening then, she’d tumble into a black hole of worry and terror. So maybe Marion should just tell her later. A little later. It wouldn’t be lying, exactly. She’d just be sparing her friend, letting her have one last beautiful evening. Surely that would be fine. Surely-

  ‘Of course,’ Eilis sighed, ‘John had to go an ruin that, too.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Marion blinked.

  ‘It’s not on actual Halloween any longer. Always used to be. Right from the beginning. But oh no. John requires things to be modern and scientific. So he went and persuaded Sid to change it to the night the clock changes, for that daylight savings thing we all have to do now. From the war.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marion rubbed the back of her neck.

  ‘But it’s still the night the new Season commences, and of course you’re going to be there. I want you to look your very best, alright? Wear something dashing. Something to set off those great dark eyes of yours. We’re going to have such a brilliant evening.’

  ‘Eilis, you know Sid’s pushed me out, so-’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry yourself over that, you know he’s stepping down.’ Eilis snapped up her Tarot cards and slipped them back in the box. ‘Whoever does end up being the new director,’ she sighed happily and glanced at her fingernails, ‘well, I’m sure we’ll find a very good spot for you, Marion. I don’t care what everyone else says, I think you’re sound. And we’re going to find a proper use for your talents. Proper friends. Right now, you’ve only got me.’ Eilis caught her eye and suddenly looked dead serious. ‘You understand that, don’t you, Marion? You’ve only got one true friend in this town, and it’s not John. It’s me.’

  Marion lowered her eyes and twisted John’s handkerchief in her fingers. ‘You’ve always been very kind to me.’ She glanced at the windows. The fog was thickening, blurring the garden, smudging the shadows over falling autumn leaves on the wet lawn.

  ‘That’s right.’ Eilis sighed. ‘And I’ll not abandon you now, you know that. You’ll have a proper job, a proper position at the Salon, because you deserve that.’ Eilis took her hand and squeezed it warmly. ‘Do you know why I say that?’

  ‘No, Eilis.’

  ‘Because you have a particular sensitivity in you. To the suffering of my people. I sense it.’

  Marion’s gut contorted into a hard knot.

  ‘What you said the other night, about helping the fallen Volunteers, it was very touching. Sure, it was a reckless notion, but you meant so well. I can tell that you have your heart in the right place.’ The way Eilis said it made it sound like on the right side. ‘But having such a good heart in you makes you vulnerable, Marion. Some people will try to take advantage of you, to lead you down a dark path, and you full well know who I mean. But don’t worry yourself. I will protect you.’

  The hushed air of the church was cloyed with the smell of incense, wood polish and wilting lilies. John glan
ced around. A cluster of candles fluttered as the door swung shut behind him with a metallic clang, casting long, shifting shadows under the high ceilings. St. Andrew’s in Westland Row, a cavernous edifice of gleaming marble, as warm and welcoming as a dissection theatre.

  This was not his church. Not that he had a church. This was foreign to him, an eerie space crowded with weeping virgins and smug angels. This, thought John, was sort of place where people smelling of cooking grease gathered in heaving droves to recite by rote and titillate themselves with statues of half-naked martyrs.

  And there were no war memorials on these walls. As if the war hadn’t happened. As if all those men had just quietly, politely vanished. As if they were beneath the attention of this congregation.

  He strode towards the altar, his footsteps echoing on the cold stone floor. ‘Sid? Come out, come out, wherever you are. I know you’re in here somewhere.’

  ‘You know,’ Sid’s voice rang out from one of the side altars in the transept, ‘you’ve no sense of reverence in you at all. That’s your problem, you young people these days. Or maybe it’s just you.’

  ‘Plenty of reverence,’ said John, stopping to look at the old man. Sid sat leaning heavily against the polished backrest of a pew, gazing at a plaster statue of some saint or other. John sat down beside him and resisted the urge to light a cigarette. The pews looked greasy. How many old ladies had clasped them with their sweaty hands through the years?

  ‘Not the right kind of reverence,’ said Sid.

  ‘So, why are we meeting here?’

  ‘I wanted to show you this, my boy. Look there.’ Sid pointed with his gnarled finger. ‘There, the uppermost painting.’

  John sighed and dutifully turned his gaze upwards. A golden-haired saint lay splayed in the dust, clutching a crucifix, trampled by Roman-looking soldiers. Soon to be boiled, flayed or skinned alive if the rapturous look on his face was anything to go by. John frowned. It was the sort of saccharine image his mother would have adored. Unkind and unimaginative. Nobody went to their deaths like that.

  ‘What am I to take from this, Sid?’ John checked his wrist watch.

  Sid shook his head and straightened himself a little. The pew creaked under his weight. He blinked, and seemed for a moment more serious than John had thought.

  ‘Because that right there,’ he nodded thoughtfully at the painting, ‘that’s what we’re supposed to be, John.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we. We in the Salon.’ He turned to look at John. ‘Do you know, John, I built that place up from scratch. With my own wits and with my own good intentions.’

  ‘I know,’ said John, patting his shoulder, ‘I know you did. You’ve done very well.’

  Sid nodded slowly. ‘And do you know why I’ve done well, John?’

  ‘Because you’re a good leader. Because people respect you.’

  ‘Strong leadership is all well and good, my boy. But it takes more than that. In this business, in our business, the business of the spirit, only one thing really matters at the end of the day.’

  John folded his hands and waited patiently for Sid to continue. Sid did not like being interrupted during his artful breaks. He liked to savour them, inhale them, like the first puff a fine cigar.

  ‘Selflessness, John. Love of one’s fellow man.’ Sid pointed to the prostrate saint. ‘If you don’t have it firm in your mind that our business is to be selfless and to help people, then it’s just occultism. You go wrong in your head then. I’ve seen it happen. When I was an apprentice to the great mediums of London, back in the day…’

  ‘Why do you think I need reminding of all that?’

  ‘Because soon, I won’t be here to guide you any longer. I’ve had enough now.’ Sid sighed heavily. ‘I’ve had enough of this bleeding town, the shootings, the bloody rows everywhere.’ He pursed his lips. ‘You can’t do decent psychical research in times like these. And I want you to help hold things together when I’m gone.’

  John glanced up at the painted saint. He just looked wilted to John’s eyes. Defeated. He licked his teeth. ‘So you’ve made your decision. Who will you name as your successor?’

  ‘I’ll tell you now as a favour. The others don’t know yet. I’ll tell them at the ceremony tonight.’

  ‘Yes? And?’

  ‘I’ve chosen Eilis Hurlihy.’ Sid kept his gaze fixed on the saint.

  John felt all heat drain from his face. ‘What?’

  Sid folded his hands over his belly and breathed deeply. ‘That’s why I’m showing you this saint now, and imparting these words to wisdom to you, John.’

  ‘You’ve chosen her. Over me.’ John tightened his fist, digging his nails into his palms.

  ‘She’s a woman.’ Sid lifted his hands impatiently. ‘How much harm could she do? She’ll get worn out soon enough, and then you can take over from her.’

  ‘How much harm could she do? Do you realise-’

  Sid fixed him with his glass-sharp eyes. ‘The Salon needs calm leadership now. Someone who’s not going to rock the boat. A harmless woman at the helm until the shootings stop and order is restored.’

  ‘Harmless? You think that woman is harmless? Do you realise what she is?’

  Sid snorted contentedly. ‘Lacking her husband’s guidance, is all.’

  ‘Yes, she’s lacking her husband’s guidance, because her husband is a member of the fucking so-called Irish Republican Army! Sure you-’

  ‘He’ll come to his senses soon enough. Jesus, I’m surprised at you now,’ Sid turned to him, ‘you’ve know her for years. She’s interested in Celts and ogham and Tir na Nog and all this sort of thing. She’s harmless.’

  John pulled his hand through his hair until it hurt. ‘She’s a Shinner. She’s a fucking Shinner.’

  ‘Don’t swear in a church.’

  John lowered his hand and stared at him incredulously. ‘Are you serious? Is this some sort of test? One of your little games?’

  ‘Look, John. You’re not the kind of person the Salon needs now, to lead it.’

  ‘Why not?’ He clenched his teeth. Nobody had worked harder than him. Nobody.

  ‘I didn’t want to bring this up. But now you’re asking. There are irregularities in your seances, John. I’ve seen it myself. No, don’t look at me like that. There’s things coming through that shouldn’t be. You’ve not been right, since you came back. There’s something wrong with you, there’s the long and short of-’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ said John through hard-gritted teeth. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I did nothing wrong. Nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I’m tainted for trying to save you all from the fucking Kaiser? Is that what this is? And now you want to install some Shinner woman as leader instead?’

  ‘You’re a good lad, John.’ Sid raised his hands for peace. ‘I know you did your bit for your country.’

  John turned to him. ‘My bit?’ He was sick of hearing it. Sick to the back of his teeth of having his war years reduced to a mere bit, a bloodless slogan. ‘I think I’ve done more than a bit.’

  Sid made a soothing motion with his hands, as though John was a kicking horse. ‘You did right by your country, my boy, you did right. Now listen-’

  ‘Maybe Marion is right. D’you know, she likened you to Nero the other night.’

  ‘Trying to turn you against me now, is she? I told you to stay away from that woman.’ Sid’s face reddened. ‘She’s not some toothless little Belgian, like he’s been pretending all these months, John.’

  ‘Who gives a damn where she comes from. See, this is your problem. All this insistence on pedigree and tradition and manners. You’ll have us all marching up and down next, balancing Burke’s Peerage on our heads. I don’t give a damn where the woman was born. She could be the spawn of Hell for all I care.’

  ‘She might be just that,’ said Sid. ‘You don’t have the whole picture. You can only see your own proverbial backyard. You’ve no contacts on the Continent, you’ve no connections anyw
here, John. You just chose to believe her, to take her at face value.’

  ‘You’ve never even seen her perform a seance. What the hell do you know.’

  ‘I don’t need to see her do anything. There are rumours. I’m making enquiries.’

  John cast his eyes to the dim ceilings and sighed deeply. ‘Lord, grant me patience.’

  Sid threw out his arms. ‘You’re not comprehending what I’m saying to you now,’ he bellowed, his voice echoing, ‘she’s not a medium, John, those are the rumours up and down the length and breadth of the entire bloody Continent, rumours of necromancy-’

  John raised his eyebrows. ‘Necromancy? Are you serious? Sid, what’s next? Witchcraft? Alchemy?’ He rolled his eyes, dug in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. He let some ash drop on the stone flag floor.

  ‘What the hell are you doing! Put that out!’

  ‘Perhaps it’s right that you retire now,’ said John, blowing smoke through his nostrils. ‘Necromancy, my bollocks. Times have changed. Nobody wants to hear about any of this, don’t you realise that? You and Eilis with your druids and your nonsense.’

  Sid drew himself up. ‘And what do they want to hear about, then? You tell me, since you’re so knowledgeable.’

  ‘Heaven,’ said John softly. He envisioned it now. No pain, no hatred, no regrets. Just pale, shimmering eternity of peace.

  ‘Ha! Nobody believes in that. Nobody worth knowing. That’s not why people come to us, you know that. They want the truth, they want bare-knuckle contact, they want sweat and blood and a final word in a last row, a great wet kiss and a send-off with a bang.’

  ‘Not anymore, they don’t.’ John drew in his cigarette. ‘In your time, maybe. Not now. Not after the war. People don’t need evidence of life after death, they need evidence of hope after death. And do you know what, Sid?’ John looked at him. ‘I’m going to give them what they want. I’ll show you what I can do. You’ll see, soon enough.’