The Herbalist

by Boyce, Niamh

Sold her bed to lie on the straw

  Wasn’t she a dirty old pup

  To sell her bed to lie in the muck?

  ‘You’d want to be careful. What if you fell asleep with your mouth open? And one of the ghosts got in?’ said Mrs Heaney.

  ‘Who do you think they are, Aggie?’ I asked.

  ‘Us. Townspeople. Townspeople that didn’t get a proper burial or met death when they weren’t ready for it.’

  ‘Who’s ready for death?’ said Mrs James in a cross voice.

  ‘I am!’ Aggie stood up and puffed her chest out, held up her fists. ‘Come and get me, old son.’ She jabbed the air. ‘Come and get me, old son. I’ll pull the first punch and you can pull the last one.’

  43

  Grettie B had dropped into the shop quite a few times, on her own for a change. She was over-solicitous. Probably to show that there was no ill-feeling. And to make sure Carmel didn’t blab. Carmel hadn’t blabbed: she wasn’t going to give Dan the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right, that the fine Mrs Birmingham had wanted more from Carmel than the pleasure of her company.

  It had been a strange evening. Grettie really seemed to think that she had money to spare – but no matter how much sherry she fed Carmel, it wasn’t going to make her any the richer. It was true that Carmel had a nest egg – the money she had tucked away for the baby – but she didn’t think of it as her money any more. No, that was the baby’s money, and she wouldn’t have dreamt of touching it; it might bring bad luck. If Carmel had had any other money, she would have lent it in a blink. Grettie B would have been good for it. Just look at the style they lived in – all those rooms and only the three of them?

  There was no sign of Rose lately. Her mother said she had turned into a homebody, that she always had her nose in a book. That sounded nothing like the girl Carmel knew. She wondered if they were related – Grettie B’s request for a loan and her daughter’s sudden desire to stay home? Carmel had a vague memory of Rose putting her head into the drawing room that night; just a quick hello. How had she looked? Had she seemed a bit peaky? Did Rose have an incurable disease that needed expensive treatment? Did Rose have consumption?

  She shook herself. What a thing to think. All the old rumourmongers in the shop must be rubbing off on her.

  The town was fevered with gossip about a certain herbalist and his women. Carmel wasn’t a bit surprised: everyone had been too free and easy with him for too long – it was like they were all half in love. He had given her a new mixture to help her have a child; this one had mugwort as well as whatever else was usually in it. ‘Fresh and especially potent, you do the business and this will do the rest.’ Carmel wondered had the man lost the run of himself, talking to her like that – ‘do the business’ indeed.

  He seemed less dependable these days, less well turned out. Though trade stayed brisk enough, Carmel noticed that his queues were down a bit. Success, it appeared, didn’t suit him; the tide was turning and the townsfolk were suspicious. That’s how it went with people. Everyone had wanted to mind him at first, own a piece of him. Not that you’d invite him to dinner.

  In a way she felt sorry for him. She supposed the tide would turn back just as quickly. But, still, the things they were saying about him – that he had a roving eye, a taste for swanky sweethearts and a grá for exchanging favours. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Their need for him made the townsfolk uneasy.

  Garda Molloy had been in too, asking questions. Nothing in particular but enough to cast aspersions. Asking what was said about the man? What exactly was he selling? Had there been any complaints against him? He had called round to lots of other premises. Carmel told him nothing; she intended to warn Dan also to say nothing. The last thing she needed was an abrupt end to her treatment.

  She suspected the garda was more concerned about immorality than the herbalist’s medical credentials. The way Emily had made such a fool of herself over him, and her so young and witless, was the talk of the town. The herbalist had to learn that you could be too nice sometimes. It didn’t wash well with the people, encouraging a girl like Emily. Customers would say to Carmel, ‘Wasn’t she pitiful – offering to carry his bags, hanging around the lane?’ His business had picked up no end when he shunned her.

  Others weren’t as harsh – said he must have a piece of ice in his heart, to be so cold to the young Madden one. Didn’t her eyes light up at the sight of him? It was just girlish infatuation – a silly little thing, mooning over a man old enough to be her father – and anyone could see that nothing untoward had been going on.

  Another thing – that Aggie was in and out of there with her cronies on a regular basis. Seems she did the herbalist’s washing. That he collected it from her with a big golden smile and often tarried for a sup of poitín. That couldn’t be good for him. Would he be able for it? She had no shame, that one, the big ginger head on her. And she had a big mouth. Maybe she was the one gabbing?

  Carmel couldn’t imagine Aggie talking to the law, but someone was – someone was letting cats out of the bag, and once they were out you couldn’t get them back in again.

  Doctor Birmingham, of course, had been suspicious from early on. Carmel knew why – it was no secret that he had been losing patients since the herbalist came to town. ‘The herbalist works wonders,’ his patients had chimed as they waited on Doctor B’s oak pew in the tiled hall of his fine cold house. Doctor B, it was said, had overheard. He’d thrown open the door of his surgery. He ran them all out, every single one. ‘Even Noreen Cassidy, and we know how fond he is of her.’ Titter, titter.

  ‘Off with you, then. Back to that quack. He’s no doctor. Where’s his papers? His surgery? On the street, that’s where.’

  As soon as the townsfolk had had the herbalist hung, drawn and quartered, they changed their minds and put him together again.

  His fingernails are clean, spotless.

  Ah, he’s your man. Whatever is up, he’s your man.

  Gives great relief from chest pain.

  But that never lasted long. There was always someone to bring the tone back down.

  The devil takes care of his own.

  Things aren’t what they seem.

  The truth will out.

  Carmel sometimes wondered at the delight they all took in the rise and fall, and rise and fall again, of the herbalist. As if all the things they reported with hot scandalized lips were all the things they’d ever wanted.

  She nodded and agreed with every contradictory comment. Increasingly her sympathy lay with poor Emily, but she knew not to say so. She missed Emily in the shop; she’d been easier to be around than Sarah. She remembered the way she’d chat, her elbows either side of some newspaper article, telling all about some royal. It didn’t take much to make Emily happy – a few kind words, a trip to the picture house, sweets, a postcard of Merle Oberon. So when the herbalist first tipped his hat at her, Emily got her very own living, breathing maharajah.

  ‘Who could blame her,’ said Carmel once, ‘who could blame her for having her head turned?’

  The reply came swift and harsh. ‘Ach, easy turn a head that has nothing in it.’

  Carmel didn’t think she could take another word about the whole thing. She was fed up with them, with their talk and shenanigans. All she wanted was an evening alone with her husband. She would speak to Sarah, tell her to take the next weekend off to go home. It might give the girl a scare, make her think her position wasn’t secure.

  44

  Sarah knew something would happen: it was like she was outside herself, watching the scenes of a film and unable to change anything, just waiting and watching with a lurid fascination, with
impatience. They were both annoyed with her after the night she was late home from the herbalist’s smelling of alcohol. A confrontation was brewing. Sarah had overheard them. Carmel had been tippling and constantly discussing it with Dan. Sarah’s goings-on had livened up her life no end.

  Then, one Sunday after supper, Carmel called a meeting of the three of them in the living room. Carmel walked over to where Sarah was sitting, knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee. Carmel’s eyes were swollen; there were purple shadows underneath. She patted Sarah’s leg and looked ready to speak, when a hammering started on the shop door. They all jumped up to get it. Carmel got there first. It was Mrs Birmingham.

  ‘Oh, dear, are you okay?’ they heard Carmel ask.

  Mrs Birmingham waited for a second and then released a long sob. Carmel took her hand and led her through to the back room.

  ‘Come into the kitchen, it’s warmer.’

  Carmel grabbed a bottle of Buckfast and urged the doctor’s wife to ensconce herself in the stove-side chair.

  ‘You don’t mind, Dan, do you?’ she said. ‘I’m needed.’ She closed the door between them. Sarah got up. They both just stood there then, looking at each other. Dan blushed. Crying and consternation came from the kitchen. Sarah looked towards the window, but Carmel was leaning against the glass, so she could see nothing. She felt like weeping herself. Everything was a mess.

  ‘Are you going to send me back?’ she said.

  ‘The place wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  ‘It’s hardly happy as it is.’ She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’

  ‘I’m a good person; I don’t mean any harm.’

  ‘I know that.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I know.’

  She wouldn’t look up at him.

  ‘Sarah, do you believe me?’ He leant in closer than he should have.

  She raised her face, put her hand either side of Dan’s head and pulled him towards her. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, every nerve in her face and mouth alive, sensing his smell, his taste, his texture – all of him – in a new way. He pulled back and looked anxiously towards the window into the kitchen. Sarah left him standing there and went upstairs to bed.

  The kiss changed everything. The kiss told her why he’d sabotaged her chances with Matt. Why he was so full of praise she hadn’t earned.

  She ran her fingers over where their lips had touched. She had once hoped for romance but not like this. Maybe she’d had feelings for him but hadn’t admitted it, even to herself. It was like an artificial light: one switch and it was on, just like that.

  She wondered what to do. Her sensible voice said, That’s the end of it now. It’s time to look elsewhere for employment. That was a very nice kiss. Think no more about it. It must not happen again. The right thing would have been to pack her bags and head away, not spend another night under his wife’s roof. But she knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She wondered how he felt about it, being so near to her. She touched the paper on the wall between her room and theirs. She tried to feel guilty, to think about what Carmel would go through if she knew. Lonely superior Carmel – she couldn’t be any more miserable. Yet it would give her something to cling to … Here’s some news for you. Sarah never knew she could be so cruel.

  She slept well. Dreamt that Dan undid every stitch she wore in every room of his wife’s house.

  The next morning Dan sat and poured himself some tea from the pot Sarah had just made. She looked at his hands and couldn’t think of anything to say. Dan cleared his throat.

  ‘We were all a bit upset and said, eh … and did things perhaps we ought not to, that were out of character and not for the general good.’

  He rubbed the back of his head and licked his lips before continuing. She knew he was remembering how that kiss felt. What’s he trying to do, she wondered; does he even know? She rose and went over to him.

  ‘I won’t say a word; I wouldn’t upset you for the world.’

  He turned his hands palm up on the table in front of him, about to say something bland to smooth things over. It was all he ever did. Sarah sat on his lap. Carmel would rise at eleven at the earliest. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him at her leisure. His eyes were closed but his breathing was rapid. He wrapped those arms around Sarah and pushed her further into his lap, pressed his thumbs into her wrist. They clung at each other till the chimes of the clock told them to open shop.

  ‘I’ll do it, Sarah. You need time to get yourself together.’

  He wasn’t as upset as earlier, more in control. But could he deceive Carmel? They killed each other but at the same time they were close. Sarah went to her room. She poured some water from her jug into the basin. Washed her face with a damp face cloth. Laid the cool cloth over her face, and stretched out on the bed, imagining her own cooling hands were Dan’s, running over her hips, her belly. There was a creak from the hall.

  Carmel’s bedroom door had opened. Sarah couldn’t believe it; it took a miracle for Carmel to rise so early on a tonic-wine morning. She peeled off the face cloth. Carmel opened her door and came in. She looked terrible. She hadn’t even got round to being the worse for wear yet. She walked in and stood over Sarah.

  ‘Why aren’t you in the shop?’

  ‘I’m all swollen from crying.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, Sarah, you don’t even have to admit what’s going on, I can tell for myself. It’s written all over your face, you poor fool – you think you’re in love.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t deny it. No more cavorting, no more alcohol. While you’re working for me, you’ll stay home in the evenings and behave like a lady.’

  Sarah looked at her employer. The stink of drink. The same clothes she had worn yesterday, all sleep creased.

  ‘I’ll try, Carmel.’

  You were a long way from home, Aggie. Did you miss your family, your mother, your father?

  Aggie had a lovely father. Thank God he’s long dead and can’t see me now. I hope he can’t, dirty bitch that I am.

  You’re kind, Aggie.

  You didn’t always think that, you snotty thing, did you? Turned your nose up, you and your lot. Old Aggie was to be sniffed at.

  I thought you were a tinker.

  They’d be too religious to end up like me, a river bird, a sinner, a woman of ill repute. Why do women hold on so fierce to their good reputations? All a reputation does is stop you doing as you please.

  Would you not have liked a husband, children?

  Long past it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to, or didn’t ever. See that river? Once I crossed that river I became Aggie. There’s a time in everyone’s life when you leave behind who you were born to be and become what life makes of you, or you of it. I first crossed that bridge at twenty-three years of age, and never crossed back to who I was that first time. And I don’t bloody care to. Why would I? Why would I change anything about my life, or the way I lived it? I would never swap my cosy barge, where I did as I pleased when I pleased, for that big house you grew up in. To be shown around town like a china doll, only to be taken apart within the privacy of your own four walls?

  I disremember. I don’t like talking about things like that.

  45

  Birdie Chase was slathering on hand cream. Her rings were piled on the counter beside the usual saucer of cold sausages for Charlie. Worried the fine lad would starve. She wore two headscarves, one on top of the other.

  ‘It’s on the back of the door, ducky – will you get it yourself, my hands are greasy.’


  I did as she asked. The weight of the old nut-brown coat! I folded it across my arm carefully, as if it was the height of fashion. It was the only coat she wore. Winter and summer. Rumour had it that she had thousands of fine coats, robes, costumes and curtains from all her travels when she was younger, that Birdie could wear a different dress every day for the rest of her life and still not run out. Yet all we ever saw her wear was the same serviceable wool. It seemed the only thing Birdie ever changed was her mind and her gold and red headscarves.

  ‘You’ll let that out, Emily; I’ve gained around the middle.’

  ‘I will. I can give you a good half-inch or do you want to be measured?’

  ‘No, no, a half-inch will do.’

  I knew she wouldn’t permit me to measure her; she never did. Birdie hadn’t gained an ounce as far as I could see. But who was I to argue with a woman who wanted to part with her money? Especially one who had so much of it. I picked up her jar of hand cream and had a sniff.

  ‘It’s one of the herbalist’s. A gift! I didn’t buy it,’ she said. ‘Ah, no, I did. I bought a few items this week. In truth I was hoping he might have something suitable for Veronique. She has been suffering terribly, with her chest.’ She thumped her own as if I didn’t know where chests were situated. ‘I got a letter last week to say she was coughing all night and all day – it has her worn out. She hasn’t opened the shop in over a fortnight, and, knowing Veronique like I know Veronique, that means it’s serious, much more serious than she’s letting on.’

  ‘Maybe it’s to be expected, Miss Chase – isn’t V getting on a bit?’

  ‘Not a bit, sure isn’t she my twin?’ Her face scrunched up.

  ‘I always forget you’re twins; it must be because I think of you as being so much younger in years than Veronique.’

  ‘Ah, how quick you can be, young Millie.’ Birdie laughed and gave me a wink.