by Boyce, Niamh
‘You asked for an examination; I’ve your signature on a docket. But, as you never told me you were in the family way, how was I to know there would be consequences?’
There was a taste in her mouth, behind her teeth.
‘Did Carmel Holohan blackmail you? That’s a thing I would never do.’
She knew by the way he looked at her that it was true. He sat on a chair beside her bed and began to untie the rope that bound her ankles together. Being released hurt – she felt a warm drop of blood run down over her ankle bone. She looked at her captor; he glanced back at her. Then he just stared at the wall, and there was silence.
61
The curtains of the herbalist’s house were drawn, but I knew there was someone home. I knocked on the front window and kept knocking; I had no intention of giving up. He opened the door like a flash, the face of a demon on him.
‘Not now!’ He slammed the door shut.
I wanted to have it out with him for what he’d done to Rose, to make him own up, to make him be sorry, to make him pay. I couldn’t rest till I did something; I had even thought of going to the gardaí barracks. I couldn’t get my head around any of it: that the herbalist could do that to the girl, that Mrs B would force Rose to have it done. Mam would never have let that happen to me. And Carmel was so wrapped up in her own affairs she didn’t know anything about that side of things, even with Mrs B being her very good friend. You should’ve seen her eyes when I told her.
I sat on the wall across the road. Saluted Ned when he passed. That was a mistake, because he came over.
‘Isn’t it terrible sad? Poor Rose.’
‘It’s awful, it really is.’
‘This town has gone to the dogs altogether. Did you hear about his lordship?’ Ned waved a thumb towards the herbalist’s house.
‘He’s harbouring Miss Whyte, the adulteress. Seems she was carrying on with her mistress’s husband.’
‘Was she now!’
‘Yes, she’s in there now, hiding from the wrath of Mrs Holohan.’
‘Terrible,’ I said.
‘Shocking. I wonder what the next thing will be?’
‘Next thing?’
‘Well, you know what they say: bad things happen in threes.’
Ned was walking away as he spoke. He mustn’t have cared for an answer.
So she was in there, hiding. How the mighty had fallen. I went back across the road and peeked in the window. There wasn’t anything to see. I listened and everything was very quiet, too quiet. If Sarah was in there, she must be desperate. What was she going to do with her baby? She could give it to Carmel, seeing as her own didn’t make it. It was in limbo, bless it, with the rest of the poor souls. Did Carmel miss her baby? She’d never said. For a mouthy woman, she never managed to say a word about that baby. But maybe she would like a child, even if it was Sarah’s.
I crept around the house and looked in the back window. It was open a couple of inches, and the curtains there were too short, so I had an inch or so of a gap. That’s when I saw a terrible sight and knew I was facing something I couldn’t tackle on my own.
62
Someone at the herbalist’s door seemed intent on kicking it in. He had no choice but to answer it. Sarah recognized Aggie’s voice; she was making a terrible racket. ‘Not another one – no more mopping up after Doctor Death!’ Hearing that frightened Sarah as much as anything else that had happened.
Someone touched her hand then. It was Emily. She placed a finger over Sarah’s mouth and took a penknife from her pocket. It sliced through the ropes around Sarah’s wrists and ankles. Sarah tried to get up but fell back down again. Emily hooked her arm around Sarah’s waist and half dragged, half led her towards the back door. At the front door, Aggie roared on and on, and the herbalist tried to hush her. Emily unbolted the door and, with Sarah leaning on her shoulder, they stepped out of the house.
The light was blinding for a second. And all Sarah saw was the river, the sunshine making it look like a band of diamonds across the horizon. And there was Biddy, waiting to take them away. Emily helped Sarah aboard and eased her on to a bench. They didn’t have to wait long for Aggie to trundle across the grass. She signalled for Emily to start up the boat. She was holding the side of her head.
‘Jesus, Aggie, what happened?’ said Emily.
‘The bugger jumped up and hit me.’
‘Will he come after us?’ Sarah said, as Aggie sat beside her.
‘He won’t give chase. It’s the other one who’s baying for blood – Carmel. She’s the one to run from, seeing as you’re up the pole with her husband’s child.’
‘It’s not his,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s not his.’
In that second Sarah knew she was never going to pretend any different – and perhaps had never really intended to. She shut her eyes and cupped the curve that was just beginning to show beneath her dress.
The boat began to move. She didn’t even ask where they were going. None of them seemed inclined to talk. Sarah imagined they were sailing a river that went all the way to paradise. Somewhere warm, somewhere unfettered by all the rules of civilization. The wind stirred the riverside willows. They made a clean, shushing sound. It began to rain, but it was soft – none of them minded it.
After a half an hour of peace, the barge bumped against the river bank, and Aggie began roaring at Emily for her steering. The boat came to a standstill against the ridge. They had reached the first lock gate. There was a cottage by the water, and signs of work in the front garden. The lock gatekeeper came out from around the side of his house, pushing a wheelbarrow of soil. It was him, it was Matt.
He dropped his barrow and went over to them, caught the rope Emily had thrown and knotted it around the pillar. Aggie limped off to talk to him. Told the others to stay put as she linked his arm and walked through the open door of his house. They were in there an awful long time before they came out. Aggie got on board and put her hands on her hips.
‘We’ll be leaving you here,’ she said to Sarah, ‘to rest for a bit.’
Matt put out a hand to help her step ashore. She took it.
You saved the day, Aggie, didn’t you?
I did. I did. Emily didn’t have to tell me much. I nearly knocked his door down. The face on The Don. He was careful to block my view into the room behind him. His fists were bunched so tight that his knuckles were white. That wasn’t scaring Aggie off, not this time, bucko.
‘Who have you now? Have you no conscience?’ I said.
‘Whist, woman – you don’t know what you’re saying.’
There was a noise from inside – young Emily climbing in the window. The herbalist made to look over his shoulder. I slapped his chest.
‘You’re nothing but a dirty bastard,’ I said, ‘and I’ll be telling the gardaí everything you done. And everything you told me, do you understand?’
‘You don’t have a leg to stand on. Who’d believe a word from your mouth?’
Then came a scraping noise, and a door creaking. I put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Have you someone in there? Someone I’ll be cleaning up after? Like Rose?’
He turned right quick. Didn’t he know there were eyes everywhere in this town?
I stepped forward, he didn’t move, we were chest to chest. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked frightened, trapped. I don’t recall what happened next. Don’t even know what he hit me with, just know I was on the ground. He dragged me off his doorstep, knelt and held my head so tight to his that I felt his jawbone move.
‘Get out of here, you old hoor, or I’ll kill you.’
He shut the door. I felt my skull; there was a lump as big as a
half-crown but no cut. I hobbled away, holding my head. Miss Harvey stepped back as I passed, as if I was a bad smell. Off she went hot-trotting to Mass. I crossed the grass towards Biddy, then hobbled on board with a hand from Emily.
Sarah was on the bench, looking half stunned. I sat beside her. We moved away upriver. Emily quit her sobbing for long enough to listen to my instructions. I felt woozy, like vomiting, but I had a suck of whiskey, and when I sat back and watched Emily steer I began to feel better. I knew exactly the place for Sarah to recover.
She had a steady hand, young Emily, kept us in the middle of the river right easy. The reeds bowed before the boat as we passed. It was then I saw the broad woman walking the barrow path in a green dress and my black shawl. She didn’t stall to wave as we passed; she just kept on walking, looking straight ahead. She was the spitting image of me, from her auburn hair to her white shoes. A fetch. I’d seen a fetch. I knew then that I wasn’t long for this world, that I’d better be readying myself for the next.
So I’ll tell your tale, henny penny, if no one else will, I’ll tell your tale. Are you listening? We can tell it again and again till it no longer hurts you. That’s our medicine.
A beautiful girl went to him. She had nowhere else to go. Had no money, only beautiful clothes and a mother who kept her on a short leash. She was respectable. And he had something that kept respectable girls respectable. Medicine man gave her something, put his cold clean fingers between her legs and made her weep. She believed he could help her, would help her. It hurt but she thought she deserved to be hurt. Aggie knows that feeling, child. It’s the very soil that grew me.
The girl grew paler and paler. Her appearance altered like someone had rinsed all around her. The hurt was rubbing her out.
Her mother noticed.
‘You’re more beautiful every day,’ that blind witch said, ‘radiant even.’
The beautiful girl bit her lips, chewed her nails till they bled, flushed with shame and became more beautiful.
That’s me you’re talking about, isn’t it, Aggie? I was lovely, wasn’t I? Is that why he did it? Is that why it’s okay that I’m wiped clean away?
Hush, craythur, hush a bye. While Aggie’s here, you’ll never die.
63
Carmel knew where her husband would be. There were very few doors Dan would risk his pride knocking on. Mick’s was the first place she tried, and she knew by the silence that her husband was there. She opened the letterbox and called Dan’s name. Saw a shadow move across the hallway.
‘Let me in or I’ll stay here all day.’
Mick opened the door and tried to pretend he didn’t know anything. She stepped inside; she wouldn’t be conducting her business in the street, not like some.
‘Get Dan for me.’
‘I swear to God –’
She walked past him and into the kitchen. His mother was in her usual spot by the fire, a tartan blanket on her knees and a sly smile on her old yellow face.
‘Good afternoon, Lizzie. I’m looking for my husband.’
Dan stepped into the room from the back hall. He kept his back to the wall and waited.
‘Your murderess is gone, gone to get rid of your child.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘Sarah.’ She spat the name. ‘She went to him. The abortionist.’
‘What bloody abortionist!’
‘Who do you think? The herbalist is who. Our very own. Didn’t you know? He’s doing it right now. Chop, chop, choppity-chop.’
Lizzie cackled with laughter. Dan ran past Carmel. Not to the scene of the crime. Oh, no, that wasn’t Dan’s style. Dan went to Sergeant Deegan. Let the law do the dirty work.
The light was fading. Dogs barked at each other, brave in the dark, safe behind fences, small dogs that felt like big dogs as they growled and yapped. The two gardaí stood before Carmel and Dan, awaiting a revelation.
‘Will one of you for God’s sake speak up? Look at youse, sitting together in your cold empty room like schoolchildren.’ Deegan was dying to be home for his supper.
Garda Molloy tried a different approach. ‘By all accounts and purposes you seem like a nice, good-living family. It would help …’ He paused. ‘It would help if we knew about the events leading up to this, to the girl getting into difficulty.’
Silence.
‘Do you know who the father is? Take your time.’
More silence.
‘Mrs Holohan, how well did you know the girl, Sarah?’
‘I didn’t know her from Adam,’ said Carmel. ‘My brother, Finbar, recommended her. I trusted his judgement: he’s a schoolmaster. She was brought up in the country with an old midwife aunt of hers.’
‘What of her parents?’
‘The mother died in childbirth.’
‘Father?’ Molloy took out his notebook.
‘Don’t know – he must’ve died in childbirth too.’ Carmel sniggered.
‘Dan said that you told him, that your shop girl has gone to procure a miscarriage?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She told me. Told me she was in trouble, that it wasn’t the first time and he, the herbalist, had taken care of it before for her.’
‘My God. Will she testify as to that?’
‘I doubt it – these girls are very sly.’ Her gaze slid towards her husband.
‘Did she have any friends we could talk to?’
‘No, not a soul.’
64
I was stopped by Lizzie Murphy. ‘Emily! Emily!’ she crowed. Oh, she couldn’t wait to tell me the news. A complaint had been made against the herbalist, made by Mrs Dan Holohan. It was the talk of the town. Everyone agreed something very odd was going on. There was no sign of Sarah, who, or so Mrs Holohan claimed, had procured a miscarriage from the herbalist. And there wasn’t a jot of evidence against him either. What a thing to say about the man! A woman scorned has an evil tongue. Lizzie said Molloy and Deegan had searched the herbalist’s place and there was no sign of anything untoward on his premises – the opposite in fact, the place was spotless. They had brought the herbalist to the barracks anyway. ‘More of a formality really,’ she explained, as if she knew formality from hot tea. ‘He’s there now,’ she added, pure twinkling with malice.
I went home and prepared for the occasion. My satin gown fitted perfectly, and so it should, it had been made for me, by me, ever so carefully.
Once I got back into town, I strolled slowly towards the bridge. I wanted everyone around to get a good look at the girl in the long blue dress. At the railings of the bridge I held out the small card envelope, the one with a dead girl’s letter in it – a letter I knew every word of by heart – opened my hand and let it fall towards the water, sure that it would never be read again, for the river, the river eats everything.
I stood just inside the station door and saw through to the interview room. There were just the three of them: him and Deegan at a table; Molloy was at a small desk doing paperwork. The herbalist was denying everything, espousing natural medicines. They seemed to be almost finished. I heard Deegan: ‘You’re very gracious in the face of what are evidently the spiteful suspicions of a temperamental woman. No evidence. No witness. Just one wild accusation. And, with all due respect, what kind of girl would do such a thing? And, with all due respect, what kind of girl would come forward and admit it? I’m in need of a cup of tea – do you fancy one yourself?’
‘Four sugars, no milk.’
As the herbalist and the sergeant consoled each other about time-wasters and gossips, I stepped in. They both looked up: the herbalist looked like he was about to
laugh; the sergeant frowned.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m a witness.’
‘The investigation is over.’ Deegan kicked the interview-room door shut.
I wondered what to do, tried not to cry. Then Molloy came out. He was holding a sandwich.
‘I’ve time – come on.’
He showed me into another room. Once we were both sitting, he took out a notebook, licked the nib of his pencil and looked up at me expectantly. He didn’t seem unkind. That gave me courage.
‘Off you go, in your own words, take your time.’
‘He always offered me syrup in a small glass first. It was dark and bitter. I got sick afterwards, into a bucket that he kept there. Then he made me remove my underclothes. Examined me, with his hands. Do you know what I mean?’
65
Carmel opened the shop – what else could she do? People were in shock, white-faced. Did you hear? Did you hear? Milkie and Moll Nash, Tessie Feeney, Lizzie Murphy and Mrs Purcell all arrived in more or less together. They crowded the counter. She filled a threepenny bag with toffees for Milkie. When she looked up, the floor was full. More had come in: she could see the heads of Miss Murray and Miss Hawkins, Nell Daly, Miss Harvey, Catty Dolan, Miss Fortune, Sally Heaney and was that Rita Brennan in the doorway?
Carmel sat on the stool. They were chattering together, and they were all glancing at her, feasting their eyes. Being careful not to mention her husband, or the shop girl, or adultery. They were just there to take note of her condition, complexion, demeanour. Notes they could compare later, expand upon in comfort. For now, in here, they would pick over other carcasses. Like Mrs Birmingham, who had lost everything. Didn’t she think the world of Rose! It was so sudden and there were terrible rumours! People said poor Rose was in the family way. Nonsense and tommy-rot, that girl never went anywhere without her mother. She had no men friends anyway; that was just jealous people making gossip for a good family in their time of trouble. And so it went …