Woman of the House

by Taylor, Alice

  “When I got home the scene haunted me and I couldn’t rest. I nearly went crazy, so I had to draw it. It was the only way to get it out of my head. What are we going to do, Kate?” he asked in desperation.

  Poor Mark, she thought, who lived in a world of music and painting where there was no place for the sordid things of life. He was a free spirit and should not be fettered by this horror.

  “Mark, listen to me,” she told him firmly; “try to put the whole scene out of your mind and leave it to me. I’ll look after it – and leave that drawing with me because it could get you killed.”

  “What about you, Kate?” he asked in a worried voice.

  “It’s my job to look after these kind of things,” she assured him, “so leave it with me and I’ll look after it.”

  “I knew that you were the only one who could help,” he said. “I came by last night as well but there was someone here.”

  “Oh, that was David Twomey, the Doc’s son,” she told him. “He is hoping to start a secondary school here and he’s running into problems.”

  “Isn’t life full of problems?” he sighed.

  “Mark, that’s not a bit like you,” she protested. “You’re to put all this out of your head now and go back to your music and sketching and leave the problem to me.”

  “Thanks, Kate,” he said, rising and putting his bag over his shoulder. “If I could influence Martha about Mossgrove I would, but she never took any notice of me. My sister thinks that I’m a fool.”

  “What a mistake!” she said, shaking her head and going out into the hall before him.

  “Good night, Kate, or should I say good morning?” Mark smiled down at her. ‘You’ve taken a huge load off my mind. I couldn’t think the last two days with the upset of that.” He slipped out the door and disappeared down the street into the grey misty dawn.

  She returned to the room and sat down heavily in the chair beside the dying fire. What a bloody awful start to the day, she thought. She picked up the picture and looked at it. It sent revulsion coursing through her. She went over to the sideboard and put it face down in one of the drawers. She had thought earlier in the night that there could be nothing worse than the sale of Mossgrove, but this needed immediate action. It was her day for visiting old Mrs Conway, and she determined that by the time she did she would have something worked out. I’ll call to see Sarah Jones later on, she thought, because she’s the only one to have her finger on the pulse of the Conways. But for now she decided that she would get a few hours rest because all of a sudden she felt drained and exhausted.

  Hours afterwards a loud knocking on the door woke her. She sat up in bed and knew straight away by the light in the room that it was late morning; a glance at her watch told her that it was ten o’clock. She jumped quickly out of bed and ran down the stairs, wrapping her dressing gown around her. Doc Twomey stood on the doorstep with a surprised look on his face.

  “Kate, I thought that you’d be pacing the floor with anger and frustration.”

  “I was doing that at three o’clock this morning,” she said grimly.

  “I never heard it until Hannah showed me the Eagle this morning,” he said, “otherwise David or I would have been over to you last night.”

  “Come in, Robert,” she said; “I’ve another problem besides Mossgrove.”

  “God, Kate,” he said in surprise, “I thought there’d be room for nothing else but Mossgrove in your mind today.”

  “I thought that too, early last night,” she said, taking the drawing out of the drawer, “but this came later.”

  As he looked at it wordlessly his jaw muscles tightened and he rubbed his hand across his forehead in agitation.

  “Tells its own story, doesn’t it,” he said grimly, and then, as an afterthought: “An amazing piece of drawing – Mark’s, of course.”

  “Yes, he was lucky that he didn’t get himself killed, but at least now we know, thanks to him.”

  “Any ideas on how to handle it?” he asked.

  “I’m going to discuss it with Sarah Jones,” she told him.

  “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “Sarah is about the only one to have the measure of the Conways. But you be careful with that fellow: he’s a bad egg in more ways than one.”

  “I know,” she agreed; “he gives me the creeps.”

  “Anything I can do,” he told her, “you know that I’m here.”

  “Thanks, Robert, I feel better that someone else knows,” she said.

  “Any chance of a cup of tea?” he asked hopefully.

  “You put on the kettle, and I’ll get dressed.”

  As she ran up the stairs the shocks of the previous night were replaced by a determination to tackle the Conway problem as soon as possible. When she came back down he had the tea made and the table set for two.

  “You’re handy to have around the house,” she told him. “I might keep you.”

  “You could do worse,” he smiled.

  As they had breakfast they discussed the Conways, Mossgrove and David’s new school.

  “You had David, Thursday night,” he said.

  “That’s right. We discussed the school.”

  When she had answered the door on Thursday night and found David standing there, a sudden awkwardness had overcome her. They had not come face to face for a long time. He had seemed equally unsure. We are both being wary of each other, she had thought. But later as they had chatted some of the lost easiness had returned. She had looked across at the dark, attractive face and thought how readily she could slip back into the old feeling. Careful, Kate, she had warned herself, you walked down that road before.

  “David is finding the old P.P. awkward enough,” Robert said now.

  “But does he have to have his approval?” Kate asked.

  “You spent too long in England,” he told her. “If he is against it some of the parents won’t send their children, and that’s it.”

  “We’re a strange crowd, aren’t we?” Kate mused.

  “Well, strange or otherwise, that’s the way we are, and now I suppose we’d better get moving. Will you start with Sarah?”

  “I will,” she said, “because I can’t concentrate on anything else until I have a start made on that problem. I’m due to dress old Mrs Conway’s leg this morning anyway, so that gives me the chance to get inside Conways’. Only for her leg, there isn’t a hope in hell I’d get in there.”

  “Or me either,” he told her.

  As she pushed her bike back along the village a few neighbours who obviously did not know what to say smiled sympathetically to her instead, and she knew that the word had gone around about Mossgrove. People would find it hard to understand that she had anything other than Mossgrove on her mind this morning. When she cycled close to Nolans’ gate she hoped that Betty would not be out in the yard because, if she was, there would be no getting away from a lengthy discussion on the sale. Thankfully there seemed to be nobody about and she kept going. Betty would think it very peculiar that she did not call in the circumstances, but she could make some excuse later. She felt guilty passing the gate of Mossgrove, thinking about Jack and the turmoil that he must be going through. Did the children know yet? she wondered. As she cycled past Ned’s young beech trees, she thought ruefully, little did he think when he was planting them that there would be a for sale sign on the gate before they were well rooted.

  She was glad to arrive at Sarah’s gate and she hoped that she would be at home. Relieved to find the front door open, Kate stepped into the sunlit hall that smelt of Mansions floor polish. The door into the kitchen was open and Sarah was sitting at the table inside the window reading the paper.

  “You had no idea about this before it appeared here?” she asked, tapping the Eagle, and when Kate shook her head she nodded.

  “Jack and I thought so last night,” she said. “I went over to him when I read it because I was afraid of what the shock would do to him.”

  “How was he?” Kate asked anxiously
.

  “Knocked sideways,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “What is that woman thinking of at all? I suppose she’s still in shock. I always tell people to make no big decision for two years after a bereavement because they’re not in control of their full faculties. That’s after an ordinary death, if there is such a thing. Sure, what’s happened down there would blow the head off you.”

  “There will be no changing her mind,” Kate told her quietly.

  “Don’t I know,” Sarah agreed; “always was as stubborn as a mule, like her father before her. But he’d never sell land. Martha was always a strange one, but then so is Mark, but he brought all the gentility of Agnes, whereas she has all the hardness of the Lehanes in her.

  “Sarah,” Kate interrupted her flow, “I want to discuss something else with you.”

  “Something else! Kate, girl, I thought you would have nothing on your mind today only Mossgrove. Jack and myself talked ourselves hoarse last night, for all the good that it did us. But I felt that Jack needed someone to talk it out with him.”

  “You were right, Sarah, as usual, and I’d have called to him just now but there is something that I must sort out first.”

  She sat on a chair next to Sarah and looked out the low window into her garden that was overflowing with flowers, vegetables and scratching hens. The garden is like herself, Kate thought, brimming with life and energy. It seemed a shame to blight the vibrant scene with her dark sketch, but she opened her bag and reluctantly drew it out and placed it on the table before Sarah. There was no reaction of surprise, only a narrowing of the eyes.

  “So, he’s at it again,” she said bitterly.

  “How do you mean, again?” Kate asked in astonishment.

  “There was an older girl there – Mary,” Sarah said.

  “That’s right,” Kate said, “she went to Dublin to an aunt.”

  “Ever wonder why?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh, God,” Kate looked at Sarah in horrified realisation.

  “That’s right.”

  “But how did you find out?”

  “The old woman,” Sarah said. “And she helped to get her out as well.”

  “What about the mother?”

  “Oh, Biddy,” Sarah said dismissively; “useless – she’s scared stiff of him.”

  “And the grandmother?” Kate asked.

  “You couldn’t frighten that one,” Sarah declared.

  “Wonder she didn’t do something this time.”

  “Probably didn’t know,” Sarah said thoughtfully; “might have only started since she cut her leg and wasn’t able to get around.”

  “So she’s my best bet?”

  “That’s right, but let me think this out carefully and figure out the best way to go about things.”

  Kate sat quietly while Sarah did her thinking. Outside the window a pair of blackbirds darted back and forth beside the hedge, occasionally coming to a standstill with heads alert for any intrusion into their private corner. Nobody invaded their territory, so they continued their busy pecking, stopping now and then to make short swift flights into the hedge. Are they nesting? she wondered.

  “Now, I think that this is the best way to do it,” Sarah broke the silence. “No direct accusations or you’ll be thrown out and they’ll all clam up. Suggest that Kitty’s bed be moved into the grandmother’s room to keep an eye on the old lady. The old lady will know straight away what’s going on, so she’ll go along with it. That keeps Kitty safe for the present and gives us breathing space. Now, the old lady writes to Mary in Dublin, so I’ll tell Joe in the post office to watch out for a letter and to copy the address. He might even have it in his head. Joe has done things like that for me before and no one was any the wiser. Then we’ll take it from there.”

  Kate looked at her in admiration. This little woman with her small round face and soft clear skin probably knew most of what went on behind the closed doors of the parish but kept it all to herself.

  “Thanks, Sarah,” she said, getting to her feet. “Wish me luck.”

  “You’ll be grand,” Sarah told her; “just be fine and cool and remember that you have right on your side. That’s always a help.” And dipping her fingers into the holy water font hanging beside the front door, she gave Kate a good sprinkle.

  As she cycled into Conways’ yard the dogs came barking from all directions and Matt Conway appeared immediately with a triumphant leer on his face.

  “So the Phelans are selling Mossgrove,” he said, “and we’ll be the highest bidders.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Kate asked.

  “No matter what it goes to, we’ll be there, because Conway money will come from America for this one,” he gloated.

  “We’ll see,” Kate said evenly and kept walking towards the front door.

  “Oh, we’ll see all right,” he sneered; “we Conways have waited along time for this day.”

  Kate did not rise to his baiting but opened the front door and went into the kitchen where Biddy Conway, with her thin red face and short hair pinned with a steel clip behind her ears, regarded her suspiciously. On previous calls Kate had attempted to make conversation with Biddy but had failed, so now she no longer tried. She went straight down to the grandmother’s room.

  “Ha, ha,” the old lady greeted her, “so she’s selling ye out. Ye got a cuckoo in the nest, as long as ye ran.”

  “Let’s see that leg,” Kate instructed, turning back the bedclothes and unwrapping the bandages.

  “She was always an odd one: good-looking but odd,” the old lady continued. “I knew when she got her claws into young Ned that he didn’t stand a chance. Now she’s going to have her own back.”

  “How do you mean, her own back?” Kate demanded.

  “Odd ones like her always carry a grudge: they think that everyone is against them, and she always thought that ye had no time for her, so now she’s going to get the better of ye.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Kate protested.

  “Mark my words, my girl, but I’m right, and you’ll find it out in due course,” the old lady asserted nodding her head.

  During her regular visits over the previous weeks Kate had developed a certain respect for the old lady. She was canny and calculating and tough as old leather, but she was a good patient and not a complainer. When she had the fresh bandage in place she stood over the old woman in the bed and looked down at her.

  “I want you to do something for me,” Kate told her.

  “Why should I do anything for you?” she demanded.

  “Because it’s in your own interest. I want to bring Kitty’s bed in here to your room.”

  The old lady went motionless in the bed and her piggy blue eyes narrowed in her flat flabby face.

  “Why?” she rasped.

  “Because if you wanted a drink or anything at night she could get it for you,” Kate said casually, but their eyes locked and both of them understood exactly what was at stake.

  “I’ll get the boys to do it later on,” the old lady said.

  “We’ll do it now,” Kate told her decisively. “It’s Saturday, so the boys are at home.”

  “Please yourself,” the old lady agreed.

  She went down into the kitchen where Biddy was clattering around in a pair of boots that were too big for her, and when she was asked about the whereabouts of the two boys, she pointed to the back door.

  “I want to shift Kitty’s bed into her grandmother’s room so that she will be there at night if the old lady should want something,” Kate told her, and knew by her furtive look that she knew the real reason for the move. She put her head out the back and yelled at the boys to come in. They came, big, beefy boys with close-cropped black hair and thick heavy Conway jaws, with puzzled looks on their faces. Small dainty Kitty with her red hair and pretty face was a total contrast to her brothers. They looked at Kate with mute, expressionless faces, but when she explained to them what she wanted done they got to work without question. In a few minutes they had t
he iron bed taken asunder and shifted across the kitchen into their grandmother’s room. Looking in the doorway, Kate recognised Kitty’s room from Mark’s drawing and felt chilled.

  Just as they had the bed reassembled Kitty came in the back door dragging a dog behind her and looked uneasily at Kate. “Where’s my bed gone?” she asked in surprise as she looked in through the open doorway at the empty room.

  “We’ve moved it into Nana’s room,” Rory, the biggest of the two boys told her, “’cause Nurse Phelan wants somebody with her at night.”

  Kate watched Kitty’s face closely and saw a fleeting look of surprise wiped out by an overwhelming wave of sheer relief. She’s off the hook, Kate thought, the poor little mite. Feeling Biddy’s eyes on her, she looked across the kitchen and knew that Biddy too was aware of her daughter’s relief. What a mess, she thought, feeling suddenly angry, but Sarah’s words of warning came back to her. If you get yourself kicked out you’ll be no help to Kitty. So she smiled at Kitty and told her, “Tidy up your bed, now, and look after Nana for me, and I’ll be back next week.”

  When she went back out into the yard Matt Conway was waiting for her. “What kept you so long?” he demanded.

  “We were moving Kitty’s bed into her grandmother’s room,” she told him, feeling a glow of satisfaction when she saw the unease in his eyes. She let the silence hang between them and looked him in the eye until he dropped his glance. He knows now, she thought, that I know. Then she said casually, “She needs somebody to be with her at night.” And getting on her bike she cycled out of the yard without a backward glance.

  Chapter Twelve

  ON THE WAY home Kate decided that she would call to see Mark to tell him that she had taken things in hand. He had been deeply distressed last night and she did not want him to be worrying needlessly.

  Everything about Lehanes’ house made it different from their neighbours because Agnes had allowed Mark’s flair for colour run riot. He had painted the long, low, thatched house a blazing yellow with a bright red door, and as she walked up the short path it peeped out at her through overgrown greenery like a mischievous child.