The Secret Journey

by James Hanley

  Outside, Brigid Mangan’s ears were already burning.

  ‘But, Mrs. Fury—you’ve had your father all this time. It’s through your devoted attention, your courage, your continual faith in him, that he remains alive. As an old friend, as one who has attended your family, Mrs. Fury, yourself and all your children, I’d like to say something. I really believe that your father is keeping alive, hanging on, just for you. It’s a funny idea, but, then, doctors have funny ideas. I don’t know how you could let him go. He might collapse on the way. It’s a great responsibility, but as I said the risks are yours not mine. If he were my father I would not do it.’

  And then he drew back from the bed, for suddenly something in Mrs. Fury seemed to break, for she gave one look at the old man, and striking the bed-rail with her clenched fist she shouted at the top of her voice: ‘But you don’t understand, Doctor, you don’t understand. I want him, I want him to go. I don’t want him here any more. I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t, I can’t,’ and she burst into tears. She sank down on the bed.

  ‘Mrs. Fury! My dear Mrs. Fury! Calm yourself, please! I understand very well. I know what a strain this must have been on you.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Do try,’ he said. He understood perfectly, he said again. And then as though to ease the situation, ‘Mind you, there is another way of looking at it, Mrs. Fury. It might be that the change of atmosphere, change of air and food, might have a beneficial effect upon him.’ Smiling, he shook his finger. ‘Your father might confound us all, Mrs. Fury. He may live to be a hundred. Who knows?’ He took his bag and made for the door. The woman wiped her eyes on her apron and followed him. At the first turn of the knob, Miss Mangan did for a woman of her age a most perilous thing. She leapt to the bottom of the stairs, fortunately without a sound, and found herself in a heap upon the carpet. She picked herself up, and brushed down her skirt. Heart palpitating, bosom heaving with excitement, she slipped back into the kitchen and resumed her seat.

  If Brigid Mangan sat waiting for Dr. Dunfrey she must have sat for a long time, for the doctor went straight through the hall, and not until the front door had closed did she realize the snub. For it could mean nothing else to her but a snub—and a direct one. But why should he do it? She was a perfect stranger to him—he had no reason for so doing.

  ‘They’re in league together. That’s what it is. Yes, I half believe Fanny realizes Dad has money hidden somewhere and he’s going to get his share.’ Miss Mangan’s imagination went further. They weren’t even allowing him to die naturally—they were keeping him alive just for the one purpose. Two could play that game. Through Fanny’s utter foolishness she had dragged herself into the gutter, her children after her. She had sunk lower and lower, and now she hoped that the innocent old man would help her out. Such were Brigid Mangan’s thoughts.

  ‘Well! two can play that game.’

  If she had thought that all she had to do in order to realize her own ambition was to sail to Gelton, pick up her father and take him home again—then she was mistaken. There were obstacles after all. And perhaps that sudden demonstration of Fanny’s in the back bedroom was but part of their plan. Miss Mangan’s imagination ran riot.

  When Fanny Fury came into the kitchen, Brigid was still getting her breath back.

  ‘Well?’ she asked—hardly able to look her sister in the face. ‘And what has Dr. Dunfrey to say about Father?’

  Mrs. Fury sat down. She picked up some sewing and rolled it into a ball and put it in the work-box under the table.

  ‘Dr. Dunfrey has very curious ideas about Father. But he’s a stranger—a friend of course—but he doesn’t understand. For one thing, he is against Dad being moved at all; for another, he said he had more respect than that, to even think of moving him, let alone taking him all the way. But I pointed out how you felt—how we both felt, Brigid, if Dad should die on the way over—it’s my fault as well as yours. But I told him, I told him straight, what I tell you now. He can go. And I’ll be glad—I want to breathe. I’ve had nine long years of it. It only remains for you to make the arrangements, that’s all. I don’t want to speak about it any more,’ and Brigid Mangan agreed. She would say no more about it. But all was not yet over. One could not gain a point without paying for it. She began commiserating with her sister.

  ‘You must cheer up, Fanny, my dear woman. To-night, you must come and see the Bioscope!’ She patted Mrs. Fury on the knee.

  ‘You’ll miss him terribly, I know, but at least you’ll feel free.’

  ‘That’s it,’ replied Mrs. Fury. ‘I’ll feel free. But I don’t want to talk about it.’ Miss Mangan was already on her feet. ‘What! Are you going off already?’ she said.

  ‘Naturally, my dear! I have things to do. But don’t worry. I’ll be back in good time.’

  Fanny Fury helped her on with her coat. It surprised her that all this time Brigid had not made one single inquiry about the family, excepting Denny. But she asked now whether Mr. Fury had yet written, to which Fanny replied ‘No’; then they went to the door together.

  ‘Expect me about seven o’clock,’ said Miss Mangan, ‘and cheer up, Fanny, for God’s sake. If Father had died it might be different (Yes, it certainly would—she said to herself), but Dad’s as alive as we are.’

  As soon as the door was closed, Fanny Fury went up to her father’s room.

  It was now turned four o’clock. Mrs. Fury, having seen that Anthony Mangan was all right, went along the landing to the middle room. She opened this door and went in. Her son was snoring on the bed. At seven o’clock that evening he was due to sail. His bag was packed and lay in the corner of the back-yard shed. If the baggage man did not call he would carry it down himself. Mrs. Fury shook him roughly. ‘Wake up. Wake up,’ she said, and began pulling at the pillow. Peter Fury woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked round.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked. Then he saw his mother. ‘What time is it, Mother?’ He sat up and stretched his arms in the air. He yawned. His hair was tousled, his eyes were still full of sleep. In fact, he was on the point of lying down and falling asleep again, when his eye caught sight of the diddy-bag, newly scrubbed, lying packed on the table by the bed.

  ‘Hell!’ he said, jumping up. ‘Why didn’t you call me? Look at the time,’ and he began gathering his things together. He felt a hand on his back, heard a voice saying, ‘Please sit down. There is no hurry. I want to say something to you,’ and then as though irritated and impatient, ‘Do sit down and listen to what I have to say. It has to do with both of us.’ Peter sat down.

  ‘Well!’ he growled, ‘what’s wrong now?’ His whole manner was surly, he stuck his hands in his pockets and stretched out his legs. His feet were bare.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Peter! I don’t want you to go. Please unpack your bag and stay with me.’ She spoke so quietly, so earnestly—he couldn’t comprehend. What was this she was saying?’ Don’t go! Don’t pack your bag. Stay with me. Please stay with me.’ He grinned at his mother.

  ‘But why should I? Didn’t you say you’d be glad to see the back of me? Why should I stay? I don’t want to.’ He coloured quickly. ‘You say one thing and mean quite another. Why do you want me to stay? Time’s passing. Why do you want me to stay?’

  ‘I can’t tell you! I can’t. But I want you to stay with me. Please! Please!’

  And then for Peter she did a surprising thing. She fell on her knees.

  ‘Please stay!’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you why later on. But don’t go. I know I said I hated the sight of you. I know I cursed you too. Now I can’t help it. Peter, will you stay?’

  She followed the movement of his finger as it ran up and down the diddy-bag. Peter Fury made no reply. ‘Why does she want me to stay?’ The thought flashed into his mind. It was against all reason. ‘But I can’t leave my job,’ he said.

  ‘Listen! Take your finger off that bag. Turn round and look at me. I’m not an ogre. You can get another job. All I ask is one question. Will you stay, or do
you want to go? Will you?’ she went on. ‘Will you?’ and she saw him slowly bow his head.

  Then she went up to him, and flinging her arms round his neck, said, ‘You must stay. You must stand by me.’

  But Peter Fury said not another word. He freed himself, went out of the room. Below he commenced unpacking his bag. ‘It’s a good job,’ he thought, ‘that I didn’t get an advance.’ After a while he blurted out, ‘But I don’t understand this at all. I simply don’t,’ and automatically he began replacing his things in the bag again. He returned to his room. It was empty. He shut the door and sat down. ‘What’s Mother up to? First she says clear out, and now she actually goes on her knees and says don’t. Ah! I know now. At least I think I do. Mother’s afraid of something. Poor Mother!’ he said. ‘She’s getting more queer every day. I wonder if she’s going potty?’ He burst into a fit of laughter and said, ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  She came into the room again.

  ‘Will you take a note down in the morning to Mr. Shack-lady? He’s a friend or was a friend of your father’s. He has a good job in a sail loft at the dock. I’m sure he’d help.’

  ‘Have you forgotten that it might be dangerous for me to go near the docks for the next week or so? Listen, Mother, think it over again. It’s not so easy to get another job. You’ll miss the money and——’

  ‘Yes, I forgot. It would be dangerous, of course. We’ll leave it, then,’ and she once more left his room.

  ‘I’m sure Mother’s getting light in the head. In fact I’m certain of it.’

  Fanny Fury felt suddenly happy. She went below and prepared the evening meal. She was expecting her sister back about seven o’clock.

  ‘I’ll have one more try. Yes, God, if I can get out of this tangle I’ll have one more try.’

  The post came. It had a foreign postmark. It was from her husband and addressed from Lisbon. She expressed no surprise. She did not even read it, but put it inside her blouse and went on with her work of laying the table. Dennis Fury never once crossed her mind.

  ‘If he’ll only act sensible. If Anthony will come back and work ashore too—then, then’—her thoughts roused, hope ran high. Already she could see the home taking shape again—the house in Hatfields, ordered and peaceful.

  ‘I will try,’ she vowed, ‘I will try.’ Home! To keep it together. That was all she wanted.

  Peter Fury came down. He went and washed himself, then changed upstairs. Not a word was spoken. Even if she had thought he had a rendezvous with the Devil that very night she would not have spoken. Then he went out.

  At half-past seven Brigid Mangan arrived. She was full of apologies for her lateness. She had been kept so busy—‘But,’ she announced loudly and with a triumphant smile, ‘I’ve fixed everything up. I’ve got tickets. I’ve got the help of a very nice young man recommended to me by that dear man Father Joyce, and there’ll be a cab here at half-past six to-morrow evening. So that’s settled, thank God.’ She took off her coat and hat. She wanted to help Mrs. Fury with the tea, but the woman waved her away.

  ‘Just sit down! Just sit down,’ she said.

  ‘Imagine, Fanny, imagine Peter being home here and you never letting on at all. Really you amaze me.’

  ‘Are you so interested in Peter?’ replied Fanny Fury. ‘I thought you came over for Father?’ She placed a cup and saucer and small plate in front of her sister.

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘Well!’—and Fanny Fury went to the range and took the teapot in her hand.

  ‘What time did you say the cab calls here?’ she asked in a serious hesitating voice, to which Aunt Brigid replied sharply:

  ‘Half-past six, of course. Didn’t you hear me? Surely you’re not deaf as well as indifferent. Really, Fanny, one gets rather tired of that long face of yours. For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together, woman.’

  Fanny Fury poured out the tea.

  ‘Who told you Peter was home from sea?’ she asked.

  ‘Who told me?’ said Miss Mangan with an air of astonishment. ‘Why, my niece, of course.’

  ‘Oh, you went round to see them at Price Street,’ remarked Fanny. ‘Well! How are they all?’

  ‘I suppose I can call and see my own niece, Fanny. The attitude you adopt whenever I call here—the high-handed attitude. Do you still sway your children even now?’ Then suddenly she said, ‘But Lord! What a pretty child! What a pretty child! You’d hardly imagine it, could you?—oh, he is an ugly-looking fellow, Fanny; that was a mistake when you ran her into his arms.’

  ‘Joe’s very good to her. She really gets more than she deserves. He’s too soft. But I don’t want to talk about these matters.’

  Miss Mangan felt hurt.

  ‘You never want to talk about any one but yourself. Really, Fanny, it’s going beyond all bounds. One feels loaded down with all sorts of obligations coming here at all. You’re a curious person, Fanny. Sometimes I think you’re afraid. Afraid of everything. You’re letting yourself go down the nick. For God’s sake forget all that and enjoy yourself. I shall certainly drag you out to Brown’s to-night. Another thing, Fanny. I don’t want you to think that I am just running away with Dad and offering you nothing. I know how you’ll miss his few shillings a week. So I thought perhaps’—here she took up her black bag and was opening it, presumably to give her sister some money, when Fanny said sharply:

  ‘I don’t want your money, even though I feel I’m entitled to it. Dad’s pension didn’t even keep him in brandy and milk, which was all that kept him alive. He had to be clothed—doctors had to be paid.’

  ‘I really don’t know how you did it. You were a brick. But you’ll get your reward, Fanny my dear. God doesn’t go about with closed eyes. You’ll get your reward. Do you know, sometimes when I’m sitting quiet of an evening sewing, and all the bustling world outside the window, sometimes I say to myself, “What is it worth? All this struggle, all this rush, this fretting. After all, we’re here to-day and dust to-morrow.” Then I say to myself, “Brigid, sit tight. Keep your eye on the path all the while—the one true path.” It makes me so happy. And what is the one thing I hope for? A happy death. A happy death. And, glory be to God, a place at His right hand—Paradise.’

  ‘Yes. I sometimes feel that way myself. But Ireland isn’t Gelton, and one has to change one’s opinions very quickly. One’s kept on the go all the time. Brigid, my happiest days were when I had them all here. All here in this kitchen. Dear me! I often think of those good days. I was happy then.’

  ‘One can’t have it for ever, though,’ replied Miss Mangan. ‘We choose our own paths and must act accordingly. You wanted life, freedom, adventure. And you’ve had it, you’ve got it now. Sometimes I wonder if I have really missed anything worth while. But look at you. Reared a whole family, seen them grow up, become men and women. At times I’ve envied you. But then, you won’t believe that. You’ll just laugh. Well, God knows best. Praised be His blessed Son. Now I think we might go upstairs and change,’ and Brigid Mangan left her chair. ‘Come along now, Fanny,’ she said, ‘come along.’

  At the kitchen door Fanny said, ‘Do you think I could really go? Do you forget that Dad is here by himself? That’s the way I’ve been tied all this time. Perhaps I was a bloody fool. A bloody fool. Perhaps I should have let everything go to the devil and looked after myself.’

  They went upstairs to Mrs. Fury’s room.

  ‘My dear sister, you simply must control yourself. You ought to be under a doctor really. It doesn’t say much for Dr. Dunfrey that he didn’t notice your nervous state. And if we go to Brown’s you must behave, Fanny. If there’s anything in this world that I hate, it’s scenes—yes, scenes.’ And she went and stood by the mirror admiring herself whilst she ran her hands over her hair.

  Mrs. Fury changed her clothes. She didn’t know why she was doing this really—it seemed so absurd to be going to Brown’s in her present state of mind. She sat on the bed, her black dress in a heap on her knee.

  ‘Ar
e you still thinking of Father?’ asked Miss Mangan from the mirror. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’ll be quite all right. Surely to God you can have an hour to yourself. You make mountains out of molehills. Hurry up, Fanny! At half-past eight the performance begins.’

  She crossed the room, took up the dress, and said imploringly, ‘Come along, dear. It’ll do you good. That’s what’s wrong with you. You keep too much to yourself. You don’t go out enough. Everybody wants to laugh and be amused. Well, you can say this. That when you have Father off your hands you’ll be able to breathe a little more. I understand you so well, Fanny. But then, why shouldn’t I? I’m your sister. Now do get up and put on this dress.’

  Fanny Fury was like a sulky child. Begrudgingly, she got up and even allowed Brigid to help her put on and fasten the dress.

  ‘There!’ she exclaimed, ‘now go and tidy your hair. I’ll slip in and see if Father’s awake.’

  She left her sister tidying her hair. She came back saying, ‘I never saw anybody looking so comfortable. He’s just sweet, lying there so peaceful. Dad was always little trouble. And what a splendid man he was, Fanny! You can see it in him now, even though he’s changed so much.’

  Fanny Fury put a pin through her hair. She held another in her mouth and managed to ask, speaking through her teeth, whether Brigid would slip down and lock the door and bolt the windows. Aunt Brigid gave herself a final inspection in the glass and went downstairs, carrying in her mind a very vivid picture of Fanny as she struggled desperately with her hairpins to tidy her hair. A few minutes later, they went out into the street, and walked slowly towards the King’s Road. Mrs. Fury had been to Brown’s Bioscope twice since her sister had last invited her. They were just in time to catch a tram to the city.

  Peter Fury had no sooner stepped out into the street than a man who seemed to have suddenly emerged from nowhere came up to him and said, ‘Evening.’