In the Middle of the Fields

by Mary Lavin

  ‘The one is easier done nor the other,’ the girl said, looking at her slyly. Miss Lomas would have been upset if she had not had manifold experience of the meaningless remarks made by ignorant girls for the sake of hearing their own voices. The one was still particularly talkative. ‘If the Garrets wanted to sell this place tomorrow, they couldn’t do it without asking leave of Christy!’ she said.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Miss Lomas. ‘I hope you, and others of your kind, won’t put foolish notions of that kind into the fellow’s head. When he comes back send him in here to me and I’ll put things in their proper light for him.’

  *

  In the days that followed there was little or no change in Brook Farm. At the end of the week, although he had not once set foot in the house, much less partaken of a meal, George took out his wallet and handed Miss Lomas the same sum of money as always.

  As time went on George did of course come to the house quite frequently, but he came only to talk about some small problem that had arisen. He also brought cattle dealers and jobbers to the place, as regularly as before, but now it was never for more than a drink. They were never asked to stay for a meal and never never to stay the night. All in all, life thinned out at Brook Farm. Miss Lomas tried to tell herself that she was getting on in years, and that in a way it was just as well there was less excitement about the place. She persuaded herself that a bit of peace and quiet would almost have been welcome if it were not for Christy, but there was a big difference between silence and surliness. It never ceased to amaze her that he could be so different from his uncles, who had closely resembled each other.

  Miss Lomas felt a catch in her heart whenever she saw George; he was so like Joss, the same heavy build, the same hearty red face and the same bloodshot eyes. It never crossed her mind that he might also have the same constitution, until one day, less than two months after the death of Joss, the Garretstown trap came in the gate to the front door, the harness splattered with foam from the mouth of the cob and the yardman that drove it incoherent. He was trying to tell her something about George.

  ‘Is he dead?’ cried the servant girl who had run out after her.

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ said Miss Lomas, but she knew from the palpitations she got, that something serious had happened. ‘It could be just a dizzy spell,’ she said to the man and told him to wait while she got her coat. ‘Even if it was a heart attack,’ she pronounced a few minutes later as she was scrambling into the trap, ‘it must have been a mild attack or else he would have been gone at once. Mark my words, he will be all right when he gets a bit of rest. Well? What are we waiting for?’ she asked impatiently, as the man made no move to go.

  ‘I thought Christy might be coming with us.’

  ‘Is it him?’ said Miss Lomas scathingly. ‘He’d be the last one I’d want to see if I was ill, and I’m sure his uncle would feel the same.’

  ‘I only thought …’ the man began when, reaching across him, Miss Lomas whisked the whip out of its socket and gave the mare a flick on her glossy rump. ‘Why do people always look on the gloomy side? Things will be all right, you’ll see,’ she said. Then as the cob broke into a trot, she settled herself more comfortably on the horse-hair cushions. ‘Wonders can be worked nowadays even with the heart,’ she said and it occurred to her, that had she been in the yard when Joss had had the stroke, she might have been able to save him, although they said he was stone dead when he fell. All you had to do was just rub the chest clockwise above the heart. Or was it counter-clockwise? No matter anyway. Joss was dead and gone. And by all accounts, George was not only still alive but the doctor was with him. He would be all right.

  Minute by minute as the trap spanked along the road Miss Lomas felt less alarmed. It was odd the way things worked out. Instead of being threatened, it seemed that her authority had increased, because for the time being at least, she would most likely be taking charge at Garretstown House as well as at Brook Farm. Not that she’d fancy sleeping there. She might have to spend a night or two there perhaps – she had brought her night things – but on no account would she stay there indefinitely. For twenty years she had not slept one night away from Brook Farm, and she did not believe she would close an eye any place else in the world. Turning around she looked back fondly at it. ‘Isn’t it a little gem?’ she said to the yardman.

  In spite of the sad nature of her ride, Miss Lomas could not help but respond to the beauty of the countryside. She rejoiced to see that already the dog-roses had budded, and when she saw a large, pale blossom that had flattened wide open, she beamed upon it. After that however she closed her eyes because the trap had rolled past the boundary of Brook Farm where the hedges were always as neat and trim as if they were pared with a nail scissors and they were passing between the ragged hedges of neighbouring farms.

  The neighbouring farms were an eyesore to Miss Lomas, the gaps in their mearings stopped with dead branches, and between the fields instead of gates discarded bedheads. Oh, how she despised the mean and petty economies by which the local farmers, not having the broadness of the Garrets, eked out their scanty profits. When Garretstown was reached at last, Miss Lomas sat up straighter. ‘Pull up,’ she called out unnecessarily when they reached the hall-door.

  All was bedlam at Garretstown. Miss Garret, most unsuitably, sat weeping in the kitchen, weeping noisily. The two maids appeared to be at a loss. They did nothing but run up the stairs and then run down again. It was high time someone took charge. Taking off her hat, Miss Lomas dealt first with Miss Garret. She led her back to the drawing-room, and, as an undertaker might compose a corpse, she composed her. This she did so well, that although Miss Garret still wept, she thereafter did so silently and decorously. Then, Miss Lomas, with maids scampering before and after her, went upstairs.

  But at sight of George Garret she gasped. How could such a big man like him have shrunk to nothing in the few short hours since she’d seen him last? Blenched and enfeebled he lay on his bed.

  ‘George,’ she called urgently. ‘George? It’s me. It’s Miss Lomas.’ But bending closer she could see that for the moment at least he could make no response. ‘How long has he been like this?’ she asked sharply of those at his bedside. Startled she saw that one of them was Parr. He was seated at a table drawn up at the other side of the bed. On the table he had placed a large lamp with the shade off and in front of him he had a sheet of foolscap and a large silver inkpot from the library, and into the inkpot every other minute he dipped his pen, after which, each time he gave the pen a little shake that scattered ink on the floor.

  ‘Mind there! You’ll destroy the carpet,’ Miss Lomas warned before she took in the purpose of the lawyer’s presence. ‘What are you thinking of?’ she cried then. ‘This man is in no condition to attend to business.’ Mr Parr, however, must have seen a flicker in the eyes of his client, for disregarding her, he called to a gawk of a clerk he had with him, and together they tried to drag George Garret upright, as they might have tried to pull a beast out of a gripe.

  ‘Stop that!’ Miss Lomas shouted. ‘Can’t you see he must store what small strength he has left in him? Where is the doctor? Does the doctor know about this carry-on?’

  Mr Parr gave her a scathing glance.

  ‘The doctor is gone. There’s a limit to the skill of all men,’ he said. ‘But doesn’t all the world know that any man, sick or well, is the better for knowing his affairs are in order?’

  ‘But this man’s will is made. It is in my possession, locked in the closet in my room, as you must surely know.’

  ‘That may be,’ said Mr Parr, ‘but there is one small matter outstanding, Miss Lomas, and if possible it ought to be regularised.’

  Miss Lomas hardly waited for him to end his sentence. ‘This is no time for small matters,’ she cried. ‘I suppose you mean money? Money, money, money! You’d think it was the only thing on this earth. Well, let me tell you so
mething! All the money in the world would not be worth one hour of this man’s life! And anyhow, believe me, your purpose may best be served by letting him sleep.’

  Mr Parr was not to be patronised.

  ‘If it is sleep!’ he said. All the same he stabbed the pen into the inkwell, like a labourer sticking his spade into the ground, and he wiped his hands. ‘God knows where you get your optimism,’ he said. ‘In my opinion, he’s as good as gone.’

  But if Parr was not to be patronised, Miss Lomas was not to be flustered.

  ‘All the more reason to leave him in peace,’ she said, ‘Thank God I’ve always been above money.’

  ‘Your generosity does you credit, Miss Lomas,’ said Mr Parr drily.

  ‘Don’t forget where I learned it!’ Miss Lomas admonished him as she turned back and looked sadly at her old friend. As she did there was a rattle in his throat that made her whole body go cold. But she kept her head even in her fright. ‘Have Miss Garret brought up at once,’ she said to the maids.

  ‘Better get Christy too,’ said Mr Parr, ‘and get him fast.’

  But Christy was already at hand, standing in the passage outside the sick-room, where a small group of the servants and workmen had gathered.

  *

  When George Garret breathed his last, a deep silence fell not only within the house but outside too. It seemed as if the fields, and indeed the whole world, had gone silent. The lawyer was the first to make a move. He was deadly tired. His one thought was to get away before commotion set in. Indeed as he went stiffly down the stairs one of the maids ran past him going full tilt, and in the kitchen there was a clatter as someone let fall a pile of plates. He would have to have a talk with Miss Lomas later, but he knew that tonight she’d have her hands full. He had not reached the foot of the stairs however before he heard her call down that she wanted to speak to him.

  ‘Do you know the first thought that came to my mind when all was over?’ she cried. ‘Only for me Christy would at this moment be the master of Brook Farm.’

  Shocked as he was that she could be so down to earth at such a time, Mr Parr was too tired to be cautious.

  ‘By God, Miss Lomas,’ he cried, ‘I don’t know that you’ve any great reason to congratulate yourself. Christy’s signature on that mortgage only complicates matters. For me, at any rate. Better he were left in full ownership. The Garrets owed the poor devil something. In an estate the size of the Garret estate, one out-farm is a drop in the ocean and I thought that if Christy were to get Brook Farm outright, without being indebted to the bank, he might be amenable to accept it as his full share of the family trust. Now there’s no knowing what will happen.’ He shook his head. He looked dead beat. ‘It’s my guess Christy could be gom enough to try and raise the money to pay back the mortgage. There would be no shortage of people at hand to encourage him in such foolishness. I’m afraid we’ll have to contend again with those ravening relatives of his, only now they’ll be ten times as vicious having been tricked at the Mock Auction.’ Seeing that Miss Lomas had bristled, he opened the door. ‘Well, we can’t worry about it at this moment. Things may sort themselves out,’ he said hoping to fob her off for the time being with a few easy words.

  Miss Lomas was not to be fobbed off, though.

  ‘What were those papers you were trying to get George to sign?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you think? I was trying to get him to write off the mortgage.’

  ‘I thought it was money that was in question,’ she said faintly.

  Was she a fool? Mr Parr wondered what in the name of God did she think a mortgage was all about if not money? He was in no mood for such imbecility. For her part Miss Lomas was trying to figure out how the mortgage which had been intended to put everything right, would appear now to have landed them in a worse plight. She dimly discerned there could be trouble ahead.

  ‘But if there was no mortgage on the place, couldn’t he sell it?’ she asked.

  ‘He could,’ said Mr Parr without blinking, ‘but don’t forget George was too far gone to hear me much less understand what I was trying to get him to do. Poor George!’ Mr Parr shook his head sadly. ‘The truth is, Miss Lomas, I thought George should be given a chance to die without having his shabby treatment of Christy on his conscience.’

  ‘George was going to buy the place back from Christy when he judged the time to be right,’ Miss Lomas protested.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Mr Parr, ‘but unfortunately we are not judges of what time we are allotted for future actions, whether good or bad. That reminds me, Miss Lomas, I have a suggestion to make to you. I think that while you and I can still keep our own slate clean, I suggest we destroy that list of expenses that was drawn up for the running of Brook Farm for the past decade. The document is still in my safe. George did not get round to presenting it to Christy. Perhaps in this matter he was waiting till he judged the time to be fit. But if Christy has to meet that bill too he will be left stripped as bare as a bone. Things might have turned out alright if George had lived, but now there is no one to stock the land and keep the buildings in repair.’

  Miss Lomas felt suddenly slightly better than she had for some hours. She had not realised Christy’s position was so bad. ‘Maybe he’ll take himself out of here altogether,’ she suggested hopefully.

  ‘And where would he go?’ Parr asked sourly. ‘No. It’s my opinion he will hang on here if only by the skin of his teeth.’ Then the old man looked up at the ceiling of the room where the corpse lay and with a disregard for the dead which was very shocking to Miss Lomas, he shook his fist, ‘George Garret would have done well to ascertain the state of his health before he laid plans for beggaring his nephew,’ he said.

  Miss Lomas could not let a slur like this be put on her old friend, no longer able to defend himself.

  ‘The idea was to make a man of Christy,’ she said coldly, ‘to force him to emigrate and start a new life, perhaps in the colonies.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Parr sarcastically. ‘Well, I can tell you, Miss Lomas, George did his work altogether too well in every regard. For one thing he puffed poor Christy up with a bogus sense of his own importance and encouraged him to see himself in the light of a big farmer for all that he hadn’t a penny to his name.’

  ‘Do you really think he’ll hang on at Brook Farm?’ Miss Lomas cried in open disbelief of such a thing being possible.

  ‘I don’t think it. I know it,’ said Parr. ‘I’ve already had a few words with him. In his own interests I suggested that he ought to start looking around at once for someone to graze the land but he scoffed at the idea.’ Miss Lomas stared at him. She was amazed that Christy had the guts to make a stand against Mr Parr. It crossed her mind that he might have a side to him that she had never seen. She’d want to be careful not to antagonise him too much. Unexpectedly she found herself flying to his defence. ‘Christy was quite right about one thing anyway. Tenants at Brook Farm! The idea was unthinkable.

  ‘They would only have grazing rights,’ Mr Parr said, making a visible effort to be patient. ‘How else will he get a pennypiece on which to live?’ he asked.

  Miss Lomas did not answer for a moment. She was rethinking the whole matter. Could there not be a compromise? After all there were tenants and tenants. Certain tenants could in fact be most acceptable.

  ‘You, Mr Parr, will, I take it still be continuing to administer the Garret estate, and I suppose you will have to hire a farm manager? Surely you could get him to rent the land here. That ought to be acceptable to Christy. After all the Garrets are his own flesh and blood.’

  ‘You don’t know Christy, Miss Lomas. He is as stubborn as a mule. And I may tell you that you don’t know me either. I expect of course that I will be looking after the interests of Miss Garret but no way will I tangle with Christy. As a matter of fact that was another disservice George did his nephew. He should not
have alienated him from his father’s relatives. Bad and all as they are, they were the only friends the poor devil had in this world, but such as they were they were better than no friends at all. Although there would be no immediate gain to them in the way things turned out, they might have seen it to their advantage in the future to have Christy struggle out of his difficulties. They might have succeeded where I failed and persuade him to sell the land. But they have washed their hands of him since he signed the Mortgage. They feel it was him not George that tricked them.’

  Miss Lomas sank down on the step of the stairs.

  ‘Oh what will happen?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing good. You may be sure of that,’ said Mr Parr. ‘Christy will be in a pretty pickle. I had thought for a moment when I saw him up in that room standing beside the corpse that I might make an effort to get the bank to allow him a second mortgage, a small one, just enough to buy a few beasts and give him a chance – a slim one I admit but still a chance to get on his feet. After all if he can hang on long enough he’ll be heir to what’s left of Garretstown although that won’t be much if the old lady lives much longer. So in the end I decided against doing anything, mainly I may say, in his own best interests. If there was one good thing to be said in favour of George Garret’s behaviour it was that idea he had in the back of his mind about helping Christy to emigrate, but I reluctantly came to the conclusion that there might be only one way to do that now and that is to starve him out. It might be the kindest thing to do under the circumstances.’