by Mary Lavin
To the surprise of the old solicitor Miss Lomas laughed, although it was a mirthless laugh. It was just that this was hardly a plausible plan to put into execution at Brook Farm, where more food went into the pig’s bucket than went into the mouths of many of their neighbours.
‘I’m afraid it would be hard for anyone to starve at Brook Farm,’ she said, but she noticed Mr Parr looked oddly at her.
‘Look here, Miss Lomas, it must be getting on for morning. You’re worn out like myself and no wonder. I’d take forty winks if I were you before you do another thing. I suppose you’ll be staying the night here?’
‘Here? Why should you suppose that?’ Miss Lomas asked.
‘Well, for one thing, there are the funeral arrangements to be made,’ said Mr Parr censoriously. ‘Miss Garret is in no condition to attend to such matters.’ Then when Miss Lomas made no answer, he realised that she was going to let bedlam take care of bedlam.
‘Perhaps I had better put a notice in the newspapers saying that the house and funeral will be private,’ he said. Considering the magnificent way she had coped with the refreshments at Joss Garret’s funeral, he didn’t expect for a moment that she would really let people go away from George’s grave without as much as asking if they had a mouth on them. But Miss Lomas was turning away.
‘Do what you like in the matter. I’m going home,’ she said wearily.
Dawn was coming up over the trees when Miss Lomas climbed stiffly into the trap. The night which had brought the chill of death to George Garret had brought the full softness of summer over the fields he had left behind. And as she drove along the road in the early light, instead of a single dog-rose, there would have been dozens to delight her, but she saw nothing. Worn out, she jolted up and down on the seat of the trap, as blind to their beauty as if she too was boxed up in her coffin. And when the gable end of Brook Farm came in view, a sight which in the past had always given her pleasure, it seemed that the great stone house had suffered a metamorphosis, turned into an abstraction, a cause of dispute.
‘What time will I come back for you, ma’am?’ asked the yard man. His simple words made Miss Lomas uneasy. Having reached Brook Farm she never wanted to stir out of it again, ever. Who knew what might not happen in her absence?
‘They can do without me today,’ she said. ‘I have affairs of my own to concern me,’ she said. The man was surprised but not unduly.
‘I suppose you’ll have a lot to do before leaving,’ he said off-handedly.
Miss Lomas started. ‘What made you think I’d be leaving?’ she asked sharply, but Mr Parr’s words about starving-out Christy came back to her. How could that be done while she was there? Surely Mr Parr didn’t envisage her leaving? The idea was preposterous. Everyone knew her position at Brook Farm. She went into the house. Her mouth was parched for a cup of tea, but it was too early for the servant girl to be in and she didn’t feel fit to wrestle with the kitchen range. Christy would probably be back soon and he’d attend to the range. She had not seen him since those last confused minutes by his uncle’s death-bed. Going upstairs, she lay down on her bed, meaning only to stay there a short time but it was evening when she woke. Christy apparently had not shown up all day.
‘Where can he be?’ she enquired anxiously of the girl.
‘It’s late in the day to start worrying about him,’ said the girl.
Such impudence was staggering. It was all Miss Lomas could do not to give her notice on the spot, but she thought better than to introduce more disorder than that which seemed already to be threatened. She refrained from further enquiries about the fellow. Maybe he had made up to his aunt and got round her to let him stay the night at Garretstown?
Christy however had not stayed the night at Garretstown. This was clear the minute his step was heard on the stairs late that night. He had drink taken. ‘Where were you?’ Miss Lomas demanded. ‘I hope you weren’t foolish enough to be discussing your business with strangers.’
Christy gave her a cold look.
‘My father’s people were as much my own blood as those on the other side. But they’ve been put against me now. I have to look elsewhere for support.’ She looked after him. There was no knowing what hands he’d fall into now.
Miss Lomas didn’t see Christy again until he came into the cemetery the next day and he was accompanied by a couple of scruffy fellows of about his own age. Miss Lomas herself had been brought to the cemetery in the Garretstown trap, but she took care to stand apart from the other mourners. In the absence of Miss Garret, who had been in no condition to attend, Christy had to be considered the chief mourner. Mr Parr was there of course. And there was a small knot of maids and workmen from Garretstown. Miss Lomas deliberately stood at a distance from all, she wanted it clearly understood that she was representing Brook Farm. She felt numb. Even the sight of the glossy coffin did not awaken any emotion in her, other than to compare it unfavourably with the one in which Joss had been laid, for the ordering of which she herself had been responsible. It was not until that other coffin was lifted up as custom demanded, to let the more recent one be put on top, that her heart was stirred, and her own troubles were for a moment forgotten. Both coffins were new and strong. What matter anyway whether a coffin caved in or not? What did anything matter to the dead? The living were more to be pitied than them. All the same, tears came into her eyes. How upset the brothers would be if they could know the annoyance she was being caused. It was with this thought in her head that, after the last sod was thrown down on the two coffins, she made her way over to Mr Parr.
‘I must have a word with you,’ she said urgently.
Mr Parr inclined his head. ‘Can’t it wait a day or two?’ Parr was curt. ‘Normally, I would be reading the Will to Miss Garret after the funeral, but since she’s still in no condition to take it in, I was going to postpone doing so until later in the week. It will give us all more time,’ he added enigmatically.
‘For what?’ said Miss Lomas so loudly Mr Parr looked around uneasily. Then he looked back at her and tried to assume an expression of sympathy.
‘I know it will be a wrench for you to leave Brook Farm, Miss Lomas,’ he said guiltily. It seemed the most tactful way to refer to the inevitable changes that would have to be made.
‘What do you mean? You know that Brook Farm is my home. I’ve invested the best years of my life in it,’ said Miss Lomas, and her voice rose shrilly. ‘I have no other place to go.’
So she was going to be troublesome too? A caustic look came on Parr’s face. ‘If you feel so strongly about it, why don’t you buy the place yourself?’ he said.
‘With what?’ Miss Lomas asked, looking at him as if he was mad.
Parr’s eyes narrowed. He was not sure if she was clever or merely stupid. ‘It was just a manner of speaking,’ he said. ‘I only meant to convey that I knew how highly my clients valued your services. And indeed so well they might. There are not many people who would have given so much over and above what was demanded of them.’
‘Demanded?’
Mr Parr coughed.
‘I know,’ he said slowly, carefully choosing his words. ‘I know too how greatly your services exceeded your remuneration, but you always struck me as a thrifty woman.’
Miss Lomas stared. It was a matter of pride with her that no one knew her business, but never for a moment did she expect that the family solicitor would have been excluded from confidence with regard to her relations with the Garret brothers.
‘You don’t mean to say you thought I was paid?’ she cried, as if he had cast a slur on her. ‘Surely you knew my position in Brook Farm?’ Suddenly panic seized her. Did she know it herself? And more important still, what was her position now? She did not at all like the waspish look on Parr’s face.
‘I may be wrong,’ the solicitor said, although the tone of his voice made such a supposition ridi
culous, ‘but I seem to recollect that at the time of the auction there was an item in the list of expenses, an item supplied by you, Miss Lomas, in your handwriting authenticated by your signature, and further to that, initialled on every page, an item which represented a salary, a salary going back over many years, and which, I must add, struck me, even at that time, and in spite of my client’s well-known generosity, to say the least of it, as adequate.’ He coughed. ‘Not to mince matters, it was a remarkably generous salary, Miss Lomas. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think we’d get away with that item. You must have a nice little nest egg stashed away.’ That ought to fix her, he thought.
‘Oh, but you forget,’ said Miss Lomas, and Mr Parr was startled by the simple and artless look on her face. ‘You forget that list was made up for the mock auction. They were mock figures. George worked out what he thought was a suitable figure.’
‘May God forgive him,’ said Mr Parr, and when at that moment Christy passed them going out the gate of the cemetery, heavily escorted by a dubious looking lot of young fellows his own age, the solicitor threw up his hands.
‘Two leeches! Not one!’ he cried. ‘George Garret was not as smart as he thought he was.’ Then controlling himself with difficulty, he put his hand on Miss Lomas’s arm. ‘I can’t believe that you will make trouble, Miss Lomas,’ he said, but when she shook off his hand, he raised his voice. ‘I must warn you, that if you do it will be the duty of the law to take action.’
Miss Lomas looked around nervously to see if they were overheard.
‘I’ll say nothing now, Mr Parr, except that your attitude is very strange. As to the law!’ She drew herself up. ‘Let me tell you it is not the law has the last word in this country. I have my rights and everyone knows that. I tell you plainly here and now that I intend to stand upon those rights.’ The mourners were beginning to leave the cemetery, but many of them were waiting to offer her their sympathy. ‘You see!’ she cried, triumphantly turning her back on him and proceeded gracefully to shake hands with all and sundry.
After a few moments however as she stood in the wet grass receiving the sympathy of the farmers’ wives, whom she knew only slightly, it began to dawn on her that their condolences seemed to be offered less on the death of George, than on her own predicament. Breaking away from them abruptly, she went out of the gate to where the trap was waiting. But on another impulse she ignored the trap and started to walk down the road. It was an aggressive action, and she saw Mr Parr looking after her with his lips drawn together as tight as if they had been sewn up with string, like she herself had always made the servant girl sew up the vent of a chicken to keep the stuffing from falling out.
It was a good thing she had not let the girl come with her to the cemetery, she thought as she walked along the road, because the fresh air made her quite hungry. The girl would have something prepared for her when she’d get home. But the thought of the servant girl was not altogether a happy thought. If there was to be unpleasantness between herself and Parr, who would pay the girl’s wages? Ah well, the girl had a good home at Brook Farm, and that was not something to be ignored. The work ought to be lighter now too. She decided not to worry.
It was some time before Miss Lomas reached Brook Farm and when she got no reply to her knock on the hall door, and had to trudge round the back, it was with surprise she saw that it was Christy who was in the kitchen standing beside the range.
‘How did you get back before me?’ she exclaimed. He had not passed her on the road.
‘There are fields attached to this place as well as a house,’ he snapped back. Miss Lomas agreed to ignore Christy’s bad humour. ‘What are you doing with that filthy teapot?’ she asked. In his hand he had a battered blue enamel teapot used only for handing out tea to casuals in the yard.
But Christy had a true economy with words, making question answer question. ‘Do you want a cup?’ he asked, noisily clapping the lid on the pot. ‘If you do you’d better take it while it’s going. There’s no use waiting for the skivvy to get it for you. She left. She was no fool that one. She saw the writing on the wall.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Lomas. ‘She couldn’t leave without giving notice.’
Christy gave an ugly laugh. ‘There’s no class but has some privileges. Are you going to have a cup of tea or are you not?’
‘Well, if the girl is really gone, we had better eat a proper meal,’ Miss Lomas was about to take the teapot from him but he was already emptying the kettle into it. ‘I’ll have enough to do without washing up odd cups and saucers all day,’ she cried.
‘It’s hardly worth your while making a compliment out of yourself,’ Christy said bitterly. ‘I won’t be here much longer. No one is going to buy a place with a murderous mortgage on it.’
‘Can’t you let the land?’ she asked. But she saw that Mr Parr was right. His relatives had had enough of him. They’d seen there was nothing now to be gained by them. Was he going to quit, walk out of the place and not give it a thought? All along she had wanted to get rid of him, but in the light of Parr’s attitude to herself, his going might be far from the best that could happen. She drew herself up with all the dignity she could command upon a stomach so empty. She’d put guts into him if no one else did. ‘Since when have other people dictated what was to be done at Brook Farm?’ she demanded.
‘Tell that to Parr!’ said Christy crustily.
‘I have already done so,’ said Miss Lomas and she felt she had made some impression on the fellow until he stepped over close to her.
‘It’s a laugh to hear you talking about rights,’ he said. ‘Weren’t you the one that laughed at my rights, in spite of them being down on paper and registered in the Office of Deeds.’ He came closer still. ‘By all I hear, too, there might be no mortgage at all only for you!’ There was an ugly look in his eyes.
The sight of him had always been distasteful to Miss Lomas. She had always thought him a weakling. Perhaps she was wrong about him? Perhaps for all his weediness he could be a bully? And if he was going to leave, he might in his malevolence do her harm before he went. Overcome by fear she had an impulse to run. Only where would she run? Anyway, deep down in her, another fear was growing. If Christy went, she’d be utterly alone, and although the house was only a few yards from the road she had preserved its privacy so well up to now, it might as well have been a vault. Desperately she summoned up a cunning not native to her.
‘Why are you so sure it would have made all that difference whether the mortgage was signed or not?’ she said. ‘This is not a case in law you know, it’s a matter of human decency. You don’t think they can turn you out, do you? Do you imagine for one moment anyone from hereabouts is not going to take your side in a case of clear injustice. What kind of neighbours do you think we have?’
Christy listened, but he shook his head. ‘There are more people in Ireland than the people hereabouts. What about strangers,’ he said. ‘My position will soon be known all over the country and there’ll be some scoundrel ready to take advantage of me.’
Miss Lomas scoffed. ‘How big do you think Ireland is? Don’t you know that where land is in question, Mizen Head is only a stone’s throw from Fair Head! Word will be passed along, you’ll see, and there won’t be a man in the length and breadth of the country will as much as cheat you out of a blade of grass. The Irish are still Christians.’ She saw that her words were sinking into him. ‘Where’s your big talk now about ownership?’ she demanded. ‘Who have you been mixing with these last few days? It’s to me you ought to listen! You’ll be no man if you let Parr drive you out of here. He won’t put me out, I can tell you! And now,’ she cried, trying to affect a lighter tone, ‘we’d better eat something. We’ll need to conserve our strength for what may be ahead.’ Stepping brightly over to the bread-bin she lifted the lid with a flourish. At once her smile faded. ‘There’s no bread,’ she said.
Even C
hristy was taken aback. He held out the tea-caddy from which he’d made the tea. ‘That was the last of the tea too,’ he said.
Not possible! There had never been any shortage in Brook Farm. Miss Lomas hurried over to the big store press. Except for a few jars of mint-sauce, chutney and cayenne pepper, the shelves were empty. When the girl was going she must have cleared out everything in the press and taken it with her. ‘What will we do?’ she asked, stunned. It was a strange quarter from which to look for help, but surprisingly Christy was resourceful.
‘Well, we can’t live on air,’ he said rooting around in his pockets. Taking out a fistful of small coins he made a careful selection from them. ‘I’ll go to the shop for a loaf of bread and a bit of tea and sugar.’
Miss Lomas looked at him. Survival for both of them depended on solidarity. She’d have to take her chance with him and she was prepared to do so with as much good will as she could summon to her aid, until, at the door, he looked back and fixed her with a cold eye. ‘Can I get anything for you?’ he asked.
‘I’ll get my purse,’ she said hastily. Standing at the window, watching him go out to the yard and take down an old push-bike that hung by its front wheel from a meat-hook in the haggard, she wondered what would she have done without him. There was a trace of manliness in him after all, especially in the way he threw his leg over the bar of the bike, and lowering his head over the handlebars charged down the drive. In spite of the vigour of his pedalling however, the bike soon began to wobble from side to side, and going out the gate, he nearly brought the gate-piers with him. She saw with disgust that he had not taken the trouble to pump the tyres. It was not to be wondered he was a long time away, and that he came back on foot.
‘It’s in the ditch,’ he said, when she asked about the bike.