Shadow of the Dolocher

by European P. Douglas

  There was a loud thwack, and the arrow pierced the neck of the pheasant who only had enough time to look up at them before the arrow struck him. All around other birds fluttered out of their nests and resting places at the sound and feathers fell from the air like snow.

  "What a shot!" Edwards said laughing and walking towards the dead bird. Adams looked immensely pleased with himself, and James felt further embarrassed now that he was yet to fire and a shot like this had been made.

  "Well done," Spencer congratulated Adams.

  As the men looked down at the bird, Adams lifted his trophy to remove his arrow. James noticed that Spencer seemed quite nervous at times. His eyes constantly darted around in all directions, looking beyond the group and the tree lines as if he expected some attack would come at any moment. He wondered was this leftover from his campaigns in India with the army; had some great trauma befallen him over there?

  "It will be hard to beat that, but perhaps Spencer here can equal it?" Edwards said with a smile and patting the Colonel on the shoulder.

  "I don't think I will," Spencer said as they carried on into the woods.

  The next shot was Spencer's and this time the target was a smaller bird but a pheasant again.

  "Not much neck to aim at there," Adams said in a whisper to Spencer as he got ready. James wondered if this was some sportsman's tactic, to put off the shot of the army man.

  "I'll have to aim for one of the eyes then," Spencer said with a smile to show that he was not put off in the least by Adams' attempt. Edwards smiled and looked at James and then back to the bird. Was there some meaning in that look, James wondered, but he couldn't be sure. He looked on himself and waited for the shot. All was quiet once more. Then the arrow let fly with the familiar noise.

  This time the bird was quicker, and it rose slightly before the arrow pierced its neck down near the chest, and it fell to the ground with a thump. It was not dead yet, and they watched for a moment as it squirmed around and then it stopped and lay motionless.

  "I'd say that's an equal shot," Adams' said cordially.

  "Not at all!" said Edwards with a look of exaggerated shock on his face, "He missed the eye by miles!" They all laughed.

  "The dinner tables are filling up for tonight," James said as Spencer collected up his bird.

  They continued for a time but saw nothing, not so much as a seagull. It was beginning to look like James and Edwards were not going to get a shot off at all, but then Edwards raised a hand, and they all stopped.

  James looked about the trees, looking for whatever it was Edwards had seen, but he could see no bird. He looked to Edwards as if to ask 'where/' but Edwards was not looking up at any tree, he was looking down a short slope to a clearing where a small deer stood. It was alert and must have already heard or smelled them, but had not yet perhaps seen them. No one moved.

  James looked again to Edwards, who was taking an arrow from his quiver and loosening his bow from his shoulder. James was almost sure that these deer were not for hunting; that they were the property of the city or the Earl of Westmorland. He cast a look at Edwards to indicate this, but Edwards just smiled and looked back at the deer as he placed his arrow and drew the bow.

  The crack rang out, and the deer bolted, but the arrow still hit the creature as it fled, catching it at the top of one of the hind legs. It was not enough to fell it, however, and it continued off into the undergrowth and disappeared.

  "She won't last too long with that wound," Edwards said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  "Should we go after it?" James wondered aloud.

  "Perhaps I should have brought the dogs after all," Adams said.

  "No, leave it. Some fox or birds will have a field day with her when she finally lies down to die," Edwards said. He then looked to the sky, which had darkened, and said, "We'll get your shot Alderman, and then I think we can be on our way." They all looked up and nodded in agreement. James would have liked to say that they could skip his shot and go home now but he couldn't do this without losing face. They went on a little further until finally, Adams pointed out a crow cawing on a thick branch,

  "Will that do?" he said, and Edwards nodded. James drew his bow and aimed. "Are you going for the eye, the neck or the rump?" Adams asked mischievously. Though James knew he was doing this to put him off, it still managed to have that effect. He held the bow for a long time and finally, just as his arm had started to quiver, he let go.

  The arrow flew through the air in what initially looked like a perfect shot but just before the bird it dipped, and there was a loud clatter of the stem against the wood of the branch. The crow rose up in fright squawking all the way as if reprimanding them.

  "He's told you!" Edwards said with a laugh.

  "Sorry men, there'll be no crow at the dinner tonight," James said.

  "Don't worry Alderman, it was an educational day out all in all," Edwards winked at James so that he was the only one who could see this, but James didn't know what was meant by this. He would have to ask him later when they were alone.

  The first drops of rain began to fall as they made their way back out of the woods.

  Chapter 40

  Mary Sommers waited on Essex Bridge watching the carriages of the better off people pass by on their way home, or to the theatre or some other places she could only dream of going. She kept an eye out for Colonel Spencer in case he passed, but there had been no sign of his carriage. John arrived behind her and poked her at the sides, scaring her and making her jump and then laugh as she hit him on the arm.

  "Don't do that," she scolded him with a smile.

  "I'm sorry," he said holding his hands up in the air "Truce?"

  "Fine." She started to walk, but he didn't move.

  "Do you mind if we walk somewhere else?" he asked.

  "How come?"

  "I was unloading from ships today, helping out a cousin of the tavern keeper who is in the dock here. I'd rather not see him again if I can avoid it."

  "Yes, we can go somewhere else then. Have you anywhere in mind?"

  "Well, I like the idea of walking by the water, do you want to go as far as the canal?" Mary didn't like the sound of this, it was too far away, and it would be getting dark before they would be back.

  "It's very far," she said.

  "Not to worry, we can walk there some other time."

  "We could walk west along the river here?" she suggested.

  "Of course we could," he smiled. He put his arm out for her to take and they began to walk.

  Mary was nervous with him; she always made sure to be on the side of him where her scars were hidden, even though he didn't seem bothered by them. He had been mannerly enough not to even mention them thus far.

  John seemed to her to be quiet tonight. She felt that he wanted to say something; that he wasn't his normal ebullient self. They walked Essex and Wood quays in relative silence, pointing out a boat or something else on the river from time to time. He asked about things at the market as they crossed Ormonde Bridge onto Merchants Quay.

  "I've heard something, and I wanted to ask you if it was true, Mary," John said suddenly, his voice was serious; his look equally so.

  "What is it?" she asked, worried about what it might be, but at the same time knowing that it couldn't be anything she had done.

  "I've heard that you are..." he seemed not to be able to finish the sentence or was searching in vain for the right words.

  "I'm what?" she was worried even more now that she knew it was about her. Had she done something? No, she was sure of it. Someone must have been making up some lies about her, and her face reddened as she tried to figure what those lies could be and who could have been spreading them around.

  "I've heard that you are letting a man paint you for money,” John said this fast, as though if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to get it out at all.

  Mary let out a short burst of a laugh at the relief that this was all it was, but he looked at her in shock at this reaction, and she quickly
controlled herself.

  "That is true," Mary said seeing no reason to lie. She could tell by his face, however, that he was unhappy that the rumour turned out to be based on fact.

  "How can you do this?" he asked her, and there was something prudish in his tone that made her think he had the wrong end of the stick.

  "It's nothing..." now it was she who was searching for the right word. "Immoral," she settled on, but it didn't sound correct.

  "Well that's a relief," he said clearly easing, "What is it then?" Mary didn't know where to start, now she was going to have to draw attention to her face and in particular her scars.

  "He's an artist, he thinks that I have a unique face, and that is what he is painting." She blushed, and her face felt boiling with it. John looked at her sympathetically, and they stopped walking and faced one another. He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. His hands were cold and felt good on her hot cheeks.

  "You do have a unique face," he smiled at her. His left hand moved a little, and his eyes shifted to her scars as he caressed them tenderly, the first person since the doctor to have ever touched them. She recoiled a little, but he stopped her and looked into her eyes again, and then he kissed her on the lips. His eyes were closed, and she was taken by surprise, but she quickly joined the kiss and shut her own eyes. He squeezed her in tight to him, and she felt her hand go up and through his hair.

  It was all over in a few moments, and they stood awkwardly looking at one another. Mary glanced around to see if anyone had seen them but though there were people around no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.

  "I'm sorry," he said, "I should have asked."

  "No, don't be. It was nice," she replied, a smile coming to her lips. This had been her first ever kiss, and she had quite liked it. They began to walk again, and she leaned her head on his shoulder this time. Everything seemed different all of a sudden as though she knew him better somehow for that one kiss.

  "Just so you are aware, I wear as much as I am now for the sittings for the paintings," Mary said, still feeling this may be an issue that needed resolving.

  "I'm sorry; it just sounded worse when I heard it. Of course, I should have known you wouldn't do anything immoral," he smiled at her as he used her word and she smiled back.

  "Where did you hear about this?" she asked.

  "I have a friend who works in the Eagle and the painter and his friends drink there sometimes."

  "Is the painter saying bad things about me?" she was mortified suddenly in anticipation of his answer.

  "I wouldn't imagine so; if I had to guess, I'd say that my friend has taken something he heard part of, up wrong."

  "Because I promise you that not so much as the bottom of my neck is on view for the painting sessions!" Mary felt hot again like some invisible hand was pointing in judgement on her.

  "Mary, calm down, you're getting very excited about nothing," John said squeezing her hand gently.

  "It's not nothing; I can't have people saying things about me that aren't true." The very idea of this was enough to make her want to go scurrying home and get off the streets to where no one could see her.

  "No one is, I'll talk to my friend and set him straight. He wont have said anything to anyone else. He only told me because he knows that I am trying to court you," John's raised eyebrows and joking manner as he said this soothed her, and she smiled back at him. "I promise no one is talking about you Mary," he affirmed when she had calmed some more.

  "I'll stop going if you want me to?" Mary said; she would certainly miss the money, but it would not be worth losing a relationship over, not now that she felt the way she did this evening.

  "No, no, not at all," he said waving the idea away with his free hand.

  They walked some more along the quays and then up Bridge Street before turning back and sauntering slowly towards home again. Mary could not remember a time in her life when she had felt so carefree. It was a pleasant feeling, and one she hoped to come to know well.

  Chapter 41

  It was dark, and rain promised as Scally left the blacksmith for home. The young boy was watched from across the street as he walked the short distance. Edwards matched his pace and studied him as he walked. He looked on as Scally entered his building and then looked up at the lit window that was his home. His mother would be there waiting for him with his dinner made no doubt.

  Edwards still couldn't believe that he had found the son of Thomas Olocher; that he had been under his nose for so long unrecognised. A shadow appeared in the window, and Edwards knew it was Scally, and he looked at the silhouette and imagined that it could be the father back to life somehow. The shape moved, and Edwards imagined that he was at the table now eating. He waited for a time, not wanting to interrupt this meal, one of the few remaining ones he would be having with his mother for a long time.

  As Edward's waited, he saw images of Olocher's trial play over in his mind. The man was so defiant there, claiming that he hadn't done any of the things that he had been accused of, and looking for all the world as though he believed that. Edwards recalled Olocher's snarling face however when Mary Sommers came to give her evidence and all who doubted up to that point, knew by his demeanour that he was the man who had killed those women, and no doubt Mary Sommers' aunt. But Edwards could recall a different Olocher, from long before that... Enough time had passed to go up and see the boy.

  Edwards climbed the same rickety stairs and heard the same noises and smelled the same smells as his last visit here. He knocked on the door and waited. He expected the mother to open the door in the same defensive way she had the last time and he was pleasantly surprised when the door was thrown open and Scally stood there.

  "Can I help you?" he asked, he seemed to recognise Edwards and was clearly confused as to why this gentleman would call to his home.

  "Ah, Hello!" Edwards said jovially. The mother appeared behind Scally, and a look of fear came over her face. She looked at Edwards but didn't say anything, probably afraid that she would spark his anger somehow and have him reveal everything in a fury. "I wanted to have a little chat with young Stephen here if that's alright?" Edwards went on addressing the mother. Scally looked behind at her not aware that she had been there.

  "What for?" she eyed him suspiciously.

  "I want to talk to him about his future," Edwards said with a smile that seemed to relax her.

  "Come in, you can talk in the kitchen," she said.

  "I thought we might go for a little stroll," Edwards countered, "How does this sound Stephen?" Scally looked again at his mother, and she nodded.

  "Go on son and listen to what Mr. Edwards has to say to you." She handed him a coat and helped him on with it. Scally was looking at her as if for some explanation but she was avoiding his eyes.

  "I won't keep you long, young man, just a few minute’s walk and a talk and that will be all. You'll be back having tea with your mother before you know it."

  "Is this about the drawings?" Scally asked a look of guilty fear coming over his face suddenly.

  "No, not at all!" Edwards laughed. The mother looked at him with a questioning eyebrow. "His current boss was being investigated for something, and some drawings were at the centre of it," Edwards said by way of explanation. She nodded as though this made sense to her but didn't say anything.

  When they were out on the street and had walked a little Edwards finally spoke again.

  "How do you like it at the blacksmiths?"

  "I like it."

  "I've noticed you've still been going over there, even though your employer is in the 'Black Dog.'" Edwards said.

  "Just checking on the place, making sure nothing has gone missing," Scally told him.

  "Very commendable, Stephen, very commendable," Edwards said, and then he stopped and faced the young man, "I'm not going to beat around the bush on this with you Stephen, I have something to tell you that at first, you are not going to like." Scally nodded, but his face betrayed his worry. />
  "What is it?" he asked nervously. They had reached the place in their walk that allowed them to see the tower of the 'Black Dog.' Edwards pointed up to it.

  "Do you know what that is up there?" he asked. Scally looked up and then back to Edwards.

  "The prison tower."

  "That's right," Edwards said, and he looked Scally deep in the eyes, he could see fear in them. "That is the place your father was killed." Scally's eyes widened with shock, and he looked instinctively at the tower once more. His mouth opened, but no sound emitted. Scally had obviously never heard anything about his father; the mother must not have even told him any lies about the man. "You don't know anything about your father do you?"

  "No," Scally admitted still looking upward.

  "His name is known to you, is known to every person in Dublin." There were tears starting to form in Scally's eyes, and it showed up so bright in the nearby lamplight. "Do you know his name?" Edwards asked.

  "No!" There was a hint in his voice that Edwards felt was a pleading tone not to tell him the name; that it was something that was best left unsaid.

  "Your father was Thomas Olocher," Edwards said, and now the tears did start to fall. Scally remained with his eyes fixed on the tower as though he might be able to see into the past and the see the man he had no doubt heard so much about.

  "No, I don't believe that," he said flatly and purely as a denial for the sake of denial.

  "Your father was known to me many years ago before he killed anyone."

  "He can't be my father."

  "He is Stephen; you have to face up to that. I have spoken to your mother already on this point, but even if she had not confirmed it to me, I would know for sure by the look of you. You couldn't look any more like him if you were him."