She laughed, but quickly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . It makes sense now. When you said that you didn’t like him. Him or his stupid wood.”
“Did I say that?”
“You certainly did.”
“A keen memory you have, Theodora.”
“Oh, don’t call me Theodora. That was my grandmother’s name. Call me Thea, will you?”
She smiled for a moment; but then her expression grew somewhat serious. I made use of her moment of silence, to repeat the word Thea, over and over in my head.
“This may not be the very best time,” she said; “but do you mind my asking why you don’t like Jeffrey Donovan?”
I sighed. “Oh, not you, too!”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t mean anything by it. I only wondered.”
I became truly thoughtful, then. I had never stopped to wonder why I had no interest in Jeffrey. He had said himself – with a good deal of vanity; but also with a good deal of honesty – that most women would not think twice about shuffling their cards in with his. His was, after all, the wealthiest family about. But I had never thought much of that. I just didn’t like him.
“I really don’t know,” I said. “Perhaps I’m too cynical for marriage. Either that or I’m crazy – passing up a husband like him.”
Thea crossed her arms. “Well, I don’t think you’re crazy. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. Why marry someone you don’t like?”
“He’s rich.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Apparently everything.”
“Not to me.”
I knew not how to reply to that; but it turned out that I didn’t need to. My thoughts were interrupted by loud knocking.
I nearly jumped right out of my chair. My head swivelled towards the door.
“Who is it?” I called.
Two visitors in one night? What were the chances of that?
“Police, miss. Open up.”
Oh, God. Oh, God – they’ve finally come.
“Police?” I asked innocently.
“Yes, miss. Open the door, please.”
I hesitated, of course – but what could I do? I couldn’t not open the door. Well, maybe if I snuck out the back, quick and quiet-like . . .
With Theodora Alaster sitting at my table? That was nonsense.
So I went to the door.
Two policemen stood on my stoop, dark caps glinting in the moonlight.
“Sorry to bother you at supper-time, miss,” said one of them. “But our captain told us, you know, that we couldn’t wait any longer to have a talk with you.”
I tried to force words past the lump in my throat. “It’s all right,” I said, standing aside to admit them.
The two men stepped quickly inside, so I could shut out the cold behind them. The first officer looked at Thea.
“A relative?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. “Just a friend.”
“I can go, if you like,” she said, beginning to rise.
“Oh, no,” said the other officer, waving a hand. “This will only take a few minutes. No reason to leave.”
She sat back down.
I and the two men remained standing.
“Miss O’Brien,” said the first officer, removing his cap to reveal a balding head, “your father’s been missing for a fair amount of days. We’re not sure exactly how many, but –”
“Eighteen,” I said quickly, calculating the number in my head. I had told Mr Shaughnessy that I saw my father on the day before his visit; and he had come exactly two weeks and three days ago. Eighteen was the number.
Never mind that he had been dead for four-and twenty.
“Aye,” said the policeman; “eighteen days. Now, both Mr Shaughnessy and Mr Donovan say that you claim to know nothing of your father’s whereabouts. We figured we would just let you be, seeing as you must be going through quite a lot. But the captain’s –” (in other words, George Shaughnessy) “– on our tails about it, you know how it is. Is it true, Miss O’Brien, that you know absolutely nothing? You can’t tell us where your father is?”
Beside the stream. Covered in dirt.
“No, sir. I just don’t know.”
“You know, miss, some people don’t recall until sometime after the fact, that they knew all along what had happened! Perhaps something your father said – or something he did, that might have seemed strange to you?”
His eyes are still open.
I suppressed a sob. “No, sir. I can’t think of anything.”
“Are you sure, miss?” asked the second officer. “Now, we hate to bother you, but we need to be thorough. You’re his only family, save for his sister – the only one who might be able to help us. It’s safe to say that you know him best, miss.”
I couldn’t help it. I clapped a hand to my mouth, and began to cry. It probably didn’t hurt in the augmentation of my ploy of innocence – but I was embarrassed nonetheless.
“Oh, don’t cry, now,” said the first policeman, holding out a hand to touch my arm. “Please don’t cry. We’re going to do all we can to find your da. I’m sure he’ll turn up right as rain.”
I sobbed harder.
“We’re going to go now,” he said. “We’ll leave you be. I’m truly sorry to have upset you like this. You just trust me, now – we’ll keep on it. Don’t give up yet.”
One of them looked to Thea. “Maybe you should stay the night, miss, and keep her company. She shouldn’t be alone in this state.”
With that, they were gone.
Thea’s voice was very soft, and very tentative when she asked me, whether I was all right?
I went back to the table. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
“Would you like me to stay?”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s their job to say things like that, you know.”
“I really don’t mind. You look tired, and I’d like to talk more in the morning.”
“Well . . . well, yes, I suppose that would be fine. You can sleep in my father’s room – if you don’t think it too strange.”
“Do you mind if I put my horse in your barn? It’s cold outside.”
“Of course you can,” I said. “I’ll walk you round the house.”
And, so, that was the night Charlie met Zebulon. I wonder what kind of first impressions horses make on one another.
***
“Are you very worried about your father?” asked Theodora Alaster next morning.
“I am worried,” I answered. (It’s just plain amazing, you know, how quickly a person can grow accustomed to lying – no matter how little they ever may have made use of the practice beforehand.) “We never really got on, but – but he’s still my da. I suppose I’ll always care about him, even if I can’t understand why.”
Her eyes were kind. They made me want to scream.
“Well, there’s nothing to do but wait,” she said. “You heard the policemen.”
She sat quiet for a time, twiddling her fingers and sipping from her glass. (Milk this morning.)
“Do you plan to stay here alone?” she asked.
“I think so. I don’t want to trouble my poor old aunt. Besides, her house is very small.”
“I see.”
“I have almost everything I need,” I went on. “Milk, eggs.” I paused. “Well, no eggs, actually, because I can’t feed the hens. They’ll probably die soon, poor things. I wonder if it wouldn’t be better just to eat them.” I thought of their eyes, so familiar to me. I thought of snapping their little necks – and my stomach heaved.
“Are you all right?” Thea asked, looking alarmed.
“Yes, yes, fine. Maybe I should eat a tomato.” I got up to fetch one. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to offer you for breakfast.” I looked back at her. “Cabbage? I boiled some yesterday.”
“No, thank you.”
“I don’t blame you.”
I pulled the green stem from a tom
ato.
“I just wish there was something I could do, you know, to make a little extra money. But who in the world would want me for anything?”
Theodora Alaster’s expression was one of deep contemplation. She opened her mouth to speak, but ended up closing it again. She seemed not quite able to phrase the idea she wished to convey.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, no – nothing wrong. I was only thinking of something.”
“What’s that?”
She swilled the milk around in her glass, looking at it thoughtfully. “Why don’t
you come and work with me?”
“What?”
I wondered if I had heard her correctly.
“I could use the help, especially this time of year. I’m trying to bottle all I can, before the frost comes.”
I noticed that my tomato was dripping onto the table. I stood to retrieve a towel, glad for the excuse of turning away from her expectant face.
She waited a little before renewing the subject; but I did not quite hear her words, when she resumed.
“What?” I repeated.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I just don’t know. It’s very nice of you to ask, more than you know – but I just don’t think so. It wouldn’t be right.”
Her face was blank. “Why?”
“Well, because . . . I mean, well, I’m sure that I couldn’t be much use to you.”
“How can you know that?”
“I’m not very good at anything. I’ve no special skills.”
“It’s not all that complicated, Kate. I’m sure you’d be a great help.”
I leant back against the counter, and crossed my arms over my chest. “I won’t take your money.”
She sighed. “Well, fine then. I suppose you don’t have to. Why don’t you just come and stay with me?”
“Well, I –”
“Good. That’s settled, then.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“I assumed you’d say yes.”
“What if I was going to say no?”
“Why would you?”
I needed take a moment of silent reflection. The more time I spent with this woman, the stranger – and kinder – she seemed.
“You hardly even know me,” I said. “Why would you ask me something like this?”
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
“Well, that’s not what I –”
“I suppose you’re right. You’ve probably some deep, dark secret that would make me change my mind.”
Though I knew that she was joking, my heart was still a bird attempting to spring free from its cage.
“No,” I said quickly. “I’ve no secrets.”
She wagged a finger at me. “We all have secrets, Kate. Some are better than others, that’s true – but they’re all there just the same.”
I did not even attempt to ponder the verity of that remark. I simply decided to accept defeat. What else was there to do?
“All right, then,” I said. “No concern for anyone’s secrets, large or small. They matter not. I suppose I might come for a while, just a very little while – if you’re absolutely positive.”
“Quite.”
I had to smile. In my own pathetically deceptive way, I had safeguarded myself against blame. I had consented to her proposal – on the grounds that she pass no judgment on my faults. If I had done it right (and I suspected that I had), then I should feel no guilt for bringing my crime into her home.
I was a terribly pathetic little person.
***
I gathered my few possessions into a small bag that I attached to Charlie’s saddle. A very small bundle of clothes, my old journal, and the photograph of my mother. I left Lord Jim behind. To look at it only reminded me of melancholy nights passed alone in the parlour, while my father slept unheeding of me. I looked towards the world I was approaching; and felt that I didn’t need Jim anymore.
I gave Ellie the cow, along with my few wasted and egg-less birds, to Mr Grady. I knew he would take good care of Ellie. He was aware of what she meant to me.
“Now, Ellie,” I said softly. “I know that you want to come with me, but you’re too old to go walking all the way to Miss Alaster’s house. There wouldn’t be any place to put you, anyway. So you just stay here with Mr Grady, and he’ll be good to you. You know I love you.” I kissed the top of her head.
Theodora Alaster was staring at me. “I’ve never seen anyone talk to a cow before,” she said.
I thought that it might be hard to leave my home; but it wasn’t. I thought that lingering childhood memories might make things difficult for me; but they didn’t. When I thought more clearly about it, I realised it was because none of those memories were particularly good ones.
But still I felt my weak heart, pulled with the force of a magnet, towards the stream behind the house. That was my worst memory of all – and as it only made me want to flee anyway, I supposed that my decision was, in the end, for the best.
We travelled at a slow pace, and it took us a good while to arrive at our destination. Theodora Alaster lived on a relatively short, dead-ended (and mightily peaceful) road called Lennox Lane, which was connected to a longer road called Merrilee. The house itself seemed of good size. As we drew nigh, and it came clearer into focus, I saw that it was in fact both large and beautiful. Of log construction, its wood was stained dark red; and it had tall, wide windows with pretty white trimming. The roof slanted at an extreme angle, giving it a look unique to any other dwelling I had ever seen.
“It’s lovely,” I said, steering Charlie into the dirt-packed drive.
“And you haven’t even been inside yet.”
I glanced over at Thea. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well, it depends on the question.”
“What?”
“My level of certainty depends on the question. If someone asks me about my
house, I know that I can be sure, because I know that it’s wonderful. My grandfather built it himself.”
“That’s interesting.” I waited a moment before adding, “Even though I never asked you anything about your house.”
“It was a metaphor.”
“It wasn’t a very good one.”
“I think it was.”
I shrugged. “You’re welcome to your own opinion.”
She smiled at me. “You seem quite sure of yourself, you know.”
Something about that struck me. I had never been sure of myself! How could I have been, when I had never been sure about anything at all?
Chapter 8
The interior of 100 Lennox Lane was even more lovely than its face. The furnishings were incredibly comfortable, yet marvellously tasteful. The kitchen was spacious and homey, equipped with a large table and a great stone hearth; the parlour was fitted with an overstuffed sofa and chairs. There was plenty of room – but not too much.
Not enough to make it feel like less of a home.
I was more taken with the bathroom than anything else. There I saw the largest and grandest tub I had ever laid eyes upon, complete with bronze fixtures and claw feet.
I’d feel like a queen, I would, bathing in that.
I thought back to Wimple Street, and compared it side-by-side with this new abode. I imagined how it must have been, to grow up in this place; perhaps wanting occasionally for things, as every child tends to do, but certainly never needing for anything.
I will not say that I felt no envy concerning this. I can say with certainty, that it was not for Thea in particular; but merely for the ever-present condition of the world, wherein some children are born happy; and others, unfortunately, are not.
These, of course, were only passing thoughts. After spending some hours at Lennox Lane, they faded entirely away, and were replaced only by a pleasant sort of contentment.
***
The days that followed were something of a learning experience for me. I found
out a great deal about my host in that time. Theodora Alaster was something of an herbalist, deeply interested in the medicinal – and other equally intriguing – properties of the earth. People came to her most every day for her draughts and advice.
It was true that she lived alone in her house (save for me, now, of course), but she was not without her friends and visitors. And she was not without her gentleman callers, all of whom she shooed away with a kind word and a firm hand.
I liked for her to tell me about all of her plants and powders, explaining in a teacher-like fashion how they worked, each in their own way. I listened all the while, but I never remembered what she said.
Yet she did not seem to mind that I wasn’t quite as interested in any of it as she was; and she never grew tired of the people who came to her. She always seemed very proud of herself, after they had left – proud of having been able to provide them with exactly what they needed, in the form of powdered roots, leaves, what have you. Though I had absolutely no idea what any one of those roots or leaves did, I was capable of sorting them into their own little phials and pouches. I labelled them in a careful hand, lining them up neatly on the many shelves in the kitchen.
Much to my relief, Thea seemed pleased with my company. I had feared, at first, that she would quickly grow tired of my presence, and I would find myself again in a sticky living situation. But she never did. We talked about more than just herbs – about anything and everything, in fact. We larked about in the kitchen while boiling liquid solutions, grinding flower petals and kneading dough (the last of which was used merely for bread; no medicinal implications intended).
The truth was that I began to feel quite at home. I had expected (for what I had sincerely thought would be a short stay) to sleep on a sofa, perhaps in the parlour; but I was offered, directly upon arriving, the second bedroom of the house, located directly at the top of the stairs. It was an exceedingly comfortable room, complete with its very own fireplace. Imagine that – a fireplace in one’s bedroom! I was living above my own standard.
The kitchen hearth was an exceptionally large one. We often spent the entire day in the kitchen, for it was without doubt the warmest room in the house. The fire blazed all throughout the day, every day. Through it went both medicine and tea, both elixirs and stew. It was a very busy place, that hearth.
An Irish Heart Page 8