The Parting Glass

by Gina Marie Guadagnino

  “Is it time?” she asked, her voice so soft I barely caught the words, and I nodded. She smiled, rising, and glided shoeless toward me. At the bottom of the stairs, I held up a hand, motioning her to pause, before stepping forward to inspect the kitchen. The room was silent and empty. I motioned to Charlotte, we moved on stockinged feet across the flagstone floor, and I handed her our boots so I could silently slip the latch to let us out into the mews. We laced up our shoes and walked on tiptoe to keep our heels from ringing on the cobbles.

  Charlotte gripped my hand nervously as we made our way down the Bowery. Even so late, on a Friday the pubs and music halls were still open, and I counted on the light foot traffic to mask our progress, should anyone follow us. It was a ridiculous notion—no one could possibly have missed us at this hour—but it was a precaution I was unwilling to forgo. The route, however, alarmed my mistress, who shrunk from the entrances of bars as we passed, starting at the raucous cries issuing from inside. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she smiled back.

  The walk to the quays would have taken me no more than forty minutes on my own, but, with Charlotte in tow, it was over an hour before we arrived. Out of a surfeit of caution, I might have doubled back or led a false trail, but Charlotte was unaccustomed to walking so far, and I was wary of exhausting her, so it was after four by the time we arrived at the quieter streets by the docks. The light and din of the Bowery long behind us, we moved as softly as we might, keeping to the shadows of the narrow buildings.

  He was waiting for us, alone on the empty quay. The briny-brackish smells of the dockyards seemed unromantic to me, but Charlotte let drop my hand and flew into Seanin’s waiting arms.

  It was something of a shock, I think, seeing them together like that. I had imagined it so many times, tortured myself with the image, in fact, but it was nothing to the lurch I felt in my stomach actually seeing it before me. Her lips on his, heedless of their surroundings, the sheer passion—taking it all in, I felt something cold clawing at my heart. I felt ill and angry and shamed all at once, and I think I knew then, I hope, now, looking back, that I knew then, I could not bear the sight of them so every day of my life. I want so badly to believe that I chose not to go with them in that moment, but I will never know, for so lost was I in my grief that I never heard the footfalls behind me, nor any other thing until the hammer of a gun cocked against the back of my head.

  A heavy hand came to rest upon my shoulder: unnecessary, as, in fact, I was frozen with fear. “That’s quite enough of that, Paddy,” said Mr. Vandeman from behind me, severing Charlotte and Seanin’s warm embrace with the chill in his voice. They sprang apart, and Charlotte shrieked at the sight of Mr. Vandeman and the pistol he was holding to my head.

  Seanin raised his hands warily. “Right now,” he said, taking a tentative step toward us. “There’s no call for that. Just let the lassie be, so?”

  Mr. Vandeman snorted. “I will if you will.” He inclined his head toward Charlotte. “Good evening, Miss Walden. If you will come with me, I will escort you home.”

  Seanin took another step toward us, his hands held out, showing his palms. “Easy, easy. Let’s talk this out like friends.”

  “Friends?” Mr. Vandeman spat. “As if I’d ever be friends with Papist scum like you. Come now, Miss Walden. Let me take you away from this heathen.”

  Charlotte shook her head, trembling where she stood. “You mistake the situation, Mr. Vandeman,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I am not in need of your assistance. Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please. Have the goodness to depart.”

  I felt the muzzle of the pistol shake with Mr. Vandeman’s laughter. His fingers tightened painfully on my shoulder. “Do you hear her, Miss Ballard? ‘The goodness to depart.’ As if she could dismiss me so easily! This isn’t your parlor, Miss Walden, and I don’t answer to you anymore.”

  “What is it you want now?” Seanin asked. “Just put the pistol down. We’ve no quarrel with you.”

  “But I’ve one with you, see?” Mr. Vandeman said. “And if you take one step closer, I will blow this little bitch’s brains out the front of her face.”

  Seanin stopped cold, raising his hand higher. “Right now, I’m stopped, see? Let the lassie go. She’s naught to do with this.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” Mr. Vandeman said. “I require your cooperation, and quickly, and if I don’t have the assurance of the little bitch’s life, well . . .” He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me if she lives or dies, see, and it’s certainly worth more than her sorry life for me to ensure Miss Walden gets back home.”

  “Please,” Charlotte said. “Oh, please let her go, only I can’t go back with you! I’m marrying Seanin and I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

  Mr. Vandeman laughed nastily, and tears began to dribble down my cheeks. My eyes met Seanin’s, and he held my gaze. “You’re coming with me and you’re marrying my master on Wednesday, and he’s had enough of indulging you while you defile yourself with this scum, Miss Walden. Frankly, I don’t see that you’re worth the effort, on his part or mine, but I’m not paid to consider the niceties, see? I’m paid to make sure you get to the altar.”

  “Your master?” Charlotte asked. “Mr. Dawson?”

  “Well, he couldn’t very well have you fucking another groom, could he?” Mr. Vandeman sneered. “It wasn’t hard for him to puzzle out, all the hints the Graham girl kept dropping. Only reason I’ve stayed in this cesspit city is to keep an eye on you.”

  Charlotte blinked, her terror melting to fury. “How dare you use such language to me? Remove your hands from my sister-in-law and go back and tell your master that I will never have him.”

  “Your sister-in-law?” Mr. Vandeman asked. “That’s rich. I knew this cunt here.” He jabbed me hard in the back of the head with the gun. “I knew she was part of it, see, but I never figured on her being Prior’s sister. Think he’d thank you if I split her skull?”

  “You leave my sister alone, you bloody bastard,” Seanin shouted, charging at us, and I felt the muzzle of the gun scrape against the back of my head as Mr. Vandeman turned the pistol on Seanin and fired.

  The cry was Charlotte’s and mine, screamed out with one voice as Seanin fell to the cobbles. Freed of Mr. Vandeman’s grasp, I reached Seanin first, grabbing his torso and rolling him to face me. Dark blood blossomed against the crisp white of his shirt; my hands were sticky and wet. I heard Charlotte’s footsteps as she ran toward us, intercepted suddenly by Mr. Vandeman.

  “No you don’t, miss,” he said, wrapping strong arms around her. “You’ll forget all about this, and you’ll come back with me.”

  “Let go of me!” Charlotte shrieked, struggling wildly. “Seanin! Seanin! Oh, god no! Take your hands off me!”

  I ran to her, grappling at Mr. Vandeman’s hands, clawing desperately. He backhanded me with the pistol, sending me reeling. I clamored to my feet, my ears ringing from the blow, and saw, blurred before me, Mr. Vandeman taking aim and Charlotte grabbing suddenly at his arm. The pistol fired.

  My left foot was exploding in pain. I looked down stupidly at the hole in the top of my boot and back up at Mr. Vandeman, who, having expended both bullets, flipped the pistol deftly with one hand and struck me neatly over the head with the pommel. I crumpled to my knees, my eyes refusing to focus on my fingers gripping the cobbles, my stomach heaving. From somewhere very far away, I heard Charlotte’s voice crying out, growing fainter and fainter. I vomited violently, pissing myself in the process.

  Somewhere, someone was calling my name. I blinked slowly, my vision swimming, blood from my split forehead dripping into my eyes. Fingers closed over my wrist. I turned to see Seanin grasping for me, and I pivoted to face him, forcing my eyes to focus.

  “Maire.”

  My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I swallowed, tasting bile. “I’m here, Seanin.”

  “Maire.” His voice was wet and gurgling. His chest heaved, making his w
ound gush.

  “Hush, now, Seanin,” I said, choking. “I’m here. I’ll care for you. I’m sorry, mo chroí. I’m so sorry.”

  His mouth moved, a rivulet of blood oozing from his lips, but he made no sound. I held his hand in mine, my eyes on his. There were so many things I wished to say. I wanted to ask forgiveness. I wanted to tell him that all would be well. I wanted to say something that would make him feel that healing, welling love I’d felt lying in the grass in Donegal, but all I could think was that it was wrong, terribly wrong for him to be lying in the street, his blood mingling with the filth between the cobbles. And so I said nothing at all. I held his hand tightly in my own and I stared into his eyes and I tried so hard through the force of my gaze to keep him fixed here on this earth for just a moment more. He was looking right at me, and then suddenly he wasn’t. His gaze went glassy and his chest went still. I kissed his forehead, closed his eyes, sobbing brokenly for my brother.

  But always be patient, and remember that hasty words will rankle a wound, while soft language will soothe it; forgiveness will heal it, and oblivion will take away the scar.

  —The Duties of a Lady’s Maid

  The dark sky was growing pale, but light still streamed from the Hibernian, the sounds of raucous laughter spilling onto the street. I limped through the door, making directly for the bar, my mangled foot dragging behind me. Dermot, busy with pouring ale, did not note my approach at first, but when my legs buckled and the cry went up, I saw him vault over the top of the bar to be at my side at once. My vision was blurring badly just then, from more than the sweat and blood that streamed into my eyes. The last thing I remember before the darkness that played against the edge of my vision rose to swallow me was realizing I could no longer feel my face as I heard Liddie’s voice, shrill with worry, calling out my name.

  When I came to in the basement of the Hibernian, she was sponging my brow, lips pursed grimly, her face lined with worry. She dipped the cloth in a basin beside her, and I saw it streaming reddened water. Liddie held a cool hand to my cheek, twisting her lips into a forced smile. “Back again, are you?” she asked.

  “Liddie—” My voice was cracked and harsh.

  “You’ve a nice gash on the edge of your hairline, and I’m quite sure what’s left of your foot is broken to bits,” she said, stiff and businesslike, her smile fixed. “Dermot’s gone for the nick to stitch you up and set your foot. We’ll see you righted soon enough.”

  “Liddie—”

  “Here, can you sit up a bit? Drink this.” She was propping me up, putting a pint glass in my hand. I took a sip, realizing it was whiskey. “Best to finish it, I’d think,” she said apologetically. “Dermot said the nick’ll likely have a devil of a time setting that foot, for it’s nearly pulp.”

  “Liddie—”

  “You should have at least two pints in you before they attempt it, I think. It’s going to hurt a considerable lot, and you’re far too steady in your cups for just the one to have much effect.”

  “Liddie, good Christ, will you not let me speak?”

  “What’s that now?” she said, looking at me properly for the first time. I met her eyes, taking her hand.

  “I’m sorry, Liddie. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  She snatched her hand away. “None of that, now, Maire O’Farren. We’ll have a devil of a time ahead of us, patching you up, and damned if I’ve the constitution to hear you out at the moment.”

  I reached for her imploringly. “Please, Liddie, please. You’ve every right to be cross.”

  “Cross, she says!” replied Liddie. “I’m many things at this moment, but of all of them she lands on cross!”

  “You’ve a right to be cross, Liddie, I know that you do, and I’m that sorry for it.”

  She took my outstretched hand then, holding it stiffly in her own and looking down at the floor. “What’s it you’re sorry for, Maire?”

  “For leaving.” I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb. “For not saying anything to you.”

  “What on earth should you have said?” Liddie said, still looking down. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I owe you a great deal, Lid. I can’t even—”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she repeated, her voice hard.

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  “What’s to explain?” She snatched her hand away in exasperation. “You love her, don’t you? You’ve told me so a thousand times or more. And I’m not such a fool to expect you to stay if she was going. And, anyway, I told you not to say good-bye. Lord! You’re hurt now. This is entirely the wrong time for such a scene. Why can’t you just leave it be?”

  “You knew I was going?”

  She made a gesture of impatience. “I knew something was happening. Out of the ordinary. You didn’t say anything, you see, about what would happen after she married the Dawson fellow. If they’d settle out on the Island, or if they’d keep a house in town, and if you’d stay her maid or no. So I knew she wasn’t really going to marry him after all, or you’d have said something about it. There were a hundred ordinary, commonplace things you could have said, and you kept mum.” She rolled her neck to release the tension, and I heard the faint crackle and pop that accompanied the motion. “And then I’d heard a scrap here and there about Johnny Prior back in town.”

  “And you’re no fool,” I said.

  She snorted. “Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Seeing as how I’m still down here in this fucking cellar with you.”

  I shook my head, a mistake, for it nearly blinded me with pain. “It’s I who’s the fool. I never really decided if I was going or no.”

  She furrowed her brow. “But you’re here, now, if somewhat worse for the wear. You must have decided on something.”

  I leaned back, closing my eyes. “She didn’t go. Seanin’s dead. She went back and she’ll marry Mr. Dawson. And Seanin’s gone.”

  “Dead!” Liddie’s eyes widened in shock. “Good lord! What happened?”

  “It was that bastard Vandeman. He was Dawson’s man all along. He must’ve followed us to the docks.”

  “To the docks?”

  “There was a ship. To Dublin. Seanin and Charlotte . . .” The thought of what should have been nearly broke me. I was shaking. Liddie wrapped her arms around me, and I sobbed freely, too overcome to go on for some time.

  “He shot Seanin. Dawson had him watching Charlotte. He shot Seanin and he took her back to Dawson,” I said.

  “And yet, you’re here.”

  I shrugged one shoulder, swallowing, my throat tight. “Nowhere else to go, I figure.”

  “You could have gone on to Dublin without Johnny. You’re Irish, after all, and isn’t Ireland home? His people there—”

  “Stop it, Liddie. I never properly decided, and then suddenly I didn’t have a choice. I won’t have you making me out to be nobler than I am.”

  She picked up my hand, holding it lightly in her own. “But surely your brother’s people—”

  “I didn’t even think to come here, Liddie. I just came. It’s all I have left, now. This place. Dermot. You.”

  She squeezed my hand, and I opened my eyes. Tears glistened on her cheeks. “I’m not her, Mar. I can never be. I can’t replace her. And I’ve no thought to offer you . . . whatever it was you hoped to have with her.” She smiled tightly. “But I thought, whatever it was we had, you might like to go on in such a way. Even though I’m not her. Even if I’m only me. I should have said, ages ago, how much it means to me. All this, whatever it is we have. But I was afraid you’d tell me you were going. How’s that for stupid? You think too much about being noble, or what it means that you came here. But you’re here, all the same, and perhaps it doesn’t matter why. Perhaps we have time, now, to figure out what it means that you did. Together.” She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her free hand. “For Christ’s sake, say something, Mar!”

  “Liddie? You want me to stay?”

  “Oh, you bloo
dy stupid bitch!” she cried, tears running freely now. “Yes, goddamn you. Stay. Tell me you’ll stay!”

  I reached up, cupping her cheek, wiping the tears away with my thumb. “I’ll stay.”

  I shall leave you to perfect yourself in these indispensible acquirements, by careful observation and daily practice.

  —The Duties of a Lady’s Maid

  EPILOGUE

  MULBERRY STREET, 1845

  Iunlocked the front door of the Hibernian Queen, opening it wide into the late morning sunshine and propping it open with an overturned bucket. Turning back in to the public house, I took up my broom and swept the stale sawdust out into the street, where the light breeze running up from the harbor whirled it away. I stood for a moment in the doorway, looking down the block. The flowers were beginning to fall from the mulberry trees, the white petals already turning brown in the gutters; soon they would begin to fruit. I would have to remember to look in the mornings for the red berries and start collecting them. The cordials I distilled always sold well. Overhead, the crowned raven on the pub’s sign swayed, creaking gently in the morning breeze.

  I shut the door, leaning the broom in the corner behind the bar and fetching a pail of water where it had been warming on the stove, replacing it with a kettle. Liddie always liked to take her coffee when she returned from her errands, and I expected her back in half an hour. There was a ship come into the harbor this morning from Dublin—it seemed there were more coming all the time—and Liddie was bound to bring a packet from one of our agents at the docks. Best to have the chores finished before she returned so that I could join her in a leisurely cup and talk over affairs. Dermot would be by later in the morning, if business at Tammany did not keep him. With more starving Irish pouring into the city every day, we were never short on news or recruits to the Order, and, so long as Dermot kept palms greased at Tammany, City Hall turned a blind eye.