The Curse of the Wise Woman

by Lord Dunsany

  “I don’t want protection,” I said to him. “There’s no need for it.”

  “There is indeed, sir,” he said to me. “We are after those four men that came for Mr. Peridore. We know who they are. And they’ve all left their houses.”

  “Don’t they live over the hills a long way from here?” I said.

  “They do, sir,” he answered. “Four or five miles beyond Gurraghoo.”

  “Then why would they come here?” I asked.

  “They know we’re after them,” he replied. “And there’s no one to identify them but yourself if they’re caught. Wouldn’t it be the simplest thing they could do to shoot you, sir? If you’ll pardon my saying so.”

  “It might save them trouble,” I said.

  “Begob it would,” said he. “It would be the right thing for them to do. I only mean from a legal point of view, sir. But you’d have to consider the evidence that you’d be against them in court. Sure, any man would do it. However, we’ll not let them.”

  And I could not after that shake off the feeling that the constable was probably right. Once a man had considered proceedings in a court of law he must see that I was the principal obstacle to the defence; and they were likely to consider such proceedings with the police after them. I hung about the library a good deal during the morning, and practised steps that were exactly the right length to bring my second step from the mark in the carpet just to the edge of the wainscot. The three steps evidently worked like the three keys that are sometimes used to unlock a safe; for pressing upon any one, or on any two of the points, had no effect whatever. It seemed to me that during the day the five constables might be able to watch the place, but after dark I did not see how they could do it. And thinking about it made me only more uneasy. I tried to cheer myself by the thought that, if he had wanted to kill me, the man whom I afterwards met in Gurraghoo would not have told me anything that might be useful in my own defence, as that one should allow a foot when aiming at a man walking across at a hundred yards. But the thought soon followed that he did not at that time know that he was in any danger, and secondly that these men usually shoot at the back of the neck from a yard away, and are not so easily found walking about at a hundred yards. Nor was he the leader. But there soon came other thoughts to divert me, and the first of these was that I could take over my bag of snipe to Mrs. Lanley myself. It was also the day on which I must call on McCluskey, if I was to have that certificate that would excuse me from returning to Eton. Obviously Cloghnacurrer should come first. I told the constable, Geogehan, about this, and he said that he would see me to the lodge, and that the two men there would have to go with me in the trap.

  So after lunch I set off with Ryan in the trap, Geogehan, with his rifle, walking half way to the lodge, and at the lodge the sergeant and the other man got up behind.

  I brought Mrs. Lanley my snipe. I had sent her six only the day before, but I explained that they were small and might not be enough, and I had eight of them this time. I had no idea that Mrs. Lanley would not be amply satisfied that this was my sole motive for coming. I had not long alone with Laura, but we had a short walk to her rock garden, which at that time of year of course contained mostly rocks, and which I thought lovely. And we made some wild plan to walk some day over the bog to that point on the low horizon to which I used so often to see Marlin gazing, and then on till we came to the sea, where we were to look over the water at sunset to see if there were any glow in the sky from what might be apple-blossom beyond the horizon. It was not far for the dreams of youth to go, nor further than they might easily have taken us; though in the end we never went to look for the reflection of apple-blossom in the sky above the Atlantic.

  After our short talk of Tir-nan-Og we parted, and I drove to McCluskey’s house, who lived near High Gaut. His wife, who I believe had had small-pox years ago, was nursing him, and she shouted to me to keep away, but I went up and put my gloved hand to the half-door and opened it, and put my foot over the threshold and called out some word of greeting to McCluskey and came away. Then I drove home and wrote to the doctor, enclosing a note from the sergeant saying that he had seen me go in, which seemed to me to implicate the majesty of the law itself.

  It was getting late now, and I kept a good deal to the library, the door of which I left open so that I could hear the sound of any feet on the stairs. I wrote to my father to tell him that I had found the secret of the other library door, in case he should be troubled at not being able to tell me, or should be arranging some difficult plan to get the news through secretly. The way I put it was: I have been reading some of the travel books in the library, in case I should ever have to travel myself. I have opened three and closed a fourth already. It was rather clumsy, but the very clumsiness of it would show him that I was trying to tell him something, and he would know what; but those who opened the letter on its way could never find out from it anything.

  I had dinner and went back again to the library, still leaving the door on to the landing open. I sat late, reading before the fire, kept lingering there by an uneasiness since my talk with Geo­gehan, which made me reluctant to leave the only room in which I felt sure I was safe. The time came when I decided that I should go to bed, and still I put it off a little longer. A hush fell on the house, as though time itself were sleepy; and in the hush I heard a policeman’s whistle. It was quite close, just outside; and I knew that Geogehan had seen the men he was waiting for, and that the sergeant and the three other men from the lodges would be here in a few minutes. In the still house at that hour, as I heard Geogehan’s whistle, I was glad for the first time that I had been given police protection. I waited, and sooner than I expected I heard on the stairs the heavy feet of one man and three more marching behind him. Geogehan had remained outside, every now and then blowing his whistle, I could still hear his feet on the gravel. “Geogehan’s outside,” I shouted, through the open door to the stairs, for it was Geogehan, not I, that had summoned the sergeant and his three men. “Outside in front,” I added. And then the four men walked in who had come for my father.

  I sat there saying nothing. And then the leader spoke. “It’s the way it is, sir,” he said, “that we want your help.”

  And then my friend, whose name I cannot give you, the man who told me how to shoot geese, said: “They hunted us out of our homes, Master Char-les; and we only just got away in time; and we came here. We’ve been about the haggard for the last two days and sleeping in the hay, but we never came into the house.”

  “Sure, we didn’t wish to trouble your honour,” said another.

  “What did you do about food?” I asked.

  “Sure, isn’t Mary Ryan the blessed angel from Heaven?” said the man who had spoken last.

  So that explained the food. Mary Ryan was our housemaid.

  “And Mrs. Burke?” I said. She was our cook.

  “Aye, the blessed old soul,” he replied. “God will be good to her.”

  “Can you hide us, sir?” said the leader.

  “I can,” I said.

  “The police saw us, sir,” said my friend. “The place is full of them.”

  “Will you swear never to hurt my father?” I asked.

  “We will indeed, sir,” said the leader.

  I looked at each one.

  “Aye, sure we will,” they said.

  I turned round and walked away from them.

  “For God’s sake don’t do that, sir,” said the leader.

  He saw where I was going. Last time they came they had sworn me by the piece of the true Cross. This time I was going to swear them. And the rest of them stood there silent; and not a sound in the night but Geogehan blowing his whistle again outside. I got to the golden casket and took out the cross. The leader, silent and uncertain, put his hand to his pocket. I don’t know whether or not he meant to threaten me, but I threatened him first, for I spun round and lifted the cross. One by one they knelt and swore, but the leader would not. “God knows we’re bad men,” he said, �
��but there’s worse behind us, and we have to obey our orders. We might never be told any more to hurt your father, or again we might. For God’s sake, sir, don’t swear us, the way we mightn’t be able to obey orders.”

  “Do you want the curse of God on you?” I said, lifting the cross over his head.

  And the cross won. I don’t know if it would nowadays. But this was over fifty years ago; and the cross won. He went down on his knees and swore by the relic never to hurt my father. And he kept his oath. He disappeared soon after, and years later he was found by some turf-cutters buried at the side of the bog. He kept to his oath.

  As soon as I had sworn the four men, I put the cross away, and told them about the passage, and the handle on the stone door at the other end. They could choose their own time about slipping out, whenever they heard the sound of the policemen all in the house.

  “The blessing of God on you, Master Char-les,” said the one that I knew best. And the others began to repeat similar thanks and blessings when I heard the sound of doors banging. It was the R.I.C.

  “Wait there,” I said, and walked to the mirror.

  I lifted my hand to the frame as I went, so as not to let them into the secret of how the door opened, even though they knew of the door. But I must have started making my paces an inch too long, for the door did not open. And now I heard that booming noise such as might come from a drum of stone, which I knew for men’s boots on paved passages. I think that the second of my two paces in front of the mirror went wrong, for I trod full on the mark in the carpet and my final step looked just right. Whatever it was I turned back and made some remark to the four men and then strode to the mirror again. The hollow sounds downstairs were coming our way. This time, just as my hand reached the frame, the three footsteps having fallen exactly rightly, the mirror slid down.

  “Quick,” I said. “Don’t step on the white bit of iron. The last man step on it: it closes the door. There, shaped like a shoe.”

  They saw and began to go. I had to show them that secret. The only one that mattered was the three steps in the library.

  “We’d stop and fight them, sir,” said the leader, “but for their rifles. Rifles aren’t fair.”

  It was always a grievance in Ireland that the R.I.C. carried rifles.

  “Good-bye, sir,” he said.

  And then I heard steps on the stairs.

  “Quick,” I said again, and ran to the door.

  I got outside the library just before the police came in. The sergeant was leading. He was actually on a mat that there was outside the door. There was only one way to stop him; I shook hands with him.

  He was surprised, and looked at me strangely.

  “I thought I heard steps up there,” I said, pointing up the stairs.

  “We heard a noise in there, sir,” said he pointing into the library.

  “In there?” I said. “There’s no one there.”

  And when I saw I could delay him no longer, and he was about to go in, I said: “But you’d better search it.”

  I led the way in, going slowly the short way I had to go. And the room was empty.

  “Now that all five of you are here,” I said to the sergeant. I forget how I finished the sentence, but that much I said loudly at the end of the room near the mirror; and, if the four men in the stone passage did not know what to do then they were ill-fitted for Irish politics.

  Of course I should have handed them all over to the police. Well, reader, you wouldn’t have had this story. The Government had done more for me than for most men; they had given me five armed men to protect me: they could hardly have been expected to do more. And the five weren’t enough. If I had given up those four men, others would have got me within the week, as others got my father.

  CHAPTER XIX

  That night I slept as tired men sleep, for I had been up all the night before, and as men with good consciences are supposed to sleep; for I knew that none of those four would hurt my father now, but I did not look far enough. The days went by; and one day, about ten days after they came, the five constables were withdrawn. Somebody had asked a question in Parliament as to whether this district was quiet; a minister had answered that it was, and the questioner had contradicted him; and to prove his point the minister had withdrawn police protection from the one or two of us that had it in that county. My actual case had the distinction of being mentioned in Parliament, when it was explained that protection had been given to me on account of my story of four men entering the house at night and asking for my father; but that I had been unable to name or even describe any one of the four men when questioned later, and no such men had been seen by anyone else in that district. And the incident closed with these words that I still remember: “ ‘We must suppose that the gentleman calling himself the Duke of Dover went to Paris for other reasons’ (loud laughter).”

  The certificate that kept me in idleness apparently lasted for twelve days, but about this time, with only a day or two more to spare, I met the doctor riding by our gate as I was crossing the road to shoot snipe. “What day have I to go back?” I asked him.

  “I’ve another case for you,” he answered cheerily.

  And he told me of a man that had mumps, about a mile beyond the McCluskeys.

  “It’s a fine long infection,” he added.

  And when I heard that it would take me right over the next full moon, the lure of the red bog, which I had feared I should walk no more that year, became too strong for a conscience already enfeebled by my visit to the house of McCluskey, and any protests it still was able to utter were swept away by the doctor’s cheerful directions. And so my ill-earned holidays were lengthened; and I may mention here that, for all the skill of Dr. Rory, I paid the extreme penalty of Eton when I got back.

  Till the moon was full I shot snipe on the black bogs, and when snipe grew scarce I used to sit for pigeons as they came in to roost in our woods. And so I grew to know the evening almost as a neighbour, as you can never do in houses, where walls keep out the glow of its gentle light, and the lights of man overcome it. And what I gained by knowing the evening thus is something I cannot capture with words.

  One day a man walked three miles to tell me that golden plover flighted over a field he knew. It was no field of ours, and I did not know him by sight. Why did he come? Well, to begin with, time to him seemed boundless. I do not mean time in general, what may be called eternity, but his own particular share of time, his leisure. And I think that those who feel they have plenty of time often find their illusion justified. If this be so, it is curious that it does not always apply to things of less value, such as money. Well then, out of his great wealth of time it was nothing to him to spare the two hours it took to walk three miles and talk to me and go back again. And then he was a sportsman, as they all were, and he enjoyed giving me a shot at the golden plover, as he would have enjoyed letting his long dogs after a hare.

  And so I went one day to the high wide fields, on whose air the golden plover circled and raced every evening. Murphy came with me, a little distrustful of information not brought by himself, and took his retriever, and Ryan drove us over. It was broad day when we arrived, though the sun had set. I left Murphy with Ryan, and took some rugs from the trap, and lay down on them in an old furrow that had been green grass for years: it was not nearly deep enough to hide me, but the hollow lessened my conspicuousness in the field. A dimness came upon earth, a glow in the sky, and the great calm of evening came down on us. A goat came up to inspect me, and after some while went away again. Sheep came by cropping the grass and passed to a far part of the field. Still no birds came. Then, black as bats in that light, the green plover appeared, and went away across the lucid pale-blue of the sky. And at last I heard those notes that a golden flute might play, in the hands of an elf or anything small and magical, and the white shapes of the golden plover flashed by on their pointed wings, going out of sight at a hedge, rising and pouring over it like a wave over rows of rocks. Soon they were back ove
r another hedge, dipping down from the top of it and flooding over the field, curving round the same pillar of air by which they had gone last time, as though it were some visible flag-post for their aërial races. I rose and ran to the place with my rugs, and lay down again in a hollow. The next time that they or others came into sight they danced on the air in another part of the field, but I realised that if I started chasing them over the field I might spend all the evening at it and get nothing; so I stayed where I was. And the next time they came past me I heard the whirr of their wings before I saw them, and then I saw the brown mass going by and I fired, and they turned from the shot and flashed white as they turned. They turned and went wildly away; and, choosing one of the scattered shapes, I fired again and missed. I had two birds down to my first shot. I don’t know if there are any sportsmen that avoid firing into the brown of golden plover, choosing their bird with each shot, as I used to try to choose them and have even succeeded in doing; but pouring by as they do low over the fields when flighting, it is almost impossible to choose one’s shot, so I used large and few pellets, which, when fired close, were likely either to miss or kill. They had come with the last of the light, which still so illumined the grass that I had no thought of night coming; and so I stayed where I was a little while longer before going to pick up the birds. They were quite close and the grass was short, and I had not yet learned that a golden plover, lying on the face of a field with nothing to hide it, can be invisible. Yet that is certainly so, even in day-light. The golden spots on the birds must possess the same brightness as the light on sere grass, and their spots of dark umber are so like the darkness among the grass-blades, that even by day one may pass one lying face downwards and not see it two or three yards away. More came by a little higher and I got one with my right barrel, but so carefully had I to watch and distinguish the falling bird among the rest, that all poured downwards from my shot till they were within a few feet of the field, that by the time I had marked the one dead bird among the fifty swooping ones I got no good aim with my left barrel, and shot no more of them. Looking up soon after that I saw a star, and realised that it was time to look for the two birds I had shot. The notes of many more were clear in the air, and the whirr of their wings, but I could no longer see them. The ground was darker than the air, and I only found one of the birds, till I whistled for Murphy. He came with his dog, when eyes could do no more, and a soft black nose took on the work from man. So we eventually got the two golden plover.