‘You don’t know that! He’s – dead and I can’t – bear to read the book again – ever – and I loved him so much.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I hate people. I hate them!’
While Flavia wept and Constance stroked her and made soothing noises I read the offending passage. ‘It is sad,’ I said. ‘It makes me want to cry and I don’t know the rest of the story. It’s awful that people want to kill beautiful animals and birds, isn’t it?’
‘Awful!’ Flavia’s voice trembled with feeling. ‘But you ate bacon just now. That was Muriel. She was such a good pig. I used to say hello to her sometimes and she’d let me scratch her back. She looked after her piglets beautifully and didn’t roll on any of them and her reward was that Mr Rafferty cut – cut her—’ Flavia choked and was silenced briefly by a further flood of tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, meaning it. ‘I won’t eat any more bacon now I know she was a friend of yours.’
Flavia regarded me suspiciously. ‘Or pork chops from the freezer?’
‘No.’
‘Or pig’s cheek?’
‘Certainly not,’ I said with perhaps unnecessary force.
Flavia’s eyes still flowed. ‘And what about the fish in heaven? Fish feel pain, too. They don’t want to be put in buckets and torn apart by sharp teeth.’
‘Probably animals and people don’t need to eat once they’re in heaven,’ I suggested.
‘I don’t believe there is such a place, anyway,’ said Flavia darkly, no longer actually sobbing but tense with woe. ‘I think God is cruel making animals suffer and die!’
‘Darling.’ Constance sounded shocked. ‘You mustn’t think that. God’s world is a good world and He loves us always, even if—’
‘I don’t care if He does or not! I don’t want Him to love me! I don’t think I even believe in him any more.’
‘Flavia! You don’t mean that. You mustn’t lose faith, darling. God is infinitely wise and you can be sure, even when things seem tragic, it’s all part of God’s great plan for our salvation—’
‘You can think that if you like but I don’t want to be part of the plan of someone who makes everything die. I hate His plan! I think it’s a very bad plan. And anyway, if you’re so sure it’s a good plan why were you asking Father Deglan the other day how God could possibly think it was all right to let children be born into families where the fathers were drunk and the mothers worn out with having babies and there wasn’t enough money to feed them properly?’
‘Well, I didn’t mean—’
‘I heard you say that it was obvious that God was male. And when Father Deglan ticked you off for blasphemy you said you thought the Pope was a silly old man with no idea what people’s lives were really like.’
‘I shouldn’t have said those things, least of all to Father Deglan. It was extremely discourteous and I’m ashamed of myself. I just lost my temper—’
‘And you said what happened to Mummy made you doubt there is a benevolent God. Benevolent means good and kind; I looked it up. So you shouldn’t tell me off for saying just what you think yourself, should you!’ Flavia ended on a note of triumph.
‘Ah! But I … it really isn’t a question of … You shouldn’t listen to conversations not intended for you to hear. People sometimes say things in the heat of the moment they don’t mean. Of course I do believe in God but from time to time … This is all too much first thing in the morning,’ Constance concluded lamely. ‘Let’s just get on with the day and try to be as good and kind to each other as we can. Leave that horrid book and go and have a lovely ride on the Cockatoo.’
‘The Cockatoo’s got a friction burn from the head collar not being put on properly. Timsy shouldn’t be allowed to drive him. I suppose that’s all part of God’s super plan according to Father Deglan: to make my pony’s shoulder hurt like hell!’
‘Try not to swear, darling, it shocks people and you’re too young.’
I made a mental note that the word hell was considered swearing at Curraghcourt. In my own vocabulary it counted for little more than emphasis.
Flavia stood up, her face scarlet with passion. ‘I’m going outside to swear lots and I’m going to put this book on Timsy’s bonfire and burn it to ashes, then I’m going to pray to the devil to make all gamekeepers suffer for ever and ever!’
‘All right, if that will make you feel better. Though not the praying to the devil, darling. It’s wrong to wish ill to anyone. And then you’d better find your holiday work. I’m going to have to bone up on the maths. It looked incomprehensible—’
Constance sighed as the door slammed. ‘I don’t think I handled that awfully well.’
After what Kit had told me I should not have been surprised that in Ireland God and the devil seemed to figure so largely in the mental landscapes of its inhabitants. My life in London had been entirely secular and at Cutham, though there was intermittent church-going of a restrained Protestant kind, it was mainly pour encourager les autres – what my father called ‘setting an example’, as though the locals noticed or cared what we did, except to laugh at us behind our backs. My parents considered it bad form to discuss religion and anything like evangelical fervour would have been thought certifiable lunacy. I found this Irish willingness to thrash out spiritual matters refreshing.
‘What I want to know,’ said Flurry, whose eyes, large behind his spectacles, had been flicking from face to face during the discussion, ‘is how did God make the world in six days if we revolved from tiny cells over jillions of years? I’ve been reading about trilobites and spirogyra in one of Dad’s books.’
Constance and I looked at each other helplessly.
‘The best thing you can do,’ said Constance at last, ‘is to make a list of questions and give it to Daddy when he comes home.’
‘Can’t girls understand that sort of thing?’ asked Flurry. ‘When Dad said he was surrounded by a pack of incompetent females you got angry and said women were just as clever as men, in fact much, much cleverer.’
‘I wish you and Flavia wouldn’t eavesdrop on conversations not intended for your ears!’ Constance, who had remained marvellously calm until this point, suddenly became heated. She rubbed her forehead until her brow grew red. ‘How can I get anything done when I’m continually catechized by beastly little children who fling my most casual utterances in my face and demand to know exactly what I meant by them?’
Flurry smiled for the first time. ‘Dad said when you’re in a temper you remind him of an egg-bound hen. He’s good at describing people, I think.’
‘Well, of all the …’ Constance began to laugh. ‘All right, darling, don’t let’s quarrel on the first day of the holidays. You go and get on with your railway. Or, even better, make a start on your homework. Please let’s make a resolve these holidays not to leave it until the last minute. I really can’t stand the strain of having to stay up till four in the morning to finish it. I’m going to wash up.’
‘If you’ll tell me where the sink is,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it. It’s what I’m here for.’
Constance looked at me. ‘I’d better show you the kitchen. This is the moment I’ve been dreading.’
NINETEEN
Together we loaded an antiquated trolley with the breakfast things and Constance pushed it, one wheel wailing like a hysterical child, into the hall. Behind the sedan chair was the entrance to an ill-lit passageway.
‘Look out!’ cried Constance, too late.
‘Bloody h—Blow!’ I said with remarkable self-control.
I had walked into a chain that hung down into the stairwell. The end of it had been fastened into a knot the size of a man’s fist which dangled at the exact height of my hairline.
‘I’m terribly sorry! I ought to have warned you. Are you hurt?’
I felt my forehead. ‘No blood.’
‘I must get Timsy to take that stupid chain down. It used to be for hoisting. up baskets of turves for the bedroom fires. We never use it now. I do hope your head isn’t hurti
ng too much.’
‘Not at all.’ I was lying again. It was throbbing and I was certain there would be a bruise.
‘We’ve all got used to dodging it, that’s the trouble. The man from Hibernian Heritage said some swear words I’d never heard before. Not that I mind swearing a bit myself but the children get into trouble at school if they do. Father Matthew and the sisters are neurotic about any kind of expletive. One child was sent home for saying “shite”. I know it’s not pretty but it is just a word. Finn’s language is sometimes awful and I occasionally say “bugger” myself.’ Constance looked defiant.
‘So the children go to a convent?’
‘All schools in Ireland are run by the Church, if that’s what you mean. If you ask me, there’s too much emphasis on religion and not enough on foreign languages, but then no one ever does – ask me, I mean. It’s a mistake to be born a woman in this country. We’re supposed to get equal pay now we’re in the EEC but what’s the use of that if women have to give up their jobs when they marry?’
‘Have to by law, you mean?’
While Constance was talking she was manoeuvring the trolley along the passage which sloped steeply downwards. The light from the occasional electric bulb was supplemented by candles stuck in their own grease. At every step the unevenness of the flagstones threatened to dash the mountains of plates and cups to the floor.
‘No, not by law but by custom, which is even more binding in a way. There never was a more doggedly reactionary animal than the Irish male. I tell you, women in Ireland get a raw deal.’
By this point in the conversation we had reached the kitchen, which lay at the end of the tunnel. I saw at once why Constance had been reluctant to introduce me to it. It was housed in what must have been the castle’s undercroft, which meant that the large vaulted space was broken up by a great many picturesque but thoroughly inconvenient pillars. Also the semicircular windows were high up in the walls so it was impossible to see out and the nether regions were extremely gloomy. It resembled nothing so much as a dungeon.
A table took up most of the centre of the room. Its surface was scattered with the collection of heterogeneous objects I had come to expect. I wondered what part the accordion played in the preparation of food. A sullen fire smouldered in a cavernous inglenook, its smoke mingling with the noxious steam that issued from a blackened pot suspended above the turves. Huddled round the hearth were three figures, reminding me forcibly of a certain blasted heath. Despite the screeching and clattering of the trolley no one seemed to notice our arrival.
‘Hello, everyone,’ said Constance. ‘Bobbie, this is Pegeen and this is Katty.’
Constance spoke in the rallying tones of a kindergarten teacher faced with stubbornly unsociable children. The two women stood up unsteadily and nodded untidy heads by way of greeting. Pegeen was, I thought, the prettier of the two. Katty had fierce little eyes and a hooked nose. ‘This is Miss Norton.’
‘Bobbie, please!’ I smiled, hoping to ingratiate myself with my team.
‘Good morning, Miss Norton,’ said Timsy, who completed the group of cave-dwellers. He touched his cap and raised the cup he was holding by way of salutation. ‘I hope you’ll be recovered now after that terrible journey. God save us, there never was a storm like it! There was lightning and thunder, as though the devil was smiting his anvil. It was all I could do to keep the pony going forward and he lame and Miss Norton hollering with fright.’
At this account of my suffering the two women smiled, Pegeen exposing a solitary tooth in the middle of her upper jaw which detracted considerably from her looks.
‘I wasn’t afraid at all,’ I said indignantly. ‘At least, not until we got to the top of the hill. And I don’t believe there was any lightning.’
Timsy winked. ‘Well, girls, did you ever see such a fine young lady before? There isn’t a film shtar to match her, in my opinion.’
The two women examined me through the smoke. ‘Is it film stars, Timsy, you old fibber?’ screeched Pegeen, whose every sibilant was a piercing whistle. ‘Why, bless her, she’s so handsome the saints themselves couldn’t compare with her!’
‘She looks delicate, though.’ Katty was evidently not disposed to follow Pegeen and Timsy’s lead and attempt to turn my head with blatant flattery. ‘I doubt she’ll manage the work.’
‘Is it delicate?’ whistled Pegeen. ‘I’d say a poff of wind could knock her down and a blade of grass run her through!’
Katty smiled as though the idea pleased her. They sat down again in ramshackle wooden chairs that looked as though they had been hammered together by a toddler in a tantrum. A bell jangled somewhere in the shadows.
‘That’ll be Maud wanting her breakfast,’ said Constance. ‘I’ve already laid the tray. Just the tea and the toast to do.’
While Constance rushed to boil the kettle and cut slices of bread, the others watched me covertly over the rims of their cups from which they took noisy sips.
‘I’ll make the tea,’ I said.
‘Oh, would you? Thanks. Just one teaspoonful of leaves. She hates it strong. And a thin slice of lemon on a saucer.’ A column of smoke rose from the toaster. ‘Oh, damn this blasted thing! It burns it every time!’
Constance seized a knife and began scraping carbon into the sink. I searched along the shelf of labelled canisters and opened the one marked Tea. It contained pieces of string. I eventually found the tea in a jar marked Sago.
‘Where are the lemons?’ I addressed the three round the fire in a general way as I took the teapot to the kettle to warm it.
‘Is it lemons?’ whistled Pegeen. ‘Sure we have none.’
‘’Twas the last I used to clean the teapot.’ Katty threw up her long chin with an assumption of virtue that was misplaced for the teapot, though made of silver, was dark brown with tarnish and tannin.
The bell rang again, violently.
‘That’s grand.’ Constance took the teapot from me and picked up the tray. ‘I’d better run up with this before she breaks the wire entirely.’ She looked at me apologetically. ‘Do you feel you could bear to start with the washing up?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thanks. Then I can get on with lunch. I thought we’d have a nice stew. Well, actually, we always have stew. Katty and Pegeen, would you do the bedrooms, please?’
Katty and Pegeen exchanged glances. ‘Sure we’ll be delighted, Miss Connie, just the second we’re finished with our tea.’ Timsy poked the fire leisurely until it shot out sparks and they all stared at it intently.
‘Very well.’ Constance composed her face into an expression of calm reasonableness but I saw she was rattled by this display of intransigence, which I suspected was put on for my benefit. ‘I’ll fetch the vegetables when I’ve seen to Mrs Crawley.’
After she had gone the three round the fire whispered and chuckled and glanced several times in my direction. I saw Katty tip something into her cup from a black bottle that stood upon the hearth. Pegeen and Timsy did the same and drank whatever it was with grunts of satisfaction. Whenever any of them happened to catch my eye they nodded and grinned. I realized that this silken obduracy was just the first round of a bitter contest. I went to the sink. After a prolonged hunt I found an ancient holey cloth, a bar of carbolic soap and a bottle of Parazone. When I had scrubbed and bleached the bowl, the sink, the taps, the draining board and the cloth I felt ready to begin. I washed steadily through the crockery we had brought from the dining room and was just beginning on the plates from the kitchen table when Constance returned.
‘Sorry I’ve been so long. I got waylaid by Sissy. She wanted me to watch her walking up and down the garden steps on her hands. An impressive but not a useful accomplishment. I can’t find the potatoes, Timsy.’
‘Is it potatoes, Miss Connie?’ He shook his head soulfully. ‘I regret to be obliged to tell you that Turlough McGurn sold the last potato just as I came panting up to the door like a whipped pony. But he had plenty of cabbages plucked that moment out
of the fields with the dew like diamonds still on them. I brought them back with Missy last night.’
‘You might have told me before I went to look for them. And why didn’t you get potatoes from somewhere else? All the shops can’t have sold out.’
‘I swear, Miss Connie, on the soul of me brother that died these twenty years ago and me mother saw him go to God dressed all in white like a cloud of feathers at a goose plucking, there isn’t a potato to be had this side of Galway.’
I had to admit that though I had not forgiven Timsy for the horrors of the previous night’s journey I liked to hear him speak. The musical inflection of his voice and the soft ts and ss combined with the free use of metaphor gave the English language a literary richness rarely heard in its country of origin.
‘You mean you forgot them.’ Constance frowned. ‘I’m very cross with you, Timsy. How can I make a stew without potatoes?’
Timsy winked at me as soon as Constance turned her back.
Katty got to her feet. ‘I’ll get them cans from the pantry. Sure potatoes are sweeter from a can and clean already.’
Constance sighed. ‘It does seem ridiculous to be eating everything out of tins when we live in the depths of the country.’
I made no comment but put vegetables on my mental list. I had already decided to drive to Kilmuree at the earliest opportunity, in the pony and trap if necessary, to buy some rudimentary cleaning materials. The smell of carbolic soap was unpleasantly enduring. I smiled to myself as I added a washing-up brush to the list, thinking of Flora Poste.
‘You can’t think how glad I am to see you look happy,’ Constance murmured. ‘It’s all too ghastly, I know.’
‘What about those beds?’ I whispered back.
Katty had returned to the fireside where silence had again fallen, broken only by the idle stirrings of Timsy’s poker.
‘It’s too bad, isn’t it?’ said Constance. ‘I’d never get a job as a sergeant major or a headmistress. Thank goodness! What could be more awful? I’m simply not good at marshalling troops. But it mustn’t go on. All right!’ Constance advanced on them, clapping her hands. ‘Off you go and do something.’
Moonshine Page 26
