Moonshine

by Clayton, Victoria

  Flavia saw her, though. ‘You’d better spit,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll save you from being cursed.’

  ‘What happens if I don’t?’ I whispered back.

  ‘Anything from the milk going bad to dying horribly.’

  ‘Even that would be better than spitting in the dining room.’

  ‘But,’ continued Finn, ‘though it seems churlish to cast a damper on this admirable industry, aren’t we counting our chickens before they’re hatched? I suppose coffee from Dublin is a relatively small extra, and God knows the other stuff was bloody awful, but there must be a hundred pounds’ worth of oak floorboards in the corridor.’ Obviously the price of wood had gone up since he had last bought any for the bill for the floorboards had been nearer two hundred, even with a discount for more orders promised. ‘The man from Hibernian Heritage may refuse to give us a grant. In that case where’s the money to come from?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Constance. ‘They’ve already been paid for.’ When her brother continued to look at her enquiringly she added, ‘From a secret fund which we’ve decided it’s best you don’t know about. Because you’re a senator.’

  ‘I see. Something illegal.’

  ‘It’ll be better if you don’t even try to guess. But it’s nothing that will do harm to anyone.’

  ‘Miss Norton’s inspiration, I suppose.’

  He seemed to have forgotten that we had agreed on the night of Lughnasa to call each other by our Christian names. He sent me another look, less friendly this time. But when you have recently been carried on a man’s back several hundred yards through a rainstorm it is difficult, if not impossible, to feel resentful. So I found, anyway.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Constance put up her chin and spoke boldly. ‘Bobbie’s responsible for the original flash of genius. But I can truthfully say that from the first I thought it was a brilliant idea. And if anyone has to go to jail for it, it should be me as head of the household during your absence.’

  He winced as though he had come across a pip in the marmalade. ‘Let’s hope, Con, it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think you’d like slopping out in Galway prison nor having your hair pulled and your teeth kicked in by the other women. But perhaps you’ll be able to share a cell with Miss Norton.’

  He fiddled with his napkin, folding it into the shape of a sailing boat like the ones Oliver and I used to make from newspaper when we were children. I realized that he was trying to avoid the appearance of giving a lecture. ‘You’re both grown women. I can’t dictate to you how you should spend your time. But I’d be grateful if you’d draw the line at turning my house into a gambling-den or a bordello.’

  ‘Honestly, there’s no cards or sex involved,’ Constance assured him.

  He smiled gently at her. ‘I didn’t really think there would be.’

  ‘What’s a bordylow?’ asked Flurry.

  ‘You’re the wordsmith, Eugene,’ said Finn. ‘You explain.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be making plans for St Stephen’s Day?’ Constance was transparently eager to change the subject.

  Finn groaned. ‘Mercifully, I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘It’s the day after Christmas,’ Flavia explained to me. ‘We always have a party for everyone. Like Lughnasa but bigger.’

  ‘It’s the best night of the year,’ said Liddy, moodily crumbling her uneaten slice of toast. ‘Not that that’s saying much.’

  ‘We have a piper,’ said Flurry. ‘He plays so loud it makes you want to scream.’

  ‘And Daddy always makes a funny speech,’ said Flavia. ‘Last year Moll Flahey split her dress laughing and had to go home.’

  Finn put his head into his hands.

  The day having begun late, we spent the rest of the morning trying to catch up. At twelve I limped upstairs to give Violet her lunch. Rosie’s predictions had been too optimistic. Violet could not yet sit in a chair without falling either forwards or sideways but with an arrangement of three pillows she was able to sit up in bed and was learning to feed herself with her left hand. She was steering a wobbling spoon of finely chopped sole and spinach to her mouth when the door opened and Finn walked in.

  The evening before, over a delicious bottle of Sancerre that tasted of gooseberries, Constance had told her brother of Violet’s wonderful improvement since he had last seen her four – or was it five? – months ago. Flavia had taken her father upstairs at the first possible moment to see Violet but to her intense disappointment her mother had been asleep and they had gone away without waking her. Finn’s opinion of women, which he took little trouble to hide, was that we were histrionic, irrational creatures with little sense of reality. It was obvious from the gravity of his expression when he came downstairs that he thought that we had been guilty of at least wilful exaggeration, at worst mass hysteria, and I could hardly blame him. He had probably allowed himself a brief moment of hope and in that case his own disappointment must have been severe. Asleep Violet looked just as she must have done for the last four years except that she no longer dribbled and could turn herself in bed so she no longer resembled an effigy. But a man would not notice such details as these.

  Now, when she heard the knock, Violet looked to see who it was. The next moment she had thrown her tray and spoon to the floor. Trembling with effort she stretched out her thin white left arm. From the corner of her mouth she croaked, ‘H-inn! H-inn!’

  Finn gripped the handle of the door as if to support himself and the blood drained from his face until he was as white as the walls. We who had cared for her had experienced Violet’s restoration to life as an infinitely gradual process. For him it must have been as shocking as seeing an apparition, the ghost of the woman he had loved, whose death he had accepted as fact even if he had not ceased to mourn. I put down the cup I had been holding, stepped over the mess of fish and spinach and crept from the room.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Kilmuree offered nothing in the way of desirable Christmas presents so the day after school broke up, Constance and I took the three children to Williamsbridge, twenty miles away. In the interests of their pocket money and our own far from abundant resources we put an upper limit of five pounds on the cost of any present. This made it doubly difficult to find anything that might go even halfway towards satisfying either the giver or the receiver.

  In addition to our own present-hunting we had to buy things on behalf of Eugene as there had not been room for him in the Morris Traveller. He had written out a list with minute descriptions of each item and for whom the present was intended so that we would be sure to buy exactly the right thing. He had enclosed a ten-pound note.

  ‘Where am I to find a first edition of Goldsmith’s poems for Finn?’ Constance consulted Eugene’s list as we took a break for fish and chips at the Come Inn. ‘Even in Dublin there may not be such a thing. Williamsbridge has one bookshop. It sells things like Making Merry with Macramé and The Christian Way to Health.’

  I examined the list. ‘Essence of bluebells for Maud.’

  ‘It is her favourite flower.’ Constance looked apologetic. ‘It was very thoughtful of him.’

  I looked through the café window into the street of hardware stores and public houses, gloomy despite the light reflected in shop fronts and puddles. Williamsbridge smelt of rain and exhaust fumes and the local tannery.

  ‘Thoughtful, yes. Obtainable, no.’ I returned to the list. ‘Eighteenth-century enamelled étui for Bobbie. How kind!’

  ‘What’s an et-wee?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘It’s a little case for needles. Eighteenth-century étuis are much sought after. Eugene seems to be expecting rather a lot for his ten pounds. A hundred pounds would be more like it.’

  ‘Actually it’s my ten pounds,’ said Flurry. ‘He borrowed it off me this morning.’

  Constance handed the two five-pound notes back to Flurry. ‘I’m afraid Eugene, though the soul of generosity, isn’t very practical. I’ll lend him some money myself.’

  Liddy, who was reading over my
shoulder, laughed loudly in my ear. ‘He wants to give you a baby marmoset, Aunt Connie. As long as he doesn’t want to give you any other kind of baby! Ugh! Imagine being in bed with Eugene! You’d need a gas mask—That’s my foot, Bobbie.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s these boots.’ I had been forced to wear an unglamorous pair with zip fasteners, left in the house by a long-departed guest, to accommodate the bandaging of my sprained ankle. ‘I feel a bit like a deep-sea diver in them.’

  ‘They are hideous,’ said Liddy. ‘No wonder they make Osgar bark.’

  Osgar had conceived a passion for the boots and had been maddened by his inability to seize both of them at once. Whenever I wore them he ran backwards in front of me snapping at each toe in turn. It quickly became irritating. Now, however, I was grateful to the boots for turning the conversation.

  ‘A crocodile dressing case for Violet,’ read Constance. ‘You must admit, Eugene’s highly attuned to other people’s tastes.’

  I admitted it readily. When we reached home after a long day comprising a variety of emotions, among which were hope, despair, gratification and frustration, even Liddy went early to bed without complaint.

  Everyone offered to help with the additional cooking, cleaning, decorating and organizing created by Christmas and the party on the following day. This was kind of them but the results were mixed. Mince pies and puddings were allowed to blacken or boil dry: the watcher having wandered off to admire the Christmas tree or to experiment with a new hairstyle. Glasses were smashed by inexpert hands and precious belongings were tidied away to remain undiscovered for months despite frantic searches. The candle placed in the drawing-room window as a symbol of hospitality to the Virgin and Child set fire to a pair of handsome old curtains and had to be beaten out with a silk cushion.

  On Christmas Day Maud was taken by taxi to the Church of Ireland in Williamsbridge and everyone else went to the Roman Catholic church in Kilmuree, except for Finn and me. His apostasy was too long established to earn more than a sigh from Constance and a few words of bitter rebuke from Liddy along the lines that if he didn’t believe in all that crap why should he expect her to?

  ‘Argue it out with your aunt and Father Deglan,’ he replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned your religious beliefs are entirely your own affair. But I would ask you to moderate your language when talking about other people’s faiths. If I hear you calling it crap in front of Pegeen and Katty I shall be seriously annoyed.’

  Liddy dropped her sunglasses from the top of her head to her nose to signify that she was shutting out an unjust world and followed the others out to the Land-Rover.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go with them?’ Finn asked me.

  ‘No. Really. Thank you. There’s nothing like knowing you have to produce a three-course lunch for eleven people to distract you from spiritual thoughts. Besides, I wouldn’t know any of the hymns. It isn’t any fun if you can’t sing your head off.’

  He smiled. ‘Your religious convictions are of the profound, philosophical kind, obviously.’

  ‘Is it so obvious?’ I returned the smile and limped away towards the kitchen.

  I expected him to retreat to the library but to my surprise he followed me down the dark sloping passage.

  ‘I could do something to help, couldn’t I?’ He examined the bowls of peeled and chopped vegetables, the reduction for the sauce bigarade to be served with the geese, and the smoking pan with the clattering lid beneath which two puddings were steaming.

  ‘Thank you. Everything’s more or less under control.’

  ‘It all looks impressively efficient.’. He put his finger into the brandy-flavoured custard and licked it. ‘Very good. And what’s this?’ He had put his finger into a pot of what looked like black jam and sucked it before I could stop him.

  ‘That’s one of Sissy’s concoctions.’ I smiled to myself as I watched shreds of orange peel pale in bubbling water. ‘Flavia says it’s a spell. Probably meant for me. What a surprise it’ll be if you turn into a barren toothless hag.’

  He withdrew his finger. ‘I expect you must wonder …’ he said, then stopped. I was sure he had been going to say something about Sissy but had thought better of it. ‘It’s very good of you to do all this. I hope you aren’t missing your own family too much.’

  I strained the blanched peel over the sink and added it to the reduction of onions and red wine. ‘I do miss my brother but he’s got a new girlfriend so I wouldn’t see much of him, anyway. To be truthful, I’ve never enjoyed spending Christmas with my family. My parents’ marriage isn’t happy and prolonged exposure to each other’s faults invariably leads to rows. And my father disapproves of both his children. By Boxing Day everyone’s sulking in their own rooms, brooding over their injuries. I’d much rather be here.’

  ‘That relieves my conscience, if it does sound a little sad.’ He helped himself to a raw sprout from the bowl and bit into it. His teeth were even and white, I noticed.

  ‘Sad? Yes, but quite common, I imagine. I’m frequently enraged by my family, sometimes depressed, always critical, yet there’s a part of me that loves them. At least I find I can’t be indifferent to their sorrows. It’s the same for everyone, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is. One tends to feel one’s own family is superior only in being peculiarly deranged.’

  Now I had him alone, in what seemed to be a sociable mood, I seized the moment. ‘What do you think about bringing Violet downstairs this afternoon for an hour or two?’

  ‘Violet? Downstairs?’ He looked taken aback. ‘Won’t it be too much excitement for her?’

  ‘She’s so bored. Yesterday she made Pegeen cry by hitting her on the nose with her maraca. She was so pleased to get a reaction that she threw everything within reach: a book, a candlestick, a jar of face cream. Most unfortunately a cup of hot tea. Rosie O’Rourke says she needs more stimulation.’

  ‘Well.’ He took another sprout. ‘If you really think … I suppose we shan’t know until we try.’

  ‘The only difficulty is Maud. She refuses to go up to see her, you know. She says the attic stairs are too steep. She’s resisting the idea of Violet getting better. But she might listen to you.’

  ‘You overestimate my powers of persuasion if you think anything I say will change her mind. I’ve never met a woman more stubborn and opinionated.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment as though running through the long list of women who nearly qualified for first place. Outside, the wind sprayed rain against the high windows. Inside, the kitchen glowed with the warmth of a fresh coat of primrose-coloured distemper. ‘From the beginning Maud refused to accept the fact of Violet’s illness. Maud considers ill health to be self-indulgence. In her eyes only the lower orders need to go to bed and be looked after. That’s why it’s particularly cruel of fate to have crippled her. When Violet was expecting Liddy, she was pretty unwell: sick, with terrible headaches. Maud’s remedy was to take her to Dublin and throw her into a non-stop social round. In a way I suppose it worked, as a distraction. The day after Liddy was born Violet had to go with her mother to a dinner party and afterwards to a dance. There’s no tenderness in Maud’s character, no desire to protect, no sympathy. Nor does she ask for any for herself.’

  ‘But she’s lent me one of her own dresses.’

  ‘I didn’t say she has no good qualities. She’s remarkably brave. I’ve seen her get on a horse I shouldn’t like to be in the same stable with. She never complains of pain. I can’t imagine Maud doing anything petty or sneaking. She’s generous, and truthful to a fault, as you’ll have noticed. But quite intolerant of weakness, fear, doubt … those perturbations of the spirit that make us human. I wonder if it has something to do with being Anglo-Irish.’ I looked up and saw Sissy’s face at the window, staring down at us. Because the sill was so close to the ground her neck was stretched out like a swan’s. Given the wind and rain and the nettles, it must have been an uncomfortable perch. ‘You’re a minority living among those you’ve dispossessed,’
Finn continued, unaware we were under surveillance. ‘However arrogant you are, being universally mistrusted, often hated, can’t be comfortable.’

  I gave the potatoes a liberal basting with goose fat. ‘But wasn’t that all a long time ago? No one could blame the original landowners for feeling resentful that their farms and estates had been confiscated and handed over to strangers. But surely now, many generations later, Maud’s accepted? She thinks of herself as Irish, I know. She’s often extremely rude about the British. Not that I mind,’ I added so he would not think I was allowing personal feelings to creep into this dispassionate socio-political discussion.

  ‘You have to remember that the hatred the Catholics have for the Protestants was intensified a hundredfold by the popery laws that excluded Catholics from holding important political, administrative or ecclesiastical posts from the end of the seventeenth century to the beginning of the nineteenth.’ Finn was in lecturing mode but I was glad of it because I wanted to understand Ireland better. He hoisted himself on to the edge of the table and spoke slowly and clearly as though to a class of first-year students, gesturing with his strong, broad-palmed hands to illustrate a point. ‘They weren’t allowed to teach. They couldn’t vote or practise law. Or buy land. Protestant heiresses marrying Catholics were forbidden by law to inherit. It was an attempt by an insecure minority to crush the life out of Catholicism. The fact that it didn’t raises all sorts of questions that would take too long to answer. But the point I want to make is that as the Protestants had all the plum jobs and all the influence and most of the money, there was a tremendous social gulf between the two religions. And distinctions of caste are felt more profoundly than any other division. It’s often been said that though drink is much to blame for Ireland’s problems nothing’s been so disadvantageous to its advance as gentility.’