Charles had completely neglected to buy seeds and new equipment. He refused to buy in any new stock. After the sale of the spring lambs and most of the ewes, there would be very little to sell the next year. But he wasn’t interested in next year, she heard him yell at Ryan, nor the year after that.
‘You’re the damned manager!’ he’d roared. ‘So manage. Now get out.’
Elizabeth watched as Ryan came out of the study and knew from the man’s expression that if Charles didn’t mend his ways, it would be disastrous.
She was surprised to receive a summons to his study later that day. They had taken to avoiding each other and speaking only when necessary. He still made the odd attempt on her bedroom doorknob, but other than that he left her alone. She walked tentatively toward the door and knocked.
‘Enter.’
‘You wished to see me, Charles?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he waved her to a chair and she perched herself on the edge of it. ‘I want you to organise a small dinner party for me. There will be just four of us dining, unless you would care to join us?’
She did not reply.
‘No?’
Her silence said it all.
‘I thought not.’
‘Is this dinner party to be attended by anyone I know?’ she asked, hoping he had made friends with the local gentry.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I believe you may be acquainted with one of the gentlemen. We shall wait and see.’
‘Very well, when is this party to be?’ She wasn’t sure what they had in the larder.
‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight!’
‘Is that a problem? After all, that’s why I keep you here. You’re no use to me if you can’t even arrange a small gathering.’
‘No, Charles, it’s not a problem. I’m sure I’ll find something for Annie to prepare.’
‘Nothing too fancy, mind,’ he called after her.
Elizabeth rushed to the kitchen and told Annie the news. There was a lot of head-shaking and sighing, before they finally decided on a beef broth with veal pie for the main course, and some cheese and biscuits for after. They were limited to what could be grown or killed on the farm, because Charles had not paid the grocer’s bills either. Elizabeth helped Thomas and Annie to prepare the food, and it was almost eight o’clock before they were ready. She emerged from the kitchen flushed from the heat and was about to go to wash when Charles called to her.
‘You’d better hurry and change,’ he said, pleased by her surprised expression. ‘I’ve decided you are to join us after all.’
‘Yes, Charles,’ she nodded and went upstairs. Any argument would be futile. While she was dressing, she heard the main door open and the sound of loud voices from the hallway. She smiled at Lucy, who was doing her hair, twisting and curling until she was pleased with the results.
Elizabeth had chosen a pale blue, lace dress with a scooped neckline that wasn’t too revealing, and would not give Charles any reason to make rude remarks. Around her neck she fastened a single sapphire on a gold chain and clipped on matching earrings. This was all the jewellery she had left besides her wedding ring and a gold locket with a picture of John and herself. Everything else had been sold. This set had been his engagement gift.
‘You look lovely,’ said Lucy, looking her over from head to toe.
‘Do I?’ Elizabeth smiled, realising she no longer thought about how she looked. There was very little reason to care since John’s death. Before going downstairs, she ordered the girls to lock their door and the connecting one to her room; she was taking no chances.
She stopped for a moment outside the dining-room and forced a smile that she hoped looked welcoming. When she opened the door and saw who the guests were, she almost fainted. Charles sat at the head of the table. On his left there were two rough-looking men she had never seen before, but it was the man sitting on his right who shocked her most. Black Jack sat smiling smugly at her, and she almost fell into the chair that the butler held out for her. None of the men had stood up when she entered.
‘Well now, isn’t this pleasant?’ Charles laughed. ‘I believe you know Jack Carey here,’ he tapped Carey playfully on the arm.
‘Yes, of course,’ she managed to find her voice. ‘Good evening Mr Carey.’
‘And a good evening to you, your ladyship,’ he gave a mocking bow from his seated position.
‘These other scamps are Willie Ryan and Tommy Cusack.’
The men acknowledged her respectfully, and she could see they too were uncomfortable in her presence and the unfamiliar surroundings.
When Thomas served the meal, she picked at the food and tried not to listen to the conversation at the other end of the table. These men were rough and coarse and Charles sounded as though he belonged in their company. The jokes were filthy and intermingled with swear words. Charles glanced at her occasionally and appeared pleased to see her blushing. Bottle followed bottle and, as the drink took effect, Black Jack stared at her, refusing to look away, even when she glared at him. Charles dismissed Thomas once the coffee had been served and she panicked when she realised that she would be left alone with them.
‘Perhaps I should retire too, Charles, to allow you gentlemen some time to yourselves.’
‘Not at all, my dear. I insist you stay, if not for your brilliant conversational skills, then for your ornamental value.’
Her cheeks blazed in mortification and she knew that Carey was laughing at her. She let her mind wander to block out their words, and was unaware that Charles was speaking to her until he raised his voice.
‘Elizabeth, are you listening to me?’
She looked up, startled, ‘I’m sorry, Charles.’
‘I merely asked that you earn your keep by refilling our glasses.’ He pointed to his empty glass, and to the one that Black Jack was twiddling between his fingers. The delicate stem looked even more fragile in his huge hands.
‘Should I call the butler?’
‘No, I told you to do it.’
‘Very well,’ she replied, walking to the sideboard. She picked up the decanter and offered it first to the two men nearest to her. They thanked her, but refused. As she refilled his glass, Charles winked at her. She walked around to where Carey was sitting and leaned over to fill his. Her hand shook at the thought of serving him and how he would boast about it the next day to all and sundry, her ladyship being reduced to no more than a serving wench.
‘That’s a very nice dress you’re wearing, my lady.’
She looked at him in surprise.
‘But it’s what’s in it, that interests me more.’
Before she could retort to such brazen words, she was shocked to feel his hand move up and pat her bottom.
‘How dare you!’ She hit Carey in the face with the decanter and watched in horror as the flesh opened and blood gushed from a wound on his cheek. For a moment no one spoke.
Elizabeth ran. Behind her chairs were knocked over, and she was not sure if the men were following her, or rushing to Carey’s aid.
‘Come back here!’ Charles bellowed, but she kept running. She took the stairs two at a time and ran to her room. Locking the door behind her, she threw herself down on the bed, sobbing. She’d really done it this time.
After what seemed like hours, she drifted into a troubled sleep, and was surprised when Lucy shook her awake. It was morning.
‘Mamma, you’re still in your evening dress.’
Elizabeth sat up and looked down at the dress in a daze.
‘Has Uncle Charles gone out?’ she grabbed Lucy’s arm.
‘Ouch, Mamma, you’re hurting me.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough. Just tell me, has he gone out?’
‘I’m not sure. Did you have another argument with him?’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth whispered, ‘and it was a bad one this time.’
‘What are we to do?’ Lucy sat beside her. ‘Will he throw us out?’
‘He may well do. We’ll
just have to wait and see.’
Elizabeth stayed in her room all morning refusing to eat, afraid she would be sick. It was late afternoon when he sent for her. There was no going back now, but she wasn’t going without a fight.
Charles was stretched on a couch in the drawing-room. ‘Well, well, well,’ he laughed. ‘So the cat has claws.’
‘What do you want, Charles?’
‘What I want, m’lady, is that you and your children vacate my house.’ He got up quickly, but had to sit again, as the effects of the previous night’s drinking caught up with him.
‘It was our house before it was yours, Charles, but the way you’re going, it won’t belong to any of us for much longer.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I mean. You owe money to everyone in the town. There is not a grocer or wine merchant who will supply us. The farm is gone to rack and ruin. Look at this room,’ she waved her hand at the patches on the walls, where paintings had once hung. ‘The house has become a ghost, a shadow of its former self; there’s nothing left worth selling.’
His face, already flushed from drinking, was purple in anger. ‘I’ll remind you, madam, that it was only through the greatest kindness that I left you and those, those ...’ he pointed to the ceiling, unable to think properly.
‘Children,’ she screamed at him. ‘They’re called children, and like it or not you are of the same blood. And don’t you dare speak to me of kindness. From the day you entered this house you made our lives hell. You are not a scrap on your brother. He would never have treated a woman in such a disgraceful and demeaning way.’
‘My damned brother! That’s all I’ve heard since I got here. Well, I’m sick of it, do you hear me? Once I’m rid of you, I’ll no longer have to hear about what a saint he was!’ He was dribbling and had lost all self-control. ‘I have one thing that he can’t have, and that is life. He’s dead, Elizabeth, rotting in the ground even as we speak, and I’m glad he’s there. I hope he rots in hell.’
She hit him and he fell back, stunned by the blow.
‘You have two weeks to find somewhere else to live. After that, I never want to see you or your wretched children again. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘We’ll see how clever you’ll be then, madam. Even your own father refuses to have you under his roof!’ He delighted in her expression of shock. ‘Yes, indeed, I’ve known for some time.’
‘I’ll find a place to stay. Anywhere would be preferable to living here, and being degraded the way I was last night. Only a beast would stand by and allow that to happen. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ She turned and walked out.
‘Remember,’ he called after her, ‘two weeks, and take only your clothes, nothing else.’
Her stomach was churning as she walked up to the nursery. Where could she go? Whatever money she had managed to save would not last very long and what then? They were almost into September and, if the summer was anything to go by, the winter would be a bad one. She had little time to plan, but she would not let the girls see how worried she was.
EIGHT
The walk to work seemed longer than usual for Timmy. He had slept badly after waking during the night to the sound of crying. He sat up, unsure of what he was hearing, and tried to isolate the sound above the thunderous snores of his father. No, he had been right, it was the sound of someone crying. At first he was afraid and looked over to where his parents were sleeping, trying to make out, in the darkness, if they were both there. It was impossible to see, so he got up and crept over to the door. It came again a sad, mournful sound that chilled him to the bone. Could it be his mother crying? He had never seen her do so in all his twelve years. Even when his father beat her, she refused to cry. He edged his way farther through the doorway and peeped into the kitchen. Only the dying embers of the fire lit the room, but he could make out her shape huddled up in the chair with her head in her hands and crying as though her heart would break.
‘Ma?’
‘Timmy, lad, I’m sorry. Did I wake you? Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She put her head down and the crying started again.
‘Ma, what is it, what’s wrong?’ He shivered in the cold, pre-dawn air. ‘Ma, tell me.’
‘I’m frightened child, so frightened.’ Her hands muffled the words.
‘Why, Ma, why?’
She must have heard the panic in his voice, for she sat up and bought the back of her hand across her face, wiping away the tears.
She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him towards her. ‘Listen to me, child, and mind you listen well. I’d never for all the world want to frighten you. You know that, don’t you?’
He nodded.
‘But there’s something bad about to happen. I don’t know what it is, but it frightens me. I feel as though I’ve lost you all. That my children are gone from me.’
‘No, Ma, we’ll never leave you.’
‘Ah, child,’ she kissed his forehead. ‘I’m not afraid of you leaving me. You’ll do that anyway in time, but there’s a force greater than anything I’ve ever felt abroad tonight.’
Timmy knew his mother had always been fey, it was as though she could see the future. Stupid old wives’ tales, his father called them, but she was always right in her predictions.
‘I have four children,’ she continued. ‘All as healthy as the times allow and of the four, you were the only one who was in a hurry to get here. You came from my womb crying lustily and with clenched fists ready to take on the world. So I’m telling you this, child. If all around you are dying you must stay alive to take care of the other children. Promise me that you’ll live.’
‘I promise Ma, but I don’t understand. I’m only twelve. Why would I die?’
‘Because I heard it today, as clear and sharp as the death-knell.’
‘What did you hear?’
‘The wind, child, the wind called my name. You know how it was today with the gusts so sharp and cutting. From early morning it beat itself against the door and I knew that it would be a cold night. So, late this afternoon, I went to gather dry kindling. As I walked about the fields I heard it. At first I wasn’t sure, I had to stop and listen, and then it came again. It was a voice I knew, a well-loved voice that has long been silent and had come to warn me.’
She said no more, and he lay there for a while with his head on her breast, listening to the beating of her heart, until the cold got to them and she sent him to bed. ‘You’ll remember my words, won’t you, child, remember what I’ve asked of you?’
‘I’ll not forget Ma, I’ll do as you ask.’
Had her powers of prediction been greater, she would never have asked of him the thing she did.
****
He noticed the strange smell on his way to work the next morning. It seemed to be all around him. He stopped and sniffed the still air; he had never smelt anything like it before – it was really bad, putrid. It followed him all the way to the Hall.
The stable-yard was unusually quiet and he could hear murmuring coming from the door leading into the kitchen. He wanted to go and ask what was happening, but was afraid that Black Jack might be there and his curiosity would earn him a clip across the ear.
As he walked towards the kitchen door, the voices inside grew louder, but they made no sense, just a droning. Then he realised that they were praying. His heart thudded as he edged his way down the hallway and into the big room. Everyone was there. The few farm hands that were left, Mr Ryan the estate manager and even the butler, who in normal times would have shooed him away, took no notice of him. Some of them held rosary beads, which clacked together as they passed them through their fingers. Someone must have died, he thought, perhaps it was the master. He hoped it wasn’t her ladyship or one of the children.
Annie was crying and some of the men seemed near to tears as well. They would hardly be crying if it were the master. He waited with head bowed in reverence for the prayers to end, but when they did, no
one spoke for a few moments. With some effort Annie stood and went to the range, filling the large black teapot with boiling water. He watched her place extra cups on the table and fill each one with the blackest tea he had ever seen. The farm hands sat down at the big wooden table as though born to it, and he moved slowly over as one of them beckoned him to sit. He took the cup and sipped the scalding liquid, all the while watching the others. There was a plate of bread and butter in the middle of the table, but no one moved to take any of it. He was hungry, as always, and would have loved some. The old man sitting next to him reached over, took a slice and handed it to him as though reading his thoughts.
‘I dare say you’ll eat that, lad.’
‘Thank you.’ Timmy took the bread and bit into the thick crust.
Still no one spoke, and his curiosity finally got the better of him.
‘Who’s dead?’ The whisper seemed like a shout in the quiet of the kitchen and they all turned and looked at him.
‘Ireland, lad,’ the old man said. ‘It’s Mother Ireland that’s dying. Can’t you smell it in the air around us?’
They all murmured in agreement, and went quiet again, until Mr Ryan spoke.
‘You’re all to go home.’
The men began to rise and Timmy, unsure of what to do, asked, ‘Me, sir, should I go too?’
‘Yes, lad,’ Mr Ryan stopped and ruffled his hair, ‘you go too.’
Timmy was delighted, although the old man’s words were strange and everyone was so miserable. He had been given his first day off work.
It wasn’t until he was clear of the Hall and getting near to the cabins that haphazardly dotted his world, that Timmy stopped smiling. The smell was worse there, and from the hill where he was standing, he could see all his neighbours running into the fields where the lazy-beds were. His mother’s words came back to him now and he, too, started to run. He found the cabin empty, but he knew exactly where to go.
His mother and brothers were busy digging in the plot behind the cabin, as little Rose sat watching. There was nothing sinister in this; it was the sight of his father on his knees raking the earth with his fingers that chilled his blood. His father never came in from the fields during the day. Even when his mother had been near death in childbirth, his father had refused to come. When Father O’Reilly had sent for him with the message that she could be breathing her last, he still stayed at his work. Now there he was and the sun barely up, digging with his bare hands. Without asking, Timmy took the shovel and waited to be told what to do. His mother was on her knees pulling at the stalks, and he could see her fingers bleeding from the effort.
Paupers Graveyard Page 6
