Thomas and Annie were very worried. Black Jack’s injuries would not keep him inactive for long. It was only a matter of time before he began searching for Timmy and found the mistress. They decided that it was safe enough for Annie to visit the farm. They heard Black Jack go to his room and reasoned that the effects of the brandy, coupled with the blood loss, would make him sleep. His mother had also retired to the drawing-room and was drowning her sorrows in port.
Black Jack was restless … despite the weakness he couldn’t sleep. The memory of his men’s deaths was fresh in his mind. Not that he cared for any of them, but he couldn’t seem to figure out what had happened. Walking across to the window, he leaned against the frame, mulling the events of that morning over in his head. His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a figure in the distance. He tried to make out who it was, and realised it was Annie.
Taking the few scraps of food she could gather, Annie had set out. There was little enough in her basket to feed three growing children, but it was some offering. It was well into the afternoon and the air had become colder. She pulled her cape closer and was so intent on her journey, that she failed to notice she was being watched.
****
Elizabeth had grown tired of waiting for Annie to appear. She was terribly worried and needed to know if Carey was still alive. Ordering Timmy to keep the children safe until her return, she set out for the Hall. She had walked almost half the way when she met the old woman coming towards her.
‘Oh, mistress,’ Annie gasped on seeing her, ‘have you heard?’
‘Yes, Timmy told me. I couldn’t wait to find out if he was dead.’
‘Come, sit down.’ Annie beckoned to a fallen oak, and they sat on the trunk.
It took Elizabeth a few moments to catch her breath. Her companion waited patiently, rubbing her back, making soothing noises.
‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘Barely a few scratches, he has the luck of the devil.’
‘He’ll come after Timmy.’
‘What will you do m’lady?’
‘I don’t know. We could always find another abandoned farmhouse, I suppose.’
‘What about the baby? It’s almost due and you’ll need help.’
‘I don’t know,’ Elizabeth wiped her brow. ‘I can’t seem to think straight.’
Taking the food from Annie, she set off home. She imagined the surrounding area as she walked, trying to envisage other houses that would be empty. She could always send Timmy back to the Hall with a note when they found a place. She was so deep in thought that she almost walked into the horse and rider blocking her path.
‘Who are you and where are you going?’
She was afraid to look up.
‘Answer me, woman.’
She stayed looking down at the ground.
‘I asked you a question.’
Oh, God help me, she prayed.
Tired of waiting he kicked out at her arm and only then did she look up. He reined back in horror.
‘Elizabeth,’ he gasped, unable to believe that this woman, this thing before him, was the great lady he had known. He dismounted and his eyes darted over her, taking in the swollen stomach.
‘You are with child?’
‘I would have thought that quite obvious, even to you.’
‘Who’s the father?’
‘That is none of your business. Now, if you don’t mind I’ll be on my way.’ She tried to walk past him.
‘How could you have allowed yourself to get to this state? I would have kept you. You know that.’
‘I’m well aware of it. But I am also aware that I was destined for much more than being your whore. Now, get out of my way.’
‘The child, is it mine?’
‘If I thought it was, I would have torn it from my womb.’
‘It’s mine. Tell me the truth.’
She could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
‘Just tell me it’s mine and I’ll see that you are well taken care of. You can come back to the Hall, and I give you my word, I’ll not lay a finger on you.’
‘I can’t. Let me pass.’
‘The boy, is he with you?’
‘What boy?’
He caught the look of fear that crossed her face. ‘My God, he’s with you.’
‘Allow me to pass, please. I have no idea to whom you are referring.’
‘Tell me where he is,’ he said, shaking her. ‘Give the boy to me, Elizabeth, and I will give you back your life.’
‘Let me pass,’ she said, drawing back her foot back and kicking him hard.
He let her go, swearing and she stumbled away from him. She tried to run, but had gone only a few yards, when he caught up with her. She wanted to lead him away from the farm, from the children, but suddenly the horse was beside her.
She stopped, exhausted, and the world seemed to spin as he circled her, warning and threatening. Bringing her hands to her face she tried to stop the dizziness, and when she looked again he was beside her, his leg in the stirrup, so close she could smell the saddle soap.
‘Go away!’ she shouted, hitting out at him, but staggered and fell to the ground.
Her shouts upset the horse and it sidestepped in terror, whinnying and thrashing about. Its hoof kicked her full force in the stomach. She screamed in agony as the child inside her jumped, trying to get away from the pain. She tried to rise, but fell back as pain ripped through her body. A warm wetness welled between her legs.
‘Elizabeth …’ Black Jack was lifting her.
‘Take me to the Hall,’ she gasped before passing out.
But he chose to go to the farm, as it was closer. Even as he walked the few hundred yards he could feel the warmth of her blood against his legs.
Timmy jumped up as Black Jack came crashing through the kitchen door with the blood-soaked Elizabeth in his arms.
‘Take her upstairs,’ Timmy said, following them along the hall, sickened by the trail of blood she left in her wake. Once he had laid her on the bed, Black Jack turned to Timmy.
‘I’ll ride to the Hall for help.’
Timmy nodded. Black Jack’s clothing, from his waist to his knees, was one wet, black stain.
‘Timmy.’ Elizabeth held out a hand to him and he crawled onto the bed beside her. ‘I’m dying, Timmy.’
‘Hush, Elizabeth.’
‘Listen to me before it’s too late.’
He tried not to cry as she continued.
‘Bury me with the others. Mick and the children, promise me?’
‘I promise.’
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she smiled at him. ‘And I’ll be watching over you always.’
‘Please don’t leave us, Elizabeth,’ Timmy’s cried, tears flowing as he laid his head on her breast. ‘Stay with us, please.’
But it was already too late.
Annie arrived to find Timmy hunched sobbing over Elizabeth, while rivulets of blood ran down the sheets, staining the floorboards. Black Jack walked to the side of the bed and looked down at her body. Without a word, he turned, and ran from the room.
‘You did this,’ Timmy’s screams followed him down the stairs. ‘I hate you. I hate you.’
Black Jack rode like a madman. He stopped only when the country-side grew unfamiliar. His horse was sweating, and he was gasping for breath himself. Dismounting, he walked to a small stream. The horse drank deeply, and Black Jack washed the sweat from his face.
‘Well, well. What have we here? If it isn’t the bold Jack Carey himself!’ He turned to find a group of men walking towards him. These were the so-called Ribbon men, a name given to all gangs that advised rebellion against the landlords. They held sticks, and one a rope, that he looped and ran through his hands.
‘So you ignored our threats, did you boy?’ the leader asked. ‘Drove the helpless from their farms and burned those that were unable to leave. You’re a brave man, Carey, when you’ve your men in tow.’
They moved as one and
pinioned his arms behind his back. He allowed it to happen and made no attempt to escape. His life, now that Elizabeth and his child were dead, suddenly seemed empty. The rope was looped around his neck and tightened. They threw the other end over a branch and lifted him onto the back of his own horse.
‘We’ll see how brave you are now, Carey,’ the leader said. ‘Turning against your own people, throwing widows and orphans onto the roads. Are those the actions of a man?’
‘My only loyalty is to myself.’
‘Brave words; be sure to give our regards to the devil when you see him.’
‘I’d rather die by the noose than of the hunger,’ were the last words Black Jack spoke as his horse was whipped into a gallop, and the life was slowly choked out of him.
They buried him that evening in the same graveyard he had allotted to the paupers. Carey was a rich and powerful man, and the discovery of his body would have meant death for them all.
****
Elizabeth was buried on the opposite side of the field the next day. The guards had agreed to allow her a plot of her own. They all knew her well and were saddened by her death. Timmy dug her grave, refusing the help offered. He dug until his hands bled and his tears watered the earth. It was a small group of mourners that stood around her grave. Timmy was holding Katie and Daniel by the hand. Annie, Thomas and the graveyard guards were the only ones present to pray for her eternal rest.
Over the next few weeks, Timmy did what he could to feed the children. The little ones constantly cried for Elizabeth and he joined in their tears. He took them along as he tramped the roads, using the wheelbarrow to push them in, as they tired easily.
He found his friend Martin, and his family, dead in a ditch, and returned by night with his wheelbarrow serving a different purpose now, as he trundled it towards the graveyard. The guards no longer paid him any attention, as they thought he had gone slightly mad since the loss of her ladyship.
Many of the children Timmy found were ill with typhus and the disease soon spread within the farmhouse. Now, almost four months since Elizabeth’s death, there was only Katie remaining. Little Daniel had succumbed a week before, and Katie was ill and gasping for breath, her body covered by the red rash of the fever.
Timmy was also ill and sweat dripped from his face, as he sat beside the long-dead fire and rocked her in his arms. The house was eerily quiet, though sometimes he thought he heard the sound of children’s laughter, or Elizabeth’s voice calling to him. It was cold and dark, the last of the candles were gone. Katie stirred in his arms and he pulled the blanket tighter around her. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.
When he woke it was morning. The room was freezing and lit only by a watery sun. He felt too weak to get up, but he would have to find food for Katie. She needed all the nourishment she could get. He had taken to bleeding the cows of local gentry. Mick had shown him where to cut, how much to take and how to stitch the wound with a hair from the animal’s own back. He mixed the blood with the corn to make a cake, and though it tasted vile, it kept them alive.
‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ he said, shaking the child in his arms, but she failed to respond. Gingerly he moved the blanket back from her face and cried out in pain and anger.
Timmy wrapped Katie in the blanket and placed her in the wheelbarrow. Sweat mingled with his tears as he wearily pushed her along. Crawling through a gap in the bushes, he pulled her behind him. He dug for what seemed like hours. Digging as deep as he could, he laid her in the dark hole and pushed the earth over her to form a mound.
He was now truly alone. He believed he had failed them all. His mother, the children, he had been unable to protect them. God, he was so tired, sick and tired, and worn out. He lay down beside the fresh mound and closed his eyes. He would sleep for a while, here, with his loved ones. This was how the guards found him a few hours later. One of them knelt down and felt for a pulse. There was none and he sent his companion to fetch a shovel. Timmy joined the others beneath the earth, and as the last sod was placed over him, the graveyard rang with a dreadful crying. The two guards crossed themselves in fear and hurried away.
‘Isn’t it strange,’ one whispered, ‘that in all the suffering, this is the first time we heard that?’
‘What is it?’
‘The Banshee.’
‘That’s not the Banshee,’ his companion turned and looked back towards the graveyard. ‘That’s Mother Éire herself, weeping over the premature death of another great son.’
TWENTY-TWO
October 2003
Helen was floating, sinking deeper into the warmth, dreaming of sunshine and swimming in blue, tropical seas. The water lapped about her skin, caressed her thighs. Its touch felt as soft and familiar as a lover. The cocaine speeding through her blood heightened the effect. Surrendering to them both, she forgot, in her drugged state, about the massive bulk of her pregnancy. It was only when she tried to turn gracefully within the water, twisting sharply, propelling herself forward, that reality returned. She cried out as the pain speared her stomach, and the warm water ran from between her legs.
‘Shit!’ She threw back the covers, pulled at the bunched sodden mass that was her nightdress, and stared at the rapidly expanding bloody mucus staining the sheet. Her waters had broken.
‘Joe,’ she jabbed at the sleeping form beside her. ‘Joe, get up.’
Her husband awoke with a startled grunt and looked at her with bleary eyes.
‘My waters have broken. Get up quick.’
Her what? Had what? He had been a bachelor for far too long. Not even the antenatal classes had managed to seep through a brain that was designed for such sterile things as facts and figures. Somehow, he had always hoped that it would never come about. That he would be away on business when the event occurred. Watching the video of a birth, with all its gore and screaming had turned his stomach. And the sight of the head appearing, pushing its way through like a giant white slug against the glutinous red of the surrounding tissue, appalled him. Anyway, it was a month earlier than he had expected.
‘Are you just going to sit there looking stupid or are you getting dressed?’ she demanded, waddling across the room, pulling the wet nightdress over her swollen stomach and breasts. He would have preferred to sit there, but swung his legs onto the floor. He filled a case with the assortment of nightwear, baby clothes, perfumes and towels that she threw at him. Soon he was carrying the case in one hand and a still sleeping Jenny on the other arm, down the stairs, and out into the cold night air.
The street was quiet and shrouded in a mist. The car doors slamming resounded like thunder in the silence. The headlights pierced the night as the car pulled away, its tail lights – red cat’s eyes – skulking through the white of the night.
Black Jack stood surrounded by the mist and watched them go. They would be back with another child. He knew about her pregnancy. It was easy enough to spot as the clothes she wore did little to hide it. She was not like the others in this place, her very tone denied this. Like Elizabeth, she had married out of her own class, but she found it hard to settle into her chosen life and would never be happy. She belonged to the streets and alleyways, this one, and no doubt her needs would take her back there. Though it pained him to think in such a way, they were alike, this woman and Elizabeth. She did not want the child within her. He had heard her say so often enough, when she spoke to her friends, and he knew that Elizabeth cursed him for her condition. But unlike Elizabeth she would be back and with a live, bawling infant, while he, Jack Carey, had to watch the blood of his unborn child drain from between Elizabeth’s legs. He should have had a son and if that whore returned with one, then God help her. He walked along the pathway, misted street lamps revealing his shadowy darkness as he passed underneath.
He paused for a moment to look back at the house and up at the bedroom window where Sheila Ryan slept fitfully, sensing his presence, despite the strong sedative. He was tempted, really tempted, to make another assault on her body. The need r
aged within him and he licked at the dry, indented hollows on his lips. But sense outweighed his desires, as his eyes caught the motion of the many shapes that followed his every move from the darkness. He laughed, scorning the watchers, and strode into the deepening mist.
****
Sheila awoke feeling as though she’d been run over by a train. Her head throbbed and the fuzziness refused to clear. The heavy sedative on top of the two sleeping pills had been too much. She had forgotten, in her terror, to tell the doctor about having taken them. Stumbling towards the bedroom door, she felt her way along the landing to the bathroom. She could hear muted mumblings from below, and realised that her hosts were up and about. Sitting on the side of the bath, she reached over and turned on the taps. Once the water reached the desired temperature, she allowed it to fill. The reflection that stared back at her from the mirrored tiles seemed alien. Black-circled eyes and dishevelled hair made her look like a mad woman. Her skin felt raw and sore. Easing the straps of her nightdress from her shoulders, she allowed it to fall to the floor. Most of the dressings had come loose and she pulled the remaining bits of tape off. The white gauze was stained with blood, pus and a blackness that felt like dried earth when she touched it. Cringing, she dropped them into the waste bin beneath the sink. Surveying the damage, she gasped at the bruises and lesions that marbled her body. There were long red scratches on the inside of both her thighs.
She shuddered, remembering the talons that had raked through her skin, opening the flesh in their wake and shivered, despite the warmth of the water.
Paupers Graveyard Page 20
