“I’m so sick. To deal with you on top of it all is more than a woman should have to endure.”
“When did this come on?” He was holding her as they climbed the stairs.
“Just now. Just sudden like. Oh, it hurts.” There was a biting and a tearing cramp in her vitals.
“Let me carry you.”
“You’ll not be carrying me while yet I have my own two feet to put underneath me. Stop it; take your hand away.”
“Then I’ll get behind and push.”
“There’s the gallant gentleman. I’m not certain that’s the place any man would want to be.”
Eventually they arrived at her door. They let themselves in and she heaved herself onto the bed. Tavish lit a candle.
“Oh, that’s good, Tavish. That’s good . . . I’m alright. Leave me now.” The room was spinning about, but she was lying on her own cramped mattress in her own brass bedstead. Now she just wanted to be left alone. “Go. Go away. Do not think of staying. I’m alright I say.”
“Oh, I don’t think you are. Here, if you’ll not think it indecent of me, allow me to unbutton your blouse and loosen your corset.”
“Take your hands away. You’re a filthy man, Tavish.”
“Oh, you know I’m not. But what if I were, I cannot leave you in such sore distress, whether I’m filthy or clean. What is it that you’ve got? Should I run for the doctor?”
“No! Certain there will be no doctor.”
“Katie – you’re in a bad way. Why would you not be wanting to see the doctor?”
“I don’t want to answer your questions. I only want you to be leaving me alone . . . Oh, what have I done?” She was crying.
Tavish stood in a perplex, uncertain if he’d done too much, or not enough. He knew the smart thing would be to leave, but since he was not a smart man he knew he would not be doing that. He saw the object of his affection in need of help and though his help was not wanted, he could not turn away. Putting his arm around her, he attempted to give her some degree of consolation for he knew not what. Katie was throwing up vehemently into the chamber pot with a firmness of purpose and a determination he’d not often seen in her. Then, forcing Tavish to turn his back while she disrobed, she shat into the pot as well. She then wrapped herself in a comforter and applied a small cotton pillow to her stomach and told Tavish he could turn around again.
“I don’t know what you’re looking at,” she said. “But if you’re too stupid to leave, I’ve not enough strength to kick you out. You’re a dirty, lecherous man, Tavish, I’ve always known that about you.”
“I can’t leave you. You’re not well enough to take care of yourself.”
“Isn’t that always their excuse. I’ve done a bloody good job taking care of myself up till now, haven’t I? Oh, I feel it’s coming.”
“What’s coming?”
“The baby.” Katie strained, but all that came was urine and some watery movements of her bowels. “Oh God, Tavish, just kill me. Will you do that? Put me down, like you’d do a horse. It’s all I’m fit for.”
“Katie, what is it? It’s a baby you say?” He waited a minute, then he asked, “What’ve you done?”
And Katie told him. So long she’d held it all to herself alone, now she lacked the strength to hold him out. She told him how she’d found she was with child, and of goody Fortunata and the simple she’d been given.
“Oh, Katie,” he muttered. “The old hag’s a fraud. You must be the only one in the town hasn’t learned that already.”
“Am I that?”
“I think you must be.”
Katie groaned. “And how did you learn? Have you been to see her yourself?”
“I must have been.” He said it shamefacedly. “She’s taken my money also. I asked a philter of her, a potion to turn the heart of the one I love. Not a bit of good it’s done me. I’ve applied it as liberal as I was directed, but little more she’s ever given me than a curse from the side of her lip, or maybe a harsh kick on the knee.”
“Tavish, I’ve the feeling the one your heart’s set on is hardly worthy of your regard. But isn’t that the way of the world.” She groaned then and threw up some more.
That night gave the impression it went on and on forever, but that could not have been the case. It was a summer night, and so shorter than most, and well before midnight it was clear the only effect the potion would work was to make Katie that ill that she lay like a distempered dog and threw up her belly and shat out her guts, but the child she had, that stayed with her. After she was done, and Tavish had emptied the chamber pot for the last time and bid her good night, she settled into a dull melancholy, and following an altogether unpleasant evening she was yearning for the oblivion her bed seemed to promise, but she found herself still too roused up to sleep, so she left her room and took the stairs to her spot on the roof where she hoped to catch a glimpse of that sovereign of our enigmatical slumberous depths, the sea, but a heavy fog had set in and there was nothing to be seen, so she walked back down to her room where Tommy Dog was waiting. As she settled into her bed and pulled her comforter over her shoulders, Tommy snuffled his wet nose into her ear and whispered, “All life comes from love.” Katie was on the point of saying, “Tommy, I never knew you could talk,” when she drifted off to sleep.
That same night a game of cards was being played in Mr. Chips’ cabin aboard the Queen of Bel Harbor. Tom had been relieved to find the opportunity to allow Vincenzo to win back his earring and the dollars he’d lost. Society in the cramped little cabin had been becoming strained. Tom had even been glad to let Vincenzo win a few of his dollars off him, feeling somehow that that helped make things even. Of course he should have stopped after losing two or three dollars, but it was really all in fun, and he was still restless, not ready yet for bed, Diego and Mr. Chips were both in good cheer, and there was a hope that the bottle of rum, which had made an appearance earlier, might reappear. At the moment the bottle was nowhere to be seen, and Tom was missing its presence, so when Diego dealt another round he anted up rather than head back to his cabin where he was most likely to have only the company of Brutus, snoring in the upper berth. He had to remind himself that the game was no longer play. He reflected that he had thirty silver dollars – well, at the moment it was something less than thirty because a few of them were sitting in front of Vincenzo – but nearly thirty silver dollars that were his base, the foundation of what he would be bringing home to Katie. That, along with his share of the gelt that would be coming to him from the sea voyage and he’d have enough. What enough meant was he would never have to go to sea again. He was comfortable with his accounting. But he shouldn’t feel like this was play, even though his companions thought of it that way. He had to approach his cards with serious intent, which he was fully capable of doing, and he was now playing with his money, not Vincenzo’s.
Unfortunately, try as he would, luck was not with him tonight. Vincenzo was steadily winning, folding when he had to, but the pile in front of him was growing steadily greater, and Tom was unable to turn the tide. Now the bottle of rum came by again, but Tom was down fifteen dollars. His attention was riveted on the cards. He looked across the table at Vincenzo’s smiling face and cursed himself for a fool.
“Another hand, simple Tom?”
“I’m certain this game will be the ruin of me.”
“A yes if ever I heard one.” He dealt the cards and did so with some harshness. They slapped the top of the table as he laid them down.
Tom’s hand was good, so he bet and raised in the first round with some abandon. Diego and Chips folded, but not Vincenzo. The draw did not strengthen Tom’s hand, and after the draw Vincenzo proffered a large raise. Of course Tom could not fold and give away what he’d already bet, so he saw Vincenzo’s wager. However, Tom’s two pair of jacks and eights lost to Vincenzo’s three sevens. It was a pattern he recognized. If he held three of a kind he’d never draw the fourth, and somehow Vincenzo always held a straight. He made an earnest
effort to follow Vincenzo’s hands closely, but he never saw a cheat, and he was convinced by the many hands Vincenzo folded early that he was not sharping the cards. Nevertheless, Vincenzo’s pile continued to grow larger while Tom’s was dwindling to a precious few.
So it angered him and he was almost brought to tears when Vincenzo raised and he was at the point where he was about to place the last of the thirty silver dollars he’d had from Mr. X onto the table. He looked at his cards. He was holding a straight. He looked at Vincenzo. There was nothing to be read in those eyes. He looked again at his cards. He was holding a straight, damn it, and in a moment of blank terror he knew, knew it with the same certainty that he knew his own name, that Vincenzo was holding a full house.
“Will you see my cards, simple Tom?”
Tom fingered his last silver dollar. He lifted his hand to toss it on the table. He looked again at Vincenzo. And he folded.
“No . . . I’ll not see them.”
“Always a wise decision.” And Vincenzo swept the coins in the center of the table into the pile in front of him. There was a whiff of finality in the air, as though a difficult proof in mathematics had just been conclusively demonstrated. Or as though the party was now over.
“Go, Tom,” said Diego. “Go back to your cabin. We’re closed for tonight.”
“No, I don’t want to go.”
“It’s late,” said Mr. Chips.
“I think my luck, my luck is going to turn. In fact I’m certain of it.”
“Not at this late stage of the evening, simple Tom. Please, can we say it’s enough? Can we go to bed now?”
“I haven’t much left with which to wager.”
“Then it’s time we stopped.” Diego took his hand.
“No . . . I’ll get more. I’m never without resource. You mustn’t think that.”
Vincenzo asked, “What is it, this more you speak of?” A wink to Mr. Chips.
“I will get it. I’ll show you.” Now what had he done? He knew he wasn’t thinking straight but he had to make things right.
He walked back to his cabin. Brutus was lying in his upper bunk and heard him clanking about below.
“What is it, Tom?”
“I seem to have had the worst of it in a simple game of chance. Nothing to worry yourself.”
“If you’re talking of playing cards with Vincenzo, I’d not call that a game of chance.”
“Think you he cheats?”
“Does he wear his jacket still?”
“It’s certain he does.”
“He has the cards all up his sleeve. Take that jacket off him. Why’s he wear that jacket down below and the night’s so mild?” Brutus put his tattooed face over the edge of his bunk.
“It’s the same jacket he wears always,” said Tom.
“That’s what I say.”
Tom had to think about that. “Well, it’ll not be doing him the good he hoped for then when we play with this new deck.” He stood on the lower bunk to hold up the new deck of cards he had and to show them to Brutus. He saw Brutus lying in his bunk, and he saw that Brutus had a bottle in his hand. “I’ve a feeling this will turn the luck my way.”
“Don’t go back. Your luck will not change.”
“Of course I’m going back. I have all my silver to retrieve. You’d not think I’d be leaving it behind?” Tom bounced out of his cabin, leaving Brutus rising from his berth. He was back to Mr. Chips’ cabin with the new deck of cards in his hand. Diego was passed out, snoring in his berth, but Vincenzo and Mr. Chips were both good for another round, so they sat at the table while Tom shuffled the cards.
The first hand Tom bet heavy on a simple pair of sevens, and everyone else folded, so he was getting a bit of his own back. The next hand he folded, but then the hand after that he was dealt two pair, queens and jacks. He ran the stakes up and at the draw drew a third queen. Just as he’d said, his luck had turned. In the next round of betting he threw in everything he had. Mr. Chips folded with a curse and a black look, but Vincenzo saw his bet and raised him yet again. This Tom had not expected.
“I’ve nowt. That was my last coin,” he said.
“Oh, simple Tom, your last coin? Really? I thought I heard you speak of more.”
And there was more. On his visit to his cabin he’d retrieved more than just his deck of cards. Slowly he pulled out and placed on the table a watch with a chain. The outside bore a design of knots and tangles, and on the inside lid was engraved, “From your own darling Katie.” He placed it there and looked at it, goods to back his wager. He knew it didn’t belong there, but he was damned if he would fold when he was holding a full house. And it was his deck of cards.
“A bit of frippery to put against solid honest coin. What do you think, Mr. Chips, should I accept?”
“Dunno why you’re asking me.”
“It’s silver. Solid, not plate,” said Tom.
Vincenzo appeared to think this over. “I think I’d like a watch. It would look good on me. Very well. So you’ll see my cards?”
“Certain it is that I will.”
Vincenzo smiled. “Behold. Four eights.” He laid down his cards.
It was a hard and a crushing hand of ice that closed round Tom’s heart.
“This is turning into a profitable evening. A very profitable evening . . . Are you up for another hand? Any other odds and ends you’d like to be giving me? Maybe the gold in your teeth?” He laughed. “Let’s see what I have here. ‘From your own darling Katie.’ This Katie must be a wild and a wanton wench, eh simple Tom? Giving a watch away.”
“She’s – “ Tom could say no more. He stood.
“Well she’s nothing to me. I’ll be scratching her out.”
“Give it back.”
“The watch? You want it back?”
“Give it.”
“Oh, I’ll not give it. Most certainly I will not be giving this back. I might sell it. In fact I think I will sell it. Have you aught to pay?”
Tom could only stare.
“No . . .? Ask your friend Brutus. He strikes me as a man with hidden depths.”
“You scum.”
Vincenzo laughed uproariously.
“Give it back. You cheated me.”
“That’s a hard and a vicious word you’re speaking. If I thought you meant it I would have to do something injurious. But it’s late, and you’re in your cups, and I’m a forgiving man.”
Singing was heard from the hallway outside. It was Brutus’s baritone, raised in song:
“I’ll flout the masters
And chew off their ears
They’ll know they were punished by me.
I’ll settle the debts
That have rankled for years,
For always my thoughts, and only my thoughts are free.”
Brutus was standing in the door, taking in the scene, observing Tom’s ruin, written on his face.
“Who’s gotten you moving tonight?” asked Vincenzo.
“I’ve lost everything,” said Tom. “Everything I had and all I was given. What sort of fool am I?”
“It was robbery, nothing less,” said Brutus. “And I’m here to wring their rotten necks, either that or I’ve killed a good bottle of rum for naught.”
Diego stirred and sat up, “Who’s here?”
“A fool and a drunk says he’ll break our necks,” said Vincenzo.
“I’ve said no more cards here. It’s too much. And now it’s late. Get out, all of you.” Diego tried to stand, but Brutus pushed him down and then punched him in the face. As he fell he put his hand out to grab his bag of surgeon’s implements, but Brutus caught it and hurled it against the wall. Knives and tongs and other instruments clattered to the floor.
“Stop it. Stop it, all of you,“ said Tom, bewildered by the turn of events. “Don’t fight.” But already everything was happening at once. Mr. Chips was shouting something, and Vincenzo was trying to gather in all his winnings and cram them in his pockets, while Brutus just went berserk, o
verturning the table, and ripping off one leg. At the same moment, Tom suddenly came to life, and grabbing a scalpel that had fallen from Diego’s bag he held it to Vincenzo’s throat. “You cheated me,” he said.
“I did not. Put that down before I hurt you.”
“You’ve got cards up your sleeves. Brutus saw you.”
“Brutus sees things that aren’t there. I never did.”
Brutus slammed the leg of the table against the wall next to Vincenzo’s head. “Take off your jacket,” he said.
“Give me room to breathe and I’ll take it off.”
Mr. Chips was trying to pull Brutus off Vincenzo, and Diego was writhing on the floor, cursing and fumbling at his face where he’d been hit.
“Take off your jacket!” shouted Brutus.
Vincenzo didn’t back down. “You’re a mad, stupid man, Brutus, and I’ve no respect for the friend you keep.”
“Empty your pockets, “ said Tom.
“I will not.”
“Then I’ll do it for you.” Brutus tried to pull the jacket off Vincenzo. Coins spilled onto the floor, and in the scuffle Tom’s scalpel carved a gash in Vincenzo’s cheek. Vincenzo howled in pain, but held on to his jacket. Outside the cabin there were sounds of stirring as men were roused by the disturbance.
Tom was stunned by the sudden blood on his blade and backed away from Vincenzo, who tried to bolt out the door as soon as he had a little room. He got it part way open before Brutus slammed it shut.
“You’ll pay for this,” said Vincenzo.
“Take off that jacket,” said Tom. “Let’s see what’s in the sleeves.”
“Only my arms.”
All this time Brutus had been fighting Mr. Chips, who was clinging to his shoulders and trying to clout the side of his head. With one violent movement Vincenzo took off the jacket, and in the act of pushing it at Tom, grabbed the blade away from him. Tom fell.
There came a knocking at the door. Someone outside shouted “Open up!” Brutus stood against the door, holding it closed, but now Mr. Chips was in front of him where he could pummel him in the stomach, and Vincenzo was holding the knife on Tom.
“Alright, shall I carve your cheek?” He grabbed Tom, whose arms of a sudden had turned to water. “What say, shall I cut you up, or maybe I should let you go. Which’ll it be? Eh? Shall we toss a coin?” He gave a great cackle.
The Devil's Workshop Page 7
