The House Where It Happened

by Devlin, Martina

  “Send the wee pets in to say farewell to me, Isabel.”

  “I’m sorry, I cannot allow that, my dear.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “It’s not a good idea.” She brushed down her skirts, avoiding her guest’s eye.

  When we were alone, Mary Dunbar appealed to me. “Will you bring Sarah and Jamesey in to me before they go?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “If you bain’t goin’ to eat this hash, I’ll set it aside for the greyhounds.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Why can’t I see Sarah and Jamesey? Tell me why. Or are you too much under my cousin’s thumb to answer?”

  Her taunt needled. “Because the childer are scared stiff of you.”

  She shrivelled up at that. Grown men and women being frightened of you was one thing, but nobody wants bairns cringing away. “I’d never do anything to hurt them. Does Mister Bell think I’d harm the children?”

  “I’m sure he knows you’d do no such thing, Mistress Mary. A wee bird tould me Mister Bell admires you.”

  “Does he?” She smiled. “It’s not my fault the Devil is trying to wind his way into my heart. I do my best to defy him. Mister Sinclair says women have always been easier to lead astray, ever since the serpent tempted Eve and caused the Fall of Man. But I’m resisting him with all my strength. I doubt if you could hold out against him the way I do.”

  “I doubt I could.”

  That pleased her. Still, she was regretful about the childer. “I should have liked to kiss Sarah and Jamesey goodbye.”

  “I’ll do it for you, mistress.”

  “I wish you would.” She hesitated. “Does the Devil never use his snares on you?”

  “Ach aye, I’ve been tempted to badness – I would’n be human if I was never tempted.”

  “What kind of badness?”

  I flushed at the memory of my master’s eyes, cloudy with desire. “That’ll do, now, Mistress Mary. I’ve no more time to stand about chitterin’.”

  * * *

  Frazer Bell came into the kitchen to wish Peggy godspeed. She looked relieved to be leaving, though she always insisted she hated travelling because it rattled her bones and left her noddled. He reported – in a glum voice – how excited Mister Sinclair was to have Mary Dunbar staying with him.

  “I’m inclined to think the minister has witchfever,” he said. “Some are calling him the witch-hunter. Not everybody means it as a compliment.”

  “You stay well out of it, lad,” said Peggy.

  “I have to watch out for your master’s interests.”

  “Aye, but look to your own while you’re at it. A pretty face can cozen a man.”

  He laughed. “Peggy, I’m not one and twenty any more – my head’s not turned by looks.”

  “You’re a man – your head’ll be turned be looks till the day you go into the ground. You mind what I’m tellin’ you. Keep your distance.”

  He went out ahead of us to the carriage, and I gave Peggy McGregor some nuts for the childer, to pass the journey. She went to put them in her apron pocket, before recalling it was packed.

  “Will you be able for the cooking, Ellen?”

  “I should be, you taught me well.”

  “You’re a quick learner. Remember not to use too much salt, and taste as you go along. You’ll have a lot on your plate now, takin’ on my job as well.”

  “I’ll do my best. The mistress said we can send out the washin’ and mendin’ while you’re gone, and buy in our bread. I daresay we’ll get by.”

  “I daresay.” The greyhounds set up a-yipping and a-yapping in the yard. “That reminds me, keep them dogs out of the rhubarb patch, or there’ll be no crop come May. The master’s fond of a rhubarb tart. By the by – you watch out for that master of ours. I’ve knowed him all his life, and he’s good-hearted, but he’s a man when all’s said and done. He may give you soft words, but think on. Soft words butter no parsnips. You cannae rely on them.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. But I couldn’t meet her eye.

  “Plain girls are more at risk than pretty ones. If a man pays them attention, it turns their heads. I’m tellin’ you this for your own good, lassie.”

  Cheeks on fire, I ran outside.

  The childer were already in the carriage. They looked peaky, bless their hearts. Wee Jamesey had it in his head he was meant to be the man of the house till my master came home, and he was sorely torn about leaving. As for Sarah, she sucked her thumb like a baby, a habit we thought her cured of at least twelve months since. Frazer Bell was sitting in beside them, trying to raise a smile with his parlour trick. It was a knack he had, of balancing an egg on its end, and I’ve yet to meet anyone else who can repeat the trick. But Sarah and Jamesey barely looked at it. It was poor timing for them to be leaving finally, just as Mary Dunbar was on the point of going away too. But it was too risky to keep the bairns. Who knowed if the badness in Knowehead House would stay with us or follow her?

  Peggy shuffled out, and I hurried to help her. While the mistress hugged the children, Peggy crooked her finger and whispered some parting words to me.

  “I’d best tell you why Hamilton Lock would do the Haltridges down if he got the chance. Knowin’ might help you guard the family’s interests, when I bain’t here to do it. I didnae see Hamilton Lock die, but I seen him pinned to the ground, and the menfolk talkin’ over what they meant to do to him. Not everybody wanted to kill him. Some said he should be given a good hidin’ and others were for handin’ him over to the Constable. And then the minister spoke up.” Her voice tailed off.

  “Quick, Peggy, afore the mistress calls you to get in the carriage. What did he say?”

  “He said ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’. Hamilton Lock had killed his own da, and had to pay for it. It sealed his fate. A great shout went up, and there was no more arguin’ about what to do wi’ him. Minister Haltridge saw what was comin’ next and tould me and the other women to go on home quick. I seen one thing before I left, though. I seen Hamilton Lock spit at the minister’s feet, and rain a dyin’ man’s curses down on him. He knowed the minister could a saved him. I think the minister had a bad conscience about it. He wrote it all down, gettin’ it off his chest. Took hisself to his study and scribbled there all the next day. He tould me it was as well to have a record of Hanilton Lock’s death. Not that everybody would a thanked him for it.”

  Creaking and grunting, Peggy climbed into the carriage with my help.

  At that, Noah hupped to the horse, and the mistress cried out, “Keep the children well wrapped up if they go out in the evening, Peggy! The night air is dangerous!”

  * * *

  The breakfast dishes wouldn’t wash themselves and the next meal needed a start made on it. Still, I took a break from my labours to watch Frazer Bell lift Mary Dunbar onto Lordship’s saddle as if she was made of porcelain, to bring her to the minister’s house. You should have seen the way he fussed over her. I thought he might have jumped on behind, and folded his arms round her to hold the reins. But he was not a gentleman to seek advantage. He set off on foot, leading Lordship by the bridle. I thought of my master, far away in Dublin. Did he think of me, at all, as he went about his business? As he ate, and drank, and lay down to sleep? I swallowed. Dwelling on the ifs and ans of my master in his bed at night would only give me unclean thoughts, and who knowed where that might lead. There was danger in dallying with my master, as I knew to my cost.

  For the first time, there was just the mistress and me in Knowehead. She took to her bed – didn’t even bother claiming she had the ague. I suspect she was just plain wore out, and wanted to rest herself. Bairns aren’t the only ones like to put their heads under the covers from time to time. Still, it’s an ill wind blows nobody any good, because it gave me a chance to hunt for the old minister’s version of how Hamilton Lock died.

  Maybes it was luck, or maybes it was somebody directing me where to look, but
I found what I wanted quickly in my master’s study. The old minister’s Bible, tattered from a lifetime of use, lived in a glass-covered bookcase there. It wasn’t often taken out – the family had their own Bible – but I knowed about it from doing the dusting. I hopped up on a chair and lifted it down.

  John Haltridge was written in a dead man’s hand. On the next page I saw my master’s name, and the date he was born. Above and below it was a list of other babies, stillborn or living but a day or two. Mistress Anne Haltridge had it hard. I held the book by its spine and shook it. A dried-out leaf floated onto the desk, which somebody must have been using as a marker. It was followed by some loose sheets of paper, folded up and blackened at the edges as if rescued from a fire. Minister Haltridge’s was a pinched script, not easy to read, but I ran my eyes over it again and again until the words took shape. It was an account of not one but two deaths. The first page was missing but I was able to follow the story.

  . . . went immediately to see that his remains were accorded a Christian burial. His skull had been put in by a rock – the murder weapon left lying beside the victim of this Monstrous Crime, his blood barely dry on it. Such was the violence of the attack that splinters of bone and matter were protruding from his head. The parishioner who heard the altercation between father and son, and discovered the dead man in a pool of blood, informed me a lump of rock from the Stone was used to cave in his skull. There are pieces of it scattered about the earth still, though we tumbled it some years ago. The Stone had a distinctive yellowish hue, like no other stone on the island. I confess, the sight of it as a murder weapon reassured me that I was right to have that Pagan Symbol pulled down, filled with misgivings though I was at seeing the use to which some of its leftovers were put.

  However, I went ahead and performed my duty by reading from my Bible over George Lock’s murdered corpse. He was more wedded to alcohol than was either proper or seemly, and less than regular in his attendance at the meeting-house, but it was a deplorable death. My wrath knew no bounds. Finally, Hamilton Lock had tried our patience too far. Since his return from Scotland, I had occasion to warn him about his behaviour frequently. He crossed my path more often than not, always loitering about my barn on account of his cabin having stood there once. The man sneered at my attempts to set him on the road to righteousness, and claimed I was an interloper on his land. Me, here by invitation from the good folk of Islandmagee, labouring day and night in the Lord’s service. It was insolent, although typical of Lock. But never could I have imagined that he would stray so far from the path of the just.

  After seeing the evidence of his Brutality in the form of his father’s pitiful remains, I understood Lock was a diseased limb which needed to be hacked off before it corrupted the community. I called a prayer meeting, and preached a sermon reminding my flock how patricide is the most Heinous crime known to man – contrary to God’s laws and man’s. It goes against the rules of nature to steal life from him whose seed gave life to a man. My denunciations were passionate, I admit it freely, and my listeners were all attention. I told them a bolt of lightning from the heavens would wither the hand that turns against its father. I dwelled on his Barbarity – nay, his bestiality. Scarcely had I concluded before the men rose of one accord, shouting that they would make Hamilton Lock pay for his crime. They were fired by outrage, and all impatience at the thought of waiting for the law to stretch his neck. I ought to have stopped them. There was still time to prevent their retribution. But I did not raise my voice against this Tide of Vengeance. I did not urge them to turn the other cheek. Alas, I must recognize my fault: I revelled in their passion – it matched my own. I, too, was incensed by this ultimate act of dishonour from son to father, a perversion of the most important kinship known to man. I regarded it as evidence of Satan’s presence among us.

  The kirk emptied of all the men. I tarried to reassure the women, and to order them to wait together there – though not all of them heeded me. When I caught up with my flock, they had tracked Hamilton Lock to my barn, and dragged him out. He was pinned to the ground with stakes and ropes a few yards from my front door. Even so, the miscreant remained defiant. From a bloody mouth, he laughed at them, taunting the men. Now that they had him, they were unsure what course of action to take, and debated it back and forth. Not everybody wanted to kill him. Some said he should be beaten soundly, others wanted to brand him on the forehead, the way the Lord God marked Cain.

  And then they saw me. “Tell us what to do, Mister Haltridge,” they said. “Give us guidance.”

  I looked at Hamilton Lock, and I did not see a man. I saw a beast on its belly. I quoted from Matthew 5: 38. “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” I said. A roar went up, and Hamilton Lock’s fate was sealed. Jeremiah Baxter had a rope, and made a noose for Lock’s neck. Davy Holmes said hanging was too handy for such a fiend. “Press him to death,” he shouted. Everybody looked at me, to see if I objected. I held my tongue. “Aye, press him to death!” they roared. Holmes spied my cart in the barn, and yoked my horse to it. Even now, there was still time to call for calm. But I stood by. Let him take his just desserts. Lock broke his father’s skull – let him suffer broken bones in every part of his body.

  Lock showed no fear as the talk went on round him – rather, he writhed, working at his bonds, struggling like a demon hot from hell to set himself free. However, he was bound too tightly. Just before the horse and cart were driven over him, I gave Hamilton Lock the opportunity to own his sins, and ask the Merciful Lord’s forgiveness. I told him he would fare better in the afterlife if he went to the Redeemer with the Abominable Stain on his conscience acknowledged. He spat at my feet, and rained curses down on me and mine. Even unto the seventh generation. At that, I nodded to Holmes at the reins. The cart trundled forward. The horse picked its way across the man, but the wheels were not so dainty. They passed over Lock’s chest and legs, again and again, crushing the breath out of him. I heard his bones snap. I heard him labour to suck in air. But I did not hear him beg for mercy. Finally, troubled nauseated by what I had authorized, I turned my eyes away – unable to see it through to the end, and stay to inspect his battered carcass. Already, I knew it was no day’s work to be proud of, and I . . .

  There was no more. Dazed, I pushed the pages back into the Bible, pictures of Hamilton Lock’s last minutes tumbling round my head. Then and there, I had no doubt but that his ghost was hounding the Haltridges. I feared for the family. Aye, and I feared for myself, living in their house.

  * * *

  I thought the mistress might have given me a half-day off to walk over to Carnspindle to see my ma and da, with only the two of us in Knowehead, but no such luck. The long and short of it was that Mistress Haltridge didn’t want to be left on her lone in the house.

  “With the help of God, our difficulties are at an end, now that my cousin is safe in the care of Mister Sinclair. You do think our difficulties are over, don’t you?”

  “It all depends, mistress.”

  “On what?”

  “On the cause.”

  She chewed the end of her plait. “Perhaps you should call to the minister’s house to inquire about how my cousin is settling in. But you wouldn’t be gone long, would you? You could be back in an hour or so?”

  “I can skip over and back in next to no time, mistress.”

  “No, leave it, you might get delayed, and then how would I manage? If there was anything amiss, we’d hear about it – bad news travels faster than forked lightning. Perhaps that maid of his will come to see you. She’s always gadding about.”

  “Mercy Hunter might come a-callin’. She’s dyin’ about company.”

  “Very well. Leave it for today. If we hear nothing by the-morrow, you may run over to Mister Sinclair with a note from me.”

  “As you wish, mistress.”

  “But you’d promise not to stay away long? And you’d make sure to be back before dark?”

  “Walkin’ through fields at night does’n bother
me. I’m not un’asied by the dark.”

  Her brow puckered, and I saw it wasn’t my safety she was concerned about. Right then, I was all Mistress Haltridge had, and she needed me near-hand. The long and the short of it was she didn’t want to be alone in her own house.

  Alone, with whatever else was inside it.

  Chapter 11

  Mercy Hunter couldn’t tear herself away from the minister’s house, with the excitement of a witched lass in their midst, so I walked over to Ballymuldrough to deliver the mistress’s message the following morning. Heavens above, but the place was in a flap: it was like walking into a henhouse after a visit from Master Fox. Mary Dunbar was missing.

  I never saw Mister Sinclair so through-other. He wrung his hands like a big lump of a cuddy, maithering on about how he was responsible for her safety, and he didn’t know how she could have vanished from under his eyes. Luckily David Arnold, the Church of Ireland curate, had the sense to organize a search party, with the help of Bob Holmes. The elder was giving out hand-bells so that if anyone found Mary Dunbar they could let the others know.