Land

by Liam O'Flaherty

  “Good God!” he said. “I look positively ill.”

  He lowered the lamp in order to conceal his features and the shabbiness of the room. That helped a great deal, in so far as the furniture was concerned. In the gloaming that now prevailed, even the torn elbow of the old armchair took on a romantic look.

  He was on the point of sitting down again when he heard the approach of footsteps about which there could be no doubt. They were measured and heavy, like those of a military person. He hurried to the door angrily, thinking it was one of his subordinates come to disturb him at this most inopportune moment.

  “What is it now?” he cried, throwing open the door.

  To his amazement, a cavalry officer went striding past him into the room without speaking. He was about to ask the meaning of the stranger’s intrusion when he caught the faint scent of a perfume that he recognised. He closed the door and put his back to it.

  “Barbara,” he said, “you gave me a frightful shock.”

  She laughed and turned round slowly, holding herself stiff and erect. Her bearing was quite as soldierly as that of any man. With the collar of the greatcoat turned up to her chin and the hat pulled far down on her forehead, she really looked the part of a Dragoon captain.

  “How did you recognise me?” she said.

  “Your perfume,” he said in a tone of annoyance. “Surely this is not the time to attract attention by indulging in masquerade.”

  “Don’t you think I’d attract more attention in my usual costume?” she said gaily. “The hotel people would certainly find it rather odd that a married lady should sneak upstairs to your chambers on a wild night like this.”

  “Forgive me,” he said, after swallowing his breath with difficulty.

  He locked the door and came towards her.

  “What’s the matter, Jim?” she said.

  “I’ve been waiting so long,” he muttered. “My nerves are on edge.”

  She threw her hat on a chair and stretched out her hands towards him.

  “Now it is I who am kept waiting,” she said.

  “My darling!” he said as he took her in his arms.

  This was the moment for which he had longed so ardently. Yet he was tormented by rancour and suspicion, even while the touch of her lips sent a wave of passion surging through his veins. He had expected to find her in a mood of tenderness and sombre exaltation, as on that glorious day in Lord Mongoole’s garden, when she had confessed her love. Instead of that, she was now behaving like a tomboy playing a wild prank. Furthermore, he found her body a little frightening to touch. It seemed to vibrate spasmodically, as if from tiny electric shocks.

  “I feel utterly exhausted,” she said after they had drawn apart. “Help me remove this greatcoat. It’s a ton weight.”

  After he had taken the greatcoat, she went to the fire and put her hands to the blaze.

  “The wind was piercing,” she said. “I feel chilled to the marrow of my bones.”

  “I’ll get you some wine,” Fenton said.

  She put her back to the fire, spread her booted legs wide on the hearth rug and said to him:

  “You are annoyed with my uniform.”

  Fenton looked back at her over his shoulder, just as he was about to pour wine from the decanter. The highly-ornamented tunic, the tight-fitted breeches and the shining jack boots made her sensual beauty more than usually alluring. At the same time, the warlike male dress brought the latent cruelty of her features into relief. Even her lovely golden eyes, normally sombre and melancholy, were now puckishly alert, as if intent on vulgar mischief.

  “You look ravishing as a Dragoon,” he said coldly. “Where did you get the uniform?”

  “It belonged to my first husband,” she said excitedly. “He was in the Inniskillings. He and I were almost exactly the same size. We often exchanged clothes and showed ourselves in public. We were always taken for granted. It was wonderful sport. I kept this uniform when he died, as a memento of those adventures. I think I told you that I was once an actress. I adore masquerade.”

  “How very interesting!” Fenton said still more coldly, as he handed her a glass of wine.

  With a quick turn of her wrist she put the wine to her lips and drank it all at once. Then she laughed and put the empty glass on the mantelpiece.

  “You are angry with me, Jim,” she said, going to the sofa. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

  She sat down and stretched out her legs to their full length.

  “We must leave nothing unsaid,” she added, “at the beginning of our great adventure.”

  “Adventure?” Fenton said. “Is that all it means to you, Barbara?”

  “Sit down, please,” Barbara said, suddenly becoming very serious. “I, too, have found it hard to wait. So you must forgive me for having been a little silly just now. You must be considerate of a woman’s failings, Jim.”

  She allowed her voice to become very tender as she uttered the last sentence. The result on Fenton was immediate. He threw himself on his knees before her, seized her right hand and kissed it frantically. Then he looked up into her face and began to speak in a very agitated fashion.

  “I have been living on memories of that day,” he cried passionately. “I have kept recalling every word you said, over and over again, sometimes all through the live-long night. Every word has become sacred to me. Everything you wore on that day, every ringlet of your hair, every gesture you made is stored in my memory. They are all still there, fresh and clear, like precious gems that I take out from time to time, when I am alone, to caress and fondle.”

  He rose abruptly and sat close to her on the sofa, still clasping her hand.

  “Oh! Barbara,” he continued, “what you said to me that day ennobled me and washed away my dishonour. I implore you to tell me now that they came from your heart. Tell me that you haven’t changed since then and that you spoke sincerely that day.”

  Barbara shuddered and said in a low voice:

  “I assure you that I spoke sincerely and that I have not changed since then. You should know by now that I’m not a fickle person, Jim.”

  “Thank God,” Fenton said with fervour. “My love for you is now my whole life. I have nothing else left.”

  Again he began to kiss her hand frantically.

  “Calm yourself, Jim,” Barbara said. “Of course I have not changed. Not in the least.”

  Fenton raised his head and looked at her wildly.

  “You must come away with me at once,” he cried. “We must go away from here, far away from all this infamy.”

  “Be calm, Jim,” Barbara said. “Not at once. We must be practical.”

  “Every moment that I stay here is a torture,” Fenton said. “I detest having to live in a lie. It was difficult for me to make up my mind. As a man of honour, I found it hard to break with everything that I had been taught to reverence. That’s why I want to leave at once, now that I’ve made a clean sweep. I can’t bear to go on deceiving people. Deception is one of the most dishonourable of crimes.”

  “I insist that we must wait a little longer,” Barbara said. “I’m just as anxious to leave as you are, but we must be practical.”

  “How long?” Fenton said.

  “It won’t be long now,” Barbara said.

  Fenton brooded a moment. A startled look came into his eyes.

  “Good Heavens!” he said. “Supposing your husband were to discover our plan at the last moment, as the result of this dallying? Do you realise that he is a desperate man?”

  “You needn’t worry about Neville,” Barbara said. “He knows very well that we love one another, but he would never suspect us of planning to elope. Even if I told him, he still wouldn’t believe it. He doesn’t think you are that sort of man and he thinks I’m far too shrewd to throw in my lot with you under these circumstances.”

  “That sort of man?” Fenton said in a hurt tone. “What do you mean by that?”

  Barbara ignored the question.

  “Nevi
lle is far more subtle than most people think,” she said.

  Fenton leaned against the back of the sofa and let his head droop. He now looked exhausted after his recent passionate outburst.

  “I know he is subtle,” he said gloomily. “I also know he is merciless and entirely without scruple. How can you be sure that he won’t act against us suddenly, when we least expect it?”

  “When a woman has lived for three years with a man she hates,” Barbara said, “she gets to know him thoroughly. If love is blind, then hatred has a thousand eyes. At this moment, he is fighting for his life and he knows it. You and I are not the enemies he is fighting. His enemy is Michael O’Dwyer. Therefore, we don’t have to be in the least concerned with him, unless he should suddenly dispose of O’Dwyer, a most unlikely event because of the Fenian’s shrewdness. Neville is like our English bulldog. When he gets his teeth in an enemy, he is indifferent to everything else.”

  Fenton sat forward, put his hands on his knees and said with force:

  “How I hate this senseless disorder! You mention the savagery of the bull dog. That’s exactly what it is, savagery. Everything noble and refined is condemned. The most base instincts in man are glorified, under the names of courage and determination. The other day in court, when they sentenced St. George to a term of imprisonment, I realised this for the first time. The prisoner was one of the most dignified men it has ever been my privilege to see. There was no mistaking the nobility of his countenance. Yet he was jailed as a menace to the realm. How could such a man be a menace, unless the realm has become corrupt and unjust? He is a menace, perhaps, to something that is about to fall because of its corruption. He could only be an ornament and a source of added power in a realm based on a secure foundation of justice. The magistrate offered a most striking contrast. He was a brutish lout, one of those illiterate drunkards that disgrace our provincial courts. He blundered several times while passing sentence, obviously being ill at ease in St. George’s presence. Even such a degraded man was unable to condemn a superior without feeling shame. By Jove! It’s a horrible experience to find that the gods one worshipped have feet of clay.”

  “May I ask you to remove my boots?” Barbara said. “They are becoming very uncomfortable.”

  “Pardon me,” Fenton said.

  He crouched on the hearth rug at once and began to tug at the left boot.

  “I couldn’t dream of going away without settling my score with Neville,” Barbara said. “I definitely have a crow to pluck with him. Three years of boredom and humiliation! Apart from any practical consideration, I insist on getting paid in full for those three frightful years.”

  Fenton looked up at her suddenly, holding in his hands the left boot he had just removed.

  “What do you mean?” he said suspiciously.

  Barbara smiled. Then she looked into the fire.

  “I’m a very practical person,” she said. “Most women are practical when they are in love.”

  Fenton pulled off the other boot and said:

  “Is that why you are delaying? Just to settle your score?”

  Barbara wriggled her released feet as she said:

  “You told me you have hardly any money, Jim.”

  Fenton stood erect, holding the two boots in his right hand by their straps.

  “I’m not altogether penniless,” he said, blushing deeply. “I can scrape together, all told, some hundreds of guineas, at least enough to take us across the ocean. In America …”

  “I have nothing but the clothes on my back,” Barbara said, “together with a few jewels that would not be very marketable in case of necessity. My first husband and myself were always pawning things, or trying to raise money on doubtful securities. I know how unromantic it is to live from hand to mouth. For that reason, I’m determined not to go away empty-handed.”

  Fenton drew himself to his full height and leaned forward slightly from the hips.

  “Out with it, Barbara,” he whispered. “What do you intend doing?”

  A faint smile appeared at the corners of Barbara’s mouth, making her face look cruel and masculine. She opened the three top buttons of her tunic as she began to speak.

  “For some time now,” she said, “he has been tortured by the suspicion that he is not going to be the victor in his struggle with O’Dwyer. I first saw it in his eyes the night after he had paid a visit with you to the tavern-keeper that afterwards hanged himself. His eyes looked afraid. I was surprised. Until then I thought that nothing could make him afraid. Of course, he had been going about in armour for a year, accompanied by a bodyguard of servants and by his Cuban bloodhound. All that was merely a reasonable precaution, taken to ensure safety. Only fools refuse to take reasonable precautions. Now, however, I saw that he had an Achilles’ heel. It was very disappointing. Even though I hated him with my whole heart, I had admired his brute courage until then. There is nothing contradictory in that, you know. On the other hand, it was humiliating to find myself at the beck and call of a man that feared shadows, just like one of the superstitious peasants he despises so much. I had made the mistake that women invariably make when estimating a man’s courage. They only value those qualities that they lack themselves, steady nerves, strength and endurance. They ignore intellect, which is the true seat of human courage, as distinct from that of the lower animals. Lacking sufficient imagination to cope with the odd and entirely new way in which he was being attacked, Neville went into a panic. He even suspected that black magic was being used against him. ‘Those damned Irish,’ he said, ‘are sold to the Devil, all of them.’ He was pathetic when he came home after failing to evict those peasants that live on the Killuragh mountains. He was just like a dog that has been whipped. I asked him why his face was bandaged. He mumbled something under his breath, being ashamed to admit that he had lost his head and got into a brawl with one of your constables. After that, he got worse from day to day. He lost his temper with the servants over the merest trifle and beat them terribly, women as well as men. He even took to beating his favourite horse, Blazer. That was the most tell-tale sign of all, because I had never before seen him lose his temper with a dumb animal. He was always most gentle with horses. It was his awful behaviour that made the servants desert at once, when ordered to leave by the Fenians. Nobody could possibly be loyal to a master of that sort, or consent to make sacrifices for him. Even poor Stapleton bolted. The timid little soul went on his knees to me before he went and kissed my hands, with tears running down his cheeks. He was so frightened. Then he drove off with Hopkins at full gallop in the gig, which was afterwards found abandoned outside the railway station at Clash. All this happened during the afternoon, while Neville was having a nap. He had been unable to sleep at all at night since the trouble started. He raved like a madman when he discovered the servants had gone. Then he rushed to the bloodhound’s kennel. I heard a cry of horror. Then there was silence. Presently I saw him come into the drawing-room with the dead body of the uncouth beast in his arms. A chain that was attached to the dog’s neck trailed along the ground. The legs were already stiff and the stomach was swollen. It had obviously been poisoned by one of the runaway servants. Neville sat down with the disgusting beast in his arms. He seemed dumbfounded by its loss. It was some time before I could persuade him to take it out into the orchard and bury it. That was a frightful night. Neville roamed about the place, discharging his pistol at every sound. There were certainly weird sounds, like the wailing of the banshee. I dare say it was some Fenian trying to frighten us. At the moment, however, I fully believed it was a banshee. Everybody becomes a prey to superstitious fears at a time like that. The groom came back in the morning while we were having breakfast. He marched into the dining-room, dead drunk and with his clothes in a filthy condition. He stood to attention and shouted at Neville, like a soldier reporting to his commanding officer: ‘Andrew Fitzgerald returning to duty, sir,’ Later on in the day the Constabulary came, as you know. We have been living since then like people besieged by
Red Indians, in one of Fenimore Cooper’s frontier outposts. The few servants that the Constabulary managed to procure in the neighbouring towns proved to be worthless creatures of the criminal class. We had to send them away again. They could neither cook nor do any housework. All they would do was drink whisky from morning till night. Now I do whatever is absolutely necessary myself. The groom gives me a hand in his rare sober moments. Oddly enough, Neville’s spirits have improved during the past week. He has again begun to boast of delivering the death blow to O’Dwyer. At the same time, he has become so cautious that I began to despair of getting an opportunity to visit you. He would hardly leave the house, even under heavy guard. Then he suddenly decided, out of the blue, to go to Galway this afternoon. I’m not sure, but I think he has gone to hire somebody for the death blow. A spy or an assassin of some sort. He seemed to be in high spirits on his departure. He had the hunter’s gleam in his eyes that I used to see so often in the old days.”

  She suddenly turned towards Fenton, smiled broadly and added:

  “I’ve not been idle, though, while I was waiting. I discovered where the money is hidden and I’ve worked out our plan of escape in detail.”

  Fenton had stood stock still while she spoke, with the jack boots clutched in his right hand. He started and turned pale as she uttered the word money.

  “To what money do you refer?” he said after a short pause.

  “He always kept a certain sum in gold with him,” Barbara said, “even before this trouble began. He is one of those people, still common in the rural parts of England, who don’t quite trust the banks. Lately he has been adding freely to this hoard. Now, I am pleased to say, it amounts to more than four thousand sovereigns. Can you imagine? It’s quite a little fortune. It was on the night we were alone in the house that I discovered the hiding place, which is very cunningly devised in the ceiling above his bed. He went up to his room after burying the hound. After a little while I heard the wailing that I told you about already and got terribly nervous. So I went upstairs to look for Neville. I heard peculiar noises as I came along the corridor. He had apparently upset the iron box after taking it out of the hole and a number of the sovereigns fell, making a great clatter as they rolled about the floor. I knew at once what he was doing, because I had been trying for some time to discover the hiding place. I sneaked up to the door and managed to peep into the room without being discovered. In his distraught condition he had forgotten to lock the door.”