by A. L. Duncan
“I should have stayed in New York. It was much less complicated.”
Just as she reached the kitchen door, a meaty hand shoved her through it. Janie stumbled but managed to keep her balance as she threw a punch at her aggressor.
A sneer twisted Oliver’s lips as he limped into the dimly lit room. He grabbed his cane with both hands and pulled it apart, exposing a hidden short sword. The hilt glimmered in his fist as he thrust the blade toward her with vicious intent. “You bitch.”
Janie stepped back, wide-eyed and unprepared. “I must be losing my touch.”
“My sister will be the last thing you’ll ever touch!”
“Oh, I see.”Janie side-stepped the sword as he lashed out at her, once, twice. “Now hold on, Jack!”
“You bloody, damned Irish are all alike!” Oliver spewed between pants and thrusts.
“Hey, leave my heritage outta this.”
Oliver pointed the blade tip at her. “Angela told me all about you, but I didn’t believe her. Now you’re bedding my sister, too!”
Janie rolled over a chopping block an instant before the sharp edge sliced into the wood. She snatched up a cast iron pan and held it with menace in Oliver’s direction. “What do you mean ‘too’? Didn’t I tell you not to listen to Angela’s falsehoods?” She didn’t wait for Oliver to respond. “Jesus, Oliver. I never touched your wife.” After a breath, she smiled and taunted, “Now, your sister...well, I...”
With renewed vigor, he staggered forward and swiped at the air where Janie had been a moment before. “I should have run you through long ago. Nobody double crosses me and gets away with it. Those diamonds were mine. You had damn well better find that ruby because your life is now tied to it. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived here, turning everything and everyone to your whims. Fucking Jew,” he cried with a swipe of the blade.
Janie knew that he was drunk, and that made his poor swordplay even less coordinated. His attack was made more annoying by his racial slur. “All right. That’s it.” She tossed aside her pan and stood open for his onslaught. “You want a piece of me, you son of a bitch, then by God do it like a man instead of hiding behind that thing.”
Oliver threw his shoulders back and laughed in disbelief. “I’m not going to strike a woman.”
Janie staggered in disbelief. “You’ll stab me, but you won’t strike me? You’re more deranged than your father.” She let Oliver swipe at her again before punching him in the face. She then flew at him, clasping his arms tight to his body so he couldn’t raise his blade.
At that moment, Gil appeared. “’Old it!” He tore Janie from Oliver like a briar stuck on clothing. Holding her back with one strong hand, Gil glared at Oliver and smacked the blade out of his hands with the other. “Get. Get your ass outta ’ere before I knock some sense into you myself.” Gil’s towering form was enough to frighten Oliver from making another foolish move. He kicked the sword toward Oliver. “And take your damn toy!”
“You’re right,” Janie said to Gil. “He’s not worth bloodying a knuckle over.” Feigning an insulting disinterest, she stepped past Oliver as he reached down for his cane sheath. She waited for the right moment, then stepped back and landed a swift kick on his wounded thigh.
Before Oliver hit the floor in agony, Gil swept Janie off her feet and drew her into the servants’ hall, carrying her all the way to the entrance hall as she kicked and swung punches, and spewed profanity.
“Quit your cursing, woman!” he growled. “It ain’t becoming.” Pressing her against a wall, he added, “Listen to me.” She struggled to free herself, and he pushed her harder against the wall. “Listen to me, dammit!”
Fuming, Janie subsided.
“This is not the time or the place.”
“But I—”
He pressed a finger against her lips, gave her a moment to settle, then released his grip with a heavy sigh. “Let me buy you a drink, lass.”
THE SCARLET LION was crowded with patrons all well into their cups. Janie and Gil found seats at the bar, and Janie was on her sixth whiskey before she felt relaxed enough to start enjoying herself. Gil was content to sip at a pint of lager.
“I try so hard not to get offended by jerks like Oliver,” Janie mumbled into her glass.
He squinted at her. “Ain’t worth it.”
“And what’s wrong with being Irish, anyway?”
He lifted the mug to his lips. “Nothin’.”
Janie glanced at his seasoned features. Turning back to her whiskey, she asked, “Is it because I’m an American, do you think?”
He smirked. “It’s your attitude. No one gets an attitude like yours unless it’s inherited. You’re stubborn, fiery, temperamental, passionate... For a woman, you hold your own, Irish or no.”
“Gil, you just described the characteristics of half the races on the planet. For all you know, I could be Zulu.” Gil pulled his shoulders back and glared with one eye at her. “Okay, maybe not Zulu...but you get my point.”
“If you would just be still, woman, you’d see I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”
The small snap in his voice told Janie he was actually in a sociable mood. “Oh.”
“All I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t think you’re so bad for an Irish lass who pretends so hard not to be, or that she’s somebody else. It doesn’t matter what your father’s done, or your mother’s done, you make your own way. Create your own legacy. Be proud of your heritage and what you do. By the way, never do you prune roses in the bud.”
Eyes downcast, she sighed. “Is that why they died? Guess I blew it, huh?” When Gil chortled, she added, “So, you knew I was a fake?”
Gil accepted a fresh pint and blew the foam off. “Stuck out like a cock at mating season.”
“And I studied so hard.”
“I just figured you were looking for the ruby like everyone else.”
Janie suddenly looked sober. “You know about the ruby?” Gil nodded. “Unbelievable. And why haven’t you looked for this ruby?”
Gil’s face flushed as he pushed himself upright and faced her squarely. “I’m at the manor to make a living, not involve myself with scandals or politics.” Turning back to his pint, he added, “Never believed the story anyway.”
The bartender pointed to her empty glass. Janie slid the glass over and watched as he filled it up again. “Well, don’t tell me the story now, I probably won’t remember it in the morning. Let’s talk about something brainless, shall we?”
“Why don’t you try being yourself?”
“I said brainless, not embarrassing.”
“You’ll mend when you grow better.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You can’t tether a lie to a truth and pray it mends in its own way. Take responsibility, woman. A salmon from the stream, a deer from the wood, and a cane from a beech are thefts no one is ever ashamed of. God shapes the back for the burden and the pocket for the penny. Just remember, fair exchange is no robbery. You are who you are. Accept your hide and your pride and be done with it.”
Janie pulled her shoulders back and raised her glass. “To Irish pride.” Gil clinked his mug against her shot glass and the two took a swig.
A brute of a man knocked against Janie’s shoulder as he slid an empty glass onto the bar. “All ya non-appreciative bastards comin’ over ’ere an’ takin’ our jobs. Ta ’ell with all ya. Damned Irish scum.” The drunk sneered at her.
The direct insult roused Janie’s ire. Peeling herself away from the bar, she shot a glance at Gil. He raised his glass in casual acceptance. “Thank you,” Janie said grandly.
Janie wasted no time. In one fluid motion, she spun around and socked the drunk square on the jaw, sending him to the floor. The whole tavern erupted in a flurry of punches and shouts of good, broiling fun.
Janie was in her element. She effortlessly dodged fists, bottles, and chairs. Now and again, a drunk was surprised to discover it was a woman wearing the tuxedo. Their moment’
s hesitation allowed her to land her best punches.
All the while, Gil stood at the bar coolly sipping his lager and enjoyed watching Janie’s temper. The bartender shouted threats into the fracas, to little effect. The musicians moved from the small stage to a safe corner, still playing an Irish reel Janie had sternly requested before she was lifted off her feet by a good right jab.
Gil glanced at his pocket watch and took a sip of beer, ignoring the flailing body that was tossed over the bar and crashed into the neatly arranged bottles. Gil dug into his pocket, and casually placed a few coins on the bar. As he reached for his hat, he nodded politely to the disgruntled bartender.
The reel gave way to Offenbach’s Can-Can.
Sauntering through the tangle of assailants and assaults, Gil dodged a few tired swings. He punched one man out of his way and lifted another aside by the collar and trousers until he finally reached Janie. Her fists were bloody and a few bruises were already turning purple. Gil gathered up her discarded coat in one fist and lifted her over a pile of unconscious disputants with the other.
Bobbies, called to the tavern by a passing pedestrian who had heard the brawl, came rushing in, tooting whistles and brandishing billy clubs. Gil squeezed himself and Janie out the door with a final tip of his hat to the bartender. The two disappeared around a dark street corner to safety.
Gil leaned Janie against a stone wall. “Feel better, do you?”
Janie raised her head and squinted at his shadowy figure and inhaled through split lips. “Yeah,” she replied with crooked smile. “Yeah, I do.”
Gil helped her to steady herself and brushed the dirt from her tux. “Come on, lass. It’s time to go home.”
With Gil holding her up by the back of her collar, she swaggered up the steep cobblestone street. “You know, no matter what I say about you, Gil...you’re all right.”
IT WAS LATE May. Spring was wearing its full regalia: pink and butter yellow magnolias, delicate pink and soft white cherry and apple blossoms. Petals dusted the ground like fallen snow. Liz was walking with Janie as she clipped off the first fragrant blooms of the season. When Liz couldn’t stand any longer, she took a seat under an arbor in the rose garden.
Janie set a full basket of buds and blooms on the bench and chided her. “Take it easy, Liz. Now that you’re in your eighth month, Ilene has made it very clear that you’re allowed to cut your duties to the bare minimum. You’re also under strict orders from Dr. Collier to take breaks.”
“’E must not have any time for other patients,” Liz said. “It seems the folks at Aria Manor are always takin’ up ’is time. If it’s not me and the baby, it’s the Major, or another pill and shot for Oliver. Thank God everyone else is fine or ’e would ’ave to move into residence ’ere.”
Janie listened casually, now and again glancing at Liz with a vague smile. She trimmed the gangly wisps off the dwarf box hedges that grew like a latticework around all the rose bushes. She was cleaning up the cuttings when she detected the delicate scent of honeysuckle. The honeysuckle wouldn’t be in bloom for another month. No...she knew where this distraction was coming from. A peek over her shoulder proved she was right.
Ilene glided by with a seductive glance at Janie. She stopped before Liz and placed a handful of yellow roses in her basket.
“Father is asking for yellow roses today, Liz,” Ilene said.
“Right,” Liz replied. “Jolly idea. They’re bold, bright, and cheery. Just what the Major needs in that dark, gloomy room of ’is. ’Ow’s ’e doing, by the way, Missus? Better than yesterday, I ’ope?”
Ilene clasped her hands before her with a gentle sigh. “A little better today, I think. He’s been having frightful nightmares that keep him from getting a full night’s rest. Claims to be seeing Mother’s ghost.”
Liz gasped. “Ghost? Wouldn’t surprise me a bit, though. Know what I mean? What with ’er death the way it was an’ all. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if ’er and the spirit of the previous ’Ead Gardener ’imself were runnin’ around the place together, playin’ cribbage with all the other dead from over the years at the manor.” She saw Janie’s stern warning glance and subsided. “Sorry.”
“Dr. Collier is probably right,” Ilene continued. “Father’s delusions are probably coming from the medication.”
“Don’t you believe in ghosts?” Liz asked Ilene.
“I believe Aria Manor has a full complement of spirits roaming about without my mother needing to keep them company.”
With Janie’s help, Liz laboriously heaved herself and her protruding stomach to standing. “Well, I ought to be...umph...getting these roses up to the Major, quick like. Sounds like ’e could use a good sprig of lightening up.”
Janie handed her the basket of flowers and watched Liz toddle off.
“I can’t imagine being that burdened and still having that kind of energy,” Ilene observed with a chuckle.
Janie dawdled down the gravel path beside Ilene. “She’s a tough little cookie.” Ilene brushed a finger over a velvety pink rose petal. Janie regarded her quietly. “Is he really better today?”
Ilene grimaced. “No. Not really. He’s getting worse, actually.”
“Does he eat?”
“Very little. He won’t eat for anyone but Anna, and even then she has to be the only one in the room with him. That’s why I left them together and came out to the rose garden.”
“I don’t mind the company.”
Ilene’s voice sounded older, tired, when she spoke again. “He’s becoming more reclusive and eccentric. When he first came home from hospital, all Father talked about was playing chess and spending time in the library among his favorite books and paintings. Now he has a morbid fixation with time. It is as if time has stood still. It’s almost an obsession. I don’t know what to do.”
“Did Dr. Collier warn you about these symptoms?”
“He said Father could lose his memory completely, overnight or more gradually, depending on the severity of the case. Father’s case is quite severe. Or he could be reliving the strongest memories from his past after having very vivid dreams of them. At any rate, he’s deteriorating at a much faster pace than Dr. Collier had anticipated. I suppose it’s only a matter of time,” she added soberly.
Janie drew Ilene into an embrace and kissed her head tenderly. They clung to one another for a long moment.
JANIE LET HERSELF in the front door when the Major burst out of his bedroom and staggered blindly toward the balustrade. “Miriam!” he cried. “Miriam! I need you!”
Anna dashed out in close pursuit, water glass in one hand and pills in the other. “Major!” she called after him. “Come on now, luv. Take these pills the doctor gave you and you’ll feel much better.”
The Major passed Liz as she ascended the stairs with a vase of yellow roses held against her protruding stomach. “What’s with ’im?”
Anna flailed a hand out before her and panted, “He’s off again...running amok and shouting to his dead wife.”
Liz gasped and spun in horror. “She’s up ’ere floatin’ around?”
Janie crept up behind her. “Liz,” she whispered.
Liz jumped with fright and juggled to keep the vase and flowers from falling. Janie helped to steady her and the arrangement.
“Geez, Liz. I’m sorry.”
Liz rolled her eyes and made a sound with her lips.
“What’s going on?”
The Major stumbled out from Ilene’s bedroom. “Miriam?” He looked about the hall in wide eyed befuddlement and settled angrily upon Janie’s features. He shook a finger at her and growled, “You—”
"Uh, oh.”
“Why is ‘e mad at you?” asked Liz.
“I’m not the you he thinks I am.”
“I’m not you.”
“Not you, me you.” Janie rubbed her eyes. “God bless. Now, I’m starting to sound like you.”
“Me?”
“No, no.” Janie let it go with a huff. “He thinks I’m s
omeone else.”
“Why, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever ‘eard. Who else would you be?”
The Major’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he hobbled toward her with white-knuckled fury.
“Go on, run,” he shouted at Janie’s departure. “Harlot...she-wolf! I’ll not allow you to wrest her from me. I will follow you to the ends of the earth. How dare you take my wife from me. By God, this spawn of Satan will not go unpunished!”
Ilene had entered the foyer just as Janie whisked by and ducked behind her. “What on earth?”
Janie raised her head over Ilene’s shoulder. “I think he’s really lost it.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“Jezebel,” the Major seethed, glaring at Ilene.
Ilene shrunk against Janie’s arms in terror.
“You’ll never leave me,” he continued, stumbling down the steps. “Do you hear me? I’ll never let you leave me. I’ll tie your sinews to my own before I let you live another moment with her!”
Anna clung onto the banister and hollered, “Somebody call the doctor...please.”
“What shall we do?” asked Ilene desperately.
Janie reached behind her and opened the door. “Leave.”
Ilene staggered while being pulled by Janie. “We can’t leave him like this.”
“Oh, yes we can.”
The two hurried across the courtyard and hid behind the gate wall. Janie was catching her breath when she tried to pull Ilene back. Ilene seemed mysteriously drawn to the behavior that consumed her father. He cried out to Miriam tearfully and collapsed to his knees in the courtyard, rubbing gravel over his face in mourning. Janie watched as Ilene put a hand up to her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel those tears that streamed down such a delicate face were desperate questions, fearful wounds to Ilene’s soul of what her father’s unrest must have meant to her.
