by Mary Lavin
Mr Parr’s office was where it had always been. It had not changed much since the days when she used to sit outside in the trap and hold the reins while George Garret went inside. But mistaking a new bronze plate for tarnished brass, it seemed to her that perhaps he had not prospered as much as she would have thought. From this observation indeed she took such heart that upon pushing open the outer door, and finding herself confronted by two other doors, one marked Enquiries and the other Private, she had no hesitation whatever in making towards the latter, until she was stopped short by a loud voice. ‘Where do you think you are going?’ the voice called out.
Startled, she stopped dead but next minute, seeing she had only to deal with a raw young man, weedier even than Christy had been at his age, his face covered with pimples, Miss Lomas brushed him aside. Grasping the door-knob she went through the private door with such force that even without recognising her Mr Parr gave an exclamation.
‘Good God!’ Parr said, then, seeing who it was, he repeated his exclamation. ‘Good God!’ What in the world had brought her to town? Was she ill? She had shrunk to half her size. He was appalled at her condition. And what of Christy? Queer gossip about the pair had reached him from time to time. But the fears roused by such stories were instantly dispelled by a look of loneliness in her eyes that vouched for her virginity. An unexpected feeling of pity for her came over him. ‘My dear Miss Lomas!’ he cried out.
Miss Lomas, too, was stirred at sight of Mr Parr in the flesh, if such words could be used to describe the leathery little bat she saw before her sunk in a swivel chair he was barely able to swivel. Stretching out her hands, she ran forward to him as if laden with bounties. ‘He’s gone!’ she cried. ‘Gone at last! Poor Brook Farm can yet be saved.’
Mr Parr sank lower into his chair. She could only mean Christy. The fellow must have heard about Miss Garret. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘No doubt word reached him that Miss Garret was taken from Garretstown?’ The old calculating look she knew so well had come back into his eyes.
Miss Lomas nodded and taking out an elegant but discoloured handkerchief, she wiped a dry eye. ‘How is the poor thing?’ she asked. ‘I never knew her intimately, you know.’ Leaning forward she spoke more familiarly. ‘I may as well tell you, Mr Parr, I never cared much for the poor thing. Just the same I think it is not at all suitable that the poor thing should be put into a public hospital, a kind of a home not much better than a poorhouse, Christy said.’
So Christy had not been a complete fool. He had come to his senses at last and seen the writing on the wall. But Miss Lomas was still concerned about Miss Garret.
‘Is it known to whom the poor thing will leave the estate when she does die?’ she asked. ‘Surely that person can advance the money to see she has proper care to the end.’
Mr Parr gasped.
‘You can’t have forgotten that there is a family trust. Christy is the sole heir but he was a wise fellow to skedaddle. He could have found himself in a worse plight than when he inherited Brook Farm. Debts are all he would inherit.’
‘But surely Miss Garret must have some personal effects that she would be free to dispose of in her own right?’
‘It is true I believe that she has a few, a few baubles which,’ Mr Parr coughed discreetly, ‘which she insisted on leaving to me, and so I had to advise her that as a beneficiary under the testament I could not act for her in that matter and that she would be obliged to make her will with another solicitor. However I understand from him that they are merely small objects of sentimental value, to her I mean, but otherwise worthless.’
Miss Lomas seemed momentarily at a loss.
‘Well that is too bad but I will come to the point of my visit here,’ she said. ‘It is my opinion that Miss Garret must be taken out of the place where she has been put and brought to Brook Farm where I can take care of her and where she can be given some comfort and companionship in the end of her days. You and I both owe it to George and Joss to see this is done.’
Mr Parr gasped. Noting that she hurried on, ‘I am aware that some repairs will have to be carried out before it is possible to receive her, and some essential replacements of crockery, linen and the like will have to be made. But thank God the house is there and available to us in order that we can perform a great charity.’
Was she mad? Not for the first time Mr Parr wondered about this.
‘But Brook Farm is not available to us,’ he shouted. ‘Why can’t you get that into your head? You never had any right there, much less me. And whether Christy is gone or not, and even if we never hear from him again, he is still the lawful owner. Your intentions are of the best. They do you credit, Miss Lomas, but I’m afraid they cannot be implemented.’
At these words the dejection which descended on Miss Lomas was such as Mr Parr had never before seen come over any human being. And yet he himself felt relieved. Now at last, she, too, would have to take herself off, although God knows where she would go. She’d be off his hands anyway and at the moment that was all that seemed to matter. But suddenly Miss Lomas rallied.
‘Christy?’ she cried. ‘If he is our only hope now we must get him back. A motor car came and took him to the station, but the next train to Dublin is not due to leave for at least two hours.’ She sprang to her feet. ‘You must go to the station at once and get hold of him.’
‘For what in the name of God?’ Mr Parr was suffering such palpitations he thought he was going to have a heart attack.
‘Because you just said young Christy has come to his senses at last. He knows he has reached the end of the road. He is desperate Mr Parr. He will almost certainly be prepared to do business with anyone. He will sell Brook Farm this minute even if he only gets half the price of the mortgage. Indeed I believe he is so desperate he’ll probably sell it for a song.’
‘You might be right,’ Mr Parr said dryly, ‘but can’t you see it’s too late in the day now to find a buyer. Are you blind to that as well as to everything else?’
Miss Lomas drew herself up and something of her old authority returned to her voice.
‘It’s you that’s blind,’ she said, ‘can’t you see it’s you yourself who must buy Brook Farm, and you must act fast if you’re not to lose a golden opportunity, an opportunity that only comes once in a lifetime. Quick! Where is your coat! There is no time to be lost. If he’s not in the station he’ll be in the nearest bar. And if he’s half-seas over when you find him, that will work to your advantage. If he has a consort of scroungers with him, that too will be in your favour. They won’t be too drunk to see that they may still bleed him a bit.’ Here she threw a look at the clock. ‘The banks are still open. They’ll see to it he can cash your cheque. Don’t forget your cheque book. And here’s another thing, be sure and take your clerk with you to be a witness to the transaction. He’ll hardly be needed here while you’re away. Anyway, I can stay here and give what assistance is needed maybe to answer the bell or admit a client if one calls. I can provide him with a chair and say that you were regrettably called away on urgent business but would be back shortly.’ In a matter of seconds she had him on his feet and in his coat. ‘Isn’t destiny extraordinary,’ she said. ‘George always said there is a right time and a wrong time for everything we do. I used to wonder long ago why you never did buy a farm of your own.’
‘I never got much encouragement to do so,’ said Mr Parr, ‘Never from the Garrets,’ he added acidly. ‘If you remember they regarded me highly as a lawyer but never lost an opportunity of saying they did not think much of me as a farmer, although I managed all their affairs for a considerable number of years.’ He leaned forward. ‘Don’t you remember, Miss Lomas, that not long before he died George said in your hearing that one day in the open would be the end of me. They didn’t think a man was a man at all if he wasn’t big and red-faced like themselves.’
Miss Lomas was surprised at a semi-quaver of bit
terness in his voice. In the past she had sometimes wondered how he had taken the Garrets’ jibes at his white face and skinny legs. Then she had been on the side of the mockers. Surprisingly now she felt more like siding with him. ‘Ah well! We can’t all be big and beefy!’ she said. ‘And isn’t it odd it’s them and not you that’s now six foot under the sod.’ When a squint of gratitude came into his eyes, she didn’t miss it. ‘It’s my belief that you will make as good a fist of farming it as anyone. After all, what is there to it, only watching the grass grow and telling a fat beast from a thin one?’
Mr Parr seemed somewhat taken by surprise but he bowed in gratitude to her tribute. ‘Thank you, Miss Lomas,’ he said.
‘It’s true!’ said Miss Lomas. ‘If only that terrible Christy had not let the place go so far downhill. It’s only fair to warn you that there will have to be a lot of money spent on the land and the outhouses. Ah well,’ she said practically, ‘we can’t have our loaf and eat it at the same time. Think of the bargain you’ll be getting.’ Seeing that Mr Parr did not look as happy as he ought, she patted him on the shoulder. ‘Little by little, that’s the way we’ll tackle the job. We must keep a proper balance, you know.’ And when as he still looked glum she gave him a little shake. ‘Cheer up!’ she said. ‘It won’t be too hard to put the place to rights if we go about it with the proper spirit.’ Indeed she herself was overcome by such a rush of energy and enthusiasm it seemed to her that when she’d get back there that evening she would turn out every room at Brook Farm and overtake in a few hours all she had failed to accomplish in a decade. But this rush of vitality brought a rush of blood to her head and she flopped back again into her chair. And when she tried to rise a second time, her legs wobbled and a sweat broke out all over her body. ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ she gasped.
Mr Parr scrambled to his feet. ‘Help, help!’ he shouted, although, almost before the words were out of his mouth, as if he was listening at the door, Miss Lomas thought, his pimply apprentice ran in. ‘Quick! Get this woman a cup of tea,’ cried Mr Parr, ‘and some sandwiches, anything at all, as long as it’s quick.’
But weak as she was Miss Lomas heard what the young fellow said. She always had good ears.
‘Who is the Old Bags anyway?’ the young man asked.
Pained, Miss Lomas closed her eyes. ‘Is it wise to let such an ill-mannered pup come into contact with your clients?’ she asked weakly, but feeling she had been unkind, she modified her criticism. ‘Perhaps the young man is delicate, that sallow skin, those pimples.’
‘Delicate?’ cried Mr Parr. ‘Is it that fellow? Well, let me tell you if he’s delicate, it’s not for want of food. That fellow has been plied with the best, the same as his sisters and brothers, since the first hour he came into my care.’
‘Oh dear me!’ Miss Lomas’s hand flew to her heart. ‘He isn’t your nephew, is he?’ she cried in embarrassment but it was an embarrassment that was put to rout by one of those impulses of generosity that had characterised her in the old days. ‘The poor boy,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for him.’ Suddenly she sat up, full of life once more. ‘Why didn’t you send him out to me at Brook Farm?’ she cried. ‘There’s nothing like the country for putting red cheeks on young people. Indeed if it comes to that, there is nothing like it for putting manners on them too. Oh dear, what a pity to think of all the summers that young fellow could have spent out there with me and his brothers and sisters too for that matter.’ Distressed she sighed. ‘Well, it can’t be helped now,’ she said, but she looked peculiarly at the old man. ‘So you never married?’ she said with a look as belittling as the gaze of an undertaker sizing him up for a coffin.
‘I may not have married, Miss Lomas,’ Mr Parr said sourly, but I have had a full share of life’s responsibilities. And I am by no means rid of those responsibilities either. You may not know it, living as you have done in such unnatural seclusion, but when I took over the care of my poor sister’s children they were already a neglected lot. It was not easy to rear them from such a poor start.’
‘You don’t tell me? Bad enough to be saddled with them, without them being ailing and difficult.’ Genuinely sympathetic, she reached out and manacled his hands in a warm moist clasp. But she had seen that the word saddled was too strong a word to have used; it had put him in a poor light. No doubt when his nieces and nephews were growing up, he had found some sort of fulfilment in the rearing of them. It must even have given him pleasure to pay for their books and satchels, their little boots and mufflers. And when he called to the cottage where they lived and for which of course he would have been paying the rent, it must have made him feel good to have them throw their arms around his neck and hug him in thanks for the bag of sweets he would most likely have pulled from his pocket. Ah! but it must have been a different matter altogether when he wakened up to the realisation that for all he had spent on them they were far from being what they would have been had they been his own. Then the boots and books he had so magnanimously supplied would have been taken for granted, and he would have had to put his money into giving them the airs and graces they now clearly lacked. Nevertheless, no matter what, she thought he should not have let them grow up in the town. ‘There’s no use crying over spilled milk, I suppose,’ she said briskly. ‘Weren’t you the foolish man to let the Garrets ridicule you out of trying your hand at farming. Isn’t it the only way of life that is natural to any man.’ She paused. ‘You could have added to your income too, and for all your money, I daresay you could have done with a few extra pounds, having had extra burdens to carry. To say nothing of the young people themselves who would have reaped a harvest richer than gold!’ But here, as if her words had set up an echo in her mind, she leant forward excitedly. ‘Do you remember George Garret always said the land was so good at Brook Farm that if you sowed farthings you’d reap sovereigns?’
‘That’s right, I remember well. Many a time he said it,’ said Mr Parr. ‘Tell me, would you say it was very run down, the land, I mean?’
Miss Lomas pondered the question. ‘It’s the house I’m worried about,’ she said. ‘I think the sooner you come out and inspect the place, the better.’
It was at this point a tray arrived, with tea, bread and butter and slices of cold ham, and although Miss Lomas fastened a famished gaze on it, she took time for a quick look at the young man who carried it before he went out again. ‘He certainly isn’t as robust as I’d like to see him,’ she said. ‘It might be a good idea to send him out right away. Can he drive a car? If so, how about having him drive me back? Then he could give you a report on the place and whatever one may say about one’s own, they can be trusted better than strangers. She had poured out a cup of tea and taken a sip, when she had another idea. ‘Why not have him stay out there tonight?’ she said. ‘He could have Christy’s room! If he gave me a hand, I wouldn’t be long getting it to rights. It would need a good cleaning out of course. You know what Christy was like, but it might be advisable for him to bring a few blankets with him too,’ she said. Here, however Miss Lomas could no longer refrain from falling on the food, but before taking her knife and fork to the ham, felt obliged to add another recommendation. ‘And some supplies perhaps,’ she said, as casually as was compatible with her famished state. Mr Parr got to his feet.
‘When I come back from the station, I think that I will leave you home myself, Miss Lomas,’ he said. ‘We can discuss a lot of matters on the way out. And now I’ll leave you for a brief time to finish your meal in peace.’ Calling his nephew to accompany him he hurried out. Miss Lomas nodded her thanks to him as she stuffed a forkful of ham into her mouth.
*
It was late in the afternoon when Mr Parr and Miss Lomas drove out of the town. Mr Parr had thought it wise to leave his nephew behind for the moment. He had made a very good deal with Christy but it was as well to keep things quiet until he had possession of the deeds and cleared his entitlement.
‘How did Christy react to it all?’ Miss Lomas asked.
‘Well as you said he was slightly befuddled. He actually wanted to take less than I offered.’
They had made one stop, because they were passing the family grocers where she used to deal, Miss Lomas gave an exclamation.
‘The supplies!’ she said, and remarkably nimbly she hopped out of the car. ‘I’ll tell them to put them down to you, I suppose,’ she said before she dodged into the shop. It was half an hour before they were on their way again. This time, more accustomed to the newfangled vehicle, Miss Lomas sat happily looking out at the countryside. It was a stuffy way to travel compared with an open trap in which one got the air, and an unobstructed view, but of course it was faster, because in no time at all they were near to Brook Farm. They ought surely to be coming in sight of it? They had turned around a fence from which, in the old days, the gleaming white gates could be seen. She stole a look at Mr Parr’s face and it was by the dismay on it, she realised that they were already at the gateway.
The gate was open, but not thrown wide in the hospitable way of old, when Christy would have been sent running down at the sound of the trap. It was only half-open, its broken hinges having caused it to list and drop, leaving one end stuck like an anchor into the thick mud that totally replaced the washed river pebbles with which it used be annually surfaced. There was no sign of the spud-stone, or else it too was sunk into the mud.
The old solicitor stopped the car.
‘How are the cattle kept from straying out on the road?’ he asked.
‘The land is empty,’ Miss Lomas whispered.
