Betrayal (11 page)

Panicking, she heard herself shouting, ‘Stop! It's broken, Hamish. I've been here before.'

‘'Tis no more broken than I am, Doctor,' said Mrs. Haney. ‘More likely awash, I'm thinking.'

‘Wait here, then, the two of you, while I have a look.'

‘No, I will!'

Mary scrambled out and ran into the light, and they watched as she bent to the sheeting rain, clutching her coat collar close, her boots now ankle deep, the Loughie rising by the moment as the torch was shone around.

Fraser saw her step gingerly on to the bridge, she turning now in uncertainty to look with disbelief at the soundness of it.

‘It's as I've said, Doctor. No more broke than I am. Your missus must have been thinking of another.'

Yet still she didn't want to believe it. Finally Fraser saw her look up and heard her shout something. Rolling down the side windscreen, he stuck his head out and yelled, ‘Is it clear?'

Mary fought her way back to tell him there must be a steep hill on the other side, a thing he'd have known in any case.

‘And the bridge?' he asked, wondering which one she'd thought it must have been.

‘Solid,' she said, no longer paying the rain any mind.

‘Hop in, then, and we'll give it a go. Hang on, Mrs. Haney, and say a prayer for us.'

The lane ended in a cattle gate on the steep side of yet another hill. From there they made their way uphill to the cattle shed which was in the ruins of an old abbey. There was a lantern on and at first they thought the girl must have been brought in out of the rain, but this wasn't so. Bits of her clothing law strewn about in the straw and the dung. The cattle mooed or stared or bawled. A pitchfork leaned against the wall, the sound of the rain being everywhere.

Mary stooped to pick up a blouse, Hamish angrily saying, ‘Leave that, for God's sake!' and they went back out into the rain, he grim and determined, so much so that he was soon well ahead of them.

Caithleen O'Neill was down in a hollow on the other side of the hill. A scattering of men stood around her, three of them holding lanterns, Hamish pushing on through. …

Mary flung up a hand to stop herself from crying out at the sight of the girl. Mrs. Haney said, ‘Dear God forgive them, the poor wee thing.'

The girl, a direct descendant of one of the High Kings of Eire, or so it was claimed, lay on her side, stripped of her clothes, shorn of her lovely hair and covered in tar and feathers from head to foot.

She was shivering, was whimpering and trying to say the rosary as the rain beat down on her. A girl of seventeen. Mary had seen her out walking with one of the men from the castle, a boy of nineteen, a British tommy.

Hamish hesitated and she knew then that he was afraid but not for himself—never that. ‘Caithleen … Caithleen, it's me, Dr. Fraser. Now you're not to worry a moment more. You're going to be all right because I'm going to see to it.

‘Mary, pass me my bag. Someone shelter us with one of those blankets. A lantern, one of you—dear God, don't you dare defy me. A lantern now, I say!'

It was the closest he'd come to cursing them, though the tarring wasn't of their doing and the girl but a leper now.

When Mary held the bag open for him, she saw the tears and understood that they weren't just for Caithleen but for herself.

The kitchen was warm, the mug of real tea as strong as the Irish could make it but good to hold. As Mary sat alone on a bench, Mrs. Haney muscled another soup kettle of water on to the stove.

Warm water, rationed soap and rationed butter would be used, but lastly. Already wads and wads of used cotton wool and gauze lay about the floor. All the bottles of surgical benzene had long since been drained. Poor Hamish was now using those of methylated spirit, eight brown bottles of which had come from the pharmacy in Armagh, he having asked her to ring Trant first to request all that he'd had in the castle's infirmary before then asking her to beg them to send someone to Armagh for extra lanolin as well.

It would take him the rest of the night. She knew he wouldn't stop until he had the girl tucked in upstairs. He was washing her off in the mudroom. Both its window and door were wide open to air the place, yet the fumes were everywhere and he was worried about them, kept glancing at the door whenever he could, kept muttering to himself.

Her head bowed in shame, Caithleen stood with fists clenched at her sides and eyes clamped shut. The tar was now in streaks and brownish-black smears through which the whiteness of her skin showed. When the worst of it was removed, they quickly used the warm water, soap, baking soda and lanolin, the butter too. Mary knew he'd never seen anything like it before, that it couldn't have been worse.

‘Darling, let me take over. You need to rest.'

‘Would you get Caithleen another cup of that tea, Mary? With lots of sugar and none of that damned saccharin. Add a dram or two. It won't hurt, will it, Caithleen? Now surely it won't.'

Mary held the cup to the girl's lips, Caithleen letting the tea trickle down her throat and never once opening her eyes, but each time the lips were touched, the girl stiffened in alarm. ‘Don't cry anymore, Caithleen. Please don't. Hamish is taking good care of you. Mrs. Haney's still here, in the kitchen. We're all going to look after you.'

They came to the house then. They'd been out hunting rebels half the night, were drenched to the skin, but hadn't found a thing: Jimmy Allanby, Sergeant Stuart, and six of the men. All were armed—Lee Enfield rifles, Thompson guns, and a Webley service revolver for Jimmy just like the one she still had upstairs in her room.

Hamish didn't look up. He kept right on gently bathing a spot before scraping at it with the dinner knife. ‘What's the meaning of this, Captain?' he asked—none of them would have noticed the flicker of anger, none of them would have realized that he must have been worrying about them all along.

‘A word, that's all,' said Jimmy, taking things in quickly. ‘That girl has to tell us who did this, Dr. Fraser. My orders are to …'

His shirt sleeves rolled well above the elbows, Hamish straightened to face him. The broad suspender straps swelled outwards as he drew in a breath. He was the taller by a good half-head. ‘Since when do orders supersede medical necessity?'

Jimmy had taken off the grey woollen gloves the Army used when in battle in the rain and cold, but hadn't pulled off the black beret with its regimental badge.

‘Look, I don't want trouble, do I?' he said.

‘Nor I,' said Hamish softly. ‘Kindly ask your men to step outside. There's to be no smoking in here and that
is
an order, Captain. It really is.'

Jimmy searched Hamish's expression for signs of weakness. Mary knew he was thinking him a failure, that he'd had to leave Edinburgh in disgrace and that he'd taken to the bottle, but what Jimmy didn't know, what none of them had realized, herself most especially until now, was that Hamish had come by choice.

‘I'll ask it of you again, Captain. Kindly remove your men from my mudroom.'

‘Sergeant.'

‘Sir?'

‘Place Dr. Fraser under arrest.'

Hamish must have known what Jimmy would do, for when seized by the arms, he didn't resist. ‘Caithleen,' he said, tossing the words to her, ‘this animal is going to ask you some questions. It's your right to say nothing.
Nothing
, Caithleen. Do you hear me, lass? Mrs. Fraser and I will back you to the hilt.'

For this he was shoved from behind and pinned to the wall with one of the rifles and three of the men holding him there. Mary used her fists and voice, kicking savagely at Jimmy and shrieking that he was cruel and a bastard. ‘You're only doing this because the sight of you sickens me,' she cried, Hamish shouting, ‘Mary, for God's sake, a spark!'

Caithleen broke into sobs. Mrs. Haney came roaring through from the kitchen, her rolling pin upraised, only to be shoved aside, it clattering to the floor as coats, hats and scarves showered down around her from their hangers. Pushed up against the wall beside Hamish, forced to watch in silence, they waited as Jimmy walked around the girl. He'd say it only once—he had that look about him: cold, brutal, fed up with the Irish and with the way the war had been going for him.

‘The names, Caithleen O'Neill. Fay Darcy, am I right? Was it Fay who tore the clothes from you as you shrieked at her?'

There was no other sound, the girl steadfastly gazing at the wall beyond him.

‘Liam Nolan was with the Darcy woman, wasn't he?' said Jimmy. ‘So why you, Caithleen? Why the example?'

Allanby let his eyes travel down her naked back until they came to rest on her rump. She'd a good figure—far better than most of them. A real ‘slip of a thing,' the Irish would have said.

He wouldn't touch her yet, wouldn't make her jump and flinch by doing that. He'd simply say it suddenly from behind her left ear. ‘Listen to me, girl. Kevin O'Bannion didn't order this. Kevin's far too smart, so he's split from Fay and Nolan, am I right?'

How could she possibly have known, she screaming her heart out as they'd grappled her to the ground? wondered Mary, sucking in a breath as Jimmy came to face the girl again, even to letting his eyes run swiftly over her.

Hamish had had to cut the hair closer. One breast was free of tar, the other still had a few feathers clinging to it.

Again Jimmy said, ‘Listen to me, girl,' this time grabbing her by the chin to press his face close to hers. ‘I want the names of those who did this to you and I want to know why. So what if you've been making eyes at one of my men and walking out with him of a Sunday? That's been going on for months and we know he hasn't been poling you because he's told us you're a good girl, so why this, Caithleen? Why all of a sudden?'

‘She can't answer,' said Hamish. ‘Her voice is gone.'

‘SERGEANT.'

‘SIR?'

‘Silence that man if he opens his mouth again. Well?' he asked. ‘They cut off your hair, girl, as though you'd been letting that boy pole the daylights out of you. They sheared you like a sheep, bent you over and shoved that brush …'

‘JIMMY, STOP IT! Please stop it. You'll get nothing from her that way.'

Allanby didn't turn to look at her. He simply said, ‘Corporal Hamilton, take Mrs. Fraser into the other room.'

‘No, damn you. I'll stay. I'll … I'll be quiet.'

‘The alcohol …' said Hamish, only to have a hand clamped over his mouth and his head banged back against the wall.

‘The methylated spirits,' said Jimmy softly. ‘Caithleen, I know you can hear me. I'm going to take out a cigarette and light it but first I'm going to gather these swabs about your feet.'

Caithleen clamped her eyes shut. Clasping her hands in front of her in prayer, she shrieked, ‘I don't know who did it! I don't!'

Jimmy took the cigarette out and tapped one end of it against the case to let her know he wasn't kidding, then opened the packet of matches.

‘Jimmy, don't. Please don't.'

Allanby hid the elation he felt. Turning swiftly from the girl, he took two strides and demanded, ‘Well, what the hell have you to say about it then? You've been hiding something. I know damned well you have.'

‘She'll go up like a torch. You know she will. You can't threaten her like that.'

‘And not carry through—that it?'

Did he hate her so much? wondered Mary. He struck the wooden end of the match against the sandpaper of the box, dragged it along next to the girl's ear, letting all of them hear it plainly enough.

‘Fay Darcy,' blurted Caithleen.

‘Lass, you mustn't,' breathed Hamish.

Her head was bowed. Caithleen knew they'd all be looking at her, she naked and covered with tar and feathers, her lovely hair gone, her hair … Her
da
would want her to keep shut—everyone would no matter what happened to her.

A match. A cigarette. The flames and her screams as she threw herself about on the floor and died.

‘Fay Darcy, my cousin Sean, and … and my uncle Jack.'

‘Are they hiding Fay?'

The girl nodded. Mary watched in dismay as the life seemed to drain from Hamish, all the years of trying to help others, all the wars, the insanities of men against men, women and children. ‘You've as much as killed that girl,' he said on being released. ‘I shall try not to despise you for it, Captain, but don't ever cross me again.'

Jimmy simply ordered the men out into what was left of the night and departed from them without another word or gesture. Given the mood of the times, Mary knew they'd hang Jack O'Neill and the cousin, but first they'd make them talk.

‘Mary … Mary, I spoke harshly to you. Earlier it was. Can you ever forgive me?'

‘Hamish, it doesn't matter.'

‘But it does, lass. It wasn't right of me.'

‘Mrs. Fraser, how good of you to call in like this.'

‘Colonel, with all due respect, my appearance here was ordered by yourself.'

And my, but wasn't she looking upset about it? ‘Now, now, my dear.
Tut, tut.
That more books for the men?'

‘Of course it is.'

‘Tea?' he asked, coming round the desk to take her coat himself, to let his hands momentarily rest on her shoulders and smell the clean, bath-soapy smell of her.

‘Just a cup, then,' Mary heard herself answer, he still standing behind her. ‘I haven't much time and must get back to the house.'

He'd clear his throat now, thought Bannerman, would lift her coat away and say, ‘Um, er … How is the …'

‘Victim, Colonel?'

Oh my, oh my, and touchy too. ‘The girl, Caithleen O'Neill.'

Mary knew she would have to put him on the defensive. She couldn't have him flipping through the books. ‘A little better, if one can ever recover from such a thing. Colonel …'