The Herbalist (32 page)

There was no sign of Rose lately. Her mother
said she had turned into a homebody, that she always had her nose in a book. That
sounded nothing like the girl Carmel knew. She wondered if they were related – Grettie
B’s request for a loan and her daughter’s sudden desire to stay home? Carmel
had a vague memory of Rose putting her head into the drawing room that night; just a
quick hello. How had she looked? Had she seemed a bit peaky? Did Rose have an incurable
disease that needed expensive treatment? Did Rose have consumption?

She shook herself. What a thing to think.
All the old rumourmongers in the shop must be rubbing off on her.

The town was fevered with gossip about a
certain herbalist and his women. Carmel wasn’t a bit surprised: everyone had been
too free and easy with him for too long – it was like they were all half in
love. He had given her a new mixture to help her have a child; this
one had mugwort as well as whatever else was usually in it. ‘Fresh and especially
potent, you do the business and this will do the rest.’ Carmel wondered had the
man lost the run of himself, talking to her like that – ‘do the business’
indeed.

He seemed less dependable these days, less
well turned out. Though trade stayed brisk enough, Carmel noticed that his queues were
down a bit. Success, it appeared, didn’t suit him; the tide was turning and the
townsfolk were suspicious. That’s how it went with people. Everyone had wanted to
mind him at first, own a piece of him. Not that you’d invite him to dinner.

In a way she felt sorry for him. She
supposed the tide would turn back just as quickly. But, still, the things they were
saying about him – that he had a roving eye, a taste for swanky sweethearts and a grá
for exchanging favours. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Their need for him made the
townsfolk uneasy.

Garda Molloy had been in too, asking
questions. Nothing in particular but enough to cast aspersions. Asking what was said
about the man? What exactly was he selling? Had there been any complaints against him?
He had called round to lots of other premises. Carmel told him nothing; she intended to
warn Dan also to say nothing. The last thing she needed was an abrupt end to her
treatment.

She suspected the garda was more concerned
about immorality than the herbalist’s medical credentials. The way Emily had made
such a fool of herself over him, and her so young and witless, was the talk of the town.
The herbalist had to learn that you could be too nice sometimes. It didn’t wash
well with the people, encouraging a girl like Emily. Customers would say to Carmel,
‘Wasn’t she pitiful – offering to carry his bags, hanging around the
lane?’ His business had picked up no end when he shunned her.

Others weren’t as harsh – said he must
have a piece of ice in his heart, to be so cold to the young Madden one. Didn’t
her eyes light up at the sight of him? It was just girlish infatuation – a silly little
thing, mooning over a man old enough to be her father – and anyone could see that
nothing untoward had been going on.

Another thing – that Aggie was in and out of
there with her cronies on a regular basis. Seems she did the herbalist’s washing.
That he collected it from her with a big golden smile and often tarried for a sup of
poitín. That couldn’t be good for him. Would he be able for it? She had no shame,
that one, the big ginger head on her. And she had a big mouth. Maybe she was the one
gabbing?

Carmel couldn’t imagine Aggie talking
to the law, but someone was – someone was letting cats out of the bag, and once they
were out you couldn’t get them back in again.

Doctor Birmingham, of course, had been
suspicious from early on. Carmel knew why – it was no secret that he had been losing
patients since the herbalist came to town. ‘The herbalist works wonders,’
his patients had chimed as they waited on Doctor B’s oak pew in the tiled hall of
his fine cold house. Doctor B, it was said, had overheard. He’d thrown open the
door of his surgery. He ran them all out, every single one. ‘Even Noreen Cassidy,
and we know how fond he is of her.’ Titter, titter.

‘Off with you, then. Back to that
quack. He’s no doctor. Where’s his papers? His surgery? On the street,
that’s where.’

As soon as the townsfolk had had the
herbalist hung, drawn and quartered, they changed their minds and put him together
again.

His fingernails are clean, spotless.

Ah, he’s your man. Whatever is up, he’s your man.

Gives great relief from chest pain.

But that never lasted long. There was always
someone to bring the tone back down.

The devil takes care of his own.

Things aren’t what they seem.

The truth will out.

Carmel sometimes wondered at the delight
they all took in the rise and fall, and rise and fall again, of the herbalist. As if all
the things they reported with hot scandalized lips were all the things they’d ever
wanted.

She nodded and agreed with every
contradictory comment. Increasingly her sympathy lay with poor Emily, but she knew not
to say so. She missed Emily in the shop; she’d been easier to be around
than Sarah. She remembered the way she’d chat, her elbows
either side of some newspaper article, telling all about some royal. It didn’t
take much to make Emily happy – a few kind words, a trip to the picture house, sweets, a
postcard of Merle Oberon. So when the herbalist first tipped his hat at her, Emily got
her very own living, breathing maharajah.

‘Who could blame her,’ said
Carmel once, ‘who could blame her for having her head turned?’

The reply came swift and harsh. ‘Ach,
easy turn a head that has nothing in it.’

Carmel didn’t think she could take
another word about the whole thing. She was fed up with them, with their talk and
shenanigans. All she wanted was an evening alone with her husband. She would speak to
Sarah, tell her to take the next weekend off to go home. It might give the girl a scare,
make her think her position wasn’t secure.

Sarah knew something would happen: it was
like she was outside herself, watching the scenes of a film and unable to change
anything, just waiting and watching with a lurid fascination, with impatience. They were
both annoyed with her after the night she was late home from the herbalist’s
smelling of alcohol. A confrontation was brewing. Sarah had overheard them. Carmel had
been tippling and constantly discussing it with Dan. Sarah’s goings-on had livened
up her life no end.

Then, one Sunday after supper, Carmel called
a meeting of the three of them in the living room. Carmel walked over to where Sarah was
sitting, knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee. Carmel’s eyes were
swollen; there were purple shadows underneath. She patted Sarah’s leg and looked
ready to speak, when a hammering started on the shop door. They all jumped up to get it.
Carmel got there first. It was Mrs Birmingham.

‘Oh, dear, are you okay?’ they
heard Carmel ask.

Mrs Birmingham waited for a second and then
released a long sob. Carmel took her hand and led her through to the back room.

‘Come into the kitchen, it’s
warmer.’

Carmel grabbed a bottle of Buckfast and
urged the doctor’s wife to ensconce herself in the stove-side chair.

‘You don’t mind, Dan, do
you?’ she said. ‘I’m needed.’ She closed the door between them.
Sarah got up. They both just stood there then, looking at each other. Dan blushed.
Crying and consternation came from the kitchen. Sarah looked towards the window, but
Carmel was leaning against the glass, so she could see nothing. She felt like weeping
herself. Everything was a mess.

‘Are you going to send me back?’
she said.

‘The place wouldn’t be the same
without you.’

‘It’s hardly happy as it
is.’ She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’

‘I’m a good person; I
don’t mean any harm.’

‘I know that.’ He put his hand
on her shoulder. ‘I know.’

She wouldn’t look up at him.

‘Sarah, do you believe me?’ He
leant in closer than he should have.

She raised her face, put her hand either
side of Dan’s head and pulled him towards her. She kissed him, and he kissed her
back, every nerve in her face and mouth alive, sensing his smell, his taste, his texture
– all of him – in a new way. He pulled back and looked anxiously towards the window into
the kitchen. Sarah left him standing there and went upstairs to bed.

The kiss changed everything. The kiss told
her why he’d sabotaged her chances with Matt. Why he was so full of praise she
hadn’t earned.

She ran her fingers over where their lips
had touched. She had once hoped for romance but not like this. Maybe she’d had
feelings for him but hadn’t admitted it, even to herself. It was like an
artificial light: one switch and it was on, just like that.

She wondered what to do. Her sensible voice
said,
That’s the end of it now. It’s time to look elsewhere for
employment. That was a very nice kiss. Think no more about it. It must not happen
again.
The right thing would have been to pack her bags and head away, not
spend another night under his wife’s roof. But she knew she wasn’t going
anywhere.

She wondered how he felt about it, being so
near to her. She touched the paper on the wall between her room and theirs. She tried to
feel guilty, to think about what Carmel would go through if she knew. Lonely superior
Carmel – she couldn’t be any more miserable. Yet it would give her something to
cling to …
Here’s some news for you
. Sarah never knew she could be so
cruel.

She slept well. Dreamt that Dan undid every
stitch she wore in every room of his wife’s house.

The next morning Dan sat and poured himself
some tea from the pot Sarah had just made. She looked at his hands and couldn’t
think of anything to say. Dan cleared his throat.

‘We were all a bit upset and said, eh
… and did things perhaps we ought not to, that were out of character and not for the
general good.’

He rubbed the back of his head and licked
his lips before continuing. She knew he was remembering how that kiss felt. What’s
he trying to do, she wondered; does he even know? She rose and went over to him.

‘I won’t say a word; I
wouldn’t upset you for the world.’

He turned his hands palm up on the table in
front of him, about to say something bland to smooth things over. It was all he ever
did. Sarah sat on his lap. Carmel would rise at eleven at the earliest. She put her arms
around his neck and kissed him at her leisure. His eyes were closed but his breathing
was rapid. He wrapped those arms around Sarah and pushed her further into his lap,
pressed his thumbs into her wrist. They clung at each other till the chimes of the clock
told them to open shop.

‘I’ll do it, Sarah. You need
time to get yourself together.’

He wasn’t as upset as earlier, more in
control. But could he deceive Carmel? They killed each other but at the same time they
were close. Sarah went to her room. She poured some water from her jug into the basin.
Washed her face with a damp face cloth. Laid the cool cloth over her face, and stretched
out on the bed, imagining her own cooling hands were Dan’s, running over her hips,
her belly. There was a creak from the hall.

Carmel’s bedroom door had opened.
Sarah couldn’t believe it; it took a miracle for Carmel to rise so early on a
tonic-wine morning. She peeled off the face cloth. Carmel opened her door and came in.
She looked terrible. She hadn’t even got round to being the worse for wear yet.
She walked in and stood over Sarah.

‘Why aren’t you in the
shop?’

‘I’m all swollen from
crying.’

‘I’m not stupid, Sarah, you
don’t even have to admit what’s
going on, I can tell for
myself. It’s written all over your face, you poor fool – you think you’re in
love.’

‘No,’ Sarah said, ‘I
don’t.’

‘Don’t deny it. No more
cavorting, no more alcohol. While you’re working for me, you’ll stay home in
the evenings and behave like a lady.’

Sarah looked at her employer. The stink of
drink. The same clothes she had worn yesterday, all sleep creased.

‘I’ll try, Carmel.’

You were a long way from home, Aggie. Did you miss your family, your mother, your
father?

Aggie had a lovely father. Thank God
he’s long dead and can’t see me now. I hope he can’t, dirty bitch that
I am.

You’re kind, Aggie.

You didn’t always think that, you
snotty thing, did you? Turned your nose up, you and your lot. Old Aggie was to be
sniffed at.

I thought you were a tinker
.

They’d be too religious to end up like
me, a river bird, a sinner, a woman of ill repute. Why do women hold on so fierce to
their good reputations? All a reputation does is stop you doing as you please.