The Herbalist (35 page)

‘Get that fox-fur off you this
minute.’

‘What do you really do to the women
that go to you?’

He looked this way and that, then stepped
out from behind the stall and cupped my face in his hand, as if to examine me. Then he
pressed a thumb underneath my eye and dragged the skin down. Looked in one eye and then
the other in this manner. I saw the dark pores on his face, the stubble that was too
deep for the razor, smelt the musky salt of his armpits.

‘What do you really do?’

‘Nothing they don’t ask
for,’ he said. ‘“Jesus help me.” That’s what they all say,
every one of them. And does he? No. But I do. I save the day.’

He pinched my chin, raised his voice.
‘If you are very constipated, I suggest salts, young lady; now, if you don’t
mind –’

‘A bit of lady trouble, Doctor?’
the chicken and dog man shouted over.

‘Some people get the wrong idea
altogether,’ said the herbalist.

He was trying to mortify me into leaving,
but I stood my ground. I wasn’t going to be shaken off so easily.

‘Take off that fur now!’ He
tugged the neck of the coat.

‘I saw your box of tricks, Don
Fernandes.’

He dropped his hand and just stood there. We
looked at each other: it was like there was no one else alive in the whole town but us
two and I was terrified of what he was going to do. I had gone too far. When he spoke, I
expected him to roar, not to whisper, which was what he did. He whispered so softly that
I could barely hear him.

‘Do you think Doctor Birmingham works
without tools, Emily?’

‘He never took out a rod to examine
me.’

He held his belly and started laughing then.
His eyes were very angry. I worried that he might lash out and hit me.

‘Emily, you are funny. The rod, as you
call it, is a door stop. It jams the door closed when I’m treating someone. Now
get that fox-fur off you this minute.’

He stepped towards me, but I ran, ran as
fast as I could away from the man I’d been running towards all summer.

Carmel felt more at ease with Sarah gone
home for a few days. Or maybe the new medicine was working. The herbalist had tweaked
the mixture again: it was now a stronger pick-me-up. He was very good at listening to a
woman, at understanding the importance of this treatment without its being pointed out
to him. At first she had been shy about asking for a greater strength, but the herbalist
was fine about it, said she could have anything her heart desired. It made her feel
ashamed of having entertained the gossips and the inflammatory things they’d had
to say. The other tonic didn’t seem to have worked, not yet, not this month.

A new laziness came with the ending of
summer, and with Sarah out of the way Carmel and Dan were able to loll around and savour
it. Carmel was well advanced in her reading of the banned novels. There had been no word
from Grettie B since she had given her the money. There were no more unexpected visits
and crying episodes. She concluded that things must have sorted themselves out.

They relaxed on the Sunday. Dozed most of
the day, had their dinner at teatime and went for a walk down by the river. Carmel had
held Dan’s hand once they passed the lock gates. It was so peaceful that they were
both reluctant to turn back. She had given him a kiss when no one was looking.

Carmel decided that she should be happy with
her husband and not envious of their shop girl’s comings and goings. When Sarah
had started to come home late from the herbalist’s place on a Sunday, Carmel had
been so resentful. How she would have liked to be part of something lively, a sing-song
or story-telling. But when she’d heard it was just card-playing, she wasn’t
too upset about being left out, and didn’t really mind Sarah partaking. It was
nice to have the house to themselves for an hour or two.

Dan had minded; he had minded a lot.
Gambling on Our Lord’s
Day? Their shop girl, ingratiating
herself with ne’er-do-wells? He was fuming.

But now that she’d had time to think
about it, Carmel had it all in perspective. She just wasn’t as free as Sarah. She
was a respectable married woman. She had had her fun and should be content with her
world as it was.

The next morning she was up to open the
shop. Carmel had forgotten how much she enjoyed working the counter by herself. Liked
the news, hearing what everyone was up to. It wasn’t the same hearing it
second-hand. She had been so weak after she lost the child that she needed to be away
from it all for a while, because in those days she was the news.

Sometime that afternoon, as they looked
through the ledger together, Dan mentioned that he thought Sarah should get a rise soon.
The meanest man in the Western world putting his hands in his pockets? He frazzled her
nerves when he said things like that.

Carmel tried to get back that soft satisfied
feeling they’d had on their stroll down the river, that feeling of completeness in
each other. But she couldn’t. The nice time was over. Carmel was beginning to
think that an apple and a good book in her bed – once he’d got out of it – was the
closest thing she’d be getting to heaven in this life.

There hadn’t been the warm reunion
that Sarah had expected. Mai’s face had fallen when she saw her at the door.
Thought she had lost her job. Her next concern was if anyone had seen her, any of the
neighbours. When did Mai ever care about neighbours? She had actually stuck her head out
of the door and looked up and down to see if there was anyone around, anyone that might
have seen.

‘Look at the big chest on you,’
she said; ‘the whole place will know.’

‘I’ll stay inside.’

She didn’t of course. She spent most
of her time in the back garden, weeding. It was good to be out in the sun, moving around
instead of standing in the one place in a stuffy shop. The days flew, and Mai was kind
enough to let her enjoy them and keep her worries, as much as she could, to herself. On
the last evening, the Sunday, Mai made Sarah her supper and got down to business.

‘He’s been here.’

‘Who? James?’ It hurt Sarah to
say his name out loud.

‘No, of course not. He wouldn’t
dare. It was the father, Master Finbar. He invited himself for tea, and in not so many
words said you’re not to show your face around here. He didn’t say it quite
like that. You know the way he talks. Polite but in a way that would scare the bejesus
out of you. “Sarah has a good job now,” he said. “Yes,” I said,
“and we’re grateful to you for that.” “There’s nothing for
her here, Mai. Her life is elsewhere now.”’

‘That’s not anything odd. Sure
you said the same yourself, Mai.’

‘No, Sarah – it’s the way he
said it. He was at your send-off; he must’ve seen what went on. He was outside
that night smoking those foul fancy cigars of his. Then he rushed in and fetched his hat
and coat. Not a goodbye or a thank you. And the face on him. Then you came in crying. I
never put two and two together till he came
here with his message. And
it was a message, make no bones about it. A warning.’

Sarah covered her face. He saw. Then he
must’ve seen that it wasn’t her fault – but did men understand such things?
Oh, the shame.

‘You’re in a dangerous
situation.’

‘Do you not think I know
that?’

‘I don’t think you know much.
Coming here. Remember what I told you about Annie Mangan?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was Jamsie boy put her in the
family way, and his father who had her locked up. He never had any control over that son
of his. I warned you against him. I warned you, but you wouldn’t
listen.’

‘No, it was only me. It was always
only me with him.’

‘No, it wasn’t, Sarah. It was
never only you.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me the full
truth before this, warn me properly? I thought you were fussing.’

‘It was rumour then, just rumour.
What’s happened since has made me know that the rumour was true. I’ve asked
around; there are many here who owe me a favour. It seems Finbar had her committed. Took
her to the place himself, all the way to Galway. Now I wonder if she got there at
all?’

‘Mai, don’t! You’re
getting carried away.’

‘If you’re seen here in that
condition, you’ll be the one to get carried away. Oh, why did you ever let that
buffoon near you?’

‘How could you, Mai? You know what
happened.’

‘Ah, henny, don’t cry. I know. I
know, my girl.’

‘You could keep me here till my
time.’

‘If he wasn’t sniffing
about.’

‘He has no right to barge into your
home.’

‘Aye, but barge he will. A curse on
him and a curse on his son who did this to you. Still no word from London. I was sure
Margaret would take you in.’

‘Maybe she will – wouldn’t that
be wonderful? And then after a couple of years we’d come back home to you, me and
my baby.’

‘Won’t be a baby then, will be a
toddler.’

Sarah smiled and hugged herself.

‘Would you be able to do it?’
Mai asked. ‘Love something that was forced into you? Love something that came from
him?’

‘Good comes from bad all the time. You
know that, Mai.’

‘You’re quare, Sarah.’

‘It’s the way you reared me,
Mai. Was my mother quare?’

‘Mad as a hatter, Sarah.’

‘Was she?’ Sarah said gently,
looking into Mai’s eyes and holding her gaze.

A soft
oh
slipped from Mai’s
lips and a tear ran down her face. She clasped her hand over her mouth. Sarah stood up
and began to clear their cups away.

‘Do you have any cake?’

‘I do,’ said Mai.
‘Madeira, made fresh today.’

I was cutting out my dress. The kind
I’d dreamt of, not the kind I used to settle for. I was not thinking about the
herbalist. I was not. I was cutting out my scoop-necked, bias-cut, royal-blue,
ankle-length dress, being extra careful with the fabric, using a tracing from my very
own pattern. It took me a long time to afford such a decent length of satin. I
wasn’t going to rush it now. No such thing, I cut it one steady slice at a time,
in good light, with my sharpest scissors and a clean mind. I wouldn’t think about
him. One wrong move would make a hames of the job. You can’t be fussed and shape
something beautiful. You just can’t.

I shut out the sounds of Charlie and Rita
downstairs in the kitchen. Arguing again. Over golden-haired Rose and her Hollywood
face, I’d put any money on it. Charlie was smitten with Rose, but he would never
come straight out and say it. Instead he was cooling things with Rita, pretending to be
a very busy man with his foundry work, his few cows and his yard of chucks.
‘Letting her down easy,’ he called it. The cows in the back field bayed to
be milked and there was a gale brewing, but still no sign of a move on busy Charlie.

I was soon lost in cutting, like I was the
blade slicing against the garment’s grain. Till, all of a sudden, I was done. I
removed the pins from the satin and stretched my arms. Lifted the pieces from the sheet
on the floor and placed them on the bed. Admired the wide sleeves and long bodice, the
way they pooled like blue liquid. Branches tapped and scraped the window. Then came a
slow scratch, and with it a silvery flicker of memory, like a caught reel of film.