The Herbalist (8 page)

‘Now.’

‘Now what, Mai?’

‘Now we’ve something to talk
about.’

‘We do?’

‘We do indeed.’

Mai took Sarah’s hand, turned it over
as if she were going to read her grass-stained palm and took a deep breath.

‘You did very well at school, Sarah;
if we’d the money you could’ve gone on further, but we didn’t and
that’s that. You don’t realize it when you’re young, but time goes
very quickly, one year leads to the next, and before you know it I’ll be passed
away and you’ll be nearing middle age, with all opportunity behind you.
Don’t think I’m trying to be rid of you –’

‘What are you talking
about?’

‘Don’t look so worried:
it’s good news. Finbar has found you an excellent position in his sister’s
shop. You’ll have heard me mention Kelly’s? In my youth it was run by
Finbar’s mother – she was a Connelly. Very decent people, the
Connellys.’

‘What exactly is the
position?’

‘His sister’s expecting a child.
You’ll assist in the house and shop, be a help to the new mother – her
name’s Carmel Holohan.’

‘Ah, Mai, I’ve no interest in
babies or in living in a stranger’s house.’

‘It’s not a million miles away –
you’ll be home a few times a year, and we’ll write.’

‘You want me to leave – is it
something I’ve done?’

‘Did I not just explain all that to
you? Master Kelly’s doing us a favour. Don’t be ungrateful, Sarah –
you’ll have a wage, live in a busy town, you’ll meet people.’

‘I meet people here.’

‘Oh, is that so? Your heart’s
desire is here, is it?’

Sarah didn’t know the answer to that
one any more.

‘Hasn’t he two legs whoever he
is – can’t he cycle to see
you? And if he won’t go to the
effort, you’re better off without him.’

‘Do I have to go?’

‘Are you not excited? A job in this
day and age? And a good one?’

‘Why did Master Kelly pick me? Did you
ask him?’

‘No, it came out of the blue. Last
time he was here, do you remember? We came out here for a chat?’

‘Yes, you were very cosy. Maybe he
wants me out of the way? Maybe he wants to clear a path to your door? He’s been a
widower a long time now, fine man like him must get lonely.’

‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,
Sarah. The opportunity may not present itself again. I’ve been mulling it over for
the last couple of weeks. It’s not easy for me either, but I want you to have a
few bob in your pocket, to live a little. If I was only thinking of myself, I’d
keep you here for ever, my constant companion and helpmate.’ Mai squeezed
Sarah’s hand.

‘When do they want me to
start?’

‘Finbar will let us know. It’s
likely to be as soon as the baby arrives and it’s due shortly.’

‘So it’s been
settled?’

‘I suppose it has.’

Mai got up and went into the house. Sarah
sat for a while, taking it in. Why would Finbar do her such a favour? She had never
hinted that she wanted a job. Perhaps Mai had. Oh, Mai. And what of James? What would he
say? Or did he know already?

She sat looking out over the place that had
been her home for so long. Who’d keep the garden in order, the vegetable patch,
collect the apples from the orchard, bake and take care of the house while Mai worked?
Mai was fit but she couldn’t do everything. She rarely had two days together
without a call. The poorer the people got, the more babies popped out. But obviously Mai
thought she could survive very well without Sarah, and she had every intention of trying
to do so.

I arrived in work looking very swish, if I
do say so myself, but all Carmel wanted to know was the whereabouts of the damn
shop-bought dress.

‘I’m keeping it for a special
occasion, seeing as it cost the guts of a week’s wages.’

Out came the big ugly apron. I could see by
Carmel’s face she thought someone like me wasn’t ever going to be having any
special occasions. Maybe she was right. Michael Ryan used to smile at me. I thought he
was gearing up to ask for a walk but nothing came of it, and then he stopped smiling. He
must’ve found out who I came from, that we were not respectable.

As the days went on and people got used to
seeing me serve, they began to treat me like I was one of them. They whinged about
drenched laundry, swollen ankles and spoilt hams. It was all
end of my tether, one
of these days I’ll throw myself in the river
. I jumped right in – sighed
along with them, threw my eyes up to heaven – and had a grand old time. Time went much
quicker once everyone was gabbing. When there was a lull, I swept the floor and polished
the counter. Once the place was spick and span, I felt great.

One morning, when it was quiet, Mrs Daly
swanned in. She couldn’t walk through a door without looking as if she’d
earned a round of applause. She was disappointed when she saw I was on my own. It
wasn’t the same if there were no men around; she got a lot of attention from them.
I couldn’t see the attraction myself: her cheeks were pockmarked from old acne but
seemingly she’d a nice figure. She was wearing widow’s weeds. Some said
she’d buried her respectability along with her husband. A nappy pin was keeping
her side zip together.

‘I could fix that for you,’ I
said, pointing towards her hip.

‘Ah, these new zip yokes are a
nuisance,’ she said. ‘I haven’t the
patience to do
it myself, always make a mess of it. Are you sure you could manage?’

She took out her compact, blotted the shine
on her forehead and tugged a few curls free from her headscarf. She was very proud of
her blue-black hair.

‘I can indeed,’ I said.
‘I’ll collect it from the house later today, bring it back and all.
I’ll be cheap.’

‘I’ve a few others, a waistband
or two that need letting out. There’d be no need to come to the house, though, I
can get Margery or Joan to drop them here.’

‘I’ll mend the lot.’

‘You won’t take too long? I
don’t want to be caught short.’ She smiled at her reflection and snapped her
compact shut.

‘A day, done in a day.’

She sent her daughter Joan over with the
garments later. Joan was still waiting for her good figure to arrive and it made her
grumpy. You should’ve seen the greasy waistbands. Nell Nickety Nackety Daly
didn’t even launder them before she handed them over. I planned to charge her the
price of a zip and a few pence. I’d let on that I’d bought the zip in the
drapery. One from a skirt of Mam’s would do the trick; she was wearing her old
clothes again. Her usual few skirts had been sitting in the airing cupboard for months
now. While all the other women her age were getting fatter, Mam was getting thinner. I
couldn’t credit that people would pay for such small jobs. Perhaps Mrs Daly would
recommend me to her friends. I imagined the pennies adding up and me buying yards of
silks and satins.

Carmel came down early that afternoon. She
seemed happy enough with my work. I told her all about Mrs Daly and my sewing job.
Carmel fingered the slack material around her own waist – maybe she’d want the
smock altered. She looked fresher than before. I hoped she wasn’t getting so well
that she didn’t need me any more.

Dan came in then. Carmel scooped a few acid
drops from a jar, popped them in the pocket of my apron and told me to head off home.
Any price for a moment alone with her husband: she was pure mad about her child
bridegroom.

I rushed to the market square, worried that
the herbalist would be gone already. It was late in the day and had started to rain. I
couldn’t believe my luck. All the stall-holders except the fishwife had left – she
was entertaining her cronies with some yarn or other – but the herbalist was there,
packing his wares into a suitcase. His table was folded and set against the wall. Even
with the soft rain he took his time. He wore a suede brown hat instead of the white one.
Old vegetables and whatnot were strewn on the ground. I felt ashamed, him looking so
clean, and that he’d think we were a dirty class of people. I walked over to him.
I said nothing, I’d nothing to say. I just smiled, and waited. He didn’t
seem to notice. Was he going to ignore me altogether? I began to feel stupid. He looked
up from his suitcase: his skin was slick with rain, and his eyes crinkled as he flashed
a grin.

‘Cat got your tongue?’

‘Can I give you a hand – carry your
case?’

He laughed. The herbalist wouldn’t let
me carry anything but he let me walk alongside him. He didn’t talk much either; he
just whistled. We walked across the square, down the lane by the River Inn, and I nearly
died then. He didn’t live in a house; he lived in a hovel with a tin chimney. It
was almost bare inside – rags, an earth floor, hooks on the walls. I wondered how he
slept at night. How he kept so clean-looking. For a fancy-looking man, the herbalist had
nothing – no possessions beyond his case and folding table and the clothes he stood up
in. He had a box of greasy bottles and jars. I stood there looking on as he began to
wipe them clean with newspaper. Then I walked across to a small square window. It
overlooked a yard of weeds and beyond that was water. The river looked different from
there, blacker, higher, faster.

‘Well, now,’ he said, as if it
was time for me to go, but I didn’t want to go.

‘Do you like it here?’ I
asked.

‘Well enough, but pious people are
hard to get to know.’

That was my opening: if there was one thing
I knew, it was the people of this town. I informed him who was who, ran quickly through
the Greaneys, Nashes and Chases, to the Feeneys, Purcells
and Ryans,
and of course the Holohans and their recent problems. I told him Grettie Birmingham
looked posh but rarely spent a penny and certainly wouldn’t come near him, what
with her husband being the proper doctor, no offence. ‘None taken.’ I left
my own family out of it. I told him what people were saying about him – that he was a
godsend, saved them a fortune in doctor’s bills. That he was clean. And that he
was an Indian. When I ran out of information, I just sat quietly on a crate while he
wiped glass jars.

Then the herbalist took some blankets and
old papers from a heap in the corner. I followed him outside and around to the yard,
where he piled them up, poured kerosene over the lot and set it alight.

‘Hope you’re not burning
anything that doesn’t belong to you, my boy!’

It was Aggie Reilly, shouting from the deck
of her shabby black barge, bosoms and dusters flapping.

‘Just rubbish, just foul rubbish,
madam.’ He took off his hat, waved it and bowed low like he was in a play.

She cocked her head to the side, almost
smiled. Aggie never moored on this side of the bridge. She must be after something. I
didn’t wave. The poor herbalist, though, wasn’t from around here, he
didn’t know any different.

‘She’s a bad woman,’ I
whispered; ‘goes with men.’

‘Ah.’ His hand felt hot on my
waist as we turned towards the shed. ‘Like you?’

I stomped off. Regretted it the second I
left. I would rather have been with him clearing his shed, making it suitable for human
habitation, than facing into Mam’s questions, into the hot air of our house.

I mooched around for a day or two, spent
most of my time stitching a new sewing bag, dark green, with my name embroidered in red.
I was fevered with imaginings: that the herbalist was being seduced by some lecherous
widow; that he had run off to greener pastures; that someone had set light to his shed
while he slept. I couldn’t settle to anything, so I swallowed my pride and went to
check on him.

He was letting out Catty Dolan as I arrived.
She nodded at me and hurried on by. Then she stopped and turned. ‘I’m
beating the queues,’ she said.

‘Are you?’

The herbalist didn’t look a bit
surprised to see me. He walked on into the shed and left the door open for me to follow.
There were shelves there now, filled with brown bottles and jars, pestle and mortars,
and tins for tea and sugar that didn’t look like they contained tea and sugar. He
had a gas-burner. Someone must’ve given him a kettle, someone else a saucepan. I
felt bad that I’d nothing to give him. A dowdy partition curtain stretched from
one wall to the other. There were herbs everywhere, tied by string and hanging from the
rafters of the shed to dry. Honesty, sorrel, herb Robert, speedwell, and others I
didn’t recognize.

I sat on the chair, suddenly aware that
I’d no biscuits or cake with me.

‘Are you ill?’ he said.

He looked so concerned, and so kind, that I
wanted to fall into his arms.

‘No, no, I’m not ill at all,
thank you.’

‘Well, why are you here?’ He
looked puzzled.

I didn’t know how to answer. For a
terrible second I thought he didn’t remember me.

‘Would you like a quick cup of
tea?’ he asked.

‘I’d love one.’

He gave me the nicest smile then, the
herbalist, and I knew I had been right to come. We’d a lovely drop of tea till I
had to go: someone else was coming. He told me he was making special tonics now, for
people who wanted them. That was why Miss Dolan had called.