The Herbalist (34 page)

‘How are you, Rose?’

‘Good, thank you, Carmel – would you
like a tea or a mineral?’

‘A cup of tea would be nice.’
Carmel was parched.

When Rose brought in the tray, Grettie
ordered her to sit down and join them.

‘I’ve very good news, Rose. Mrs
Holohan has been kind enough to give us a loan, so we can get by now; we can pay that
bill for another week or two.’

Rose fled the room without excusing
herself.

‘See what I mean?’ Grettie
sighed.

It was shocking, Carmel agreed; the girl had
been thoroughly spoilt.

Carmel went home with her docket signed and
tucked into her purse. Helping Grettie had put a spring in her step. Maybe, she thought,
it was a mistake to be so focused on her own troubles, maybe it would be best to try to
be more outward-looking, more charitable towards others. She waved cheerily at Sarah as
she walked through the shop, picking up an apple from the basket on the way. She
unlocked the cupboard door in the kitchen and removed three random novels. It was work,
really. How could she recommend them, if she hadn’t read them?

Tucked up nicely in bed, crunching away on
the hard green apple, she began the first novel without even reading the title.
She’d do that till it was time to make dinner and then she’d start up again.
It was nice to feel industrious while you were lying down.

Sarah now woke with excitement for the
coming day, for the thrill of seeing Dan. She was no longer afraid of being caught, had
no more concerns about Carmel, his witch of a wife. It was so much easier to think of
Carmel like that now.

Even though she was sick every morning, the
mirror told her she had a glow. Carmel would be puzzled about why she looked so radiant
– or at least she would be, if she were able to get out of bed.
While the
cat’s away, the mice will play.
And play they did. Their fingers touching
on the counter.

He whispered to her when the shop was
empty.

‘I respect you, Sarah. Please
don’t think that I want to take advantage.’

‘Well, what do you want to do, then?
Marry me?’

‘I can’t do that, I’m
married already.’

‘No, really? Why didn’t you
say?’

‘Look, Sarah, I don’t want to
spoil you for anyone else. We’re going to have to do something about our little
problem.’

It was still little then.

Anyone could tell that Dan and Carmel
weren’t happy together. They must’ve been once. Sarah looked again at that
wedding photo. Carmel so serious but pleased with herself. Pleased wasn’t the same
as love. Sarah looked closer at the bride.
She doesn’t even love him.

After that, Sarah paid more attention than
before to the goings-on between them, which weren’t much. One night she heard what
she hadn’t heard in a while: the bed squeaking, the movement of the headboards
against the wall, whispering that had nothing to do with fighting. Then she thought to
herself,
I’m imagining things.

In the shop, alone, Dan smoothed imaginary
fluff from her blouse. She needed to talk to him properly, to confirm that something
really
was happening, but Carmel was always in the house; she never
went out.

One evening over supper Carmel suggested
that Sarah might like to go home ‘to the country’ for a few days.
‘You’d like to see your people’ was how Carmel put it. As if they were
a whole tribe different to herself and Dan. ‘I’ll have Seamus Devoy come and
collect you in his trap. There’s no need to thank me.’

Did Carmel suspect something? If so, she
would hardly be standing there talking normally. There was something up, though. Dan
hadn’t so much as caught her eye this evening. Was it a game to him? Was he that
kind of man? No, he couldn’t be; he was always so gentle in his dealings with
her.

Sarah would be glad to see Mai – the thought
itself almost made her cry. But what if she was seen by the neighbours? There was no
counter to hide behind; and folk at home would know she wasn’t the kind to put on
an ounce. Not ‘Skinny Sarah’, long drink of water that she was, not for no
reason at all.

Sarah couldn’t sleep that night; she
lay there listening to the house creak. She turned on to her back; it was easier to lie
like that. Her breasts had grown fuller, and they prickled. It was unpleasant, made her
queasy. With every signal that her body was changing, Sarah wished it was a dream, that
it wasn’t so. This was something that happened to others, to poor unfortunates,
not to girls like her.

Time was against her. Every day brought her
closer to being exposed, to being locked up. In the mornings her mouth filled with
saliva and her stomach heaved. By the time Carmel came down, it had settled somewhat.
Dan looked like someone was going to take him out and shoot him. He went to confession
every single morning, to the new priest, because he was wet behind the ears and
didn’t know the family. So Dan would be absolved of sin till sometime in the
afternoon, when she’d turn around to find his mouth crushed against her own. She
pitied the young priest and dreaded passing him in the street.

There was something else. All in her
imagination, she knew – probably to do with the changes in her body – but it was
nerve-racking. It always happened when she was alone, maybe sweeping
out front at the end of the day, or strolling back from an evening walk. She’d
feel someone watching her, feel a cool shadow fall across her back, smell cedar and turn
around to find that no one was there. Sometimes she’d hear footsteps in the
distance, which she took for the unmistakable sound of Master Finbar’s heavy shoes
hitting the dusty road.

She ran her hand across her belly. Her
stomach was swollen. That much was real. Sarah imagined soft baby skin and the child
safe in her arms. What in God’s name would become of them if she did nothing?
She’d be put away and the baby would be taken; she’d be placed in a home, or
a laundry, like Annie Mangan. There was no word from her aunt Margaret in London. What
would she do?

She had almost enough for her fare, for a
ring and for widow’s weeds. She would have to leave. It was as simple and as hard
as that. Because no one was getting their hands on her child.

She thought about what Dan would think if he
knew she was in trouble. He wouldn’t look at her that way any more. No, he
wouldn’t.

But what if he thought the child was his?

He would come with her, and they could start
a new life together, away from all this. Couldn’t they?

What a terrible thing to think. How could
that even cross her mind, to be so deceptive, to sink so low? She could never do that.
It was wrong, there could be no excuse for a lie like that.

Not even to save an innocent child?

There were movements in her belly lately,
like butterflies. The softest, almost unnoticeable flutters. Safe. For the moment. When
Sarah thought of these flutters, she knew that for the sake of the child she could
become someone else, someone who would do such a thing, someone who could swallow her
virtue and get Dan to lie with her. Who could trick him into thinking she was carrying
his child. She’d be safe then, they’d both be safe. Wouldn’t they?

The house was silent. No voices from the
living room. It was well past midnight. Sarah knew she wouldn’t sleep. She knew he
was awake too. She just knew. Before she could think too much about it,
she slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs as softly as a cat and unbolted the
door that separated the house from the shop. She felt her way to the counter. The
darkness tasted of nutmeg.

She decided to count to a hundred. If he
hadn’t joined her by then, she would go back to bed and consider her choice
made.

By the time she got to ten, he was inside
her.

Sarah leant against a stack of newspapers
on Seamus’s trap and looked up at the sky. The clouds tumbled past like puffy
circus clowns and the sun toasted her face, giving her respite, a little peace. She was
grateful that Seamus seemed as preoccupied as she was. The weather was warm, and there
was a good clean light, but there was something else too, a feeling of summer winding
down. Though it was bright till late, that would change soon. Soon there would be dark
and rain, soon she would be showing. But for the moment she wasn’t, and the fields
were like spun gold.

She thought again of Rumpelstiltskin.
What’s my name? What’s my name?
Jumping up and down in front of
some poor mother. Why on earth would he want a baby? Children had a hard time in all the
tales Mai had told Sarah when she was young: they were either left in the woods to die
or swapped for a head of lettuce. But that was all once upon a time. Nowadays they had
no need for witches. They’d had their very own demon, the cruelty man in his brown
suit. Well, he wouldn’t be getting his hands on Sarah’s son. Her son. She
hadn’t realized it till that very second but she was sure her child was a boy.

Seamus began to talk and once he started
there was no stopping him. On and on he went, about some maharajah of Indore who had,
would you believe it, married some American divorcée he’d met on a health voyage.
‘Them Americans, they’d turn the head of the Pope himself.’

Sarah hadn’t a notion what he was on
about, didn’t want to know. Seamus got the hint and gave up. Instead he began a
song about a gypsy. It was very soothing. Sarah felt happy, almost carefree, by the time
the trap pulled up alongside Mai’s. She waved Seamus off, not daring to ask him in
for tea. She opened the latch and called out hello.

I donned Mrs B’s red fox-fur coat and
headed in for the market. I was roasting and people stared. I didn’t care. I
couldn’t stop thinking about the box under the herbalist’s bed. Birdie was
sitting on a stool in her doorway as I marched past.

‘Emily, a minute.’ She waved her
stick.

What is it about people that no one minds
you one bit till you’re too busy to stop and talk to them?

‘Charlie’s grand, in great
form.’

I answered the question before she could ask
it. Birdie didn’t laugh. She was wearing a black headscarf and hadn’t
bothered with her rouge.

‘Who died?’ I asked.

‘Veronique.’ Her voice was
hoarse and weak.

‘I had no idea, I’m so sorry,
Birdie.’ I rubbed her knee. Stupid Emily.

‘There were so few at her funeral –
she should never have moved to that town. This here’ – she banged her walking
stick off the ground – ‘this here was her town.’

‘That’s terrible. Is it like
half of you has died, like you’re missing an arm?’

That made her smile. Death does strange
things to people.

‘I’ll never lose my appetite for
life, Emily, but it is terrible, and a terrible shock. In a way she feels closer now
than when she was alive. Do you understand?’

‘Not really.’

‘You will one day. Veronique had a few
things you’d like, silken fabrics, and such; when the dust has settled maybe we
could take a drive over, have a look at the place. Deciding what to do with
the Emporium will be a headache.’

‘The Emporium?’

‘Her pokey hole of a shop,
that’s what she called it. Veronique was beautifully bananas.’

There was the pot calling the kettle black.
All the same, I pitied poor Birdie, left to clean everything up at her age.

‘I don’t mind helping out, but
not today, I have something to do today.’

‘Come back to me about it,
Emily.’

‘I will.’ I patted her knee
again.

Jesus, what was it with me and old
ones’ knees? Poor Birdie. I’d call back when I had more time, send Charlie
down, that would cheer her up. For now I had to move fast enough not to be waylaid by
anyone else.

The market was sparse; the herbalist
hadn’t any customers yet. He watched as I wove towards him, but as I got near he
studied his array of bottles. I stood where I had the first day I’d got up the
courage to present myself to him: in front of his table, a little away. He knew I was
there, but he didn’t look up and smile this time. Instead he growled.