Two Lives (24 page)

‘Listen,’ Elmer said, drawing Renehan aside in the ironmongery. ‘Don’t sell Mary Louise any more Rodenkil.’ His wife had become a bit forgetful he said: she had a way of leaving things about. He’d be worried in case someone would pick up the Rodenkil and maybe omit to read the warning on the packet.

‘I know what you mean,’ Renehan said. He’d been attaching price tags to saucepans when Elmer asked if he could have a private word with him. He still held a saucepan in his hand.

‘Good man yourself,’ Elmer said.

That evening it was said in the town that Elmer Quarry’s wife had tried to poison herself.

Having had a night to mull over the mystery of the rissoles, Rose and Matilda reached the same conclusion: the rissoles had been interfered with. If rissoles had been cooked in the house in precisely the same manner for more than a lifetime and nothing had ever gone bad in them before, why should something go bad in them now? In the night they had both recalled an episode in the past, during the time when the Quarrys still employed a maid. Kitty this one had been called, ‘a lump of a girl’ their mother referred to her as, who was once caught licking the sugar in the sugar-bowl when she was setting the table. Any sweets that were left about she helped herself to, until Mrs Quarry decided to put a stop to that by
coating a few toffees with soap. Not a word was said, but a sweet was never taken again.

‘Her Ladyship,’ Rose said. ‘What’s she to do all day except think up devilment to annoy us?’

This view confirmed the thought that had occurred to Matilda also: that Mary Louise, with time on her hands, sought to irritate her husband and her sisters-in-law by introducing some unpleasant-tasting substance into their food. In Matilda’s view, and in Rose’s, there was other evidence of the desire to vex: tea-towels hung sopping wet in the scullery when they should be hung on the line over the stove, forks put back in the wrong section of the cutlery drawer, the blue milk-jug put on a shelf instead of hung up, the potato-masher not hung up either, coal and sticks carted up to the attic, footsteps above their heads, ages spent washing herself, the sight of her trailing round the town on a bicycle so that people would begin to talk.

‘She fried an egg for herself,’ Rose remembered. ‘She knew not to touch the rissoles.’

They put these conclusions to their brother, leaving the shop unattended, which before Mary Louise’s arrival in the household they would have never done. Definitely something had been introduced into the rissoles, Rose said. Maybe some kind of cascara, anything that would cause embarrassment and distress. Matilda reminded Elmer of the maid who’d helped herself to the sweets: measures had had to be taken and where was the difference in this case? The maid was guilty of stealing and had to be stopped. Measures should be taken now.

‘Beyond a shadow of a doubt,’ Rose said.

‘The rissoles were in a soup-plate in the fridge, Elmer, covered over with another plate. She cut them open and put something inside.’

They watched his face. His jaw slackened; the tip of his
tongue moistened his lips, passing slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other. He had taken off his jacket, as he sometimes did in the accounting office. The waistcoat beneath was fully buttoned, a pencil and a ballpoint pen clipped into one of the upper pockets.

‘There’s people that live and breathe only wanting to be a nuisance,’ Rose said.

The tea-towels were mentioned, and the forks in the cutlery drawer, the potato-masher and the blue milk-jug. Elmer unsuccessfully attempted to interrupt. They couldn’t hold their heads up, Matilda said. They couldn’t walk into a shop in the town without a silence falling.

‘I’ll speak to Mary Louise,’ Elmer promised.

‘What good does it do?’ Matilda’s tone was dangerously sarcastic. ‘If you’ve spoken to her once, haven’t you spoken to her a thousand times?’

Elmer’s shirt felt sticky on his back. He’d begun to sweat as soon as they’d started on about something being deliberately introduced into their food. He’d raised a hand to wipe away the beads of perspiration he could feel gathering on his forehead, hoping they wouldn’t notice what he was doing. He could feel the sweat, damply warm, on his legs and in his armpits. He had changed the combination of the safe after the incident concerning the money. He hadn’t told them that, in case they’d ask what the new sequence of numbers was. He kept the Jameson bottle on its side so that it couldn’t easily be seen behind the strong-box, but even so it was better that no one should have access to the safe. If ever the Jameson was mentioned again he had it ready to say that the bottle had been in the safe since their father’s day, kept there in case anyone fainted in the shop.

‘Will I get her to come down here?’ Rose offered. ‘Will I go up and tell her you want her?’

Elmer began to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. He stopped
because he could feel his fingers trembling and knew they’d notice. If nerve trouble had caused a solicitor’s wife to be frightened of approaching her front door it wasn’t outside the bounds of possibility that a person could imagine a plate of rissoles would be attacked by rats that didn’t exist. But how on earth could he even begin to explain that to them?

‘Leave her in peace,’ he said.

‘In peace!’ Rose’s eyes widened. ‘In
peace
!’

‘There’s been no peace in this house, Elmer, since the night you took that girl to the pictures.’

‘Will I tell her you want her?’ Rose pressed her offer again.

‘I’ll go up myself,’ Elmer said.

But there was no response when he rattled the handle of the attic door, when he rapped loudly and banged with his fist. It wasn’t normal not to answer, there was no getting away from that. But then he looked in the yard and discovered that her bicycle wasn’t there. In the shop he imparted that information to his sisters. If they heard her returning, he asked them to tell him.

The gondola was silent on the water, the stone of the buildings dank and slimily green. Later there was the ebb and flow of the dull blue sea, the shells and seaweed left on the sand when it receded. You looked back and saw the fat domes of the churches, the statues high in the sky…

She dipped about the pages, opening the books at random. She loved doing that. She watched while Yelena Nikolayevna, sleepless all night, kept clasping her knees with her hands and resting her head on them. She watched while Yelena Nikolayevna crossed to the window and held her aching forehead against the panes to cool it.

‘… The rain that began as a spatter became a sheet of water, glistening as it fell from a sky as black as night. Yelena Nikolayevna sheltered in a ruined chapel. A beggarwoman waited…’

Among the gravestones she tidied her hair and smeared a little lipstick on to her lips, smiling at her reflection in the glass of her compact.

At Culleen the watch wasn’t missed for some time. Drawers were searched, furniture was pulled out in case it had fallen down behind something. The general belief was that it would eventually turn up.

In fact it didn’t, and one afternoon when Mrs Dallon was washing eggs at the sink she remembered the feeling of surprise when Mary Louise had said she’d like to see her old room again. The statements that had been made by Rose and Matilda returned to startle her and suddenly, an egg held in the palm of her hand, Mrs Dallon felt sick. Waves of nausea passed through her stomach. She felt weak in her legs and for a moment as she stood there she thought she might faint.

‘I’ve come to see Mary Louise,’ she announced in Quarry’s an hour later.

Rose’s response was to glance along the counter to where Matilda was re-rolling a bolt of satin.

‘I rang the bell on the front door,’ Mrs Dallon said. ‘Only there wasn’t an answer.’

‘Your daughter could be out on her bicycle, Mrs Dallon. Then again I doubt your daughter can hear the doorbell up in the attic’

Through the panes of the accounting-office window Mrs Dallon could see the square head of her son-in-law bent over the desk where he did his work. By now she knew the way through the shop into the house.

‘I’ll go up and see if she’s in,’ she said.

Neither Rose nor Matilda tried to stop her. Let her see for herself, both simultaneously thought. Let her climb up the stairs and not be answered when she knocks on the door.

But Mrs Dallon was answered. As soon as she spoke, the
key turned in the lock and the door was opened. Mary Louise was tidily dressed, in a navy-blue skirt and blouse, with a brooch that Mrs Dallon had once given her at her throat.

‘Hullo, Mary Louise.’

‘We’ll go downstairs.’

The key was taken from the lock, and the door locked on the outside. In the front room Mary Louise asked her mother if she’d like a cup of tea.

‘No, no, pet. Nothing at all.’

‘Are you well at Culleen?’

‘We are, Mary Louise. We’re all well.’

‘That’s good so.’

Mrs Dallon hesitated. She felt uncomfortable, sitting on the edge of a tightly-stuffed armchair; and was made more so by Mary Louise’s unruffled manner, her air of being calmly in command of herself.

‘That day you came out to Culleen, Mary Louise? A while ago?’

Mary Louise nodded.

‘You went up to your aunt’s room.’

Mary Louise frowned. She shook her head. Then the frown cleared as swiftly as it had come. She made a gesture with her hands, indicating that she couldn’t remember going into her aunt’s room. It hardly mattered, the gesture implied also.

‘It’s only we’ve been hunting high and low for a watch she had there. A watch that used to be Robert’s.’

Mary Louise nodded sympathetically.

‘You didn’t see it that day, pet? A watch on a chain?’

‘He’d have wanted me to have it. If he’d known he was going to die he’d have given it to me.’

The same sickness she had experienced while washing the eggs again afflicted Mrs Dallon. A prickly discomfort affected areas of her body. She was glad she was sitting down.

‘Did you take the watch, pet?’

Mary Louise said she’d looked for the watch and eventually had opened a drawer in the bedside table and there it was.

‘That watch isn’t yours, Mary Louise. It belongs to Aunt Emmeline.’

‘Actually it belonged to Robert’s father. It was the only thing of value he left behind. You can hardly count the soldiers.’

Since neither Mrs Dallon nor her sister had attended the auction they were unaware of the purchases Mary Louise had made. When her mother now displayed bewilderment over her reference to soldiers Mary Louise explained immediately. She had bought the soldiers, she said, and the furniture from her cousin’s bedroom. She didn’t mention buying the clothes from the unemployed man’s wife because for the moment that didn’t seem relevant.

‘Oh, Mary Louise! Oh, my dear child!’

Unsteadily, Mrs Dallon rose and crossed to where Mary Louise was standing, between the windows. She put her arms around her daughter. She stroked her hair. She had to blink back tears, and was surprised to find – having stepped back a few paces and blown her nose – that Mary Louise herself was still quite composed, was in fact smiling, as though amused.

‘You’re not well, child.’

Mary Louise denied that. She repeated that her cousin would have given her the watch had he known he was going to die that night. They’d often spoken about his father. They’d often wondered what exactly his father had been like.

‘Oh, Mary Louise!’

Mrs Dallon sat down again. I am never going to leave this room, she thought. I cannot leave her. I cannot walk away. The prickles of discomfort had gone from her shoulders. She no longer felt sick in her stomach, but all over her body she was aware of a coldness, like ice in her bloodstream.

‘They’re funny names,’ Mary Louise said. ‘Funny names for Letty to choose. Kevin Aloysius.’

‘We weren’t talking about that, dear.’

‘Well, there you are.’

Afterwards Mrs Dallon repeated to her sister and her husband every statement Mary Louise had made. She recalled the inflections in her speech, her smiles, the way she had remained standing between the two windows of the big front room, the way she had not appeared to notice the disjointed wildness of the conversation. The bad news was not shared with James, since it was considered that at present no one was capable of breaking it to him as gently as his youth deserved. That night neither of the Dallons slept. They lay in silence in their bedroom, the room in which all other family worries had been discussed over the years. Mrs Dallon could still hear the sound of traffic in the street below while her daughter went on so, saying she was all right and commenting on the names chosen for Letty’s baby.

‘I’m worried, Mrs Dallon,’ Elmer said, arriving at Culleen in Kilkelly’s car during the afternoon of the next day. ‘A terrible thing’s after happening.’

He meant the poisoning of the rissoles; and the Dallons, who had imagined that nothing worse could occur than the filching of the watch, realized within a minute that they were wrong. In order to avoid worrying them further, Letty had passed on nothing of the accusation that a safe had been broken into. They heard about this now. They heard about the furniture arriving in the house.

‘They can exaggerate,’ Elmer conceded. ‘Rose and Matilda can. They can be extravagant in what they say. So that at first you wouldn’t believe them, but then you’d have to.’

A nightmare of understanding formed in the kitchen. Isolated fragments connected, like jigsaw pieces transformed into a picture.

‘For God’s sake, what caused it?’ Mr Dallon muttered.

The question was too complicated for Elmer to answer. He wanted to say that he had married Mary Louise in good faith, that he was the last person who’d go about making inquiries about a prospective wife. Instead, he said nothing.

‘But why,’ Mrs Dallon whispered, ‘why would she do that with the rat poison?’

‘Any more, why would she buy furniture when the house is full of it, Mrs Dallon? You have to ask that, too.’

The watch was not mentioned. The feeling was that the watch was a Dallon matter, that knowledge of it was not yet a son-in-law’s concern.