Long Goodbyes (6 page)

I edged away from the window with my heart beating so fast I thought I would faint. The bed was soft and as I sat upon it a waft of dust ascended, tickling my nose and making me sneeze despite all my efforts to keep noise to a minimum lest my hiding place be discovered. I sat, shaking with fear. The minutes passed and no sound broke the stillness.

Then came the footfalls. I prayed as I have never prayed before:
let them pass by…

They did not. They hesitated. Again I felt cold, so cold, as though it were a January evening and no fires lit. I bent forward and hugged myself, a peculiar wash of emotion coursing through me, driving out the fear. My breath issued forth in short gasps and my heart thumped against my ribs with an unidentifiable longing. I rose as though in response to some whispered command, and found myself walking slowly towards the door, my hand reaching out for the heavy iron key.

‘Jenny!’

My strange reverie was interrupted by the sound of a male voice from outside the building; it washed into my consciousness like the spring tides. My hand, outstretched, hesitated at the call.

Again: ‘Jenny! Are you in there?’

At once the spell was broken. Mr Benjamin?

I went to the window and banged hard on the glass. Torchlight flickered and voices called out. ‘Wait! We’re coming in.’

And I heard the crash of the front door as it swung against its stone supports. There were voices in the hall now, the sound of running feet. Beneath the door, a light.
 

‘I’m in here. I am quite all right.’

Mr Benjamin himself led me down the stairs and into the gardens. A group of perhaps ten men were gathered, torches held firmly in their hands, looks of irritated relief etched upon their faces.

‘Your sister-in-law was worried. You’ve been gone for hours, Jenny.’

‘I am so sorry.’ I turned to address the men. ‘I have put you to a great deal of trouble. Forgive me.’

‘Best not come up here again, Mrs MacLennan,’ said one. ‘No good will come of it.’

‘Rest assured,’ I told them. ‘I have learned my lesson.’

With much muttering and male chatter the party disbanded, leaving me with Mr Benjamin.

As we followed the light of the mens’ torches I wrapped my shawl tightly about myself, resisting the powerful urge to look back at the house.
 

When I did turn briefly, as I knew I must, I was able to discern the outline of a face pressed against the glass of the bedroom window, watching our departure through the square I had scraped on the dusty pane.

chapter seven

‘That’s settled, then.’ Grace had the look of one firmly satisfied with her own arrangements. ‘The boat is booked, the train also. We have a week to pack.’

It is hard to describe my feelings at that time. Jack was compliant but silent, his appearance and demeanour that of a man living far from reality. I found myself almost envying him, his sister’s attitude being quite intolerable. At least he was distanced from her banal chatter.
 

I could see that to remain in Ireland was a hopeless ambition, but nevertheless it was one I struggled hard to give up. I hoped, in short, for the hopeless - that one morning Jack would awaken and be well. I had planned my speech to Grace in this event, taking great pleasure in refining my remarks to provoke the maximum irritation as we waved her farewell on the platform. But this, I knew, was mere fantasy, a concoction I had prepared privately for myself in order to be able to tolerate the next few days in her contrary, condescending presence.

I avoided contemplation of my visit to the house as best I could. After all, there was a great deal to occupy my mind; apart from tending to Jack’s needs, there was now the sad business of packing up our possessions in preparation for our departure. At night, however, my rest was uneasy. What had I seen and heard? What did it mean? When I slept I found myself dreaming the same dream time and time again: dressed in my finery, I was descending the grand staircase as a silent gathering looked up admiringly. It was not a frightening dream, for which I was thankful; rather it was disturbing, in that I felt as if I were not myself, that I had somehow entered the body and life of another. There was nobody with whom I could share my nocturnal experiences as Orla and Mr Benjamin were away visiting friends in Cork. Naturally, I baulked at the notion of confiding in Grace.
 

And then, three days from our planned departure, I awoke suddenly in the small hours to feel a light pressure upon my belly. I sat up with a start. ‘Jack?’

My husband was standing beside me, gazing ahead in his usual unseeing fashion, but his hands were unusually active. Even as I removed them from their enquiring palpations he immediately sought to place them once again upon my midriff. I wondered what he was seeing in his mind - was he dreaming? I got up and guided him to his side of the bed, where he compliantly lay down and immediately fell asleep.
 

It was a disturbing incident and I slept little for the remainder of the night. The room was airless and oppressive and I fancied that I felt some small movement inside me, although it was quite impossible that I should have been with child; since we were married Jack had been suffering from an inability in that area which we both hoped, in time, would be restored. For my part it mattered little; it was more of a concern for Jack as he considered it a failing of his maleness in some way; this despite the countless times he had proved himself in action and even been mentioned in despatches. I, you must understand, have always sought to be patient concerning such matters; it is one of my prevailing characteristics.

The morning brought the welcome distraction of the Benjamins’ return. I immediately made some excuse to Grace and hurried to meet my friend, but it seemed we had both had the same notion, for we met half way between our respective homes.
 

‘Jenny! How lovely to see you. How is Jack?’

‘Unchanged,’ I replied.
 

‘And what of you? You look pale. Has your sister-in-law been as irksome as you feared?’

I laughed to see her earnest expression. ‘Irksome is a good word. Yes, she has. But I have bad news.’

Her face fell.

‘No one else is ill, be calm. But we are leaving. For England, in a few days.’

Orla was crestfallen. ‘I thought it might come to that. But maybe it is better. You will be able to seek specialist care.’

We walked arm in arm along our favourite route to the beach. Orla drew me closer. ‘I have missed you,’ she said, ‘and I shall miss you all the more when you have left Ireland. What am I to do?’

‘You have your husband.’

‘He is forever locked away in his office. The letters are coming more frequently from London.’

‘Oh?’

‘The war. Lloyd George is well known for surrounding himself with the best available minds. He means to bring a swift end to the conflict.’

‘And Mr Benjamin is to be employed thus?’

‘Do call him by his Christian name. It is quite proper.’

‘Very well. William is to be of use in this regard?’

‘He is - but he is not at liberty to disclose the nature of the communications he has been receiving.’ She paused and her voice when she spoke again was strained, taut as a bowstring. ‘Oh, Jenny - he is to depart for London tomorrow.’ Her hand went to her mouth.

‘He will be a great success, Orla. You must be very proud.’

‘Yes, but…’

Orla disengaged herself and folded her arms. Her face was tight and pinched with worry.

‘What is it?’

She looked out to sea. It was just possible to discern the outline of a ship’s hull near the horizon. I wondered if it was one of ours or a German vessel making a reconnaissance of the island - or even, heaven forbid, engaged upon a more sinister task. We followed its progress until our straining eyes could no longer be sure if it had slipped across the horizon or beneath the waves. I recalled hearing of the two liners sunk by German U-boats earlier in the year. It chilled my blood to think of it. All those lives cast adrift before their allotted time, helplessly dragged beneath the depths. I shuddered inwardly and, to distract my thoughts, rephrased my question.

Orla turned at last and looked me full in the face. ‘It’s just that … I don’t want to be left alone.’

I frowned. ‘You have many acquaintances. And surely William will not be away for long?’

‘You are my closest friend, Jenny.’

I was touched by Orla’s openness and vulnerability. ‘I shall visit often. Once my Jack is cured - we will
both
come to visit. It may even be that we shall return permanently if Jack is well enough.’

‘When he is himself again … oh yes, I shall pray for all to be well.’

But the look upon her face as she said this made me imagine that her prayer was for another set of hidden circumstances that she was unable, for whatever reason, to share with me.
 

Unable, or unwilling?

I had desired to unburden myself, to relate my peculiar experience at the grand house but there was something about Orla’s countenance which persuaded me keep my counsel, and upon my return to the cottage that afternoon I could not settle to any task; I could not get that look out of my mind.

chapter eight

I was running but then, in a twinkling, upon horseback.
 

No - the horse was gone, I was on my feet, but then almost immediately back in the saddle. I could not escape my pursuer. The
sloop, sloop
of his great feet behind me, the harsh pant of his razor-toothed maw…

Run
, I told myself,
Run for your life
…
Ride
for your life.
Maisie
, I screamed,
take me away from here!
Gallop as fast as you are able
. I leaned forward, felt her mane, her hot sweat. The waves crashed upon the shingle, but all I could hear was the sound of the wolfhound’s pursuit. I knew that he hated me, that he would
have
me…

And then Maisie shied, wheeled, rose up. I was thrown. My head struck a rock. Foul breath was upon my face, I saw the bared fangs. But the eyes… the eyes. . .
 

They were
Sir
William’s
eyes
…

I awoke - my breathing shallow and fast. Jack was still asleep, limp beside me. It was not yet light. I lay still, thinking about the day ahead. How should I bear it? It felt akin to giving up on Paradise. I stroked Jack’s pale cheek, gaunt in the moonlight, like bone.
 

Be well, be well, Jack
, I said aloud.
Come back to me before the dawn.

But alas, he did not.

‘Jack will be perfectly safe in my care,’ Grace said. ‘Should you feel obliged to tarry a further week as a favour to Mrs Benjamin then please do so. Who am I to stand in your way?’

Who indeed
, I thought. But something inside me rebelled at the idea of abandoning my Jack to the ministrations of his elder sister.
Only for a week
, I said to myself.
For Orla. After all she has done for us…

‘Very well,’ I said as I cleared the breakfast table. Grace, I noticed, had consumed her frugal meal with her usual fastidiousness; the toast had left barely a crumb on her side plate.
 

I said, ‘It is kind of you to assume responsibility for the journey.’

‘He has always been my responsibility,’ she retorted. ‘I am his sister, after all.’

As if that gave her sole rights. But I said nothing more.

I busied myself at the washtub. Jack must have a clean shirt for travelling. Again I felt the twinge in my stomach, stopped what I was doing.

‘What is the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ I told her. ‘A little indigestion.’

‘Food is to be savoured, not gulped as would a commoner.’

As I soaked Jack’s shirt in warm water I relished the prospect of some days apart from this dry, critical woman. Jack, I reasoned, would hardly notice his sister’s manner in his present state. Indeed, he would never have put up with it were he of sound mind.
 

Just a short while, that’s all, my love,
I told Jack later.
Just a little time apart.