The Herbalist (3 page)

During her lifetime Nancy treated both
children like her own. After she died, however, it was a different matter. At the
reading of the will they discovered that Carmel, not Finbar, had inherited the shop.
Finbar went white, and stood up and sat down again several times. His hands shook. When
Mr Carr, the solicitor, finished
reading, he looked over his glasses
at Finbar and said quietly that of course Finbar could challenge the terms of his
stepmother’s will, that many would consider it most irregular to leave a business
to a daughter when they had a son.

Carmel was too dazed to respond. Dan rose to
his feet and said the only thing that was highly irregular was a solicitor drawing up a
will and then encouraging somebody to challenge it. That shut Mr Carr up. Carmel had
been proud of her husband at that moment – how quickly he had responded, how calmly he
had spoken.

Finbar went over to her when the solicitor
left.

‘Thank you, Carmel.’

He put his hand on her shoulder.

‘I didn’t know, I
swear.’

‘No, I said thanks and I meant it.
You’ve saved me from a life-time of weighing ounces of sugar and listening to
woman-talk. Your husband is more suited to that kind of thing. My time will be better
spent providing the next generation with an education.’

He left the office, and she hadn’t
seen him since.

Whatever he had said, Carmel knew Finbar had
been devastated. He had wanted the shop. From the minute she had married Dan Holohan,
Finbar arrived every Saturday afternoon to check the accounts. When Dan told him there
was no need, Finbar said, ‘You work for me.’ They were barely seen in the
same room after that. Grettie B said it was a common state of affairs: ‘You
can’t have two bulls in the one field, Carmel.’ Common or not, it hurt. They
were a small family but a family all the same. Finbar and his son, James, were all she
had in the way of blood relatives.

Now here he was, leaning over her counter as
if he had never left, checking accounts that were really none of his concern. The poor
man, he must really miss the place. She didn’t want to lose touch with him
again.

Finbar slapped the ledger shut and smiled as
he handed over her glasses.

‘You’re after going very quiet,
Carmel – were you away with the fairies or what?’

‘Just wondering, will you visit more
often now?’

‘I’ve every intention of
it,’ he said, placing his hand over hers.

That wasn’t like Finbar; maybe he was
softening with age.

‘Would you like to see the
baby’s bedroom? It won’t take a minute – come on.’

He followed her up the stairs, stepping on
her hem and sighing at how slowly she moved. She opened the door of the bedroom and let
him walk in ahead of her.

‘Isn’t the room lovely and
bright now? Do you recall how dark it was?’

‘Of course I recall how dark it was,
isn’t it mine? Or was. Looks the same as ever to me.’

Carmel bit her lip, didn’t point out
the brand-new rocking chair where she would nurse her baby and rock him off to sleep, or
the soft quilted pillow she had made in a fit of craftiness. She rubbed the side of her
thumb: it was still sore from the needle. Finbar went over to the mantelpiece, picked up
the old tin monkey and flicked its cymbals. He kept flicking as he spoke: the sound was
tinny, small and horrible. Carmel felt uncomfortably warm. Perhaps she should open the
window.

‘You’ve unblocked the
fireplace,’ said Finbar. ‘Don’t you remember the young blackbirds
every June? Flying down the chimney and ruining the walls? How we crouched under the bed
with our hands clamped to our ears?’

He came nearer.

‘What monkeys?’ said Carmel.

‘What are you blabbing about? I said
birds. Blackbirds.’

Finbar placed a cool palm on her forehead.
Suddenly the soapy smell from his skin was sickening.

‘You look flushed; you should rest,
Carmel.’

Downstairs, she sat at the kitchen table
and Finbar set a glass of water in front of her. He watched as she sipped.

‘I may go,’ he said.

There was sweat on his top lip.

‘At least have a drink of something
before you leave?’

‘I don’t have time. I’m
calling to the Sergeant’s for a quick cup of tea before I head home.’

He made his way through the shop, and Carmel
followed.

‘She can come as soon as you
want,’ he said as he unbolted the door.

‘Who?’

‘Sarah.’

‘Oh, that. We’ll see,
we’ll see.’

‘Goodbye, Carmel, no need to come
out.’

The door slammed shut.

‘Goodbye, Finbar,’ she
whispered.

Carmel told herself that her brother’s
reappearance was a good thing. Look at all he had brought with him? A stock of books
that might bring in a few bob and a woman to help when the baby came. All these things,
they were good things, weren’t they? Yet all she wanted to do was lie down. She
felt like she could sleep for years.

Sarah was hiding out in her bedroom,
settling herself before she went down to face Mai. She couldn’t stop thinking
about that morning, about the risk she and James had taken and how awful it had all
turned out. She was tired of seeing him in secret. James said that his father
wouldn’t approve. Claimed the well-respected gentleman raised terror under his own
roof. God knows what he’d do – he’d flay them. Sarah wasn’t sure about
that: Master Kelly was especially nice to her, and a frequent visitor to their home. She
wasn’t so sure that he’d object to them walking out together. It was the
lying that bothered her most. It didn’t seem to bother James; he almost relished
it. It had been his idea to meet up in the town when Sarah mentioned that she was
getting a lift to the market with Bernie O’Neill and her uncle Pat.

The second they arrived, Sarah spotted James
leaning against the door of the town hall.

Bernie elbowed Sarah. ‘I wonder who
that fine man is waiting for?’

‘Leave the poor girl alone,’
said Pat, as he helped them down from the trap; ‘she’s only mad about
him.’

So much for their secret. Sarah walked
towards James, and Bernie followed at her heels. James tipped his cap and told Bernie
that Sarah wouldn’t need a lift back, that he would see her home safely. He linked
his arm with hers and they strolled off, leaving poor Bernie gawping.

They sauntered around the market. He looked
handsome, manly, and proud to be seen with her. She never knew where she stood:
sometimes he would walk past without so much as a hello, other times he couldn’t
keep his eyes off her. He had tormented Sarah when she was young. Pulled her plaits,
threw stones, called her a ‘long string of a thing’. And then he changed,
went sulky, silent. And then, later, there were gifts, bars of chocolate, sachets
of lavender, ribbons, a comb. And then, on and off, they began to
keep company. And now this, walking around together in public, almost daring someone
they knew to catch them. Maybe it was a good sign, maybe he was ready to tell Master
Kelly the truth.

Sarah had worn a peacock-blue shawl with a
gold fringe. And earrings: a pair of green glass-droplets a grateful mother had given
her aunt. All sorts of things were bestowed on Mai; her bedroom was like a
magpie’s nest, for few had money to pay, and you couldn’t shove a baby back
in, as Mai said herself. Sarah felt very grand indeed as she and James walked past
farmers selling pigs, chickens, eggs. Stalls selling clothes, shoes, blankets, bed
irons. There was even a Shetland pony on offer. Droves of men in dusty suits smoked and
bartered by the walls of the huge town hall. James told her that dances and theatrical
shows were held there on a regular basis. He said it in a way that implied they might be
going soon, together.

Under the town hall clock, a dark man was
arranging brown glass jars and bottles of medicines, herbal tonics. His cream suit was
slightly loose, sagging at the shoulders, as if it had belonged to a bigger man or maybe
he himself had been broader once. Sarah uncorked a short bottle and inhaled. What was
it? The hawker watched closely: he had thick lashes and narrow eyes; sniffs of grey
edged his forelocks. There was something droopy but alert about his expression. His
mouth was wide; an old scar scored a pale line through his bottom lip. James nudged her;
he wanted to move on, away from the man who was staring so hard. She read the label:
fortification tonic. She smelt it again.

‘Ah, borage.’

‘You know herbs?’ asked the
man.

‘My aunt knows – she’s a
midwife.’

‘An old wife, with tales,
superstitions and lies?’

‘No. Not lies.’

He stroked his chin and smiled, waved her
closer, as if to whisper a secret. His breath held a hint of peppermint and tobacco.
There were rings on his fingers. He wanted a favour; it was his first day in the town,
everyone was looking but no one was biting. Sarah wasn’t sure; she was no actress.
James changed his mind about leaving: she
should do it, he said; it
would be amusing. He talked like that,
amusing
. So she did.

It came so easy, pretending to be someone
else. Exactly who she was pretending to be, she couldn’t say. She stood to her
full height, straightened her back and squared her shoulders, like Mai was always
nagging her to, waited till there were a couple of women at the stall and inquired after
the skin cream in a louder voice than she would normally use. She could feel all eyes on
her; it was strange but she didn’t feel embarrassed or shy at all. How could she,
when she wasn’t herself, or maybe was more herself than she knew? Within seconds
they were buying. She tarried a while, complimenting a lady on her child, praising the
dark man’s potions to anyone that cared to listen. No one noticed as Sarah dropped
the jar into her pocket without paying. She hadn’t a bob, and it would ruin the
charade to give it back.

The women were pushing forward with enough
force to topple the table. They were picking up bottles, trying to match the labels with
their ailments. Some had forgotten their spectacles; all had forgotten about Sarah or,
as the herbalist had called her, the lovely lady. She slipped through the crowd towards
James. He was vexed and didn’t hide it.

‘Not amusing, then?’ Sarah
asked.

He didn’t answer, just dug his hands
into his pockets and started off in the direction of the main road. She had no choice
but to follow him. He was fuming. Sarah knew what ailed him: she had been admired by
others and he didn’t like it. She humoured him till he smiled at her again. After
a few minutes he seemed to have recovered. As they strolled along, side by side, they
talked about the road being quiet, wondered when a trap would pass in their direction.
She took the face cream from her pocket, twisted the lid. She wanted to try some on the
back of her hand. James snatched it, threw it into the nearest ditch and grabbed her
head to pull her close for a kiss. Sarah struggled free and ran.

How dare he? To treat her like that, so
roughly and commonly and at the side of the road where anyone could see. Yet she
wasn’t good enough to announce to his father. She wasn’t going to speak
to him, at least not until he apologized and maybe not even then. And
who was James codding that his father didn’t know what he was up to? Mr Kelly knew
everything that went on in the parish. James was fooling himself. And he was fooling
himself if he thought their first proper kiss would be snatched at the side of the
road.

They walked in silence. It was too early for
traps returning from the market. She glanced at the sulky boy behind her and kept
wondering how she had mistaken him for a man. Her anger gave her the energy to keep
going. It was taking hours. Mai would be worried: Sarah had told her Bernie’s
uncle would have them back by two. What would she say to her at all?

They parted without a sorry or goodbye.
James should’ve said something then. He had looked like he wanted to. Sarah
wondered how anyone could be so stubborn.

There wasn’t a sound from the house as
Sarah eased open the back door. She stood for a second, and, when there was no familiar
call from the kitchen, she crept upstairs to wash her face. That’s when she
noticed the blood on her earlobe, and the tear. The earring must’ve caught as she
pulled James’s hands from her face. Some beau he was. She unhooked the jewellery
and wiped it clean before she put it away. She brushed her hair forward to conceal it.
Looked at herself in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw: a cover-up, a liar.
Mai would see it too – Sarah knew she would.

When she went down, the kitchen was
sweltering. A pan of water bubbled on the fire. Mai was in her favourite chair at the
head of the table: her eyes were closed but she wasn’t asleep. Captain Custard was
curled purring on her lap. The table was covered with jam jars. A basket of violets was
set at her feet. Mai prayed any time or anywhere. Sarah gave her a gentle kiss on the
forehead. Her aunt smiled and opened her eyes.