The Secret Journey (37 page)

‘I'm sure you're mistaken,' she said. ‘Perhaps my sister's sleeping—or gone shopping.'

The little woman laughed. ‘I never said she was. I said I thought she was. But I shouldn't think she's asleep. Mrs. Fury's not the person for sleeping in the daytime. That old man of hers keeps her too busy, anyway.'

Brigid Mangan was all attention now. Was that a sound she heard? And suddenly she thought, and was filled with relief, ‘No! of course not, the things these people say. And such liars! For how could Fanny be out anywhere with Father to look after?' She looked once more at Mrs. Postlethwaite, who appeared to be comfortably seated on the stone step.

‘I think I hear somebody,' she said, her face expanding in a smile. ‘You
have
made a mistake, Mrs. er—what's this?'

‘Mrs. Postlethwaite,' replied the woman from number five. She struggled up the step and seemed to roll her barrel-shaped body out of sight.

‘Yes, there's somebody on the stairs.' Miss Mangan looked right and left, with that furtiveness that comes from sudden isolation in a strange and lonely spot, and Hatfields was strange and lonely in those moments that she waited tremblingly for the door to open. Why didn't it open so that she could rush out of this awful street, out of sight of those curious, inquisitive creatures who lived in it? Somebody was now walking along the lobby. The knob turned, the door was pulled back, and there she was.

‘Fanny!' exclaimed Brigid Mangan. ‘Fanny!'

Mrs. Fury looked out at the visitor in brown and replied, ‘Brigid! but don't stand there, please don't stand there!'

Brigid Mangan moved forward. She shook hands, saying, ‘How are you, Fanny?' conscious not of the changed appearance of her sister, but of that strange feel of the hand in her own. It was so cold, so hard—so red. It reminded her of Mr. Kilkey's large hand. And she suddenly let go as though she had been stung. ‘How are you, Fanny?' she said once more.

‘I am very well,' replied Mrs. Fury, ‘and you?'

‘Oh, I'm splendid, Fanny, I have learned to lead an ordered life. But that was always my dream. To live in peace.' She leaned forward and kissed her sister. Mrs. Fury closed the door.

‘Will you come in?' she said, and Brigid Mangan followed her sister into the kitchen, her whole being numbed by this astonishing remark. Would she come in!

‘Oh, Fanny!' she cried. ‘Oh, Fanny!'

CHAPTER X

It was with somewhat mixed feelings that Brigid Mangan sat down. In the first place, no welcome had been so strange. It was quite unexpected. What had come over the woman—or was it that Biddy Pettigrew had merely been lying to her? Fanny Fury did not sit down. Instead, she picked up her coat, and saying quickly, ‘Excuse me,' disappeared out the back way.

‘Extraordinary,' thought Aunt Brigid. ‘She's changed, though. Her hair's going quite grey.' She looked round the kitchen. Yes, there were changes here too. The two red plush chairs that had stood under the window were no longer there. The kitchen dresser seemed deserted. There stood on it two large green vases, over one of which lay Mrs. Fury's black straw hat. Miss Mangan's eyes wandered farther. Mr. Mangan's chair was still there. ‘Poor Father!' she said aloud. ‘I ought to go up and see him now. But perhaps I'd better wait till she comes back. I wonder where she went, and why?'

Oh yes. That was where Dennis's pipe-rack, a homemade affair, used to hang. It was gone with him, she supposed. Fancy a man his age suddenly taking it into his head to go to sea again. ‘But he doesn't seem to have upset her very much.' She was thinking, ‘Fanny's like steel.' And then Mrs. Fury returned to the kitchen. She was smiling. Indeed, it seemed as though Mrs. Fury had been standing impatiently in this dark lobby waiting for her very knock. As the woman poured out stout from a jug Miss Mangan exclaimed boisterously, ‘You're looking well, Fanny, I must say. Changes don't seem to upset you at all. But how unfair of Denny to go off like that!'

‘Unfair!' replied Fanny Fury. ‘But he did it before. Somehow I don't mind so much now. You see, the last time he went off like that—that time he deserted his ship in Boston and tramped right through the States—he left me to keep myself and four children on five-and-fourpence a week. It's different now, and I'm not caring much. It seems awful to say it, but I've just got that way. He'll be tired of it soon, and then he'll come back again. And the home will still be here, Brigid, always be here.' She pushed a glass over to her sister. ‘Your health,' she said. Then she too sat down. She looked hard at the lady dressed in brown and said, ‘Well, Brigid, this much can be said—you actually look after yourself, and God knows I don't blame you. No, on sober reflection I really don't. It doesn't always pay to be considerate of others and leave yourself on the shelf. But you were always that way. Independent. I could never have imagined you marrying and having a family.' She laughed then, but somehow it seemed hollow to Aunt Brigid. It didn't have a genuine ring about it.

‘Certainly if I had done I would never have thought of living in Gelton.'

‘Of course not. I understand you perfectly, Brigid. But then, one can't always choose where one is going to spend one's life, can one? Sometimes one allows oneself to be pushed into the wrong place. Still, what's the use of talking?'

‘Yes. What
is
the use, Fanny? The same old story all over again. I must go up at once and see Father. How is he? I heard from Miss Pettigrew.'

She half rose from the table when Mrs. Fury said, ‘Oh, you've been there, then. Well, well! But I understood you to say in your letter that you were staying here. There is room now, of course.' She too got up, barring her sister's path, as though she were bent on an explanation before she allowed Aunt Brigid to go upstairs to her father.

‘It was only natural,' said Miss Mangan, ‘that the man who usually takes my box should leave it at Miss Pettigrew's. But I'll probably be able to get a boy to bring it round this evening. Now which room is Father in? Oh! and I forgot. I asked Mr. Dingle—what a nice man he is—to send along a bottle of White's port this evening for Father.' ‘Isn't he nice?' commented Fanny Fury, as she led the way upstairs, and behind her Miss Mangan followed on tiptoe.

‘I was surprised at Dingle's,' Miss Mangan was whispering as they climbed the stairs. ‘People in Gelton I've found awfully rude as a rule. But Mr. Dingle is a kind man. I thought he was Irish, Fanny.'

‘Plain English,' said Fanny Fury.

They stood outside Mr. Mangan's room. Mrs. Fury opened the door, and Brigid Mangan passed in. She stood in the middle of the floor, looking at nothing in particular, but with ears tensed and waiting for the sound of the closed door. Even when this did shut behind her, she still remained standing there as though rooted to the spot. Not till the sound of Fanny's footsteps descending the stairs died away did Miss Mangan move. Then she went across to the bed and gingerly sat down on the edge of a chair.

‘You poor soul,' she exclaimed, as she looked at the old man. ‘Well, I'll soon have you out of this, never fear, Father. I'll soon have you out of this,' and she looked about her with an expression of disgust. ‘To think I've let you live here all this time.' She bent down and kissed his forehead that had the colour and cold touch of marble. ‘Poor old man! Father! This is Brigid, Brigid; come here to take you home. Dear Father,' and she laid her head on his breast. Mr. Mangan lay like a log. He was fast asleep. She stroked his cheeks, but no sign came from the still figure. He was quite unaware of his daughter's presence. ‘Oh dear,' she exclaimed. ‘This! This! But she has tried, of course,' and she fingered the heavy brown overcoat that served as top blanket for old Anthony Mangan. And she looked also at the big black coat that draped the rail-head, and which seemed to throw up more clearly that large white head that rested upon the stained pillow. There was one clean cloth in the room, however, and Brigid Mangan's experienced eye knew that it was a Communion cloth. Her father must have received the Sacrament that very day. A sinking feeling, a feeling of frustration, came over her, for she was experienced enough to know that a man must be very low indeed when he received the Sacrament. Brigid Mangan did not cry. The sight of that cloth only increased her determination. ‘Well, God willing, I'll have him out of it.' She stood and looked towards the door. The house seemed strangely silent, deepened by the atmosphere of the room in which she stood that was now in half darkness although the front room of the house was white with the light of the sun. She fastened her eyes upon her father and muttered under her breath, ‘They've had their share of you, and now it's my turn. Yes, Father, it is Brigid's turn. God knows what has happened all these years, but it's my turn, and you, only you, know where that money is.' Yes, that still figure knew. ‘Unless, of course, Fanny knows about it already,' she exclaimed viciously. Then she tiptoed out of the room and went downstairs.

Fanny Fury had meanwhile washed her face and hands, and put on a clean holland-coloured blouse, though she did not dispense with the coarse apron that shielded her best skirt. ‘Well! what did you think of him?' she asked.

Brigid Mangan resumed her seat. ‘I can't say; it's very hard. But I do want to talk about the matter, Fanny. It seems to me a very urgent one.'

‘For you,' interrupted Mrs. Fury, who was admiring the brown costume her sister wore.

‘For him, of course! Do you suppose I'm only thinking of myself all the time, Fanny? Be fair, my dear woman. Besides, I think I put the whole case quite clearly when I wrote to you, and I say again that I have been worried lately; you see,' she said with a knowing smile, ‘you are not the only worried person in the world. Well, I've worried over Father for a long time now, and if you're quite fair—at least I hope you will be for his sake—you must admit that to get him back home—for he has never belonged here, never was used to such living, Fanny—is a kind act. Father hasn't very long to go, and at least, in common justice, we can see that when God does call him—praised be His Blessed Son—it will be with the knowledge that we have laid him with Mother. You know, of course, that we have our family grave there, Fanny. Of course you do. Well, now, what is your opinion?'

‘I don't seem to have any,' replied Mrs. Fury, a remark that excited Brigid Mangan into exclaiming, ‘Ridiculous. Well, have one now, for let me assure you, my dear sister, that you are not the only person who has consideration for Father. In fact, don't you think it a good thing—a wise thing?' and Aunt Brigid reached forward in her chair, her expression tense, for she realized now that the testing time had come. The only obstacle in her path sat before her now, and what seemed somewhat frightening, a most enigmatical look appeared in Fanny Fury's face. ‘All or nothing,' thought Miss Mangan,‘all or nothing. If she says “Yes,” I am certain she knows nothing whatever. If she says “No,” then—then some day I'll ask her——'

‘Brigid! Do you suppose I have any objection to Father going? I haven't. If you had come here six months ago hoping to drag an old and helpless man across to Ireland, I would have said “No,” emphatically, but now, I say “Yes,” on one consideration.'

‘What is that?'

‘That you take Dr. Dunfrey's advice before you do anything. I have done a lot for Father, but now I've been thinking over your letter and somehow I feel you are right. But if anybody's conscience is troubled, it is not mine. You ought to have looked after Father when you had him. I half believe that had he remained in Ireland this tragedy would not have happened. But you have only yourself to thank for that. I should hate myself to think that Father was buried in this dirty hole. I'll miss him too, Brigid. But I don't think you'll ever understand how——'

‘Yes, I know. But I had thought of doing something. You'll miss his pension, however small.'

‘No! That was quite useless to me, Brigid. I wasn't meaning his pension, which by no means kept him. All Father's pension assured was a weekly bottle of brandy, which is the only thing that has kept him alive. How quick you are at assuming things. No, I'll miss him other ways. Do you know, we knew each other, we understood each other so well—so well,' there was a break in her voice, ‘so well! It was like his dumbness had been a godsend and not an affliction at all. Sometimes when I was alone here, sometimes when I was worried about something or other, or felt depressed, I used to go and sit with him. It used to help me. He was a friend as well as a father.'

‘Yes, Fanny, I understand! Then maybe there has been some compensation for my very indifference to him.' And she turned away, quite unable to look at Fanny for a moment as she concluded, ‘Yes, you've been good to him, and now it's my turn. But tell me, what time does this Dr. Dunfrey come?'

‘Some time in the evening,' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘Have you thought about all the difficulties?'

Brigid Mangan said quite plainly, ‘No. But I didn't know there were any. Is it going to be all that trouble getting him to Cork? I don't think so, Fanny,' she concluded.

Miss Mangan pushed back her chair. The heat of the kitchen on this June day was absolutely unbearable. How did the woman stand it? She ought really to take off her things. Times her hand went to her head as though she meant to remove her hat, and she continued to fidget in the chair until at last her sister exclaimed excitedly, ‘For God's sake, why do you go on sitting there? Take your things
off
,' and she got up and helped Miss Mangan remove her coat.

‘I could never stand the heat, Fanny. You know that,' Brigid said. There, that was better. She felt more comfortable in body but certainly not in mind. She hated sitting there, hated having to look at Fanny at all. It made her uncomfortable. If only the old man could have been spirited across to Ireland! It certainly would have saved all this embarrassment, all these strange feelings that ran riot within her. She felt ashamed, too, sitting here in her brown finery whilst that sister sat staring at her as though she were some absolute stranger from the other world. One would suppose that Fanny had never seen anybody dressed in brown before, nor seen a healthy round red face. She doubted very much whether her sister's welcome was genuine or not. At last she said: