The Secret Journey (51 page)

Mrs. Fury put on her serge coat, took her hat from the dresser, jammed a pin through it, buttoned the coat and said, ‘Are you ready, Brigid?' and ran out to secure the back door.

‘Now, sir,' said Mr. Deery to Mr. Delaney, as the two sisters passed out through the door and seated themselves in the cab.

‘I'm sure,' said Miss Mangan. ‘I'm sure we can manage Father between us, and that the chair can be hid on the top of the cab. Where are they going to put it anyway? Oh, dear me! Dear me! Here they are now.'

The two men appeared carrying Mr. Mangan in the chair. They looked at the floor space. Mr. Deery exclaimed loudly, ‘Impossible, mam! Do you want to drive a hole through the bottom?' He leaned against the cab door, looking quite bewildered. Mr. Delaney then remarked that they might try.

‘All right, keep your feet out of the way, ladies,' said the cabman.

‘George!' said Mrs. Postlethwaite, ‘do go over and give those men a hand. It will at least remind Mrs. Fury that she has a son as big as a boat.'

Operations now began. Mr. Postlethwaite pulled back the door, pressed on it, and then Mr. Mangan and his chair were tilted backwards.

‘No! It just won't do. It's a big responsibility, and I see the old man has fallen fast asleep.'

‘Try this way,' said Mrs. Fury. ‘The chair isn't all that wide, Mr. Deery.'

‘Ah! At last! That's got it,' said Brigid. ‘Here, you were right, Fanny, after all. That's it. Poor Father! What an experience! Now close the door, Mr. Deery, and please lock it securely; my sister and I will now make ourselves comfortable.'

‘George,' said Mrs. Fury. ‘Be a good fellow, and shut that front door for me.'—‘Now,' she went on, ‘perhaps if you could manage to sit on this back seat with me, we might each of us take a hold of the back of the chair. Didn't I tell you we'd manage it quite easily? Why, there's plenty of room,' she concluded.

Children crowded about the windows. How funny it was! Old Mr. Mangan seated in a chair, a leather belt round his body, and the chair itself taking up the whole of the floor space. Mrs. Fury seated at the back of the cab, now looking cautiously up through the front window at Mr. Deery clearing the seat to make room for Mr. Delaney. Miss Mangan looking hot, flushed, indeed the very reverse of comfortable and optimistic, seated with her back to the driver. And Mrs. Fury, who really looked as bitter as vinegar, was now motioning to the stout lady to come over and join her.

‘We can both hold on to the back of Father's chair,' she said.

Miss Mangan seemed to heave herself from the seat, and then began a slow, tortuous struggle to get to the other side. ‘Oh, I can't,' she said.

‘All right,' said Mrs. Fury. ‘Stay where you are, then, but see you put a foot against the chair and I'll hold on to the back.'

The cab was already beginning to move. At the sound of the wheels, the first stamp of the horse's hoofs, Miss Brigid Mangan's face became wreathed in smiles. For at last she was going home. The journey had actually begun.

The cab slowly rumbled round the corner; and the crowd, their curiosity satisfied, began to disperse, all except a few children who still ran behind it as it turned into the King's Road.

‘I do believe,' remarked Miss Mangan, ‘that I've been given the oldest cab of the whole bang lot of them.'

She endeavoured to make herself more comfortable. ‘Yes, indeed,' she repeated from her corner, and there seemed to be no mistake about it. The cobblestones in the King's Road called forth a supreme effort from the cabby, who swore loudly with each lurch of the vehicle, much to the disgust of Mr. Delaney, whose very attitude betokened a fear that he might, at the very next lurch of the cab, fall off. He hung on grimly to the seat, his features immobile, and he was perfectly prepared for the cataclysm that might at any moment occur. Not once had he smiled, not even Miss Mangan could disturb the calmness, the perfect immobility of his long, thin face. Neither of the men had spoken a word to each other since the cab moved off. Miss Mangan's fat gloved hands clung leech-like to the arms of the black chair. With this constant swaying of the cab it seemed inevitable that she must lean as far forward as possible and hang on desperately to this solid rock rooted to the floor. In this precarious position, with the vehicle swaying under them, and its occasional violent lurches that sometimes achieved an angle of twenty degrees, in these circumstances mere words seemed out of place. One could think, but not speak. Mrs. Fury sat stiffly in her seat, one foot jammed against the leg of the chair, her two hands holding on to the back, and she looked straight out through the open space that showed the rear of the horse, the edge of the driver's seat, and what looked like a small patch of sky that appeared as though from between the legs of Mr. Deery. It was impossible to say what she could be thinking of at this moment, unless it were the pathetic figure of Anthony Mangan. As to his thoughts, they passed all comprehension. As the cab lurched, Mr. Mangan's head swung as though in rhythm. The chair seemed to rock to and fro upon the oilcloth-surfaced floor. Once both women looked directly at each other. Judging by the determined way Mrs. Fury kept her mouth closed, it appeared she did not intend to open it. Even when the cab gave a sudden and most uncomfortable jerk, when an exclamation of ‘Oh!' seemed inevitable, she kept her mouth shut, lips pressed tightly together.

‘What are you thinking about, Fanny?' asked Brigid. The silence had begun to get on her nerves. She looked beseechingly at her sister as if to say, ‘For God's sake say something, and don't sit there like a dummy.'

‘Nothing,' replied Mrs. Fury, and looked out over Miss Mangan's straw hat.

Suddenly the cab seemed to sink, to remain suspended in air, then its wheels scraped, the horse appeared to rear. Mr. Deery had turned a corner, and had he but known it, the most astonishing thing had happened inside his vehicle. For Miss Mangan and Mrs. Fury seemed all of a heap together, and both clung to the black chair, and it might further be said that no two sisters were ever closer together than Miss Brigid Mangan and Mrs. Fury when the cab gave that astounding performance.

‘My God!' said Brigid. ‘Fanny! That brute will simply kill us.' She tried to turn her head to look out. Mr. Delaney, fearing now that at any moment the whole affair might turn over, leaned as far away as possible from the now bad-tempered Mr. Deery, who began to inflict his anger upon the struggling beast through the agency of his long whip, made of leather, both lashes platted together, and having at its end the tiniest piece of copper wire. The whip rose and fell.

‘Damn you! Damn you!' cursed Mr. Deery. His face was of a deep beetroot colour.

‘Damn everything!' said Mr. Delaney. ‘I'm used to ambulances and stretchers and awkward situations, but riding in a chariot, no! Definitely no.' And Mr. Deery unwittingly turned his head to meet the thin gentleman's scowling features.

‘We'll soon be at the Ferry, my lad, we've passed the Mile Hill.'

It was only when the cab reached the bottom of Mile Hill, and took the long main road that led to the town, that normality returned and the vehicle regained its equilibrium.

Mr. Mangan was going home to his own land. Away from that stuffy, cramped life of Hatfields. He was leaving the city with its frenzied, hectic life, he was going home. And Fanny was happy. Supremely happy. She saw now how unfair it was to begrudge her father the last little consolation. A drudge, a nuisance, yes—but now he was something real. Something old and ugly and helpless, yet spiritually beautiful, was going out of her life. At least he had known her, understood her. They had shared the good and bad times. To whom had she gone when she felt miserable, sick in heart? To her father! She stroked his face with her red and roughened hands. She loved him.

‘Why, Fanny, I believe you're crying,' said Aunt Brigid, who feigned a most pained expression herself. ‘My dear Fanny! Ah! But I understand! He was much to you! Dear, kind Father! I only hope he'll be able to realize what I am doing for him.'

Brigid could hear her sister silently sobbing. Then the rattle of the cab wheels upon rough gravel drowned it out. Mrs. Fury lowered her head. She was hidden behind the chair, and the stout lady could see nothing of her except the top of her hat.

‘I used to think—I used to dream about going back to that lovely land! I used to think, We'll all go one day. Denny and I and the children. And Father would always be with us. But there! What's the use of crying over things like this? It only makes it worse. But he was something in my life, was something to me, he had something the others haven't got. Yes. Thank God, he had his faith—and a simple mind. He had a pure heart. How did I ever imagine I could keep him for years in all that squalor? Perhaps she is right. Perhaps it was most unfair of me. She says I cling to everything. Everything. My home—my children—old Father. Yes, perhaps I do. I hold on to everything, and I have nothing. Well, it won't be long now.' Fanny drew a corner of the blanket from the chair and wiped her face. The cab began to jerk again.

It had turned another corner. In addition to the rough road there was another steep gradient. The horse, which had never before carried such a curious company as this, suddenly slid, pulled up again, then once more slid. Mr. Deery swore louder than ever, but nothing could move Mr. Delaney, who sat tight, looking very grim, his eyes busy searching for the truck tops of the ship, a sign that the extraordinary journey was near its end. Mr. Deery's loud swears were directed not only against the steep gradient he had now to descend, but they were a sort of protest against the mummified silence of the gentleman beside him. He gave another indignant glance at Mr. Delaney, who at once folded his arms and looked grimmer than ever, as if this were a mute protest against Mr. Deery's vulgar oaths, and not only vulgar but thoroughly dangerous to a good-living Catholic gentleman. With a violent jerk of the reins the cabby endeavoured to induce the horse to take a less erratic course down the hill, but the underfed beast, unused to such fare as this, refused to be influenced by the pull upon his reins and the swish of the whip across his flanks. Hill or no hill, the sound of the creaking cab that hovered over him like some great black shadow was enough to upset the nerves of the most docile of horses. The cab now rolled from side to side, regained equilibrium with a wrench and groan, shook, swayed and rocked, the while beneath the floor itself the most ominous noises began to be heard; at least the two ladies in the cab could hear them even if the two gentlemen outside could not. There were times when it appeared as if the floor itself must give way, the wheels, freed from their burden, roll off down the hill, leaving the occupants of the cab piled in a confused heap upon the road. But at last the bottom of the hill was reached. This dramatic arrival on terra firma brought forth an exclamation from Brigid Mangan.

‘Thank God!' she said. ‘Thank His Blessed Mother for that.'

Here the traffic became thicker, and the cabby slowed down the horse to a leisurely walk. He was bound for Gelton Pier, where the
Green Emerald
was already lying waiting to embark her passengers for the eighteen-hour trip to Cork. Mrs. Fury, her eyes red and tired-looking, hung on to her father's chair, and so, too, did Miss Mangan, for it was at this point in the journey that the most ominous groan came from beneath the cab. It came up through the floor like a despairing cry. The thundering sound, which seemed both a protest and ultimatum, came not only from the dead wood and the worn wheels, but from the overworked beast itself. It began to neigh.

‘We are nearly there now, thank heaven,' remarked Fanny to her sister.

‘Your observation does you credit, woman. You've sat there the whole of the journey down and hardly spoken a single word. Your own son wasn't even decent enough to remain behind and say good-bye to his grandfather. He ought to. Father helped him through, though it was all for nothing.'

‘Don't let's talk about that now,' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘I'm just about sick of it.'

‘How relieved I'll be to get away,' Brigid said. ‘And most of all to get out of this preposterous cab. And I don't care how many priests it's carried, either. I've never gone through such an hour. And that man's language is horrifying. I'm sure he's no Catholic like the quiet gentleman beside him.'

The cab was lurching again as it passed through into Salter Road. The continuous rocking, the tattoo of the animal's hoofs, the groans and squeaks from below, the swearing of Mr. Deery, these were so many irritants continuously bursting upon Miss Mangan's lively thoughts about the future. The cab gave a shriek and came to a halt. It seemed that only now with the sudden cessation of shrieks, groans, clatter and swears, the sudden silence following the concourse of sounds, was Miss Mangan aware, and very fully aware at that, of the phenomenon in the cab beside her. Her sister's silence galled her. How on earth could that woman sit there in this most appalling situation and remain silent? How could she hold on to the chair and yet never utter a single word about the tragedy of its occupant? Yes. How could she? Such coldness. Such indifference. She could understand it in anybody else, but not in Fanny. From time to time she buoyed herself up with the hope that that tightly closed mouth would open. But by no effort could Aunt Brigid break that core of determination, for it seemed that Mrs. Fury had said her last word. She had become like Mr. Mangan himself. Quite dumb. Any casual onlooker who might have put his head through the window would most likely have been reduced to laughter by the sight that met his gaze, for the two women, never relinquishing their hold upon the chair, looked straight ahead with fixed expressions, though they never even glanced at one another. Mr. Mangan's head was in the same position as before and hung low upon his breast, his lips moving in a sort of long low grunt. His hands lay flat upon his knees. The cab moved on, turned another corner and stopped.