The Secret Journey (52 page)

‘This is the end,' thought Brigid, and so, too, did Mrs. Fury, as Mr. Deery climbed down from his seat and came and looked in through the window. Through the other one Miss Mangan could now discern the truck tops of ships. A tug on the river gave three short blasts.

‘Why, we're here at last! I thought your cab had broken down,' she exclaimed to Mr. Deery, ‘and thank heaven for that, I say.'

‘That's right, mam,' replied the cabby. ‘If you'll just wait a minute or two. You see, I always call in to “The Chicken and Ham” when I come down here. You've lots of time, you see.'

‘But this is outrageous,' said Miss Mangan. ‘Where is Mr. Delaney?'

‘On the top, mam, and if you don't mind my saying so, he's about the sulkiest man I ever met. He hasn't spoken a single word all the way down, except “Damn.”'

‘How could he?' broke in Mrs. Fury. ‘It seems to have taken us all our time to keep our seats.' She was lying back now, glad to have the opportunity to rest her arms, which all through the journey had held the black chair in a vice-like grip.

‘Call Mr. Delaney down at once! Where are we, anyway? Excuse me,' and Brigid Mangan leaned still farther forward and put her head through the window.

‘Why, this is only Salter Road. Drive on at once, Mr. Deery. Why we——' But her words fell upon empty air, for by some means or other Mr. Deery had disappeared into ‘The Chicken and Ham.'

‘Mr. Delaney! Mr. Delaney!' she shouted through the window. ‘Mr. Delaney!'

‘Brigid, have patience. We've plenty of time. After all, the man has arrived. He won't be a second. He's gone to get a drink. Why should we begrudge him a drink?' She put her hands on her sister's shoulders as Miss Mangan shouted through the window:

‘Mr. Delaney, this is disgraceful! Do you pick up those reins and drive the cab to the shed! I swear to God I'll miss the boat. Just fancy! Well, I was going to give Mr. Deery a drink myself, but I shan't now. The very idea! Leaving us outside like this as though we were so much baggage.'

‘Oh, Brigid, you are a fuss,' and Mrs. Fury burst out laughing. ‘Why, there's Mr. Deery now,' she added, as she saw the cabby emerge from the pub. Without a word the man climbed up on to his seat, picked up the reins, and the cab moved off down the parade. It seemed to sway as it dodged now this and now that obstacle, but by a certain system of strategic movements Mr. Deery at last drew up about twenty-five yards from the gangway. The cab was immediately surrounded by porters. Mr. Delaney got down, followed by the cabby, who coughed and puffed and blowed, to the general consternation of the anxious porters.

‘This old man and chair have to be taken aboard the ship,' said Brigid.

‘Yes, mam! But we have a stretcher here all ready by orders of a Father Geraghty. Now, ladies, if youse will just get out of the cab, we'll have the old gentleman aboard in two ticks.'

‘Thank you! Thank you!' said Miss Mangan. And now they were out of the cab.

‘I think Dad's been splendid,' she remarked to Mrs. Fury.

‘I think so, too!' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘Have you your tickets?'

‘Yes. Let's go now. Oh! They're carrying Father on board now. I must see he gets some brandy and a sleeping-draught. I do hope it won't be rough.'

The two women followed the procession down the gangway. They passed along the main deck, through the alleyway, and ascended the short companion-ladder to the saloon.

‘Number seven, mam,' said the steward to Miss Mangan.

At the door they stopped. Mr. Mangan was already comfortably settled in his bunk, and the chief steward himself sent a stewardess to see if anything was required.

‘Well, now.' Mrs. Fury went inside, bent down and said, ‘Good-bye, Dad! Good-bye! God bless you—keep you safe, dear.' Then she got up, looked at Brigid, and said, ‘And good-bye to you.'

‘Good-bye, Fanny! Good-bye. You have been so good—so helpful. Here!' and Brigid Mangan was pressing a coin into the woman's hand.

Fanny shut her hand against the coin and said, ‘Oh no! You'll need that yourself. Well, good-bye. I don't want to see you ever again.' And stepping out of the cabin she shut the door on her sister and father, and in a few minutes had disappeared amongst the people now crowding the deck. Anthony Mangan had passed out of her life.

Half-past nine at Banfield House, Mr. Corkran has just seen the last client away. The big room where Mrs. Ragner transacts her business is in darkness. The ledger has been carried away and locked up. Moneylending is at an end. Daniel Corkran is pushing back the bolt. He is aware of two things. Firstly, that Mrs. Ragner is watching him—he knows this, for he has himself been keeping an eye upon her; secondly, that by thus shooting the bolt home he will make Anna Ragner come out from behind the green curtain half-way down the hall.

‘Is that you, Corkran?'

‘Yes, mam,' he replied, without turning round, and his hand still on the bolt.

‘Is it customary to bolt the door at half-past nine? Please draw it back again.' The woman is now standing in the hall. The red light shines on her black hair.

‘I understood there were no more callers to-night, mam,' remarked Daniel, and he turned round to smile at the woman. ‘At least, I presumed so,' he added.

‘I want you to come into my room as soon as you are ready,' said Mrs. Ragner.

‘Yes, mam!' and he immediately followed the woman into the back sitting-room.

‘Why do you look at me like that, Corkran?' she asked, as soon as he came into the room. She stood leaning against the mantelshelf, one hand smoothing back her hair. Daniel Corkran thought that her eyes looked a little too brilliant. He stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, and looked at the woman. He wore his usual clothes, sailor's armless jersey, dirty dungaree trousers, rope shoes, and one could see that he wore no stockings. His hair was plastered with brilliantine, his moustache neatly trimmed.

‘Yes, mam,' he said.

‘Why are you looking like that at me, Corkran? I noticed it this evening. I am not used to being stared at in that manner. What is wrong with you?'

‘It's only my usual way of looking at people,' said Daniel in an almost apologetic tone. ‘I'm sorry, mam. I didn't know I was looking other than natural.'

‘Then I don't like your way of looking. And these last few days your conduct has been open to question. I pay you, while you are here, to attend to my house and help in my business. I don't pay you to spy on me! A certain consideration for your position is the only reason for my not asking you to put on your coat and go. The fact is, I have let you have too much of your own way here. You have been spying on me just like some mean filthy thief. Have you no spark of manhood in you at all?' she asked.

‘Excuse me, mam, I regret you should say such a thing to me, considering what I have done for you all these years. Your dirty work, for instance.' Mr. Corkran smiled. It was like a gust of wind. It came and went again in a flash. ‘She knows I was watching all along, and now she's trying to work round me,' he thought, as he followed her with his eyes. She had crossed the room and sat down at the little green baize table. When she looked at him, he turned his head a little, and assumed that sphinx-like attitude of countenance she knew so well. Indeed, Mr. Corkran looked with a certain satisfaction at a picture that hung directly over Anna Ragner's head.

‘The fact that you have served here so long does not give you the right to spy upon me, to go into my room in my absence, to turn papers upside down in my desk. If it happens again, Corkran, you go. Understand! And not a penny! Understand me! I am master here! You obey orders! You are not a man. Please note what I say. You are less than a man, though that must not prevent you from endeavouring to try and become one. In short, you are only a puppet, a parasite, and you've clung to me for years. You have worked well. But when you say you have done my dirty work you are insulting me. Now I want you to apologize. Do you hear me, Corkran? You must apologize at once.'

Mr. Daniel Corkran covered his head, and seemed to squint at Mrs. Ragner's ringed fingers as he said, ‘I am very sorry, mam. It shall not occur again.'

‘And now to business,' exclaimed Anna Ragner. ‘Sit down opposite to me.'

Mr. Corkran sat down, and he too put his hands upon the table. ‘Yes, mam,' and Daniel Corkran looked directly into Anna Ragner's eyes.

‘Now, why didn't you tell me that this man Kilkey called here yesterday?'

‘I forgot, mam.'

‘You forgot. You who never forgot anything. What did he want?' She leaned closer.

‘He wanted to know the state of the Fury account, and I said that I could not oblige him in the matter. He also said that you cancelled some note or other. Some note he had signed.' Mr. Corkran decided for some reason or other to lean well back in his chair. He now folded his arms.

‘In case he calls again you had better be acquainted with the facts. When I first loaned that woman money, I did it with reluctance. But I won't go into that point. Mr. Kilkey went security for that because he is a man who is in constant work. The position is that I decided on consideration to cancel that note on payment of a certain sum of money. That is to say, ten pounds. Do you follow me, Corkran?'

‘Yes, mam.'

‘Very well! It was an unusual thing to do. I know you are now asking yourself why I did this,' and she looked questioningly at her servant, who moved not a muscle.

‘I think I know why,' said Daniel Corkran to himself. ‘The woman's a fool.'

‘When I loan money I either get it back with interest or, failing that, seize goods. In this case, for a sum of money I released the Kilkeys from any further obligations.'

‘You knew, of course, mam, that they were not compelled to pay?'

‘What I know and what they know are two quite different things. If we are to shorten the gap between knowledge and ignorance, Corkran, then there is an end of necessity. And where will I be? And where will you be? Tell me that!'

‘I do not say that this Joseph Kilkey wasn't very glad to discover this good news. It's another thing, mam, he came about. It seems he and his wife are having differences, and he wanted to know if I could inform him where she got the money to pay.'

‘That is not a matter for us, Corkran! I just want you to understand that the Kilkey side of this business is now closed. What differences they have between them doesn't come into it at all. Oh, by the way, before I go any further, Corkran, there's a client whom you might see at my office to-morrow. For that reason no business will be done here before half-past seven to-morrow evening.'

‘Very well, mam,' replied Mr. Corkran, all attention now for whatever was to follow. He had a vague idea that Mrs. Fury would come into it, and he was right. ‘I can't understand why she treats this woman as if she were a bloody queen. At least, I never could, but I know why she does it now. Yes. I know why. She's mad, crazy, foolish—she'll regret it. This departure from principle. Fool! Fool!'

‘This Fury family,' went on Mrs. Ragner. ‘They interest me. The woman's a strange creature.'

‘I knew you were interested in them, mam. They seem quite characters in Hatfields.'

‘I had a visit from the woman yesterday,' she continued. ‘You see that temporary silence had its effect. She came at last to the office in town. I was out at lunch at the time, but she waited there for an hour.'

‘She would,' said Daniel. ‘And if I may ask a question, mam, have you decided to press for payment? She's the only client who seems to have been indifferent to our generosity. Sorry, mam, your generosity. The old man has gone.'

‘Oh!' said Mrs Ragner. ‘You mean the paralytic. Gone where? I didn't know about it.'

‘He went this evening, mam. Back to Ireland. He was taken by some relation. Another sister, I believe. According to the form she filled in she received a few shillings a week pension from him. He was her father.'

‘Yes. That reduces the income! There is a limit to everything. It's not that the account has gone on too long, or that I begrudge any client a re-loan to help to pay off arrears and interest of a previous loan. It's just a peculiarity of mine, I can't explain it very well, but to be honest, Corkran, there's something I don't quite like about her. I don't know what it is. Mind you, I was most considerate in giving twenty pounds at all on such scanty security, but there was something open and honest about Mrs. Kilkey which perhaps influenced me. I don't know, but I think it was that, anyway. What I don't like about her is that she's different. I've never had clients like her before. The fact is, Corkran—and how silly it might seem to you—the fact is that she hasn't learnt to cringe. I tell you that people are so sly, so mean, so indifferent, so ungrateful, that one wants to stamp them into the gutter. Do you know people are absolutely ruthless, Corkran, and every time I lend money they make me feel I have besmirched myself. It gives me the most horrible feelings sometimes, thinking about it. That's all we can do, Corkran. When people come here we must make them toe the line. We must make them pay for the lies that are spread about us—we must make them pay for what they say, how they whisper about us—how they loathe us. Don't you see, Corkran? Don't you see why I have not moved in the matter of Mrs. Fury's money? Don't you see why I kept silence, and then she had to come—and she had to talk—she had to enquire about a form she signed—and what had happened. The registered letter had not arrived. She was waiting for the money. Corkran, these people eat money, they don't value it. Mrs. Fury has received nearly fifty pounds from me in one way and another, and now pays one pound fifteen weekly. And I expect to be paid. But she's so proud—she makes you feel she's done you a favour by coming at all. And on top of that they're Irish Catholics.'