A Second Chance (51 page)

When they got to where the horses were
tethered, Frank hoisted Maisie in front of the saddle. ‘It won’t be
too comfortable, sorry. We won’t go faster than a walk, though—I
don’t want to shake you around any more than I have to.’ It would
have been easier to have Maisie ride behind the saddle, but he
wanted to be sure of holding on to her if she should faint.

The other men had mounted, ready to set off.
Frank heard Bill sending Alf and Ernie on ahead, and he roused
himself to speak to Joe. ‘Don’t wait for me. You get home and tell
your ma we’re on our way—she’ll be worried sick. You too, Dave—no
need to have Beth worrying. Thanks, you fellows,’ he called to the
others. Most of his companions headed off at a trot, and were soon
out of sight.

Bill remained at his side. He said nothing,
but Frank was aware of his presence and grateful for it. The horse
plodded along patiently, needing no guidance. For the first minute
or two Maisie gripped the mane where Frank had placed her hands,
but she soon slumped against him. Her arms slid around his waist
under his open jacket, and she leaned her head on his chest. It was
an awkward pose, with the pommel of the saddle between them, but
Maisie seemed content with it.

Anxious that she should stay conscious, he
spoke quietly to her as they made their slow way along the beach.
She roused herself to ask if Rosie and Kate were safe; once
reassured, she listened to him in silence. Frank talked on and on,
aware that much of it was nonsense. He pointed out the waves
breaking on the shore, and the stars gradually appearing in the
darkening sky. All the while Maisie clung to him, sometimes looking
around as he pointed out some object, but much of the time staring
up into his face.

The journey was becoming dreamlike. Beneath
the drone of his own voice, Frank could hear the soft thud of the
horse’s hooves on the sand, replaced by a harder sound when they
left the beach and started up the valley road.

They reached the track to Frank’s farm. Bill
said goodnight and went on his way. For the few minutes it took to
approach the house, they rode in silence.

As they drew close, the whole family ran out
to meet them. Frank disengaged Maisie’s arms from around his waist
so that he could dismount, then caught her as she slid to the
ground. He gathered her up in his arms and carried her inside,
leaving the boys to take care of his horse.

Directed by Lizzie, he took Maisie through
to the girls’ room and placed her gently on the bed. Lizzie ordered
everyone from the room. Frank went back out to the kitchen, vaguely
aware of Rosie clamouring to be told all that had happened. He
reached up to one of the highest shelves and took down a bottle
Lizzie kept there for medicinal purposes. Frank could not remember
what it contained; a glance at the label told him it was brandy. He
took a glass from the bench, sat down at the table with bottle and
glass, and poured himself a generous measure.

He took a gulp. A line of heat traced its
way down to his belly. Frank stared at the glass in front of him,
but instead of the brown liquid he saw a long knife with a notched
edge. He saw again the madness in Liam Feenan’s eyes. He felt
himself begin to shudder. With an effort, he held the glass steady
long enough to take another gulp.

Rosie tugged at his sleeve, but Frank waved
her away. He drained the glass, put it down heavily, and closed his
eyes for a moment. Then he opened them, and looked around the warm,
comfortable kitchen.

Joe and the younger boys were sitting along
one side of the table, looking at their father in some awe. Rosie
seemed to have wandered out of the room; Kate had probably trailed
after her. With all that was going on, Lizzie had somehow contrived
to prepare a meal, and the pleasant aroma of whatever was keeping
warm on the range filled the room. Frank became aware that he had
stopped shuddering.

There was an indignant squeal from the
direction of the passage; Frank recognised Rosie’s voice raised in
complaint. ‘That’s what you get for listening at keyholes,’ Lizzie
said, shooing the little girls into the kitchen in front of her.
‘Frank, come up here, I want to talk to you.’

Frank got up and followed her into the
passage. Lizzie closed the door behind them, giving Rosie a warning
glance as she did so, then led Frank far enough away from the
kitchen to thwart any listeners.

‘How is she?’ Frank asked.

‘Bruised from head to foot, and those
fellows put their hands where they had no business going, but
nothing’s been done that won’t heal. It’s a good thing you got
there smartly.’

Frank slumped in relief. ‘The way that
bugger talked, I wasn’t sure what he might’ve done already.’

‘It seems he thought you’d turn up tomorrow
morning, cap in hand and with a pocket full of money. So him and
those other fellows were in no hurry. From what she’s said, that
Liam fellow told her what they were going to do with her, then they
shut her in a room with her aunt—in the dark, if you please—they’d
boarded the window up—while they sat around drinking. They thought
they had all night to play with her.’

The words that came to Frank were not ones
he wanted to use in front of Lizzie. He shook his head, and
swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘Well, we’ve got her
back, and that’s what counts.’

‘I’m going to give her a good, strong dose
of laudanum to make sure she sleeps, but she wants to see you
first. Just for a minute, mind.’

They went into the girls’ bedroom. Maisie
was propped up against the pillows, dressed in a crisp, white
nightdress. Her face shone with cleanness, marred only by a bruise
on one cheek. She saw Frank, and lifted her arms like a child
wanting to be picked up.

Frank sat on the edge of the bed and leaned
over so she could wrap her arms around his neck. She pushed her
face close to his. Her breath tickled his ear as she murmured,
‘Thanks.’

She released her hold and lay back against
the pillows, smiling up at Frank. ‘I wasn’t going to let anyone
take off with one of my girls,’ he told her.

‘So, are you happy now?’ Lizzie said,
approaching the bed with a small glass. ‘Come on, my girl, a good
dose of laudanum for you.’

Maisie gave Frank a conspiratorial grin. ‘I
told the missus I wouldn’t take it till she fetched you.’

Frank watched as she obediently took the
medicine. ‘You know, Maisie, it’s about time you stopped that “Mr”
and “Mrs” business.’

Maisie looked startled. ‘What should I call
you, then?’

‘Uncle Frank and Aunt Lizzie, if you like.
Or maybe…’ He glanced across the bed at Lizzie. She met his eyes,
smiled, and nodded her agreement. ‘Maybe you should just call us Ma
and Pa.’

*

Lizzie insisted that Maisie stay in bed all
the next morning. At lunch time she allowed her to get up and join
the family in the kitchen, but made Maisie sit quietly rather than
helping. There was little chance of her tiring herself; Mickey and
Danny vied with each other to pass her whatever she might need, to
see that her glass was kept topped up, and to wrap a shawl around
her shoulders when Lizzie asked if she was cold.

‘Make the most of it,’ Lizzie remarked when
their fussing had gone on long enough for Maisie to complain. ‘It
won’t last.’ She fixed the boys with a hard look. Frank had given
both boys a stern talking-to that morning about doing as they were
told in future, especially when it involved looking after one of
their sisters. He knew their contrition was genuine; like Lizzie,
he also knew that it would not last long.

Richard called in during the afternoon.
Maisie declared that she did not need to be “poked at”; when she
was backed up by Lizzie’s assurance that all was well, Richard gave
in graciously.

‘I’m sure you know best, Lizzie,’ he said,
demonstrating just why he got on so well with his mother-in-law.
‘Maisie, your aunt was asking after you, so I’ll be able to tell
her how well you are. She’s in the infirmary at the convent, and
the nuns are taking good care of her.’

‘Is she going to be all right?’ Maisie
asked.

Richard shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she’s
not. She has a growth, and it’s quite advanced. But I’ll do what I
can to see that she doesn’t suffer unduly.’

Frank could see that the news did not come
as a shock to Maisie. ‘Can I go and see her?’

‘As soon as Lizzie says you’re well enough
for outings. I’ll be calling in to see her every afternoon, so I’ll
tell her to expect you. It’ll give her something to look forward
to.’ He looked over Maisie’s head at Lizzie. ‘Don’t leave it too
long, Lizzie.’

Frank walked with Richard out to his gig.
‘So Bridie’s pretty bad, eh?’

Richard grimaced. ‘I thought I was inured to
such things, but seeing that wretched creature has given me a new
understanding of the tenacity of life. How a person can cling on in
such a state… Her womb is rotten with cancer, Frank. It’s half
eaten away. When I examined her, I found maggots there.’ He shook
his head. ‘It’s the closest I’ve come to vomiting at the sight of a
human body since I was a medical student.

‘I took a gamble that the nuns would take
her in. It’s good of them, especially since I gather she hasn’t
exactly been notable for her attendance at Mass. They’re excellent
nurses, and they’ll see that she dies clean, and as comfortable as
possible. That’s the best that can be done for her.’

Frank nodded. ‘I’ll bring Maisie in as soon
as I can. Bridie was the only one at that place who ever took any
notice of her.’

‘Frank…’ Richard hesitated a moment. ‘To be
quite honest, I’m not sure what I think about what happened last
night. The idea of taking the law into your own hands like that—it
seems like mob rule.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But certainties have a
way of evaporating in the face of a frightened child. Whatever the
law might say, it’s clear to me that Maisie belongs with you and
Lizzie. And I’m glad you have her back, however you went about
it.’

*

Maisie persuaded Lizzie into allowing a
visit to Bridie on an afternoon a few days later. The cut on
Maisie’s lip was already healing, and Lizzie helped her arrange her
hair so that the bruise on her cheek would not be visible to a
casual observer.

Frank took Maisie in the buggy. They made
their way to the convent tucked behind Ruatane’s Catholic church. A
nun took them through to the convent’s infirmary, where they found
Richard in a corridor talking to an older nun.

‘She’s on heavy doses of opiates for the
pain,’ Richard said as he led them along the corridor. ‘You may
find she’s rather sleepy. But she should know you, Maisie.’

He opened a door and ushered Maisie ahead of
him. Frank followed Richard, and found himself in a small room with
a metal-framed bed taking up most of it. The floor was bare wood,
the walls were painted white, and a window looked out on a peaceful
patch of garden.

Bridie was propped up against the pillows.
What Frank could see of her looked a good deal cleaner than on the
previous occasions he had met her, but the skin was stretched taut
over the bones of her face. Her hands rested limply on the
bedcovers, all knuckle and sinew. Her hair had been cut short; it
stuck out around her head like a dark halo.

Maisie sat by the bed on the one chair the
room held, while Frank and Richard stood against the wall opposite.
Bridie seemed pleased, in a languid fashion, to see her. She
listened while Maisie talked quietly, but her attention soon
wandered. Her gaze drifted idly around the room until it fell on
Frank. Her lips curved in the ghost of a smile.

‘Come here, handsome,’ she said, one hand
moving slightly against the covers.

Richard blinked. ‘Which of us do you mean,
Miss Feenan?’

Bridie glanced at him for barely a moment.
‘Ah, you’re all right for those as fancy pretty boys, but this
fellow’s an old flame of mine. He gave me five pounds once, I’ll
have you know. He’s the only man who ever did that.’ Her hand moved
again, in what seemed to be an attempt to pat the covers
invitingly. ‘Come on. I won’t bite you. Well, not unless you want
me to.’

There was surely no harm in humouring her.
Frank crossed the room to stand beside the bed. ‘That’s better,’
said Bridie. ‘Now I can look at you properly. Who’d have thought
I’d end up with the nuns, eh? Do you see who I’ve got here?’ A
slight tilt of her head directed Frank’s attention to a small
painting on the wall above her bed. It showed a young woman dressed
as a nun, smiling mildly down as if on the bed’s occupant. ‘That’s
Saint Bridget. She’s me name saint, see? The nuns put her up there
to keep an eye on me.’ Bridie smiled, and Frank saw a trace of the
spark he had once noticed in her dark eyes. ‘Ah, but she’s an Irish
lass, so she’ll not be one for passing judgement on the likes of
me. What about a kiss, then?’

‘Eh?’ Frank said, startled. ‘I don’t know
about that!’

‘Ah, go on. There’s no harm in a kiss, is
there? Don’t worry, I won’t be carrying tales to your missus. Come
on.’ She pursed her lips.

Frank looked across the bed at Maisie. Her
expression was unreadable. He looked down at the plea in the eyes
of the dying woman, and admitted defeat. He leaned over to give her
a chaste peck on the cheek, but Bridie tilted her face just in time
to ensure that the kiss landed on her lips. Her breath was like a
cesspit; it was all Frank could do not to gag. As he straightened
up, he saw her hands moving. He strongly suspected that, had she
had the strength, she would have wrapped her arms around his
neck.

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘That’ll have to do me,
then. I’m not likely to get another in here.’

A nun came in with a pile of clean bedding.
‘And what are you up to, Bridie Feenan? Trying to lead respectable
married men astray, are you? You’re a shameless creature.’