The Herbalist (41 page)

‘Jesus, Aggie, what happened?’
said Emily.

‘The bugger jumped up and hit
me.’

‘Will he come after us?’ Sarah
said, as Aggie sat beside her.

‘He won’t give chase. It’s
the other one who’s baying for blood – Carmel. She’s the one to run from,
seeing as you’re up the pole with her husband’s child.’

‘It’s not his,’ said
Sarah. ‘It’s not his.’

In that second Sarah knew she was never
going to pretend any different – and perhaps had never really intended to. She shut her
eyes and cupped the curve that was just beginning to show beneath her dress.

The boat began to move. She didn’t even
ask where they were going. None of them seemed inclined to talk. Sarah imagined they
were sailing a river that went all the way to paradise. Somewhere warm, somewhere
unfettered by all the rules of civilization. The wind stirred the riverside willows.
They made a clean, shushing sound. It began to rain, but it was soft – none of them
minded it.

After a half an hour of peace, the barge
bumped against the river bank, and Aggie began roaring at Emily for her steering. The
boat came to a standstill against the ridge. They had reached the first lock gate. There
was a cottage by the water, and signs of work in the front garden. The lock gatekeeper
came out from around the side of his house, pushing a wheelbarrow of soil. It was him,
it was Matt.

He dropped his barrow and went over to them,
caught the rope Emily had thrown and knotted it around the pillar. Aggie limped off to
talk to him. Told the others to stay put as she linked his arm and walked through the
open door of his house. They were in there an awful long time before they came out.
Aggie got on board and put her hands on her hips.

‘We’ll be leaving you
here,’ she said to Sarah, ‘to rest for a bit.’

Matt put out a hand to help her step ashore.
She took it.

You saved the day, Aggie, didn’t you?

I did. I did. Emily didn’t have to
tell me much. I nearly knocked his door down. The face on The Don. He was careful to
block my view into the room behind him. His fists were bunched so tight that his
knuckles were white. That wasn’t scaring Aggie off, not this time, bucko.

‘Who have you now? Have you no
conscience?’ I said.

‘Whist, woman – you don’t know
what you’re saying.’

There was a noise from inside – young Emily
climbing in the window. The herbalist made to look over his shoulder. I slapped his
chest.

‘You’re nothing but a dirty
bastard,’ I said, ‘and I’ll be telling the gardaí everything you done.
And everything you told me, do you understand?’

‘You don’t have a leg to stand
on. Who’d believe a word from your mouth?’

Then came a scraping noise, and a door
creaking. I put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Have you someone in there? Someone
I’ll be cleaning up after? Like Rose?’

He turned right quick. Didn’t he know
there were eyes everywhere in this town?

I stepped forward, he didn’t move, we
were chest to chest. His eyes were bloodshot; he looked frightened, trapped. I
don’t recall what happened next. Don’t even know what he hit me with, just
know I was on the ground. He dragged me off his doorstep, knelt and held my head so
tight to his that I felt his jawbone move.

‘Get out of here, you old hoor, or
I’ll kill you.’

He shut the door. I felt my skull; there was
a lump as big as a half-crown but no cut. I hobbled away, holding my head. Miss Harvey
stepped back as I passed, as if I was a bad smell. Off she went
hot-trotting to Mass. I crossed the grass towards
Biddy
, then hobbled on
board with a hand from Emily.

Sarah was on the bench, looking half
stunned. I sat beside her. We moved away upriver. Emily quit her sobbing for long enough
to listen to my instructions. I felt woozy, like vomiting, but I had a suck of whiskey,
and when I sat back and watched Emily steer I began to feel better. I knew exactly the
place for Sarah to recover.

She had a steady hand, young Emily, kept us
in the middle of the river right easy. The reeds bowed before the boat as we passed. It
was then I saw the broad woman walking the barrow path in a green dress and my black
shawl. She didn’t stall to wave as we passed; she just kept on walking, looking
straight ahead. She was the spitting image of me, from her auburn hair to her white
shoes. A fetch. I’d seen a fetch. I knew then that I wasn’t long for this
world, that I’d better be readying myself for the next.

So I’ll tell your tale, henny penny,
if no one else will, I’ll tell your tale. Are you listening? We can tell it again
and again till it no longer hurts you. That’s our medicine.

A beautiful girl went to him. She had
nowhere else to go. Had no money, only beautiful clothes and a mother who kept her on a
short leash. She was respectable. And he had something that kept respectable girls
respectable. Medicine man gave her something, put his cold clean fingers between her
legs and made her weep. She believed he could help her, would help her. It hurt but she
thought she deserved to be hurt. Aggie knows that feeling, child. It’s the very
soil that grew me.

The girl grew paler and paler. Her
appearance altered like someone had rinsed all around her. The hurt was rubbing her
out.

Her mother noticed.

‘You’re more beautiful every
day,’ that blind witch said, ‘radiant even.’

The beautiful girl bit her lips, chewed her
nails till they bled, flushed with shame and became more beautiful.

That’s me you’re talking about, isn’t it, Aggie? I was lovely,
wasn’t I? Is that why he did it? Is that why it’s okay that I’m
wiped clean away?

Hush, craythur, hush a bye. While
Aggie’s here, you’ll never die.

Carmel knew where her husband would be.
There were very few doors Dan would risk his pride knocking on. Mick’s was the
first place she tried, and she knew by the silence that her husband was there. She
opened the letterbox and called Dan’s name. Saw a shadow move across the
hallway.

‘Let me in or I’ll stay here all
day.’

Mick opened the door and tried to pretend he
didn’t know anything. She stepped inside; she wouldn’t be conducting her
business in the street, not like some.

‘Get Dan for me.’

‘I swear to God –’

She walked past him and into the kitchen.
His mother was in her usual spot by the fire, a tartan blanket on her knees and a sly
smile on her old yellow face.

‘Good afternoon, Lizzie. I’m
looking for my husband.’

Dan stepped into the room from the back
hall. He kept his back to the wall and waited.

‘Your murderess is gone, gone to get
rid of your child.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Sarah.’ She spat the name.
‘She went to him. The abortionist.’

‘What bloody abortionist!’

‘Who do you think? The herbalist is
who. Our very own. Didn’t you know? He’s doing it right now. Chop, chop,
choppity-chop.’

Lizzie cackled with laughter. Dan ran past
Carmel. Not to the scene of the crime. Oh, no, that wasn’t Dan’s style. Dan
went to Sergeant Deegan. Let the law do the dirty work.

The light was fading. Dogs barked at each
other, brave in the dark, safe behind fences, small dogs that felt like big dogs as they
growled
and yapped. The two gardaí stood before Carmel and Dan,
awaiting a revelation.

‘Will one of you for God’s sake
speak up? Look at youse, sitting together in your cold empty room like
schoolchildren.’ Deegan was dying to be home for his supper.

Garda Molloy tried a different approach.
‘By all accounts and purposes you seem like a nice, good-living family. It would
help …’ He paused. ‘It would help if we knew about the events leading up to
this, to the girl getting into difficulty.’

Silence.

‘Do you know who the father is? Take
your time.’

More silence.

‘Mrs Holohan, how well did you know
the girl, Sarah?’

‘I didn’t know her from
Adam,’ said Carmel. ‘My brother, Finbar, recommended her. I trusted his
judgement: he’s a schoolmaster. She was brought up in the country with an old
midwife aunt of hers.’

‘What of her parents?’

‘The mother died in
childbirth.’

‘Father?’ Molloy took out his
notebook.

‘Don’t know – he must’ve
died in childbirth too.’ Carmel sniggered.

‘Dan said that you told him, that your
shop girl has gone to procure a miscarriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me. Told me she was in
trouble, that it wasn’t the first time and he, the herbalist, had taken care of it
before for her.’

‘My God. Will she testify as to
that?’

‘I doubt it – these girls are very
sly.’ Her gaze slid towards her husband.

‘Did she have any friends we could
talk to?’

‘No, not a soul.’

I was stopped by Lizzie Murphy.
‘Emily! Emily!’ she crowed. Oh, she couldn’t wait to tell me the news.
A complaint had been made against the herbalist, made by Mrs Dan Holohan. It was the
talk of the town. Everyone agreed something very odd was going on. There was no sign of
Sarah, who, or so Mrs Holohan claimed, had procured a miscarriage from the herbalist.
And there wasn’t a jot of evidence against him either. What a thing to say about
the man! A woman scorned has an evil tongue. Lizzie said Molloy and Deegan had searched
the herbalist’s place and there was no sign of anything untoward on his premises –
the opposite in fact, the place was spotless. They had brought the herbalist to the
barracks anyway. ‘More of a formality really,’ she explained, as if she knew
formality from hot tea. ‘He’s there now,’ she added, pure twinkling
with malice.

I went home and prepared for the occasion.
My satin gown fitted perfectly, and so it should, it had been made for me, by me, ever
so carefully.

Once I got back into town, I strolled slowly
towards the bridge. I wanted everyone around to get a good look at the girl in the long
blue dress. At the railings of the bridge I held out the small card envelope, the one
with a dead girl’s letter in it – a letter I knew every word of by heart – opened
my hand and let it fall towards the water, sure that it would never be read again, for
the river, the river eats everything.

I stood just inside the station door and saw
through to the interview room. There were just the three of them: him and Deegan at a
table; Molloy was at a small desk doing paperwork. The herbalist was denying everything,
espousing natural medicines. They seemed to be almost finished. I heard Deegan:
‘You’re very gracious in the face of what are evidently the spiteful
suspicions of a temperamental woman. No evidence. No witness. Just one wild accusation.
And,
with all due respect, what kind of girl would do such a thing?
And, with all due respect, what kind of girl would come forward and admit it? I’m
in need of a cup of tea – do you fancy one yourself?’

‘Four sugars, no milk.’

As the herbalist and the sergeant consoled
each other about time-wasters and gossips, I stepped in. They both looked up: the
herbalist looked like he was about to laugh; the sergeant frowned.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m a witness.’

‘The investigation is over.’
Deegan kicked the interview-room door shut.

I wondered what to do, tried not to cry.
Then Molloy came out. He was holding a sandwich.

‘I’ve time – come on.’

He showed me into another room. Once we were
both sitting, he took out a notebook, licked the nib of his pencil and looked up at me
expectantly. He didn’t seem unkind. That gave me courage.

‘Off you go, in your own words, take
your time.’

‘He always offered me syrup in a small
glass first. It was dark and bitter. I got sick afterwards, into a bucket that he kept
there. Then he made me remove my underclothes. Examined me, with his hands. Do you know
what I mean?’