The Secret Journey (34 page)

‘Oh, Brigid! This is Molly Byrne from next door. She came down with me.'

‘How are you, Molly?' exclaimed Miss Mangan, extending a gloved hand. She was affability itself.

This polite exchange of compliments was now interrupted by the porter, whose patience was at an end. He announced loudly, ‘Your cab is waiting, mam.'

‘Thank you! Thank you!' replied Brigid Mangan, and without even glancing at him put a shilling in his hand, and, going to the door, pulled it open and exclaimed, ‘In you get, Biddy. That's right. The porter has seen to my bandbox. Is Molly coming?'

‘No! Molly has shopping to do, Brigid. Thank you, my dear. Thank you, Molly.'

A few minutes later the cab moved off along the Stage. Brigid Mangan sat bolt upright in the cab, looking now to the left, now to the right, as the life of the water-front on this early June morning sailed slowly by. The old woman was huddled up in the corner, head nodding, the roses in her bonnet bobbing to and fro with the anything but smooth progress of the cab. Miss Mangan was greeting all things with a smile. Everything would be splendid if progress were as easy as this. She completely ignored her companion for the first few minutes, as though she were settling down to the new rhythm and the new life. And also she wanted to think over things. Biddy Pettigrew seemed to have welcomed this temporary respite, for she was, in fact, very much out of breath, and Miss Mangan's boisterous spirit had been a little too much for her. Suddenly Miss Mangan looked at the old woman. ‘Biddy,' she said, ‘I do declare you are really looking younger,' and she laughed. Whereon the old woman's head was raised and she turned upwards a face that seemed to mock Miss Mangan's remark, to reveal its sheer falsity, and commented drily, ‘Brigid, you amaze me.'

‘It looks as though we shall have a beautiful day,' said Brigid Mangan.

‘I hope so,' replied Miss Pettigrew. ‘Brigid, you are looking very well indeed. You must be the only Lady in your family. But then, you always looked it. You know how to look after yourself.' The old woman was actually shivering in her corner.

‘My dear Biddy! You are shivering with the cold. I do wish you hadn't come to meet me. It
was
good of you, just the same. It quite puts my sister to shame. But now we must do something. I cannot let you make that long journey home without a stimulant.—Driver! Driver!' she began calling at the top of her voice. And after much frantic effort she managed to draw the man's attention. He looked down at Aunt Brigid, an expression of utter hopelessness upon his face.

‘Please drive us to “The Mermaid.” Do you know where “The Mermaid” is?' Once more the cab moved off, but not before the old woman had sat up sharply exclaiming, ‘Brigid! “The Mermaid!” “The Mermaid” of all places! Why—why?'

Miss Mangan's knowledge of Gelton was scanty, her knowledge of its public-houses even more so. ‘It was the only one I could think of, Biddy,' she said. ‘I remember it because my uncle always put up there when he sailed into Gelton Dock.'

Biddy Pettigrew said nothing. The remainder of the journey was continued in silence. The cab suddenly swung round a corner, the old woman fell heavily against the stout lady, and the vehicle came to a halt. There was ‘The Mermaid Tavern.' The cabby got down from his box, opened the door and announced gruffly, ‘Mermaid, Ma. Going on afterwards?' For some reason or other he seemed a little suspicious of this lady dressed in brown. Miss Mangan puckered her brows.

‘Shall we have him wait?' she asked of Miss Pettigrew as she helped the old woman out of the cab. The door slammed with a loud bang, the horse stamped its hoof upon the cobbles, the cabby stood waiting.

‘I shouldn't bother, Brigid,' replied Miss Pettigrew. ‘We can get a cab any time.'

‘Very well.' Miss Mangan took out her purse. ‘How much?' she enquired.

‘Two and sixpence to you, mam.'

‘Frightful, frightful,' replied Brigid Mangan. ‘Perfectly frightful. Here'—and she thrust the money into the man's hand. ‘Come, Biddy my dear.' She took the old woman by the arm, and said, ‘Please put my box inside the doorway.' Then they entered ‘The Mermaid.'

The two women passed through the public bar-room, whose long low counter was already crowded at this early hour of the morning. With the help of an obliging barman they found a quiet corner in a secluded room, one used only by what the barman described as ‘those gentlemen, mam,' those gentlemen being certain brokers from the Corn Exchange. ‘The Mermaid' was famous, not for the liquor, nor indeed for the large amount of money that daily passed into its till, but famous for its great age, and its ‘simply splendid' hostess, who always had a warm welcome for boys or girls from across the water. Other public-houses might go the way of all things, but ‘The Mermaid' was destined to go on for ever. The ugly, low building, with the gaudy frontage, its flaming lamp that flared at night and lighted the whole street, seemed immune from the inevitable perishability that comes to all things. And now, safely hidden behind its stout walls, snug and warm in the corner of its ‘special room,' Miss Brigid Mangan and her friend could give vent to all the curiosity that had festered in them ever since they embraced each other on that crowded Stage. They could sit back and survey each other with that calmness that could only come to a person so comfortably ensconced in the back room of ‘The Mermaid.' The man had gone away for the refreshments, a hot gin-and-lemon for Miss Pettigrew and a glass of porter for Brigid Mangan.

‘How you travel, Brigid. How you do get about,' commented the old woman, breaking the silence at last. Then the barman came and put the drinks on the table. When he had gone, and the door was closed, Miss Pettigrew continued, ‘You never change at all, Brigid, that's what amazes me.'

‘Tut! tut! Such nonsense. Here! Drink this. It will send those shivers away,' and Brigid Mangan handed the glass to Biddy Pettigrew.

‘I'm thinking now,' said the old woman, ‘that if we had taken the tram at once we should have been safely home by now.' She picked up her gin with a shaking hand.

‘Don't be silly, Biddy. Besides, I feel none too good myself.'

They drank each other's health.

‘The very best to you,' said Brigid Mangan. She sipped delicately from her glass.

‘And the same to you,' replied Miss Pettigrew.

The old woman leaned back on the settee and thought, ‘She certainly knows how to look after herself.' It was not often that one got a chance of studying Miss Mangan in repose—but she could do so now. Her stoutness seemed to have increased since they had last met. But Miss Pettigrew made no comment.

‘I never thought I should see you here—at least so soon,' said the old woman.

‘I had already thought of coming over a month ago,' replied Brigid Mangan. ‘Biddy, you must tell me about Father. Is he very ill? Poor Dad! Poor Dad!' She put down her glass, and stared disconsolately at her gloves.

‘Well! I wrote you a few days ago, and he's no different, Brigid,' replied Miss Pettigrew. ‘Your father is badly. Badly. Perhaps you were right to come over.'

‘Right! It was my duty to come over, Biddy. I had to come. Indeed, I made up my mind long ago about that. Dad is so old. I'm afraid, Biddy—I should hate to see Father die in Gelton. Horrible place, and in that house. Oh! my God! No, Biddy, I have come over here not so much through what I have learned—and how kind you have been to keep in touch with me all these years—but through certain pangs of conscience, Biddy. I was a fool letting him go—so here I am, and I'm going to take him back.'

‘What! Dear God, Brigid! Are you mad? It will kill the old man,' and Miss Pettigrew threw her thin bony hands high into the air. Her mouth remained wide open with astonishment, so that Miss Mangan could see right inside that toothless mouth, and marvel, not at the old woman's astonishment, but at her volubility, which suffered not at all from the absence of teeth. In the twenty years she had been without them she had managed very well; she had perfected a quite new technique and spoke with ease.

‘Brigid, I don't think your sister would allow that.'

‘Why not? Is she able to look after him? Isn't he my father as well as hers? I wish Father to end his days in Ireland, and I see no reason why Fanny should object. Indeed, if she thinks as much of him as I do, she will at least see reason in allowing him to die in his own land. Don't you think so?'

‘But, Brigid—it all seems so sad! Fanny has had him for years.'

‘I well know. I don't think Father has served her badly at all,' said Brigid Mangan. ‘She must have drawn quite a little pile from his pension these last nine years. And I am certain that Father paid for that young devil's education in college, still——' She lifted her glass and began to sip again. The old woman had nothing to say. She was disgusted by such a remark. ‘It is my intention, God willing,' continued Miss Mangan, ‘to have Father home in Cork before the week's out.'

Miss Pettigrew damped her ardour at once, and even took a malicious pleasure in doing it. ‘Do you think your sister will let him go after all these years? Not likely! She may have had his few shillings a week, but she's had to keep him. He must have been a positive scourge at times, poor creature. Remember how difficult it was for her. It may not be so now, of course. Things have altered. But she's done a lot for Mr. Mangan, and I'm surprised, Brigid, surprised that you should show so little appreciation. After all, whether he goes or not depends on Fanny, doesn't it? Of course.'

Brigid smiled. ‘She took it on herself, didn't she?'

‘More credit to her, then,' replied the old woman sharply. ‘Be reasonable, Brigid. You haven't seen your father yet—you can't know just how low he is. And surely the awful journey must never have occurred to you. Dr. Dunfrey may have something to say about
that
.' She drummed on the glass with her fingers.

Brigid Mangan, in no way perturbed by this dampening, said, ‘I have thought over everything, my dear—everything. Do you suppose I should have come over here for nothing?' and she drummed on the table with her fingers.

‘That depends, of course,' said the old woman, ‘that depends.'

‘All being well, Father will return with me on Sunday's boat.'

‘He will!'

‘Certainly. I have made up my mind about that. Fanny, far from refusing, will be the first to see the sense of it.' She looked across at Miss Pettigrew, who had suddenly slumped in her seat. ‘Biddy, my dear,' she said, and went to her. Miss Pettigrew wasn't feeling very well. ‘You shouldn't have come, dear,' Brigid said.

It was half-twelve when the two women left ‘The Mermaid.' Brigid Mangan's strong arm took the weight of the old woman. It seemed that, far from feeling faintish, Miss Pettigrew was feeling only a little
too
well—indeed, the drink had gone to her head. Miss Mangan realized this with a blush of shame, and as she piloted the caped and bonneted old woman down what seemed the interminable length of the public bar-room, the blush upon her face seemed to cry out for attention, and everybody at the counter stopped drinking to turn round and look at the two women passing through. Somebody laughed, for Miss Pettigrew's condition was such as to cause the greatest concern to her friend. As they reached the door the old woman's body sagged, her feet gave way, and only Brigid Mangan's strong arm prevented her from pitching to the floor.

‘A right pair,' commented an onlooker.

‘Disgraceful, I call it,' observed the proprietress, who had just come behind the counter. An obliging man called a cab, handed the two women into it, and the cab set off for the little general shop in St. Sebastian's Place.

Brigid Mangan was speechless. There could be no doubt at all. She had arrived in Gelton all right, and her adventures had really begun.

Miss Pettigrew after an ominous silence stammered, ‘Brigid! I'm sorry, I ought not to have taken that gin. But I feel a little better now. It's the air. I felt so queer before. But it was foolish of me to come out without a bite in my stomach.'

‘Oh dear, dear! I didn't know that, I'm so sorry, I do wish you hadn't come.'

‘But I wanted to, Brigid,' replied the old woman. ‘There! I feel all right now,' and she sat up straight in her seat, though Brigid Mangan still held her arm round her. She felt ashamed, and this added to a certain disappointment that the old woman's remarks had left her in anything but a cheery frame of mind. She now wished she hadn't written to the old woman. She wished Biddy hadn't come to meet her. And she wondered with a sudden new-born curiosity what had caused this change of mind on the part of her oldest friend. For it now seemed that Biddy Pettigrew was determined to damp all optimism, and to side with Mrs. Fury.

Considering the history and nature of their long friendship, this seemed very unusual. Twice she said to herself, ‘I wonder? I wonder?' and then laughed. It was absurd to think of such a thing, to suppose for a moment that Miss Pettigrew had divined her real purpose, her real reason for coming to Gelton.

Miss Pettigrew, after much groping in the inside pocket of her cape, took out the small packet of jujubes which she always carried, and said to Brigid, ‘Have a jujube, Brigid, I'd completely forgotten I had them. I wish I'd known.'

‘Thank you,' said Brigid Mangan.

When the cab reached Mile Hill, Biddy Pettigrew had quickly become her old self again, and this change might very well have been due to this discovery of the old confection in which she placed great faith and hope. When she felt out of sorts she sucked a jujube, when she was in a bad temper she resorted to the paper bag—in fact, for every occasion this old woman found her confection undeniably efficacious. And, moreover, only a woman like Miss Pettigrew could appreciate them.