The Secret Journey (39 page)

‘Well!' he growled, ‘what's wrong now?' His whole manner was surly, he stuck his hands in his pockets and stretched out his legs. His feet were bare.

‘Well?'

‘Peter! I don't want you to go. Please unpack your bag and stay with me.' She spoke so quietly, so earnestly—he couldn't comprehend. What was this she was saying?' Don't go! Don't pack your bag. Stay with me. Please stay with me.' He grinned at his mother.

‘But why should I? Didn't you say you'd be glad to see the back of me? Why should I stay? I don't want to.' He coloured quickly. ‘You say one thing and mean quite another. Why do you want me to stay? Time's passing. Why do you want me to stay?'

‘I can't tell you! I can't. But I want you to stay with me. Please! Please!'

And then for Peter she did a surprising thing. She fell on her knees.

‘Please stay!' she said. ‘I'll tell you why later on. But don't go. I know I said I hated the sight of you. I know I cursed you too. Now I can't help it. Peter, will you stay?'

She followed the movement of his finger as it ran up and down the diddy-bag. Peter Fury made no reply. ‘Why does she want me to stay?' The thought flashed into his mind. It was against all reason. ‘But I can't leave my job,' he said.

‘Listen! Take your finger off that bag. Turn round and look at me. I'm not an ogre. You can get another job. All I ask is one question. Will you stay, or do you want to go? Will you?' she went on. ‘Will you?' and she saw him slowly bow his head.

Then she went up to him, and flinging her arms round his neck, said, ‘You must stay. You must stand by me.'

But Peter Fury said not another word. He freed himself, went out of the room. Below he commenced unpacking his bag. ‘It's a good job,' he thought, ‘that I didn't get an advance.' After a while he blurted out, ‘But I don't understand this at all. I simply don't,' and automatically he began replacing his things in the bag again. He returned to his room. It was empty. He shut the door and sat down. ‘What's Mother up to? First she says clear out, and now she actually goes on her knees and says don't. Ah! I know now. At least I think I do. Mother's afraid of something. Poor Mother!' he said. ‘She's getting more queer every day. I wonder if she's going potty?' He burst into a fit of laughter and said, ‘That's ridiculous.'

She came into the room again.

‘Will you take a note down in the morning to Mr. Shack-lady? He's a friend or was a friend of your father's. He has a good job in a sail loft at the dock. I'm sure he'd help.'

‘Have you forgotten that it might be dangerous for me to go near the docks for the next week or so? Listen, Mother, think it over again. It's not so easy to get another job. You'll miss the money and——'

‘Yes, I forgot. It would be dangerous, of course. We'll leave it, then,' and she once more left his room.

‘I'm sure Mother's getting light in the head. In fact I'm
certain
of it.'

Fanny Fury felt suddenly happy. She went below and prepared the evening meal. She was expecting her sister back about seven o'clock.

‘I'll have one more try. Yes, God, if I can get out of this tangle I'll have one more try.'

The post came. It had a foreign postmark. It was from her husband and addressed from Lisbon. She expressed no surprise. She did not even read it, but put it inside her blouse and went on with her work of laying the table. Dennis Fury never once crossed her mind.

‘If he'll only act sensible. If Anthony will come back and work ashore too—then, then'—her thoughts roused, hope ran high. Already she could see the home taking shape again—the house in Hatfields, ordered and peaceful.

‘I will try,' she vowed, ‘I will try.' Home! To keep it together. That was all she wanted.

Peter Fury came down. He went and washed himself, then changed upstairs. Not a word was spoken. Even if she had thought he had a rendezvous with the Devil that very night she would not have spoken. Then he went out.

At half-past seven Brigid Mangan arrived. She was full of apologies for her lateness. She had been kept so busy—‘But,' she announced loudly and with a triumphant smile, ‘I've fixed everything up. I've got tickets. I've got the help of a very nice young man recommended to me by that dear man Father Joyce, and there'll be a cab here at half-past six to-morrow evening. So that's settled, thank God.' She took off her coat and hat. She wanted to help Mrs. Fury with the tea, but the woman waved her away.

‘Just sit down! Just sit down,' she said.

‘Imagine, Fanny, imagine Peter being home here and you never letting on at all. Really you amaze me.'

‘Are you so interested in Peter?' replied Fanny Fury. ‘I thought you came over for Father?' She placed a cup and saucer and small plate in front of her sister.

‘Of course I did.'

‘Well!'—and Fanny Fury went to the range and took the teapot in her hand.

‘What time did you say the cab calls here?' she asked in a serious hesitating voice, to which Aunt Brigid replied sharply:

‘Half-past six, of course. Didn't you hear me? Surely you're not deaf as well as indifferent. Really, Fanny, one gets rather tired of that long face of yours. For heaven's sake, pull yourself together, woman.'

Fanny Fury poured out the tea.

‘Who told you Peter was home from sea?' she asked.

‘Who told me?' said Miss Mangan with an air of astonishment. ‘Why, my niece, of course.'

‘Oh, you went round to see them at Price Street,' remarked Fanny. ‘Well! How are they all?'

‘I suppose I can call and see my own niece, Fanny. The attitude you adopt whenever I call here—the high-handed attitude. Do you still sway your children even now?' Then suddenly she said, ‘But Lord! What a pretty child! What a pretty child! You'd hardly imagine it, could you?—oh, he is an ugly-looking fellow, Fanny; that was a mistake when you ran her into his arms.'

‘Joe's very good to her. She really gets more than she deserves. He's too soft. But I don't want to talk about these matters.'

Miss Mangan felt hurt.

‘You never want to talk about any one but yourself. Really, Fanny, it's going beyond all bounds. One feels loaded down with all sorts of obligations coming here at all. You're a curious person, Fanny. Sometimes I think you're afraid. Afraid of everything. You're letting yourself go down the nick. For God's sake forget all that and enjoy yourself. I shall certainly drag you out to Brown's to-night. Another thing, Fanny. I don't want you to think that I am just running away with Dad and offering you nothing. I know how you'll miss his few shillings a week. So I thought perhaps'—here she took up her black bag and was opening it, presumably to give her sister some money, when Fanny said sharply:

‘I don't want your money, even though I feel I'm entitled to it. Dad's pension didn't even keep him in brandy and milk, which was all that kept him alive. He had to be clothed—doctors had to be paid.'

‘I really don't know how you did it. You were a brick. But you'll get your reward, Fanny my dear. God doesn't go about with closed eyes. You'll get your reward. Do you know, sometimes when I'm sitting quiet of an evening sewing, and all the bustling world outside the window, sometimes I say to myself, “What is it worth? All this struggle, all this rush, this fretting. After all, we're here to-day and dust to-morrow.” Then I say to myself, “Brigid, sit tight. Keep your eye on the path all the while—the one true path.” It makes me so happy. And what is the one thing I hope for? A happy death. A happy death. And, glory be to God, a place at His right hand—Paradise.'

‘Yes. I sometimes feel that way myself. But Ireland isn't Gelton, and one has to change one's opinions very quickly. One's kept on the go all the time. Brigid, my happiest days were when I had them all here. All here in this kitchen. Dear me! I often think of those good days. I was happy then.'

‘One can't have it for ever, though,' replied Miss Mangan. ‘We choose our own paths and must act accordingly. You wanted life, freedom, adventure. And you've had it, you've got it now. Sometimes I wonder if I have really missed anything worth while. But look at you. Reared a whole family, seen them grow up, become men and women. At times I've envied you. But then, you won't believe that. You'll just laugh. Well, God knows best. Praised be His blessed Son. Now I think we might go upstairs and change,' and Brigid Mangan left her chair. ‘Come along now, Fanny,' she said, ‘come along.'

At the kitchen door Fanny said, ‘Do you think I could really go? Do you forget that Dad is here by himself? That's the way I've been tied all this time. Perhaps I was a bloody fool. A bloody fool. Perhaps I should have let everything go to the devil and looked after myself.'

They went upstairs to Mrs. Fury's room.

‘My dear sister, you simply must control yourself. You ought to be under a doctor really. It doesn't say much for Dr. Dunfrey that he didn't notice your nervous state. And if we go to Brown's you must behave, Fanny. If there's anything in this world that I hate, it's scenes—yes, scenes.' And she went and stood by the mirror admiring herself whilst she ran her hands over her hair.

Mrs. Fury changed her clothes. She didn't know why she was doing this really—it seemed so absurd to be going to Brown's in her present state of mind. She sat on the bed, her black dress in a heap on her knee.

‘Are you still thinking of Father?' asked Miss Mangan from the mirror. ‘Don't worry about him. He'll be quite all right. Surely to God you can have an hour to yourself. You make mountains out of molehills. Hurry up, Fanny! At half-past eight the performance begins.'

She crossed the room, took up the dress, and said imploringly, ‘Come along, dear. It'll do you good. That's what's wrong with you. You keep too much to yourself. You don't go out enough. Everybody wants to laugh and be amused. Well, you can say this. That when you have Father off your hands you'll be able to breathe a little more. I understand you so well, Fanny. But then, why shouldn't I? I'm your sister. Now do get up and put on this dress.'

Fanny Fury was like a sulky child. Begrudgingly, she got up and even allowed Brigid to help her put on and fasten the dress.

‘There!' she exclaimed, ‘now go and tidy your hair. I'll slip in and see if Father's awake.'

She left her sister tidying her hair. She came back saying, ‘I never saw anybody looking so comfortable. He's just sweet, lying there so peaceful. Dad was always little trouble. And what a splendid man he was, Fanny! You can see it in him now, even though he's changed so much.'

Fanny Fury put a pin through her hair. She held another in her mouth and managed to ask, speaking through her teeth, whether Brigid would slip down and lock the door and bolt the windows. Aunt Brigid gave herself a final inspection in the glass and went downstairs, carrying in her mind a very vivid picture of Fanny as she struggled desperately with her hairpins to tidy her hair. A few minutes later, they went out into the street, and walked slowly towards the King's Road. Mrs. Fury had been to Brown's Bioscope twice since her sister had last invited her. They were just in time to catch a tram to the city.

Peter Fury had no sooner stepped out into the street than a man who seemed to have suddenly emerged from nowhere came up to him and said, ‘Evening.'

It was Daniel Corkran. He was dressed in what came to be known as ‘Mr. Corkran's bailiff's clobber.' Peter stopped dead.

‘Yes?' he said, ‘d'you want Mother? She's in now. Knock hard. She's deaf sometimes,' and he made to go.

But Mr. Corkran, whose very attitude and expression of features implied a seriousness of outlook, put out his foot as though to bar the youth's path.

‘I don't want to see your mother,' he said gruffly. ‘We've seen rather too much of her lately. It's you I want to see.'

‘Me?' said Peter indignantly. ‘What do you want to see me about?'

‘A little private matter, that doesn't concern either your mother or my employer. But me! Understand? Me.' He now completely barred Peter Fury's path. ‘Me!' he said.

‘What have I to do with you?' asked Peter angrily.

But that it was still light and he was but a few yards from his own door, he would probably have brushed this little man aside and gone on his way. But it was awkward. There was only one thing to be done. Hear what the fellow had to say.

‘Well?'

‘Ah!' smiled Mr. Corkran, tilting his hard hat to a rather acute angle, where it hung perilously the while he scratched gingerly at that side of his head where the clear parting was. Then he settled it again—absolutely straight, and crushed down hard upon his heavily oiled hair.

‘Ah! That's why I have come. You
have
something to do with me. D'you see now? We're all in Mrs. Ragner's net, d'you see?—a jolly company. That's why. No! I haven't the slightest intention of seeing your mother. We've fallen out, so to speak. That's my employer's whole and sole business from now on. It's you, d'you see, and we have now a lot in common. You're going up to Banfield Road, aren't you?' he asked.

‘Banfield Road. Oh no! I'm not going to Banfield Road at all.'

‘Oh yes, you are.'

‘I tell you I'm not.' Peter raised his voice.

‘You've got money in your pocket,' went on Mr. Corkran. ‘You've got a pound.'

Peter Fury did not reply.

‘You've got a pound in your pocket,
haven't
you?' repeated Mr. Corkran. There could be no denying the viciousness of his utterance. ‘Haven't you, Christ, haven't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well then, why didn't you say? Blow me, Jack, why didn't you say? Good! We have to have a little chat, d'you see? But not here! Your mother's so proud a lady, and who wants to hurt a proud lady's feelings?' said Mr. Corkran. And he grinned at Peter. ‘Coming? I know a little place where we can talk. In fact, it's my tripe-shop.'