Paupers Graveyard (6 page)

The rain did eventually stop, but it was a very poor summer that year. Things went from bad to worse at the Hall. Charles Fitzwilliam had been spending even more time in the company of Black Jack and his friends, losing heavily. His gambling debts were now in the thousands. Carey laughed it off, and let him sign ever more promissory notes. After all, he regularly assured Charles, what was a few thousand between friends?

As his debts grew, Charles' drinking increased, until the wine merchant's account was outstanding to such an extent, that he refused to supply the Hall until it was settled. Charles had sold many fine paintings and priceless heirlooms were occasionally dispatched to Dublin for a few hundred pounds. The family silver shared this fate. He had descended to such a muddled state that he no longer knew what assets he had left.

When Elizabeth realised this, though it went against all her beliefs, she started to steal little trinkets, silver snuffboxes and ivory miniatures that she knew he would not miss. On her rare trips to town, she sold these to a jeweller known for his discretion. She got only about a tenth of what they were worth, but she was saving as much as she could. Charles' moods and outbursts were becoming worse, and twice she had to stop him from hitting the children. Lucy had grown out of almost all her dresses, but Charles refused to buy her more. Elizabeth spent days cutting and sewing some of her own things to fit the girl. The children's education was suffering too, but she just didn't have the heart to teach.

****

August was almost out and the few fine days they had were heavy and humid. Faint breezes did nothing to dispel the stifling heat that hung about the rooms like heavy curtains. The place had been in an uproar all day. Ger Ryan, the farm manager, had been in to complain that things were not as they should be.

Charles had completely neglected to buy seeds and new equipment. He refused to buy in any new stock. After the sale of the spring lambs and most of the ewes, there would be very little to sell the next year. But he wasn't interested in next year, she heard him yell at Ryan, nor the year after that.

‘You're the damned manager!' he'd roared. ‘So manage. Now get out.'

Elizabeth watched as Ryan came out of the study and knew from the man's expression that if Charles didn't mend his ways, it would be disastrous.

She was surprised to receive a summons to his study later that day. They had taken to avoiding each other and speaking only when necessary. He still made the odd attempt on her bedroom doorknob, but other than that he left her alone. She walked tentatively toward the door and knocked.

‘Enter.'

‘You wished to see me, Charles?'

‘Yes, yes,' he waved her to a chair and she perched herself on the edge of it. ‘I want you to organise a small dinner party for me. There will be just four of us dining, unless you would care to join us?'

She did not reply.

‘No?'

Her silence said it all.

‘I thought not.'

‘Is this dinner party to be attended by anyone I know?' she asked, hoping he had made friends with the local gentry.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I believe you may be acquainted with one of the gentlemen. We shall wait and see.'

‘Very well, when is this party to be?' She wasn't sure what they had in the larder.

‘Tonight.'

‘Tonight!'

‘Is that a problem? After all, that's why I keep you here. You're no use to me if you can't even arrange a small gathering.'

‘No, Charles, it's not a problem. I'm sure I'll find something for Annie to prepare.'

‘Nothing too fancy, mind,' he called after her.

Elizabeth rushed to the kitchen and told Annie the news. There was a lot of head-shaking and sighing, before they finally decided on a beef broth with veal pie for the main course, and some cheese and biscuits for after. They were limited to what could be grown or killed on the farm, because Charles had not paid the grocer's bills either. Elizabeth helped Thomas and Annie to prepare the food, and it was almost eight o'clock before they were ready. She emerged from the kitchen flushed from the heat and was about to go to wash when Charles called to her.

‘You'd better hurry and change,' he said, pleased by her surprised expression. ‘I've decided you are to join us after all.'

‘Yes, Charles,' she nodded and went upstairs. Any argument would be futile. While she was dressing, she heard the main door open and the sound of loud voices from the hallway. She smiled at Lucy, who was doing her hair, twisting and curling until she was pleased with the results.

Elizabeth had chosen a pale blue, lace dress with a scooped neckline that wasn't too revealing, and would not give Charles any reason to make rude remarks. Around her neck she fastened a single sapphire on a gold chain and clipped on matching earrings. This was all the jewellery she had left besides her wedding ring and a gold locket with a picture of John and herself. Everything else had been sold. This set had been his engagement gift.

‘You look lovely,' said Lucy, looking her over from head to toe.

‘Do I?' Elizabeth smiled, realising she no longer thought about how she looked. There was very little reason to care since John's death. Before going downstairs, she ordered the girls to lock their door and the connecting one to her room; she was taking no chances.

She stopped for a moment outside the dining-room and forced a smile that she hoped looked welcoming. When she opened the door and saw who the guests were, she almost fainted. Charles sat at the head of the table. On his left there were two rough-looking men she had never seen before, but it was the man sitting on his right who shocked her most. Black Jack sat smiling smugly at her, and she almost fell into the chair that the butler held out for her. None of the men had stood up when she entered.

‘Well now, isn't this pleasant?' Charles laughed. ‘I believe you know Jack Carey here,' he tapped Carey playfully on the arm.

‘Yes, of course,' she managed to find her voice. ‘Good evening Mr Carey.'

‘And a good evening to you, your ladyship,' he gave a mocking bow from his seated position.

‘These other scamps are Willie Ryan and Tommy Cusack.'

The men acknowledged her respectfully, and she could see they too were uncomfortable in her presence and the unfamiliar surroundings.

When Thomas served the meal, she picked at the food and tried not to listen to the conversation at the other end of the table. These men were rough and coarse and Charles sounded as though he belonged in their company. The jokes were filthy and intermingled with swear words. Charles glanced at her occasionally and appeared pleased to see her blushing. Bottle followed bottle and, as the drink took effect, Black Jack stared at her, refusing to look away, even when she glared at him. Charles dismissed Thomas once the coffee had been served and she panicked when she realised that she would be left alone with them.

‘Perhaps I should retire too, Charles, to allow you gentlemen some time to yourselves.'

‘Not at all, my dear. I insist you stay, if not for your brilliant conversational skills, then for your ornamental value.'

Her cheeks blazed in mortification and she knew that Carey was laughing at her. She let her mind wander to block out their words, and was unaware that Charles was speaking to her until he raised his voice.

‘Elizabeth, are you listening to me?'

She looked up, startled, ‘I'm sorry, Charles.'

‘I merely asked that you earn your keep by refilling our glasses.' He pointed to his empty glass, and to the one that Black Jack was twiddling between his fingers. The delicate stem looked even more fragile in his huge hands.

‘Should I call the butler?'

‘No, I told you to do it.'

‘Very well,' she replied, walking to the sideboard. She picked up the decanter and offered it first to the two men nearest to her. They thanked her, but refused. As she refilled his glass, Charles winked at her. She walked around to where Carey was sitting and leaned over to fill his. Her hand shook at the thought of serving him and how he would boast about it the next day to all and sundry, her ladyship being reduced to no more than a serving wench.

‘That's a very nice dress you're wearing, my lady.'

She looked at him in surprise.

‘But it's what's in it, that interests me more.'

Before she could retort to such brazen words, she was shocked to feel his hand move up and pat her bottom.

‘How dare you!' She hit Carey in the face with the decanter and watched in horror as the flesh opened and blood gushed from a wound on his cheek. For a moment no one spoke.

Elizabeth ran. Behind her chairs were knocked over, and she was not sure if the men were following her, or rushing to Carey's aid.

‘Come back here!' Charles bellowed, but she kept running. She took the stairs two at a time and ran to her room. Locking the door behind her, she threw herself down on the bed, sobbing. She'd really done it this time.

After what seemed like hours, she drifted into a troubled sleep, and was surprised when Lucy shook her awake. It was morning.

‘Mamma, you're still in your evening dress.'

Elizabeth sat up and looked down at the dress in a daze.

‘Has Uncle Charles gone out?' she grabbed Lucy's arm.

‘Ouch, Mamma, you're hurting me.'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rough. Just tell me, has he gone out?'

‘I'm not sure. Did you have another argument with him?'

‘Yes,' Elizabeth whispered, ‘and it was a bad one this time.'

‘What are we to do?' Lucy sat beside her. ‘Will he throw us out?'

‘He may well do. We'll just have to wait and see.'

Elizabeth stayed in her room all morning refusing to eat, afraid she would be sick. It was late afternoon when he sent for her. There was no going back now, but she wasn't going without a fight.

Charles was stretched on a couch in the drawing-room. ‘Well, well, well,' he laughed. ‘So the cat has claws.'

‘What do you want, Charles?'

‘What I want, m'lady, is that you and your children vacate my house.' He got up quickly, but had to sit again, as the effects of the previous night's drinking caught up with him.

‘It was our house before it was yours, Charles, but the way you're going, it won't belong to any of us for much longer.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You know exactly what I mean. You owe money to everyone in the town. There is not a grocer or wine merchant who will supply us. The farm is gone to rack and ruin. Look at this room,' she waved her hand at the patches on the walls, where paintings had once hung. ‘The house has become a ghost, a shadow of its former self; there's nothing left worth selling.'

His face, already flushed from drinking, was purple in anger. ‘I'll remind you, madam, that it was only through the greatest kindness that I left you and those, those ...' he pointed to the ceiling, unable to think properly.

‘Children,' she screamed at him. ‘They're called children, and like it or not you are of the same blood. And don't you dare speak to me of kindness. From the day you entered this house you made our lives hell. You are not a scrap on your brother. He would never have treated a woman in such a disgraceful and demeaning way.'

‘My damned brother! That's all I've heard since I got here. Well, I'm sick of it, do you hear me? Once I'm rid of you, I'll no longer have to hear about what a saint he was!' He was dribbling and had lost all self-control. ‘I have one thing that he can't have, and that is life. He's dead, Elizabeth, rotting in the ground even as we speak, and I'm glad he's there. I hope he rots in hell.'

She hit him and he fell back, stunned by the blow.

‘You have two weeks to find somewhere else to live. After that, I never want to see you or your wretched children again. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Perfectly.'

‘We'll see how clever you'll be then, madam. Even your own father refuses to have you under his roof!' He delighted in her expression of shock. ‘Yes, indeed, I've known for some time.'

‘I'll find a place to stay. Anywhere would be preferable to living here, and being degraded the way I was last night. Only a beast would stand by and allow that to happen. You should be ashamed of yourself.' She turned and walked out.

‘Remember,' he called after her, ‘two weeks, and take only your clothes, nothing else.'

Her stomach was churning as she walked up to the nursery. Where could she go? Whatever money she had managed to save would not last very long and what then? They were almost into September and, if the summer was anything to go by, the winter would be a bad one. She had little time to plan, but she would not let the girls see how worried she was.

The walk to work seemed longer than usual for Timmy. He had slept badly after waking during the night to the sound of crying. He sat up, unsure of what he was hearing, and tried to isolate the sound above the thunderous snores of his father. No, he had been right, it was the sound of someone crying. At first he was afraid and looked over to where his parents were sleeping, trying to make out, in the darkness, if they were both there. It was impossible to see, so he got up and crept over to the door. It came again a sad, mournful sound that chilled him to the bone. Could it be his mother crying? He had never seen her do so in all his twelve years. Even when his father beat her, she refused to cry. He edged his way farther through the doorway and peeped into the kitchen. Only the dying embers of the fire lit the room, but he could make out her shape huddled up in the chair with her head in her hands and crying as though her heart would break.

‘Ma?'

‘Timmy, lad, I'm sorry. Did I wake you? Oh, I'm so sorry.' She put her head down and the crying started again.

‘Ma, what is it, what's wrong?' He shivered in the cold, pre-dawn air. ‘Ma, tell me.'

‘I'm frightened child, so frightened.' Her hands muffled the words.

‘Why, Ma, why?'

She must have heard the panic in his voice, for she sat up and bought the back of her hand across her face, wiping away the tears.

She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him towards her. ‘Listen to me, child, and mind you listen well. I'd never for all the world want to frighten you. You know that, don't you?'

He nodded.

‘But there's something bad about to happen. I don't know what it is, but it frightens me. I feel as though I've lost you all. That my children are gone from me.'

‘No, Ma, we'll never leave you.'

‘Ah, child,' she kissed his forehead. ‘I'm not afraid of you leaving me. You'll do that anyway in time, but there's a force greater than anything I've ever felt abroad tonight.'

Timmy knew his mother had always been fey, it was as though she could see the future. Stupid old wives' tales, his father called them, but she was always right in her predictions.

‘I have four children,' she continued. ‘All as healthy as the times allow and of the four, you were the only one who was in a hurry to get here. You came from my womb crying lustily and with clenched fists ready to take on the world. So I'm telling you this, child. If all around you are dying you must stay alive to take care of the other children. Promise me that you'll live.'

‘I promise Ma, but I don't understand. I'm only twelve. Why would I die?'

‘Because I heard it today, as clear and sharp as the death-knell.'

‘What did you hear?'

‘The wind, child, the wind called my name. You know how it was today with the gusts so sharp and cutting. From early morning it beat itself against the door and I knew that it would be a cold night. So, late this afternoon, I went to gather dry kindling. As I walked about the fields I heard it. At first I wasn't sure, I had to stop and listen, and then it came again. It was a voice I knew, a well-loved voice that has long been silent and had come to warn me.'

She said no more, and he lay there for a while with his head on her breast, listening to the beating of her heart, until the cold got to them and she sent him to bed. ‘You'll remember my words, won't you, child, remember what I've asked of you?'

‘I'll not forget Ma, I'll do as you ask.'

Had her powers of prediction been greater, she would never have asked of him the thing she did.

****

He noticed the strange smell on his way to work the next morning. It seemed to be all around him. He stopped and sniffed the still air; he had never smelt anything like it before – it was really bad, putrid. It followed him all the way to the Hall.

The stable-yard was unusually quiet and he could hear murmuring coming from the door leading into the kitchen. He wanted to go and ask what was happening, but was afraid that Black Jack might be there and his curiosity would earn him a clip across the ear.

As he walked towards the kitchen door, the voices inside grew louder, but they made no sense, just a droning. Then he realised that they were praying. His heart thudded as he edged his way down the hallway and into the big room. Everyone was there. The few farm hands that were left, Mr Ryan the estate manager and even the butler, who in normal times would have shooed him away, took no notice of him. Some of them held rosary beads, which clacked together as they passed them through their fingers. Someone must have died, he thought, perhaps it was the master. He hoped it wasn't her ladyship or one of the children.

Annie was crying and some of the men seemed near to tears as well. They would hardly be crying if it were the master. He waited with head bowed in reverence for the prayers to end, but when they did, no one spoke for a few moments. With some effort Annie stood and went to the range, filling the large black teapot with boiling water. He watched her place extra cups on the table and fill each one with the blackest tea he had ever seen. The farm hands sat down at the big wooden table as though born to it, and he moved slowly over as one of them beckoned him to sit. He took the cup and sipped the scalding liquid, all the while watching the others. There was a plate of bread and butter in the middle of the table, but no one moved to take any of it. He was hungry, as always, and would have loved some. The old man sitting next to him reached over, took a slice and handed it to him as though reading his thoughts.

‘I dare say you'll eat that, lad.'

‘Thank you.' Timmy took the bread and bit into the thick crust.

Still no one spoke, and his curiosity finally got the better of him.

‘Who's dead?' The whisper seemed like a shout in the quiet of the kitchen and they all turned and looked at him.

‘Ireland, lad,' the old man said. ‘It's Mother Ireland that's dying. Can't you smell it in the air around us?'

They all murmured in agreement, and went quiet again, until Mr Ryan spoke.

‘You're all to go home.'

The men began to rise and Timmy, unsure of what to do, asked, ‘Me, sir, should I go too?'

‘Yes, lad,' Mr Ryan stopped and ruffled his hair, ‘you go too.'

Timmy was delighted, although the old man's words were strange and everyone was so miserable. He had been given his first day off work.

It wasn't until he was clear of the Hall and getting near to the cabins that haphazardly dotted his world, that Timmy stopped smiling. The smell was worse there, and from the hill where he was standing, he could see all his neighbours running into the fields where the lazy-beds were. His mother's words came back to him now and he, too, started to run. He found the cabin empty, but he knew exactly where to go.

His mother and brothers were busy digging in the plot behind the cabin, as little Rose sat watching. There was nothing sinister in this; it was the sight of his father on his knees raking the earth with his fingers that chilled his blood. His father never came in from the fields during the day. Even when his mother had been near death in childbirth, his father had refused to come. When Father O'Reilly had sent for him with the message that she could be breathing her last, he still stayed at his work. Now there he was and the sun barely up, digging with his bare hands. Without asking, Timmy took the shovel and waited to be told what to do. His mother was on her knees pulling at the stalks, and he could see her fingers bleeding from the effort.

‘Ma, let me do it.'

The earth released the first group of potatoes almost gladly, and he watched as she leapt upon them and rubbed away the soil. The first one she picked did not please her and she moved on to the next. It was the same with this; it was cast aside, as she scrabbled in the dirt for another one. Timmy didn't know what to think. He reached for the potato she was holding. She was staring at it as though it was a foreign object. He almost had to prise it from her hand, and gasped in disgust, as he felt his fingers sink into its slimy, stinking softness. Standing up, he looked at the sodden mass, and for the first time realised what had happened.

‘Is this it, Ma? Is this what you felt?'

‘Yes, child, this is what I felt, though I never in all my life thought it would be this bad. I imagined some loss of life, but this is death for all of us.'

A shadow blocked the sun. His father was standing over them. Usually he would berate them for slacking and Timmy waited for the chastisement. But instead of his fearsome father, there was a broken human being, holding a fistful of decaying potatoes in front of him. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked at his wife for words of comfort, anything that could appease the terror he was feeling.

She got up, and for the first time, Timmy saw his mother take his father in her arms. ‘I know, Pat, I know,' she murmured.

The potatoes were bad, but did that really matter so much? Two-thirds had already been dug up, and were still stored in the deep pits, until needed. What did it matter if some had died? More would grow next year. They could plant the good ones, and the following harvest would surely yield a better crop.

He became aware of the sounds coming from the other fields. At first it seemed like a low keening, which he had heard many times before at wakes, when the women cried for the loss of a loved one. Then it intensified in volume until it filled the air. Timmy gathered his siblings closer to him and they huddled together, listening. The keening gave way to screaming, and little Rose tried to burrow beneath his jumper in fright. His mother hurried them from the field.

Once inside the cabin, she started to light the fire, although she usually did this only when it was cold or to cook. Timmy went over to the turf pile, took some sods from it and carried them back to the fireside. She was kneeling on the hearth blowing the kindling to help it catch fire, and his hand brushed against hers as he laid the turf beside her. She felt cold and her skin was whiter than usual. His father sat in his chair and said nothing, but his eyes had a faraway, haunted look. The children were mute; they knew there was something wrong, but had no idea what it was. Placing the sods carefully on top of the kindling, she watched until she was sure they would light. Then she went to the pile of potatoes in the corner and picked out enough to feed them, carefully looking at each one as though weighing and measuring it to assess its value. She scrubbed them free of dirt, before sending Timmy to the well. He took the bucket and ran off, glad to be free of the overpowering silence. He returned quickly and his mother emptied half of the water into the large black pot. She laid the potatoes inside before finally hanging the pot on the blackened firearm and swinging it over the blaze. They all listened to the crackling of the fire and watched as flames reached up and caressed the pot's sooty bottom. His mother also watched from her chair, mesmerised by an action she had seen countless times before.

If Timmy had closed his eyes, this could be any normal day and the events of the past hours only a dream. But there was a fire lighting, when there should not have been and they were going to eat at a time when they never did. The meal was eaten in silence. When they had finished, Timmy got up and started to clear the table, but his mother stopped him.

‘Be a good boy and take your brothers and sister for a walk.'

His brothers were up in a flash, but Rose was cranky. She wanted to sleep; the unexpected meal had made her content and drowsy, and she wanted to cuddle up with her mother.

‘Come on, lazybones,' he teased her. ‘We can go to the stream and see if there are any fish there. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

She looked up at him doubtfully.

‘Listen,' he draped an old scarf around her shoulders and knotted it beneath her chin, ‘we might even see a fairy fish with golden scales and a silver tail. Wouldn't you like that?'

She smiled happily. Timmy led her outside and they started across the fields towards the stream. He made up stories about fairies and imps and faraway lands as they walked. His father said that Timmy did too much dreaming, and that he could not imagine how he found his way home at times with his head so far up in the clouds. His mother insisted there was nothing wrong with dreaming, and that some of the best things ever had started with a dream.

It seemed that many of the other parents had the same idea, as Martin called out to him to wait. He had his six siblings in tow, and Timmy could see other children walking towards them across the fields.

‘So,' Martin caught up with him, ‘they sent you out too?'

‘Yes, they seem to be very upset by the loss of the potatoes.'

‘By God,' Martin snorted, ‘you'd think the world was coming to an end.'

‘Did you save most of your crop?'

‘Yes, that was done over a month ago. That's why I can't understand it.'

Reaching their favourite spot on the bank, they sat down. The smaller children threw stones or trailed branches in the water, while the bigger ones climbed trees and swung upside down from the branches. The older ones came and sat beside Timmy and Martin and all the questions were the same. What was going on? How did it happen? Where did it come from? They frightened each other with stories of potato rot and famine. Many had heard these words bandied about by parents, who were so out of their mind with worry, they no longer cared if the children had overheard. They all thought Timmy would have the answer. Wasn't it he who calmed their fears when they first heard the fearsome tale of the headless coachman? The dark coach, it was said, that roamed the roads by night in search of the dying. Some of the smaller ones had snivelled in fear and even the bigger ones gulped loudly.

‘Comes to collect you when you're dying?' Timmy had scoffed. ‘How can he see where he is going when he has no head?' He had laughed loudly at the idea, and that had shattered the tension. From then on, if something was wrong, Timmy was expected to provide the answers. But on this day he had nothing to say, he was as much in the dark as anyone. They played and talked for hours until hunger and cold sent them hurrying home.