The Catherine Wheel

CHAPTER 12

Florence Duke was standing there. She had been standing there ever since they came back from the cellars-not talking to anyone, just standing there drinking coffee, sip after sip, quite slowly until the cup was empty, and then sip after sip again after it had been filled up. She had the look of a woman among her thoughts, listening intently. It was plain that she was taking no part in what was going on around her-Geoffrey Taverner’s conversation with Marian Thorpe-Ennington, Al Miller’s noisy talk and laughter, or the sometimes angry, sometimes tactfully intended remarks of Fogarty Castell. Not even when he turned to her with one of his foreign gestures and said in a passionate undertone, “This Al Miller, we are going to have a scene with him, I tell you. Why can’t he take his drink quiet and go to sleep on it like the other one?”-not even then did she really come back. Her eyes looked past him as she said in that slow way she had,

“He’s all right. Let him alone.”

She reached for the coffee-pot and filled her cup again. Fogarty wondered if she was drunk. She wasn’t flushed. As much of her colour as she could lose was gone. Now and again the drink would take someone that way. Her hand was steady and she stood like the figurehead of a ship, a big, bold woman, solid and firm. But there was something…He shrugged, and went back to Al Miller, who hadn’t stopped talking.

“Where’s Eily? I want Eily. Got something I want to tell her.”

Fogarty threw up his hands.

“Didn’t I tell you she’s busy? You wait a bit and you’ll see her fast enough. Do you think my wife has three pairs of hands? You leave Eily be till she’s finished her work!”

Al hitched a leg over the corner of the table and sat there swaying. He began to sing in a weak falsetto.

“ ‘Eileen alannah, Eileen asthore-’ That’s the song for her! Irish song for Irish girl. We’ve got an Irishman up at the station, he sings it-name of Paddy O’Halloran. He says I can’t sing.” He caught Castell by the lapel and swayed. “Who says I can’t sing?” He lifted his voice again, “ ‘Eileen allannah-’ ” then as suddenly broke off. “I say I want Eily-something to tell her-”

“She’s busy like I said. You have another drink. What is it you’re wanting to tell her?”

Al let go of the lapel, fumbled for a handkerchief, and mopped his face. He said, “I don’t mind if I do,” and tilted the proffered glass. He took a deep draught and blinked. He said,

“I’m not drunk.”

Fogarty said nothing. He hoped this drink would do the trick, but of course you never could tell.

Al finished the tumbler and set it down just over the edge of the table. When it fell and smashed he laughed unsteadily and repeated his former remark.

“I’m not-drunk.”

“No one said you were.”

“Better not-thass what I told them. Nobody’s going to say I’m drunk. Give me the sack, will they-say I’m drunk and gimme the sack?” He put a hand on Fogarty’s arm. “I’ll-tell- you who’s get’n the sack. They are. I’m-get’n-out. No one’s goin’ to say-I’m drunk.” His voice rang loud.

“No one’s saying it.”

Al stared.

“If I was drunk-I’d talk. Not drunk-not talking-only to Eily. If there’s anything there-we’ll get it. If there ishn’t- no harm done-we’ll get married allersame-married on prosheeds.”

Fogarty said, “You come along with me, and I’ll get Eily. Another little drink, and then I’ll get her.”

Al shook his head.

“All right here.” Then he suddenly advanced his lips to Fogarty’s ear and said in a penetrating whisper, “Like to know- what I-wouldn’t you? Well, I’m-not tell’n.” He let go suddenly, lost his balance, and slumped down, half off a chair.

All this time Luke White had stood behind the table, his face expressionless, his manner unconcerned. He might have been listening to Marian Thorpe-Ennington telling Geoffrey Taverner the story of her three marriages. He might have been watching Jacob talking to Mildred Taverner. Or he might have been watching Jane and Miss Silver and Jeremy, or Florence Duke. He might have been listening to Al Miller. When Jacob came across and put down Mildred Taverner’s cup he lifted the tray and went out by the service door at the end of the room.

Castell had got Al Miller on to the chair. He wouldn’t talk any more for a bit. Luke looked back, holding the door with his shoulder, and then let it fall to again.

Florence Duke straightened up, felt at her sleeve in a vague, abstracted manner, and said slowly,

“I haven’t got a handkerchief.”

It was not said to anyone, and nobody took any notice. She walked round the table and out at the service door.

Back in the room Jane was saying,

“I expect you think it’s a very odd kind of party. We’re all cousins, descended from old Jeremiah Taverner who used to keep this inn. It belongs to Jacob Taverner now. That’s him over there by the table. He’s giving the party. He’s a grandson, and the rest of us are great-grandchildren. Most of us haven’t ever seen each other before. Jeremy and I have of course, but that’s all. Because of family rows. Cousin Jacob advertised for his grandfather’s descendants, and here we are.”

Jeremy said, “A job lot!” and Jane gave her pretty laugh.

“Would it amuse you to be told who’s who?”

Miss Silver coughed and said with perfect truth,

“It would interest me extremely.”

Down in the kitchen Eily was putting away the glass and silver. She wasn’t being as quick as usual, because every now and then a very bitter salt tear escaped from between her fine dark lashes and ran down slowly over a white cheek. Sometimes the drop splashed upon spoon or glass, and she had to polish it again. Annie Castell was busy over the range. All her movements were slow and dragging. It was a wonder how she ever got done. There was no word spoken between them until at the end of it she turned round and said in her toneless voice,

“What’s the good of your standing there crying? It never helped anyone that I heard tell.”

Eily said, “There’s no help at all-”

Annie Castell took the lid off a saucepan with porridge in it, gave it a good stir round, and covered it again. Then she said,

“It’s that Luke?”

Eily said, quick and choked, “If he touches me, I’ll die.” She snatched a breath, “Or I’ll kill him.”

Annie Castell made a clicking sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth, but she didn’t say anything for a piece after that. She heard Eily fetching her breath quick, but she didn’t say anything. In the end she put a question,

“Has he touched you?”

Eily began to cry like a lost thing.

“He came up into the room where I was. I was turning down Miss Heron’s bed. And I said to go away, but he wouldn’t. And I said I’d tell, and he dared me. He said”-she fought for her breath and got it hard-“he said if I went to anyone else, he’d come in the night and cut his heart out.”

Annie Castell was clearing the kitchen table. When she had everything off it she took an old clean cloth out of the drawer and spread it. She took knives and forks and laid them neat and orderly, and set glasses. Then she said,

“Men talk a deal of nonsense.” And, after a pause, “I’d lock my door nights.”

“Do you think I don’t?”

Annie nodded. She said,

“Mrs. Bridling left her scarf. Fetch it through from the scullery and put it handy on the dresser and come and have your supper. No knowing when Luke and Fogarty’ll be down. You have your supper and get off to bed.”

Eily said nothing. She went to the scullery, and she came back again empty-handed.

“It isn’t there.”

A slow frown came between Annie Castell’s eyes.

“It’s there, at the end of the drip-board. I let it out of my hand when I was bringing it through.”

“It’s not there.”

Annie Castell said, “She must have come back for it. Sit down and have your supper.”