The Secret Journey (38 page)

‘Fanny, I wish you wouldn't look at me like that. You make me feel, oh, you make me feel quite guilty. You make me feel as if I were responsible for your position. But surely—it's not as bad as all that. You have two sons working and you have Denny's money. Really, you're letting yourself get into a groove. Don't do it. Hold your head up. So long as one is honest everything is all right. But the way you act—I wish you'd be different.'

Fanny Fury laughed.

‘I didn't know I'd changed so much. You astonish me.'

‘Oh, but you are changed. You're quite different from when I saw you last. It—I can't explain it exactly.'

‘Don't be worrying yourself, Brigid.'

Somebody was knocking at the door. Fanny Fury jumped up and ran into the parlour, but not before she had fastened the kitchen door behind her. Sometimes awkward visitors arrived, and a look through the parlour curtain enabled one to see at once who the person was and so prepare accordingly. Now she saw it was the doctor himself. Dr. Dunfrey had called much earlier than she had expected. She ran back into the kitchen.

‘It's Dr. Dunfrey,' she called to Brigid Mangan. Miss Mangan made no comment. She sat motionless in the chair. To herself she said ‘Damn!' for had she not planned to call and see the man himself early that evening, and before he had a chance to talk to Fanny about her father? Now here he was actually standing in the lobby, his loud voice and boisterous good spirits floating down into the kitchen. She heard his heavy tread and at once rose to her feet as the tall, black-haired man came into the kitchen.

‘This is my sister from Cork, Doctor, Miss Mangan.'

Dr. Dunfrey held out his hand. ‘How are you, Miss Mangan? Lovely day. Hope you had a nice passage across? It's generally rougher than usual this time of the year, at least it's my experience,' and he laughed, showing his big teeth.

‘Yes, yes. Well, and now for Grandfather. Any change, Mrs. Fury?' he asked, his eyes taking in Aunt Brigid whilst he tapped his black bag with his finger. ‘Just the same, I suppose?'

‘He's no different, Doctor,' said Fanny Fury. ‘He had the Sacrament to-day. Somehow he always is greatly comforted after that. To-day he's been sleeping as peacefully as a child.'

To this remark Dr. Dunfrey made no reply. Mrs. Fury
would
imagine such a thing, he thought.

‘Well!' He put his hat and coat on the edge of the chair and picked up his bag. Mrs. Fury led the way upstairs. Miss Mangan was about to follow, but he put a hand on her arm and, smiling softly, said, ‘Please, if you don't mind,' and opened the kitchen door. Then he went upstairs.

Speechless, Aunt Brigid sat down. Her first thought was, ‘I knew it all along, knew it. I'm a fool not to have seen through her slyness, her charming manner. Confound it! Keeping me away from my own father. No doubt they are talking now, deciding to keep him here. To think of it! Parading her misery, and all these years she must have been living on his money. She must know all along. God! She's got courage, but she's sly too. Why didn't I see through her smiles and her self-pity? All a blind. She's afraid. That's what it is. Afraid I'll take him.' Aunt Brigid stood up and raised her head and looked at a holy picture upon the wall. She joined her hands together and muttered with all the fervour and passion of a crusader, ‘I will, I will. I will have him home.' Yes, what had she come for? A mere pleasure-trip. To make a tour in this abominable hole. Not she. ‘I want my father,' she said. Then she sat down again.

Meanwhile Dr. Dunfrey had completed his examination of the old man. He was seated on one side of the bed, Mrs. Fury on the other. Like Aunt Brigid he had an eye for detail, but he did not look quickly away from the slobber-stained pillow.

‘Your father mystifies me, Mrs. Fury. One day he's low, very low—the next he's normal again. I think he's one of those men who will hang on and hang on. My word, I compliment you upon your father! Do you know what has kept him alive all this time?'

‘What, doctor?'

‘Spirit, spirit. It almost seems to me as though he realized something, I mean—but there,' and Dr. Dunfrey broke off very abruptly, and once more felt Anthony Mangan's pulse.

‘Mrs. Fury, you'll hardly believe what I say, but at this moment your father has the pulse of a young man of twenty. It's extraordinary,' and he knew then what Mrs. Fury meant when she said:

‘He always feels more rested, more peaceful after he has had the Sacrament.'

Of his imminent departure not a word had been spoken. And only when Dr. Dunfrey shut his bag with a sharp click did Mrs. Fury explain to him.

‘You have met my sister before, Dr. Dunfrey?' she said, but the man shook his head. He could not recollect having done so.

‘I want to talk to you, Doctor,' she said. ‘Do you mind?' and did not pause, for Dr. Dunfrey sat down at once.

‘My sister has come from Ireland to see about taking my father home.' She stopped suddenly, listening. Then she went on. ‘What is your opinion, Dr. Dunfrey?'

Had she but known it, Miss Brigid Mangan was now standing half-way up the stairs, listening intently. Nobody could have seen her because the stairs and landing were the darkest parts of the Hatfields house. Having heard the question asked, she decided it would be wiser to sit down. In Mr. Mangan's room the doctor, head bent, hand on his forehead, was thinking about the matter.

‘I wouldn't advise it, Mrs. Fury,' he exclaimed, and he spoke so low in his throat that Miss Mangan posted outside could not catch what he said. But she certainly heard her sister.

‘You wouldn't advise it?'

In that same tone of voice that so enraged the woman upon the stairs Dr. Dunfrey replied: ‘For one thing, speaking as a doctor, I wouldn't advise his removal; for another, and speaking as a man, I wouldn't remove him out of respect for his age. At the same time there is no law to prevent your sister removing him—but you must carefully consider the possibilities. There are many. Your father is a curious case, Mrs. Fury. I have often wondered what precipitated the stroke, but that's stretching a point. You can't say he's a dying man, for that he certainly is not—and at the same time Mr. Mangan is far from well. He's quite helpless, but his mental faculties must not be so very bad, for how else could he continue living? Could you tell me why your sister wants to take him away, Mrs. Fury?'

Here he raised his voice, and here, too, Brigid Mangan moved up three steps and leaned against the banister. This muttering behind closed doors could only mean one thing to her. A conspiracy. She hung on, breathlessly waiting for her sister's reply. What she heard was utterly confounding.

‘My sister,' said Fanny Fury, ‘has been thinking for a long time now—I dare say her conscience has been troubling her—but she has been thinking of getting our father home. For this reason, and it's one with which I am entirely agreed, I know that she would hate to think of Father being buried here—in this lonely place——'

‘Lonely,' said Dr. Dunfrey, smiling. ‘Gelton has a million and a half people.'

‘Yes, lonely. Perhaps it's a funny idea I have, Doctor, I find life in Hatfields very lonely too—although I have many neighbours. But the fact is we have one family grave—in Cork, Doctor, and Mother and Mother's two sisters are buried there. We both would like when the time comes to see Father laid in Ireland.'

Outside, Brigid Mangan's ears were already burning.

‘But, Mrs. Fury—you've had your father all this time. It's through your devoted attention, your courage, your continual faith in him, that he remains alive. As an old friend, as one who has attended your family, Mrs. Fury, yourself and all your children, I'd like to say something. I really believe that your father is keeping alive, hanging on, just for you. It's a funny idea, but, then, doctors have funny ideas. I don't know how you could let him go. He might collapse on the way. It's a great responsibility, but as I said the risks are yours not mine. If he were my father I would not do it.'

And then he drew back from the bed, for suddenly something in Mrs. Fury seemed to break, for she gave one look at the old man, and striking the bed-rail with her clenched fist she shouted at the top of her voice: ‘But you don't understand, Doctor, you don't understand. I
want
him, I
want
him to go. I don't want him here any more. I can't stand it any longer. I can't, I can't,' and she burst into tears. She sank down on the bed.

‘Mrs. Fury! My dear Mrs. Fury! Calm yourself, please! I understand very well. I know what a strain this must have been on you.' He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Do try,' he said. He understood perfectly, he said again. And then as though to ease the situation, ‘Mind you, there is another way of looking at it, Mrs. Fury. It might be that the change of atmosphere, change of air and food, might have a beneficial effect upon him.' Smiling, he shook his finger. ‘Your father might confound us all, Mrs. Fury. He may live to be a hundred. Who knows?' He took his bag and made for the door. The woman wiped her eyes on her apron and followed him. At the first turn of the knob, Miss Mangan did for a woman of her age a most perilous thing. She leapt to the bottom of the stairs, fortunately without a sound, and found herself in a heap upon the carpet. She picked herself up, and brushed down her skirt. Heart palpitating, bosom heaving with excitement, she slipped back into the kitchen and resumed her seat.

If Brigid Mangan sat waiting for Dr. Dunfrey she must have sat for a long time, for the doctor went straight through the hall, and not until the front door had closed did she realize the snub. For it could mean nothing else to her but a snub—and a direct one. But why should he do it? She was a perfect stranger to him—he had no reason for so doing.

‘They're in league together. That's what it is. Yes, I half believe Fanny realizes Dad has money hidden somewhere and he's going to get his share.' Miss Mangan's imagination went further. They weren't even allowing him to die naturally—they were keeping him alive just for the one purpose. Two could play that game. Through Fanny's utter foolishness she had dragged herself into the gutter, her children after her. She had sunk lower and lower, and now she hoped that the innocent old man would help her out. Such were Brigid Mangan's thoughts.

‘Well! two can play that game.'

If she had thought that all she had to do in order to realize her own ambition was to sail to Gelton, pick up her father and take him home again—then she was mistaken. There
were
obstacles after all. And perhaps that sudden demonstration of Fanny's in the back bedroom was but part of their plan. Miss Mangan's imagination ran riot.

When Fanny Fury came into the kitchen, Brigid was still getting her breath back.

‘Well?' she asked—hardly able to look her sister in the face. ‘And what has Dr. Dunfrey to say about Father?'

Mrs. Fury sat down. She picked up some sewing and rolled it into a ball and put it in the work-box under the table.

‘Dr. Dunfrey has very curious ideas about Father. But he's a stranger—a friend of course—but he doesn't understand. For one thing, he is against Dad being moved at all; for another, he said he had more respect than that, to even think of moving him, let alone taking him all the way. But I pointed out how you felt—how we both felt, Brigid, if Dad should die on the way over—it's my fault as well as yours. But I told him, I told him straight, what I tell you now. He can go. And I'll be glad—I want to breathe. I've had nine long years of it. It only remains for you to make the arrangements, that's all. I don't want to speak about it any more,' and Brigid Mangan agreed. She would say no more about it. But all was not yet over. One could not gain a point without paying for it. She began commiserating with her sister.

‘You must cheer up, Fanny, my dear woman. To-night, you must come and see the Bioscope!' She patted Mrs. Fury on the knee.

‘You'll miss him terribly, I know, but at least you'll feel free.'

‘That's it,' replied Mrs. Fury. ‘I'll feel free. But I don't want to talk about it.' Miss Mangan was already on her feet. ‘What! Are you going off already?' she said.

‘Naturally, my dear! I have things to do. But don't worry. I'll be back in good time.'

Fanny Fury helped her on with her coat. It surprised her that all this time Brigid had not made one single inquiry about the family, excepting Denny. But she asked now whether Mr. Fury had yet written, to which Fanny replied ‘No'; then they went to the door together.

‘Expect me about seven o'clock,' said Miss Mangan, ‘and cheer up, Fanny, for God's sake. If Father had died it might be different (Yes, it certainly would—she said to herself), but Dad's as alive as we are.'

As soon as the door was closed, Fanny Fury went up to her father's room.

It was now turned four o'clock. Mrs. Fury, having seen that Anthony Mangan was all right, went along the landing to the middle room. She opened this door and went in. Her son was snoring on the bed. At seven o'clock that evening he was due to sail. His bag was packed and lay in the corner of the back-yard shed. If the baggage man did not call he would carry it down himself. Mrs. Fury shook him roughly. ‘Wake up. Wake up,' she said, and began pulling at the pillow. Peter Fury woke up, rubbed his eyes, and looked round.

‘What time is it?' he asked. Then he saw his mother. ‘What time is it, Mother?' He sat up and stretched his arms in the air. He yawned. His hair was tousled, his eyes were still full of sleep. In fact, he was on the point of lying down and falling asleep again, when his eye caught sight of the diddy-bag, newly scrubbed, lying packed on the table by the bed.

‘Hell!' he said, jumping up. ‘Why didn't you call me? Look at the time,' and he began gathering his things together. He felt a hand on his back, heard a voice saying, ‘Please sit down. There is no hurry. I want to say something to you,' and then as though irritated and impatient, ‘Do sit down and listen to what I have to say. It has to do with both of us.' Peter sat down.