Jimmy would have wished for a longer journey as Tane drove his wagon up the hill to the jail. He was not looking forward to facing Anne Gilpin. Yesterday, when he’d woken to find her beside him, he’d thought she was Claire, and for the shortest time he’d been delirious with happiness. Imagined that all that had happened the previous day had been a horrible dream. He’d been shattered to realise his companion was not Claire, but Anne Gilpin.
But as Henry had been quick to remind him, Anne Gilpin had helped him when others had stood by. He still had a little put aside that the Harringtons hadn’t known of. He was prepared to use it to stand bail for the woman.
‘Bad business this, Jimmy,’ Tane commented, shaking his head. ‘Mrs Gilpin’s a fine woman, you know. Always asked after my kids, she did, whenever I saw her. Knew them all by name, and that’s a sight more than Minnie Cullen’s ever done in all the years I’ve worked for her.’ He gave Jimmy a sombre glance. ‘I tell you, Jimmy, the grog’s no good for anybody. I never touch the stuff. Not since I woke up one morning to find myself sharing the kennel with the dog.’
‘You never!’ Tane’s admission surprised Jimmy. He’d thought the other man a wowser. He’d never known Tane to touch a drop, and the only time he set foot in a pub was to do odd jobs or deliveries.
‘Oh yes. Lousy with fleas and itching like the devil, I was. Came home roaring drunk and nasty. Haki locked me out, threatened to chop my head off with the axe if I tried to get inside. It was winter and bloody cold. Never again! I was scared she’d cut my cock off as well! She reckons I only have to hang my trousers on the end of the bed and she’s big in the belly with another tamariki.’ He gave a loud belly laugh and Jimmy joined in, glad of the diversion.
The horses rounded the last bend and the high, dreary, grey corrugated-iron fence surrounding the jail came into view. Little wonder they called this place Misery Hill, Jimmy thought with a shudder.
The duty warder, a man familiar by sight to Jimmy, being a regular at the Golden Age, stood behind a high, lectern-like desk inside the entrance.
‘Sorry, Mr Edwards,’ he said, looking at Jimmy with interest. ‘Mrs Gilpin was admitted next door to Seaview last night.’ He tapped his temple with a forefinger. ‘She was well away, from what I hear. DTs. Won’t be out of there for a week or two, I’d say.’
‘Seaview? The lunatic asylum?’ Jimmy thought of Anne, always immaculate in her appearance, so collected in her demeanour. He’d found it hard enough to imagine her roaring drunk and in jail. But the lunatic asylum? How could she have fallen this far in so short a time?
‘’Fraid so, sir. It’s where they mostly put ’em when they’re suffering the DTs. You would never have thought it of her, would you, if you don’t mind me saying so. Smart lady behind that bar she was. I’d say, like as not, she’s had this problem for a long time. You don’t get the DTs unless you’re a seasoned drinker. See them all the time up here, and I have to say, there are more of them women than men. See snakes and spiders and God knows what else crawling over them, poor beggars.’
‘Do you think they’ll allow me to see her if I go to the asylum?’
‘I should think you’d be wasting your time even asking. I can tell you from experience she’ll still be too far gone to see anybody, let alone know them. Better you should wait a day or two. She wasn’t a pretty sight, so I’ve heard. Never are when they’re like that.’
Jimmy felt increasingly guilty on his way back to town. Was he in some way responsible for Anne Gilpin’s predicament? Her fondness for the bottle was most certainly not his fault, but he’d virtually ignored the woman since he’d woken to find her in his room. His rejection of her was nothing personal — it was to do with his own shame. But she wasn’t to know that. His careless dismissal had been thoughtless … cruel, he realised now. Could that have been the reason for her falling back into drunkenness?
Not quite managing to smother his irritation, Arnold drummed his fingers on the table. Sylvia and Jack hadn’t stopped moping since they’d admitted Libby to the asylum. It seemed every time he looked at them their faces drooped longer. How often had he reassured them they’d done the right thing having the girl committed?
The right thing for him, anyway. Though if the truth be known, he’d more than likely saved Sylvia and Jack a barrel of trouble with the girl in the future. She’d near as sent him mad with her fits and sly ways. Always poking and prying, taking to him with those claws of hers and spilling his whisky for spite, just like she’d blackened his teeth.
It had given him a fair old shake-up when he’d realised she’d recognised him. No matter that she wasn’t right in the head and nobody could understand her gibberish, it had still worried him. But even if she did manage to spit it out, he doubted she’d be believed. It’d more than likely be put down to the ravings of a lunatic. And he reckoned cutting off the cat’s tail and threatening to do for her mother probably would’ve shut her up for good.
‘We should have kept our word and visited Libby before we left Hokitika,’ Sylvia said in a quavery tone, near enough to a sob.
Jesus save him, did the woman ever stop her whinging? It did nothing for her looks, save for making her even plainer.
‘My heart aches to think of her in that place, knowing no one and waiting in vain for us to come. What was I thinking of, leaving without a proper goodbye?’
Arnold reached across the table and placed his hand on Sylvia’s, steeling himself to leave it there. The feel of her rough, ageing skin had begun to repel him.
‘Sylvia, you mustn’t blame yourself. We both decided it was best for Libby. You saw how badly she carried on when we left. It would have done no good if we’d visited her the next day. She’d only have upset herself all over again.
‘I know you’re feeling bad about having her committed,’ he continued, ‘but you heard the doctor. She’ll not improve without treatment. We must keep that in our minds. It’s for the best.’
‘Whose best?’ Jack burst out, abruptly sitting back from the table.
Arnold winced at the shriek of chair legs scraping across the wooden floor.
‘Not Libby’s, not mine, not Mother’s, as far as I can see. You have too much to say about our affairs. I don’t give a fig that you’re wed to Mother. Father was thinking of sending you down the road. He told me so the morning he died, he did!’
‘Jack Budd! Hold your tongue!’ Sylvia’s eyes were wide with shock.
‘No, Mother, I’ll have my say. We always managed just fine with Libby before. She might have had her tempers, but Father always said it was only ever frustration caused them. She was never spiteful or nasty and the only times she ever went for someone was when she’d been teased.’
Sylvia had never heard her son speak this way.
‘Those really bad tempers of hers have mostly only been happening since Father died. We should have tried harder. We could have shown more patience and let her get over her grief at losing Father.’ He paused for breath, looked accusingly at Sylvia and Arnold. ‘There must have been something we could have done that would have helped her!’
‘Jack …’ Sylvia’s voice cracked, her anger replaced with guilt. ‘We did try. We tried so very hard. But you saw what she did to Arnold. Those dreadful scratches on his hands … it looked like a wild cat had taken to him, they were so deep. And as for slamming the door on poor Bobby — what if she’d slammed that door on somebody’s hand?’
Arnold’s breath caught in his throat. He put a hand to his right eye, covering it as it went into spasm.
‘You know she’s been getting worse. What else could we have done?’ Sylvia flashed Arnold a look of desperation.
Jack blinked rapidly and looked about to burst into tears. ‘We could have been more patient with her. Father always was … We could have tried some medicine … I don’t know. But anything would have been better than putting her in that place. You said yourself some of the people there looked like they’d crawled straight up from hell, and we’ve left our Libby with them. Father would turn in his grave.’ He turned to Arnold. ‘It’s all your fault. She was never as bad as this until you came!’
‘Jack!’ Sylvia rose to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. ‘You forget your place. That is no way to speak to Arnold!’
It took all of Arnold’s will not to give the boy a taste of his fist. He was no better than his sister the way he was turning against him. The sooner he put a stop to it, the better. He moved quickly to Sylvia’s side.
‘Come now, Sylvia, my dear. Sit here with me. You mustn’t work yourself into a tizz over this. The boy’s not being disrespectful.’ He ground his teeth as he spoke. In truth, he could have kicked the boy’s arse hard enough to spin it backwards. ‘He’s pining for his sister, as we are.’ He gave Jack a practised look of doleful empathy. ‘Sit down now, Jack. I’ve things to say to both you and your mother.’
Jack’s jaw squared, but then the fight suddenly left him and he sat.
‘Now, Jack. Sylvia.’ Arnold’s gaze flicked from one to the other. ‘You must not take offence at what I’m about to say.’
Jack gave him a fierce glare and opened his mouth to speak but Arnold held up his hand. ‘Let me finish … I don’t want you jumping to any wrong notions. If you think hard about this, Jack, your sister’s sickness has really taken hold of her since your father died, not since I’ve been here. Did you not say yourself that Libby’s tantrums have only got worse since Will died?
‘Well … mostly,’ Jack agreed sullenly, his eyes downcast, avoiding Arnold’s gaze.
‘There, you see?’ Arnold slapped his palm on the table, forcing Jack’s attention to him. ‘What has happened to Libby has been by the grace of God,’ he added for good measure, knowing any mention of God would appeal to Sylvia with all her damned godliness and goodness. It would absolve her from guilt if she could blame some make-believe, faceless entity rather than herself for her daughter’s plight.
He stared into Jack’s eyes, projecting his will on the boy. ‘I’m not denying she has a powerful dislike for me. But what I am saying is that it is not any fault of your mother’s. Nor has Libby’s …’ He paused, choosing his words so they would soothe the boy’s anger, not inflame it. ‘… delicate state of mind been caused by anything you or your mother, or I, for that matter, may or may not have done.’
Jack’s defiant expression eased. His bottom lip trembled.
Ah … I have him, Arnold thought with a thrill of satisfaction. For all his bravado, he’s just a boy and easily crushed. Now he could safely push his own agenda.
‘There was nothing I would not have done for that girl — nothing.’ Gazing intently at Jack, he carried on. ‘But as you are very well aware, she worshipped her father. He was her sun, moon and stars, and I have never had a place in her affections.’ He swallowed hard, as if having difficulty holding back his grief. ‘The Lord knows how hard I’ve tried, but Libby would not allow it.’ He gave a defeated shrug. ‘Perhaps if she’d been able to find room for me in her heart …’ — Sylvia and Jack were visibly softening — ‘… her mind would not have been so badly affected, her fits not so cruelly harsh.’
Jack’s eyes glittered with tears that he manfully tried to hold back by roughly brushing a hand across his eyes. Sylvia reached across the table and grasped his hand.
‘We did try, Jack, you must know that,’ she said, her voice husky with her own tears. ‘In the end there was nothing to be done. But take heart, son. The doctor swears she will be able to come back to us again if she improves.’
Arnold noted Sylvia’s hopeful look, and for a second felt a morsel of pity for the woman. The attendant he’d spoken to had been adamant that the best thing for epileptics was to keep them locked away from sane people for good so they couldn’t marry and breed more imbeciles. Sylvia could pray day and night, but the chances of any doctor ever pronouncing the girl well enough to leave the asylum were less than that of one of Sylvia’s scatty roosters laying an egg.
‘That’s God’s truth, Jack,’ Arnold lied. ‘And while we’re waiting for her mind to heal we should be working together as a family so that when she does come back to us, she’ll feel safe and loved.’
Jack’s recently developed Adam’s apple worked as he rubbed his sleeve under his nose, wiping away a drip.
‘You may well be thinking I’m intruding here. But I’m not out to take your father’s place. Nobody could do that. I admired Will, looked up to him. He was a good man … the best.’
More tears filled Sylvia’s eyes.
‘But I truthfully think the most helpful thing your mother and I could do for Libby, and you, and I’m sure it’s what Will would want us to do, is to put the business and cottage up for sale.’
Sylvia and Jack’s eyes flared with shock. As one, they opened their mouths to voice their disquiet.
‘Hear me out,’ Arnold said, silencing them before either of their opinions could sway the other against him.
The idea had come to him gradually as Sylvia had become more clingy and Jack shrewder and not so easily fooled. The boy had started baulking at doing more than his share of the work, complaining when Arnold slipped off into the bush for his tipples.
Despite having got rid of Libby, life was rapidly altering from the rosy picture Arnold had first imagined for himself when he’d married Sylvia. Now he could see it winding ahead of him, a nagging and wrinkled old woman always at his side, and a cheeky young beggar eventually pushing him out as head of the house.
It was time for him to be off — minus the burden of a wife and family. But not before he’d persuaded Sylvia to sell up. He’d help himself to the proceeds and leave with his pockets jingling.
He looked at mother and son, their faces wreathed in anxiety, waiting to hear him out. ‘If we move to Canterbury, we can take Libby with us,’ he began, knowing the lie would add weight to his argument. ‘Christchurch is growing rapidly. We’ll surely be able to find better treatment for her there, and perhaps have her live at home with us again once she improves.’
Sylvia looked at Jack with an uncertain but hopeful expression. Jack seemed confused, frowning first at his mother, then at Arnold, but he was at least listening.
‘We’ll have more than enough money from the sale to buy a cottage and start a cabinet-making business in Christchurch. With Jack’s skills and my guidance we’ll soon be wealthier than we could ever become here.’
‘But we’re established here and we’ve plenty of customers,’ said Jack finally. ‘We’re already struggling to keep up with the orders. We can bring Libby back home if you’ve a mind to, Mother. So why move?’ His frown deepened.
‘Ah, but don’t you see?’ Arnold argued. ‘Canterbury has a much bigger population than the Coast and, as I’ve already told you, it’s getting bigger all the time. With all those people crying out for well-made furniture, we can’t fail. I swear it won’t be long before we’ll have the biggest furniture and cabinet-making business in Canterbury!’ He was on a roll now. ‘It would be a crime to bring Libby back home without first trying to find the very best treatment we can get, and we can only do that in a town where there are good specialists.’ He turned to Sylvia, squeezed her hand. ‘What do you say?’
Sylvia’s forehead creased with doubt, she chewed on her lip as she digested his words. She looked at Jack, seeking his opinion. Arnold had to control the urge to crush her hand until every one of its bones shattered.
‘It’s up to you, Mother, whatever you think,’ Jack finally mumbled.
‘Then I think to sell up and move to Canterbury would be a very good idea.’