that! If it isn’t rotten Alice Dempsey, flaunting herself about, bad scrant to her anyhow,’ Bridey shouted, waving her guns. ‘I’ll larn her good and proper, little whore.’
‘Alice Dempsey was the bint that got murdered,’ the miner said to Geoffrey. ‘When old Bridey hits the bottle she always mistakes someone for Alice.’
‘Run, girlie!’ a man shouted at Huia. ‘The old lady’s after you.’
The onlookers were enjoying the spectacle. Geoffrey took one look in Huia’s direction, saw her bewildered, frightened face and knew he had to act. He had no plan, no notion of what he would do next; he just pushed through the crowd towards Bridey, who was now raging incoherently, and stepped into the empty semicircle that surrounded her. It felt like a fighting ring and he could sense the crowd’s eagerness for a show. Geoffrey, who had recently thought so indulgently, so longingly about his own death, was overcome simultaneously by fear and a fierce desire to live. Terrified, he wondered why he had exposed himself to this dangerous, drunk, crazed creature. It was too late to turn back; he knew that. Retreat was impossible.
‘Mary and Joseph,’ said Bridey as she unsteadily turned her weapons on him. ‘Who’s this dolled-up article?’
Geoffrey, who had never in his life confronted one, let alone two guns, tried not to look at the gaping barrels.
‘I’m Hastings,’ he said, ‘a fellow countryman from Ireland.’
‘Old Cromwellian, more like,’ shouted an Irish voice in the crowd.
‘I hear you’re a Coulaghan. Fine people, the Coulaghans,’ Geoffrey went on.
‘Ah, shurrup yer moryah,’ said Bridey. The crowd laughed.
‘Do you happen to have relations in County Kildare?’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the response.
‘Kildare,’ said Bridey, ‘Kildare, is it? Sure, there’s Eddie Coulaghan, isn’t he at someplace …’
‘Nurney,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I knew a Tim Pat Coulaghan in Nurney. He was a grand man with the hounds.’
‘And aren’t I going to shoot the lot of youse?’ said Bridey.
‘Why don’t you have a little drink with me first,’ saidGeoffrey, putting out his hand and indicating the bar, ‘and you can tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Bloody much any of youse care,’ said Bridey. She hesitated for a moment but, as Geoffrey moved towards her, she seemed to accept his invitation, gesturing willingness with a movement of the revolver.
The publican, who had been watching the incident from the window, backed behind the bar. The crowd outside pressed in at the door.
‘Brandy for me, and whatever my friend drinks,’ said Geoffrey, ‘though make hers two. Two glasses.’
Bridey slumped unsteadily against the counter. The drinks were delivered. Geoffrey moved one of the two whisky glasses to Bridey’s left. She put down the revolver and took the glass, but she held the derringer tight in her other hand. Geoffrey could feel the perspiration under his eyes and in the roots of his moustache.
‘Sláinte,’ he said, raising his glass.
Bridey waved her whisky in reply to the Irish toast. ‘And don’t I hate this godforsaken country,’ she said. ‘Sure, there’s nothing here for the likes of us but death and damnation.’
‘We’re both a long way from home,’ said Geoffrey, trying to stay calm.
‘Home?’ said Bridey. ‘Home, is it? Sure, there’s no home now.’ She finished her whisky in one gulp.
Please, oh please don’t let her put that glass down, Geoffrey thought.
Bridey still held the empty tumbler in her left hand as she reached forward with the other hand to the full one. As her fingers touched the full glass she let go of the derringer.
‘I’m having those,’ Geoffrey said, grabbing both weapons.
Bridey paid no attention as she emptied the second whisky down her throat. Geoffrey saw her eyes fill with tears.
The incident made Geoffrey a celebrity. Drinks were pressed on him and his party, and huge meals of eggs, sausages, bacon, mutton chops and
‘Alice Dempsey was the bint that got murdered,’ the miner said to Geoffrey. ‘When old Bridey hits the bottle she always mistakes someone for Alice.’
‘Run, girlie!’ a man shouted at Huia. ‘The old lady’s after you.’
The onlookers were enjoying the spectacle. Geoffrey took one look in Huia’s direction, saw her bewildered, frightened face and knew he had to act. He had no plan, no notion of what he would do next; he just pushed through the crowd towards Bridey, who was now raging incoherently, and stepped into the empty semicircle that surrounded her. It felt like a fighting ring and he could sense the crowd’s eagerness for a show. Geoffrey, who had recently thought so indulgently, so longingly about his own death, was overcome simultaneously by fear and a fierce desire to live. Terrified, he wondered why he had exposed himself to this dangerous, drunk, crazed creature. It was too late to turn back; he knew that. Retreat was impossible.
‘Mary and Joseph,’ said Bridey as she unsteadily turned her weapons on him. ‘Who’s this dolled-up article?’
Geoffrey, who had never in his life confronted one, let alone two guns, tried not to look at the gaping barrels.
‘I’m Hastings,’ he said, ‘a fellow countryman from Ireland.’
‘Old Cromwellian, more like,’ shouted an Irish voice in the crowd.
‘I hear you’re a Coulaghan. Fine people, the Coulaghans,’ Geoffrey went on.
‘Ah, shurrup yer moryah,’ said Bridey. The crowd laughed.
‘Do you happen to have relations in County Kildare?’ said Geoffrey, ignoring the response.
‘Kildare,’ said Bridey, ‘Kildare, is it? Sure, there’s Eddie Coulaghan, isn’t he at someplace …’
‘Nurney,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I knew a Tim Pat Coulaghan in Nurney. He was a grand man with the hounds.’
‘And aren’t I going to shoot the lot of youse?’ said Bridey.
‘Why don’t you have a little drink with me first,’ saidGeoffrey, putting out his hand and indicating the bar, ‘and you can tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Bloody much any of youse care,’ said Bridey. She hesitated for a moment but, as Geoffrey moved towards her, she seemed to accept his invitation, gesturing willingness with a movement of the revolver.
The publican, who had been watching the incident from the window, backed behind the bar. The crowd outside pressed in at the door.
‘Brandy for me, and whatever my friend drinks,’ said Geoffrey, ‘though make hers two. Two glasses.’
Bridey slumped unsteadily against the counter. The drinks were delivered. Geoffrey moved one of the two whisky glasses to Bridey’s left. She put down the revolver and took the glass, but she held the derringer tight in her other hand. Geoffrey could feel the perspiration under his eyes and in the roots of his moustache.
‘Sláinte,’ he said, raising his glass.
Bridey waved her whisky in reply to the Irish toast. ‘And don’t I hate this godforsaken country,’ she said. ‘Sure, there’s nothing here for the likes of us but death and damnation.’
‘We’re both a long way from home,’ said Geoffrey, trying to stay calm.
‘Home?’ said Bridey. ‘Home, is it? Sure, there’s no home now.’ She finished her whisky in one gulp.
Please, oh please don’t let her put that glass down, Geoffrey thought.
Bridey still held the empty tumbler in her left hand as she reached forward with the other hand to the full one. As her fingers touched the full glass she let go of the derringer.
‘I’m having those,’ Geoffrey said, grabbing both weapons.
Bridey paid no attention as she emptied the second whisky down her throat. Geoffrey saw her eyes fill with tears.
The incident made Geoffrey a celebrity. Drinks were pressed on him and his party, and huge meals of eggs, sausages, bacon, mutton chops and
Similar Books
